#crying and sobbing and begging on my knees for more marcus

[androgynouspenguinexpert]

his ass is NOT paying attention to the workplace conduct meeting

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #art #illustration #redacted marcus #redacted project meridian #project meridian #ets #i gotta do some marcus costumes for each part of project meridian #im already thinking about a lineup where he's super professional and put together at the start #but as he starts to unravel his clothing gets more casual and unkept because of the stress and also imagery #crying and sobbing and begging on my knees for more marcus #he's got some of the best characterisation ive seen anywhere and also he's a little fuckin scrunglo #i need him so bad

[thebearer]

when teddys like two or three months you and carl are in a patch of him not being around and he comes home one day and she gives him no reaction or loves, and someone she sees frequently she is gummy smiling at them

oh this would wreck him. like the freezer scene has nothing on what this would do to him.

so the bear is doing really well. like really, really well, but they've got some competition. this new restaurant is moving closer and a little too close. they already tried to take marcus and syd, and carmen is stressed, falling back into his old ways. he feels like in a way he got himself here bc he had a baby and got lazy in a way- distracted, is more like it. as awful as that sounds, that's how he felt.

teddy's about six months and carmen's been at work non-stop. comes home late, if you go to the restaurant he barely has time for you, he's tightly wound and hateful- loses his temper quickly. richie tried to talk to him, tina, too; and he told them the same thing- to mind their own business.

you miss carmen, you do. but when you tell him that, he tells you he's here now- now being when he's practically collapsed in bed beside you.

it's the roughest patch the two of you had ever been through, and carmen doesn't even seem to realize it. until one day. the other restaurant got moved to the other side of the city- something about the building being mysteriously shut down for shoddy wiring (uncle jimmy had nothing to do with it!!)

carmen's feeling good. feeling like he can breathe again.

comes home early and you're surprised. he's happy and excited, but when he goes to teddy, she cries.

that tiny baby cry for you, just a little whine of sorts that she does when a stranger tries to hold her.

a stranger.

"teddy," carmen coos, trying again. "it's daddy, teddy bear."

teddy just turns into your shirt, whimpering and clinging to you. you watch carmen's heart break- the fall of his face, eyes widening into horrified realization.

"i think she's cranky, carm. it's her nap time-"

"she doesn't even know who i am." carmen's tone is hard- hurt.

"no, she's just a little sleepy, carmen. look, teddy, look," you coo, bouncing her lightly to coax her out of your chest. "look, baby, it's daddy."

teddy seemed to recognize the word, eyes lighting but she didn't relate carmen to that. blinking and looking around like she was looking for her dad. carmen's face crumbled, running his hands over his face to keep himself from sobbing in front of you.

you didn't know what to do, how to make it better. "i'm going to smoke." carmen rasped, voice tight with emotion, snatching his cigarettes off the table and going outside.

he called the only person he knew to. richie. breaking down, raw and emotional, begging him for any sort of advice on how to make it better.

"cousin, she's a baby. you got time to fix this. she won't even remember this-"

"-she doesn't even remember me." carmen sniffed hard, knee bouncing as his chest bubbled over with that familiar painful panic. "my own kid doesn't know who the fuck i am. what the fuck richie? what's fuckin' wrong with me. all i ever do is fuck everything up-"

"-hey, cousin, i'm stoppin' you right there, ok? let me be honest with you. this ain't about you, ok?" richie huffed. it was mean and cutting but it was true. "this isn't the time to be feelin' all sorry for yourself and shit, ok? you left your wife alone with that baby and you've been a real jagoff- like i said."

carmen hated it, hated that he was right, hated how he felt.

richie continued. "instead of sittin' in there like an asshole, why don't you go inside, take a few fuckin' days off, and get your shit together."

"cosuin, i-i can't do that-"

"- holy fuck, carmen. ok, let's try it again, alright? go inside. quit being a self loathing jagoff piece of shit, and take a few days off to be with your wife and kid, ok? i got the place for a few days." richie snapped.

"richie, we're booked for the next-"

"-look, do you trust me or not?" richie snapped.

"yeah, yeah, i trust you, c'mon." carmen muttered.

"then i got it, alright? if i need you, i'll call you, but for right now- your family needs you. if this was tiff or eva, i wouldn't even think twice about it. go be with your family, and fix this shit, you dumbass." richie huffed.

carmen took richie's advice. finding you in the bedroom, folding teddy's teeny tiny baby clothes. it made carmen sob. heavy heaving cries and mumbled apologies while he clung to you.

the next four days, carmen wouldn't leave the house. wouldn't leave your side or teddy's. he'd gotten her hesitantly out of the crib, eyes red rimmed when he cooed at her and changed her. she didn't cry this time, even giving him a tiny gummy smile that had him emotional all over again.

#thebearer #carmen berzatto #dad!carmen berzatto x mom!reader #dad!carmen berzatto #dorothea “teddy” berzatto #dilf!carmen berzatto #richie jerimovich #bearblahs #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto angst

[lucifertoxics]

wifey I'm having such a bad day 😭😭 I need me some Marcus 😭😭💗 This would be a good moment to release your beautiful draft or I'm getting on my knees ready to beg for something cute of him😭😭

(if you need ideas you know I got a new haircut so how would he react to the reader changing their hair?? or maybe cheering them up after a bad day?? xx😭😭)

note 💌: wifey your wish is my command so sorry for not managing to get to this faster but lately i have been trying to keep up with everything so here this comes

--------------------------------------------------------------

one and only: marcus lopez

| pairing: marcus lopez x reader

| genre: established relationship

| warning: no warnings <3

| word count: 0.5k

[ BACK TO MASTERLIST ]

One thing that Marcus hated the most was not being able to spend more time with you lately. He has been planning lately how to kill Master Lin and in such a fashion he forgot to pay attention to you. Which he was reminded shortly, when he found you crying in your bed.

Wrapped in a blanket, with you head laying on the pillow, letting our little sobs, that's how Marcus saw you as he entered the door. To say that he was speechless couldn't express even half of what he was feeling. You. The love of his life. Were crying. Never in a million years he couldn't have been more hurt by seeing you like this. As the emotions ran through his heart, he ran to you.

Leaning by the side of the bed, holding your hand, slowly waking up from the somewhat trance you were in. He caressed your cheek softly, before speaking. "Hey..." Marcus said almost in a whisper, not knowing what to say exactly as the concept of love has never been taught right by his parents. "What happened baby?" He continued in the same tone.

Moments after hearing his voice, you lean into his touch, taking a moment to observe his features. He looked like he hadn't slept properly for days. His tired eyes searching for yours. Calmly you take a deep breath, nuzzling your head into his chest, taking in his scent. It was familiar. Comforting.

Your day couldn't have been worse, from working with Maria at a project and later being threated by Chico for daring to even talk to Maria in the first place, not only to not seeing your boyfriend as he lately he has been spending a lot of time planning with Saya. But you couldn't just bluntly say it right into his face, because you knew damn well that i would hurt him.

"Maria..." You say wiping your tears, barely giving him any information about the situation that you were in. The moment he heard you blurt out Maria's name, getting up and clenching his firsts, knowing what he had to do. He growls. "I'll fucking kill her."

"No..." You said, taking his hand and squeezing it. You wanted him to stay there with you, to keep you safe. "Stay..." You whispered to him, moving his hand to make him lay on the bed next to you. Knowing that fighting Maria will get him into trouble and that you needed him, he decided to lay down next to you. Wrapping his arm around you and making you the little spoon.

There were no words needed when it came to the two of you. Marcus loved making you feel loved even if he couldn't spend more time with you. He lets out a loud sight and leaves a trail of kisses on your back. Even if he was angry at Maria, hearing your heartbeat always managed to calm him down.

© LUCIFERTOXICS ⎯ do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.

#marcus lopez arguello #marcus lopez imagine #marcus lopez smut #marcus lopez x reader #marcus lopez x y/n #marcus lopez x you #marcus x reader #writing #deadly class #benjamin wadsworth #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x you #mattheo x y/n #mattheo x reader #mattheoxreader #slytherin boys #slytherin

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨6/End

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) cucking, violence, blood, some untagged extreme events.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: Here’s the grand finale, I hope you all enjoy it!

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You breathed shakily as you clipped the chain of diamonds around your neck. Clark stood and you watched him place his gun down. He rolled his head back and cracked his neck as he shrugged off his jacket. He slung it over the corner of the upholstered chair and your fingers fluttered down the front of your dress.

“Marcus,” he called tauntingly and clapped his hands, “I think you should see this with both eyes, don’t make me take one out.”

“Stop,” you hissed, “please.”

“What do you care about him, sweetheart? He’s a pimp,” he said brusquely.

You lowered your eyes and sniffed. He nudged you with a bent knuckle then hooked his finger under the strap of your dress.

“It’s getting late,” he warned, “let’s go.”

You stepped away from him and pushed down the zipper hidden underneath your arm. You kept your gaze to the floor as you slid the straps down your arms and shimmied out of the taut fabric. You flung the dress away and bent to undo your strappy heels. Clark tutted as he got close and slapped your ass.

“I like those, they go well with the necklace,” he purred and traced his finger up your back to snap the band of your bra.

You winced and stood. You reached back and unhooked the bra and tossed it at him with venom. You exhaled and pushed down your panties as he hummed. It took all your strength and pride not to cover yourself and cower. He came up behind you and traced your shaped with his fingertips.

“Come on,” he gripped your waist and walked you around, only feet from Marcus as he stopped you in front of the ladder, “up.”

“What?” you grabbed the rungs as he urged you closer.

“Go up,” he repeated brusquely.

You climbed carefully and when you got to the top, he tickled the back of your thigh.

“Turn around, sweetheart, and take a seat,” he demanded.

You heard Marcus sob against the gag and you turned as you tried not to slip. You sat on the top of the ladder as you faced Clark and he grasped your knees. He pushed until you let him part your legs and you felt the cool air along your cunt. He bit tip of his tongue out and kneaded your thighs.

“I’ve been patient, I can keep on,” he taunted as he leaned in and his hot breath grazed your folds, “I want to savour this, sweetheart.”

He flicked his tongue along your cunt and you hissed and clung to the sides of the ladder. He pushed your legs back so that your feet hooked around the rungs and held your hips in place. You gasped at the sensation that steamed from your loins and bit your lip. 

You put your bent finger between your teeth and moaned. His tongue moved faster as if encouraged by your weak drawl and your heart fluttered wildly. You dropped your hand to your throat and the diamonds pressed to your palm. You gulped and leaned your head back as you tried to stifle a whine.

He kept more fervent with each lap, and you pushed your thighs against his face. You looked down without thinking and the height made you dizzy. You rasped and grabbed the back of his head as you feared you would fall. He growled and sucked on your clit. You groaned as your lungs burned and your eardrums pulsed. 

You panted as the flames licked at your flesh. You turned your head away from Marcus in shame as you felt the sudden peak rising. Your hand slipped down to grasp the back of Clark’s neck and you squirmed as you came into his mouth. He kept the pressure on your clit and teased it lightly with his teeth until your legs hung limp and slowly dragged his lips down your thigh, a trail of your arousal left along your skin.

“Mmm,” he stood and shoved his hand between your legs. He pushed a finger into you suddenly and the ladder teetered beneath you. He steadied it with his other hand and added another finger, “listen to her, Marcus. How could you let this go? Priceless.”

He pulled his fingers from your cunt and held them up so that they glistened in the light. He presented them to Marcus and raised them to his mouth to suck them clean. You grimaced and looked away once more.

“Sweetheart,” he turned back and kicked the bottom rung, “you can turn around.”

You blinked at him and swallowed. You trembled as you stood on a rung and he caught you before you could fall. He helped turn you around and placed your hands at the top of the ladder and he guided you to the bottom rung. You gripped it tightly as he groped your ass and smacked it several times so the sound reverberated. 

Your flesh stung as he pressed himself to your back and nuzzled your head. He gripped your hips and rubbed his thumbs along your hips. He pulled your waist back so you were bent slightly against the ladder. He pushed apart your ass as slid two fingers down to your cunt.

He ran his fingertips along your wet folds and unzipped his pants with his other hand. You quivered as he came flush against you and bent his knees as he prodded at you from below. His tip brushed along your entrance and he coated himself in your juices before he slid just inside.

You bent your head and gulped in air as he stretched you. You reached back as he pushed in another inch and you pressed your hand to his stomach blindly. He grabbed your hand and twisted your arm behind your back. He thrust into you completely and bent to whisper along the shell of your ear.

“Feel that,” he jerked his hips so that you cried out, “perfect fit.”

“Please…” you croaked.

“Please… more?” he mocked and drew his hips back, only to slam into you again.

“Nnngghhh,” you groaned and clung to the ladder as he rocked slowly.

“This is real art, Marcus,” Clark said as he ran his hands up your side and cupped your tits, “look at her… listen to her.”

“Pl--” you couldn’t speak as your walls tightened around him snugly, begging for more even as the strained around him.

“Mmmmm,” he kissed your neck and sent a shiver through you, “so sweet.”

He nibbled playfully then sank his teeth in as he sped up. He grunted and stood back as his hips clapped against your ass. His motion stuttered for just a moment and suddenly a loop of cloth fell over your head and around your neck. He pulled the tie until it was taut around your throat and wrapped the tails around his hand.

“Ah, look at her wearing her leash like a good kitten,” he purred, “my kitten.”

You shook your head and moaned through your clamped lips. Why did it have to feel so good?

He grabbed your chin with his other hand and turned your face towards Marcus. Your head lolled in his grip and your lashes fluttered as you saw the shadow of the man you loved. You couldn’t just let that go, not in a night. A tear trickled from your eye and leaked down the side of Clark’s hand.

He kept his hand firm around your jaw and his other arm swept around your waist. He lifted you from the ladder and you squeaked. He carried you to the chair, his cock buried as deep as it would go. He bent his legs as he placed you on the cushion and you latched onto the back as he began to fuck you again; harder, faster than before.

Your voice rang out as your groans grew almost to wails. All your anger and sadness bubbled over as the pleasure forced it from your lungs. You bared your teeth and blinked through the blur. Marcus shook his head as the stool wobbled beneath him. You hated him, you hated the man behind you. You hated that you were so stupid.

You came with a shrill cry and Clark dropped your head against the back of the chair. You hugged the upholstery and whimpered as he sped up. He lifted your legs off the seat as he rutted into you, his growls savage and carnal. Your nails dug into the fabric and you closed your eyes, surrendering to the swell of ecstasy.

He rammed into you so hard you were crushed against the seat. He supported himself against the arms of the chair as he pounded into you. He huffed and swore under his breath as you felt him quake and he spilled into you. You braced yourself, disgusted by him and how great it felt.

When he finished, he lingered inside you, his knee against the edge of the seat. He slid out of you slowly and his cum dripped out of you as you sat back to catch your breath, your arms shaky as you pushed away from the cushion. He went to the table where your paints were and he took a clean rag from the bunch to wipe himself. He whistled and caught his breath.

“Did you like the show?” he taunted Marcus and tossed the dirty cloth at him, “I sure did.”

Marcus grumbled through the gag and you backed off the chair. Your walls were tender and tingly, your legs trembling, and your soul racked with shock and spite. You could hardly see as the dim light made your head ache and you shook your head as you tried to escape the afterglow that drained the energy from you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her,” Clark continued, “I can give her anything she wants and what can you do, hmm?” 

You fell against the small square table and your hand scrambled for the dark pistol. You stood straight and turned to limp over towards the men. Clark’s back was to you as your heels knocked clumsily against the wood. As you neared, Marcus lifted his head and his brow wrinkled.

You aimed at Clark but before you could pull the trigger, his arm was around yours. He pushed the gun down and you fired into the floor. He overpowered you easily as his hand wrapped around yours and you fought for control of the gun. He chuckled darkly and forced your arm forward.

He pointed the barrel at Marcus as you tried to push it away and another shot went off and left your ears ringing. You screamed as you watched the blood spread across your boyfriend’s chest. Clark released you and you fell to the floor as the gun spun across the floor. 

You got to your knees and dragged yourself over to Marcus. You reached to touch his bleeding chest and more spread onto the gag shoved into his mouth. The red stained your hands and dripped down your arms as you rose to cradle his head and his breath rattled as you pulled the cloth from his mouth. His eyes rolled back and you felt the strength leave him entirely.

“No, no, no,” you grabbed his chin and smacked his cheek, “please, please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Marcus…”

You were yanked back suddenly and nearly fell over on the strappy heels. Clark spun you to face him and you hit his chest. You looked up at him as he pushed your face against him and embraced you. He hushed you as he pet your head.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s alright,” he cooed, “you won’t be alone.”

Tears flowed down your cheeks and choked you. You sniffled and shook your head as you pushed weakly against Clark, “you’re a monster.”

“You pulled the gun, sweetheart. We could’ve been done…” he snarled as he dragged you over to the window and spun you against the glass, “but the adrenaline always get my blood pumping.”

He pressed you to the glass as your hands streaked scarlet along the window. You heard his zipper again and in an instant, he was inside you. You were on the toes of the heels as he shook the glass and thrust into you deliberately. You leaned your forehead to the cold pane and stared out into the night, the metallic smell of blood tugging at your nostrils.

🎨

You didn’t sleep, you didn’t even lay down as Clark moved your body how he wanted. The water couldn’t be hot enough to scald away your guilt and the memories of a night that never ended. The afterglow of the shower and your night did little to ease the horror of your existence. You felt as if the blood still stained your hands as you buttoned up the borrowed shirt.

You went to the window of the spacious bedroom and looked out as you heard the voices below. The black plastic bags loaded into the back of an equally dark car. You sobbed and smothered it with the loose cuff of the shirt. That was how you said goodbye, watching the remnants of your boyfriend thrown away like trash.

“Sweetheart?” Clark’s voice set your hair on edge and you turned to face him, a towel hung loosely around his waist, “I know it’s hard now--”

“How can you be okay?” you edge away from him as he neared, “he’s dead. You shot him.”

“Wasn’t my finger on the trigger,” he planted his hand against the wall and blocked you with his arm, “you shouldn’t play with guns.”

You sniffed and mopped up the last of your tears. He was so callous, so calculating. It chilled you completely.

“Who are those men?”

“A few soldiers,” he said as he dropped his arm and grabbed your hand, “you look tired. You should sleep.”

“I can’t,” you tried to tug away but he kept a hold of you.

“Well, if you’ve still got the energy,” he pulled you against him and snaked his hands down to your ass.

“You’re horrible,” you uttered as you grasped his thick biceps.

“To some,” he bent so that his nose touched yours, “but I can be real good to you, sweetheart.”

You stared at him, worn and weak. He kissed you and you let him. Marcus was dead because of you. You thought he was the selfish one for wanting everything this man had, but hadn’t you wanted the same? You came here to paint because you wanted to get paid. You were no different and now he was gone and you were stuck exactly where you belonged. It was what you deserved.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he parted and turned you to walk you backwards to the bed, “you’re gonna need your sleep.”

He nudged you down onto the bed. He went to the window and drew the long drapes and the room dimmed. He swept away his towel and let it pile on the floor as he climbed up next to you and reclined with a sigh. You laid back on the pillow and looked up at your reflection in the mirror set into the ceiling.

“Now that is art,” he winked at your reflection as he reached to caress your cheek, “you’ll see it soon enough.”

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #fic #series #portrait of a dangerous man #dark fic #dark!fic #superman #dc #dcu #mob au #mob!au #au

[fuck-goes-on]

Carnage

pairing/s: NONE, because reader literally gets traumatised bc of marcus please-

summary: you work for a big name company as an assistant to the CEO. you work late on night and when you go to say farewell to your boss, you find something horrifying

warning/s: MAJOR GORE WARNING UNDER THE LINE! I REPEAT GORE AND BODY HORROR AHEAD OF YOU, violence, blood control/thirst, minor character death (you don't die dw), mentally unstable character, kidnapping, non-con themes, dark! marcus is a warning in and of himself

note/s: DARK MARCUS FIRST ONE SHOT LETS GOOOO manifesting more creative juices for dark marcus,, no cap this has done me good in terms of letting go negative emotions so HAHA we love that for me 😌✨i honestly dont know why it ended up with marcus kidnapping reader but here we are anyways

masterlist

You yawned into your hand as you type away information into your computer, slowly bopping your head left and right to the music in your earphones. It was nearing one o'clock in the morning and you were so close to finishing the files Mr. Howard forced you to digitise, making you work later than usual. You leaned back on your chair, stretching your legs out and your arms up, you decided to finish the rest of the files tomorrow and call it a night.

Packing your things up in your shoulder bag, you stand up from your desk and walk towards your boss' door. You knew he was still in his office, having seen him thirty minutes ago when he shoved more papers into your hands. Facing the door of Mr. Howard's office, you brought your hand up to knock on the wood. You waited a couple of seconds for his permission, and when there was no sound, you knocked once more.

It wasn't that your boss didn't like it when people came into his office without his permission, but it was that your boss didn't like it when people came into his office without his permission. You shrugged it off and thought Mr. Howard just fell asleep or didn't hear you, plus you weren't dumb enough to keep on knocking. As you were walking away, however, you heard a groan coming from inside the room.

“Mr. Howard? Sir?” You called out from the door. “Sir, are you alright? May I come in?” You knocked again, more urgently this time, thinking your boss wasn't feeling well. When he didn't answer, you cursed out loud, biting down on your lip and tapping your foot on the floor.

You shove the fuck you give to the rule away; If there was no boss, then there will be no employees, if there are no employees, then there is no company, and if there was no company, then there won't be any money for survival. With that logic in mind, you opened the door and stepped into the room.

And you screamed.

(GORE WARNING AGAIN)

There was blood splattered everywhere; The couch, the walls, the tables, the shelves- Fuck even on the ceiling?! Tiny chunks were sticking onto the surfaces and you wouldn't dare think of what it could be. As your eyes stared in the room in horror, you failed to notice the dark presence in the room.

The door slammed shut, your throat closed up, and you were thrown against the bloodied wall by an invisible force. Grasping at your neck, you tried to push away the pressure that forced your airway close, but nothing was physically holding you down.

Just as you thought you would pass out, the invisible grip around your throat loosened and you gasped shakily for air, dropping down on your knees and coughing roughly. You screamed once more when your body was dragged on the floor, your shirt and bag getting soaked in the blood puddles until your back hit a hard surface.

When you turn your head to look at what you bumped into, you fought the urge to throw up. It was Mr. Howard's body- or at least, it looked like Mr. Howard's body. The head was caved in, easily showing you the contents of his skull, and the limbs were just... in the wrong places. You didn’t like your boss, none of your coworkers did, but you wouldn’t ever wish this upon him.

You felt numb, you're mouth open in shock, your tears rolling down your bloodied cheeks, and your body in phantom pain as you continued to stare at the corpse in front of you.

A large, gloved hand grabbed your face to turn your eyes away from the scene. You gasped in fright as you see a broad man clad in all black, with a scarf hiding the lower half of his face, only showing his cold, brown eyes. Whimpering and crying, you struggled against him but the invisible force came back, more painful than earlier, and stopped you from moving.

“Do you know who this man is?” The dark man asked you, his voice, husky and deep, sent shivers down your spine. When you nod your head, he chuckled dryly, “Do you know who he truly is?” You shook your head, almost pleadingly. “He's a killer. He's a murderer. He killed my friend in cold blood and I came to pay him a visit. A well-deserved one, wouldn't you say?”

“P-P-Please, I-I just work f-for him here, I d-did-didn't know,” You begged, your hand coming up to grip this wrist. The man mockingly cooed at you, before slamming you into the front of your boss' desk.

“Listen to me very closely if you want to live,” He said slowly, enunciating every word to you. “You can either run away in fright, go to the nearest police station and turn this bloody scene in, have them arrest you because you're in a crazed state and there's not enough evidence that you saw me doing it.” You sobbed loudly, panic filling your chest as you tried to make sense of his words. “Or, you can come with me, I'll treat you better than this bastard ever did and you won't have to lift a finger ever again. Doesn't that sound appealing, dear?”

“I-I d-don't-”

“Shh, it's okay, dear. We both know what the better option is, right?” The man's eyes crinkled at the sides, most likely giving you a menacing smile underneath his scarf. He stroked your hair in a pitiful attempt to calm you down, but you flinch away from his touch, whimpering in fear. You froze in fright as he picked you up from the floor, and used the private elevator your boss had in his office to go to the ground floor. The dark man pulled down his scarf to reveal his face, and it was the last thing you saw before passing out from shock.

“That’s it, dear, get some rest. You’ll need it once I bring you home.”

--

dark! marcus tag: @pedrocentric​

#please heed the tags #thank you and youre welcome #HHHHH this was wild hot damn #not kidding i feel lighter now since i wrote this #had a lot of bad shit going through my brain and this helped a lot #NJNFSKJNKDJ #dark! marcus moreno #marcus moreno #gn!reader #we can be heroes #tw gore #tw blood #tw body horror #tw violence #tw: death #tw kidnapping #tw noncon #hot damn thats a lot of tw

[foronceleavemealone]

Gee, I hope you’re ok

A/N: Again, not very happy with this one. I just wanted to write something for Marcus. I hope someone noticed the sort of pun in the title. But I do strongly recommend seeking medical help if you have any of the symptoms mentioned. I hope this is ok and enjoyable. I apologise for any mistakes

Summary: OC has an intense day and Marcus is there to check up on her.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x OFC (can be read as an insert)

Warnings: metions of vomiting, blood, probably medical inaccuracies, medical tests, fear of death

————————————

She splashed some cold water on her face and grabbed the edge of the sink counter. She stared into her own reflection in the bathroom mirror. Eyes a bit red, not too badly, but you could tell that she either didn’t sleep that well or had a bit of a crying session. The bags under her eyes a little bit more intense than usual. Lips slightly beginning to chap. She stared at herself for a good minute, hands holding the edge of the sink counter so firmly that they began to tremble, knuckles going white. She lowered her head and took a deep breath letting go of the counter. 

She always thought of herself as independent and strong-willed. There were things she had feared in her life, but all of them were met with rationality and the need to improve. But this, this situation felt different. She had not been feeling well for a while. At first she thought that it was simply indigestion from food poisoning, then that it was just stress induced indigestion that would pass. But the longer it went on the worse it got. She started feeling pain in the epigastric region and would be tormented by the urge vomit or vomiting itself. And finally yesterday evening she found blood in her stomach contents. Not a lot, but any amount of blood seemed like the wrong amount of blood to her. She called her her doctor and was told to come in for some tests the next thing in the morning. 

She got ready hands still trembling a little bit. All of the possibilities that she knew of ran through her mind and she almost started crying. For once she wished someone was with her, for once she did curse at her need for independence. 

She calmed herself a little bit when she got outside and took a breath of fresh air. On her way to the hospital she started feeling guilty for missing work. She called in sick and told her boss what was going on, she also texted her partner Marcus to tell him she wasn’t going to tag along the interrogations. He seemed very concerned when he called her early in the morning, asking if she needed any help, if she was feeling ok, questioning the system for making her wait that long, practically begging her to update him when she had the opportunity. Of course she said she’d manage everything on her own and that everything was fine and that she would update him whenever she could. ‘What was I thinking’ she cursed at herself as she headed to the doctor’s office. 

————————————

She felt tired as she got back home. It was the evening and she had not eaten anything all day. Partialy because of the tests she needed to get, partialy because she felt sick. She sat on her couch and rubbed her eyes. She heard her phone vibrate and picked it up. She saw multiple missed calls and tons of texts from Marcus.

‘I really hope you’re ok. Please text me when you get the chance’  read the latest text. 

She felt guilt wash over for the second time that day. She promised she would update him, but forgot. She wrote a small paragraph apologising, telling him that she got home safe and that she’s fine. 

She decided to take a shower and camp out in the living room watching TV. 

————————————

She stepped out of the shower and looked at herself in the mirror the same way she did in the morning. Eyes still a bit red, under eye bags still presents, more than ever, lips surprisingly not as chapped as she thought they would be.

She was staring at herself intensly when she heard the doorbell ring. She quickly put on her robe and went to see who it was. She looked through the spyhole and was surprised to see her partner standing there with some sort of bag in his hands. She speedily opened there door.

“Hey, Marcus. What are you doing here?” she said with a smile forming. She did feel glad to see at least one nice familiar face after such a day.

“Hi. I just brought you some chicken noodle soup, I thought maybe it would make you feel..better.” He eyed her up and down. “Sorry, were you already going to bed?”

“Oh no,” she realised she was standing in front of him with nothing but a robe on “I just took a shower. Come on in” she step to the side making room for him to come inside.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to disturb you, I just wanted to see if you were ok and bring you some food” he said hesitating to step into her home.

“Of course I’m sure. Just get comfy in the living room or the kitchen and I’m going to...get changed.” 

————————————

She did feel a bit embarrassed that her partner saw her like that. Sure they’ve been through thick and thin, and they’ve seen each other in all kinds of circumstances, but this felt different. She was practically flashing him. She brushed off these thoughts, got changed and went back to find Marcus sitting on the living room couch with a few containers, of what she figured was food, sitting on the table.

“Hey you” he noticed her and scooched over.

She sat right next to him. 

“I have some spoons somewhere in here,” Marcus said looking through the same bag he came in with. 

“I’m not really that hungry.” 

He looked at her with concern and (what she figured) pity on his face. 

“Do you still feel sick?” he turned to fully face her.

“Yeah, a little bit” she said with an empty stare at the ground.

“Did they find something... bad?” he gulped.

“It could be worse. It’s just gastritis, and well my esophagus is inflammed too. They found an ulcer during the endoscopy, but they treated it. So now I just have to take some meds and after a while I should be fine” 

“Sounds intense” he paused trying to take everything in. It did seem like a lot to him. “But I’m glad that you’re going to be ok” he put his hand on her knee and caressed it.

She felt warmth wash over her body. His touches always seemed to do that to her. 

“I’m sorry I left the interrogations all to you,” she put her hand on his. Despite the warmth she felt from his touch her skin was cold.

“Are you joking? You’re sick, you have nothing to apologise for. Your health matters a lot more than any kind of work. Besides, you didn’t miss out on anything spectacular, we didn’t pin anyone to the case.” he took her hand into his trying to warm it up a little bit.

She let her guard down. She would have tried to somehow get out of the hand holding situation since it made her more flustered than she would have wanted, but this time she didn’t fight it. It did feel nice to get some warmth after such a day. 

“Thank you for checking up on me” she got a bit closer to him. 

“Anytime. I do care about you. A lot actually” Marcus smiled and blushed a little bit caressing her now warm hand.

They looked up at each other. 

Marcus felt relief that she was ok, safe and sound. He did come over not only to simply check up on her, but also because he missed her. Without her the office seemed just empty and all kinds of wrong. He could not focus the whole day, checking his phone to see if she had left him a message or if he had missed any calls. 

She felt a sense of calmness. She felt so scared the whole day, fearing for her life, all alone. But now she was with him, with Marcus, who made her heart race a bit faster, her smile a little bit bigger, her day a whole lot better. 

“Could you... stay a little bit longer?” she said with tears suddenly welling up in her eyes.

He furrowed his eyebrows a bit out of concern.

“Of course I can. Is everything ok?” he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I just..” she didn’t know what exactly she was doing or saying “I felt so terrified. And...alone.” It felt like all of the built up tension of the day’s events finally caught up to her and she let out a sob.

His heart broke into so many pieces seeing her cry. He leaned over and hugged her. 

“You always seem so strong... you always take things on on your own. I don’t want you to endure pain by yourself,” he said and caressed her back a little bit. “ It’s ok. It’s ok.”

She let out a few more sobs into Marcus’ chest. He felt so upset, so upset that he didn’t help her. His eyes also filled with tears, but he held them off when she pulled away a bit. 

“I’m sorry I...”

“You don’t need to apologise for anything” Marcus cupped her face rubbing small circles with his thumbs on her cheeks. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Everything’s ok”

She felt comfort in his eyes, in his touch, in his kiss. A tiny smile formed on her face as she found his hands and gave them a small squeez of thankfulness.

“You know, I think I saw they were showing reruns of some old movies” she pointed at the TV.

“Oh, you know they’re my favourite” Marcus said as his eye lit up from her words.

She grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, finding the channel that was showing Roman Holiday. They both got comfortable on the couch. And she didn’t even notice how she leaned over to rest her head on Marcus’ shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her.

“Thank you, Marcus” she patted his thigh. 

“Always,” Marcus found her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers and gave her a little squeeze. “Always.”

#Marcus Pike x OC #Marcus Pike x reader #the mentalist #Marcus Pike #Pedro Pascal #fanfic

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

LOSE TO WIN.

Che “Taza” Romero x reader

Anon asked: Hey! Could you do a Taza x Reader, where he is kind of quiet around the reader after what happened to Riz and the reader somehow understand what he have done and she confronts him, but she says that she still loves him anyway?

Word Count: 2.4k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author Comments: As I explained, this is kinda painful to me. I've never been so in love with a TV show, nor with a character as I am with Riz. This imagine is somewhat random, writed in first person as I think I would have lived it, more or less. So, take it as it's a piece of me and enjoy. Gif credit: @angels-reyes.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​ @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcro-jnt @jade770 @losolvidad0s @arved ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

I’ve held his hand, since the doctors said that we could see him. I was constantly sitting by the left side of the bed, with my fingers tangled with his. And every time it came somewhat cold, I grabbed it with mine to raised it so I could give it some warmth with my breath. The surgery was good, better than expected, but I was unable to leave him for a single second. I didn’t even notice who more was in the room with me, I was so focused and so obsessed controlling his breathing, that the time was something relative. And I’ll blame myself all my life for leaving him alone the moment he stopped fighting. Yes, Taza was with him, but I wasn’t. He stopped fighting when I was no longer there. It was just a minute. A hallway. I was falling asleep and I needed a coffee. When I came back, his soul was already gone and so did a piece of my heart. Che held me before I could even fall, after the doctors said his lungs had failed. Taza has always been my anchor, since I met him when I was almost twelve years old, but he couldn't even keep me from sinking.

━━━━━━ ﹅ ━━━━━━

I was sitting outside of the clubhouse in a picnic table. There was no noise more than some crickets grilling. I was wearing his kutte without believing that he wasn’t gonna appear with his bike, complaining about whatever shit he saw on the road, before hugging me as he used to do. Raising my eyes to the sky and having a sip of my beer, I couldn't help but thinking about the first time I saw him. It was nine years ago at Stockton, when my uncle decided to open a new Mayans’ subsidiary. The southern Cali at Santo Padre. Marcus made somewhat like a party to celebrate with the Sons of Anarchy and my father brought me there. I was sitting alone, just like I’m right now. I was almost twenty years old and I didn’t know half the shit I know now. Yes, I wasn’t stupid. The motorbikes, the guns, the travels. I didn’t need to be a genius to know what my family used to do. A mexican with short and black hair sat next to me, offering me a tequila shot to greet with him.

“Por la familia”. (For the family). He said before drinking his, so I did. “I’m Michael, but everyone calls me ‘Riz’”.

“Well, everyone calls me ‘shit, kid, you did it again?’

He laughed with some kind of naturality and purity that I’ve never heard it before. It was a warm and nearby laugh, as my father’s. I don’t even know how I can explain it. It something that you really need to hear to feel it as I did. He was my first friend, because he wanted, and not because he was scared of who my family was. Through the years he became my family too. We spent a lot of time together, doing everything or doing nothing. Not even our silences were uncomfortable, we enjoyed each other's company, without more. It’s been just one day and I kept looking my phone, waiting for a call or a text that woke me up of this nightmare. But the only thing that pushed me back to reality it was the crew’s motorbikes roaring full of rage. I practically jumped off of the table, throwing away the beer before my father could lead the march. The main door was closed and they were waiting for me to open it, standing there with my arms crossed on the chest.

“I’m going”. I was determined like never in my life and no one would change my mind.

“Open the door and stay here”. My father just said.

“I’m going”. In case he didn’t hear me, I repeated it.

“It’s a risk I’m not gonna take. Don’t argue with m—”.

“He lost a battle ‘cause ‘Los Vatos. And I’m gonna defend his honor at war!” I interrupted him, yelling at my father as I never did it before. I had too much contained inside me, squeezing my heart till make me cry blood tears. “You can’t… put me aside, dad. Not tonight”.

My father shook his head sighing and rubbing his face, after some seconds seeming thoughtful, before finally nodding. I looked at the rest of the faces, they agreed too. Riz was my family, and he will always be even if his body isn’t present. So I ran to his motorbike, taking off the keys from the chest’ pocket. I had ridden it before but that time, when I turned on the engine, was pretty different.

━━━━━━ ﹅ ━━━━━━

It’s been a month since the funeral and sometimes looks like nothing had changed. Nothing but the way Taza used to treat me. He became somewhat cold, he turned away from me. Maybe I was so focused in my pain, that I didn't see his. I tried hard to talk with him, wanting to know how he felt, but he never did it back. No answer at any question I made. And I was falling into a black hole, into a loop. I wasn't capable of getting up from bed some mornings and I needed him as never before. I really needed him. Taza was always by my side, at the bad and at the good. But now, he was like a ghost. Running away from me. It was like if another piece of my heart was breaking. Till I had the enough strength to stop it, when my father told me that Che was leaving the Mayans. I lost Riz. So losing him too wasn't an option.

I drove the road to the ranch by heart, in the cold darkness of the night. I was decided to bring him back by my side and I didn't care what it might cost me. I was, and I am, surrounded by people that loved me without any doubt but no one like him. He taught me many of the things I know today. He covered me every time I fucked up things. He picked me up every night I called him drunk, being afraid of going home so my father could see me in that kind of condition. He cleaned my tears and cheered my smiles. I took care of his wounds, of his doubts, of his fears. I took care of his house and his car. I took care of him whenever he was sick or lost. We were made for each other. Again, losing him it wasn't an option.

Turning off my motorbike and taking off the helmet to leave it over the leather seat, I walked straight to the front red door. The light outside, in the porch, was on so he was at home. I had a copy of the keys, but I didn't want to burden him. After knocking the door with the knuckles, I waited there for some long minutes. It was cold outside and I started to freeze, when I called again using the door-bell. I could hear his steps coming, stopping for some seconds on the other side. 

“Please, don' leave me”. I begged, knowing that he didn't want to let me in for some reason I couldn't understand, containing the tears that were claiming to fall down. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry for closing myself, for not talking to you at the beginning. I know I don' have any excuse, that I can't simply say ‘I did it with everyone’, 'cause you know you're not in that bag. You've been always the exception that proves the rule. And I love you, Che... You know that I do”.

It was the first time I said that. To him. I didn't say that to anyone that it wasn't my father, nor my uncle. But I really felt that shit. The same one that was taking away what little life I had left. When the door got opened, my heart jumped raising my eyes to the reddened ones. He look as bad as I was. I couldn't help but hugging him, surrounding him with my arms, while he was pushing me inside the house so he could close the door. I've never been a lot of affective, always respecting my own personal space. But with him was different. His arms around me were like a indestructible fortress, protecting me from the world and its evil. He was the air I needed to breathe whenever I felt I was drowning myself. And sometimes, this fact was a problem.

“This is my fault”. He whispered with his voice breaking somewhat more as he uttered each word.

“No, it wasn't, Che. It wasn't. They did wrong every thing they considered it was well done”. I tried to comfort him. I didn't know why he was blaming himself. Riz stopped his shots. Is what I have would done. And that wasn't his fault either.

“You don' understand… Riz is dead because of me”.

“No, it's not!” I was nervous, out of me, pulling him away so I could be able to support his cheeks between my hands. Seeing him cry like a heartbroken child was more painful that I could imagine, oppressing my chest as I was thinking that I never asked how he was.

“His lungs… His lungs didn't failed because of the shots, but because of me”.

My hands fell down, as my eyes got opened more than normally. Twisting my head like a dog does when he's confused, I walked a few steps back. Taza rested his body against the closest wall, crawling down till finding the floor with his knees curled to his chest. He was crying desperately, unable to look at me. Then I started to think about that night. No. It wasn't a coincidence that Riz and him were alone when he left us. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe that that poisoned words were true. Everything was crumbling around me, breaking with the same facility as a wet paper does between my fingers. The tears was running through my cheeks with my gaze on nowhere.

“Los Vatos… That trash should disappear, after all the damage he made to… innocent people that only wanted to have a better life”. He sob cleaning his eyes with a forearm. “I knew that your father wouldn't do anythin', and I knew that Riz was suffering… The surgery went well, but… doctors said that maybe he never could get out of the coma… He was my friend too. My br—brother. What could I do?”

Even if I wanted to punch him till death, I couldn't help but see the sense of his words. I was feeling his pain, his grief, his misery. I was so stubborn trying to save Riz, that I forgot him. He was carrying it over his shoulders all this time. And, no. He hadn't any excuse. He killed Michael. He never gave the benefit of the doubt. And it was dolorous when I found myself being unable to hate him.

“How you feel is my fault... Because of me. Because I didn't think in Riz, neither in you. I couldn' look you in… the face. So I thought it could be easy pull you away. Leave Santo Padre and come back to Arizona. But I can't… Shit… I can't”. He turned towards me, with his head supported against the wall. “Tell me you love me again… please”.

The anxiety was consuming me like a thick liquid clotting my blood, flooding my throat, my lungs, my stomach. It was like I was dying slowly, because I still loved him. Knowing that he killed my best friend, I still loved him. Unconditionally. I walked next to him, even if my brain was not sending any command to my legs, nor my body in general. I knelt down. In front of him. And I kissed him. Feeling like Judas, betraying Riz, I kissed him. Taza wasn't expecting it, neither did I. It was confusing. Every inch of my skin bristling as his tears met mine on our dry lips. When he gave me some space between his legs, surrounding me with his arms, it was like I forgot how to kiss, how to breath, how to live. Again without being conscious, my hands went to his nape. I just wanted to feel him close to me, almost lying on him, falling apart because of his fault.

“Tell me you love me again”. He begged me hopeless with his hands on my neck, keeping my gaze with the same darkness in them.

Life isn't fair. When you're part of something like Mayans, yes, everything at the end is about family, but sometimes there are collateral damage that you, nor anyone can't avoid. And that was Riz became. Sometimes you have to lose to win. A part of myself, to end human trafficking. And even if I wanted to hate him with all my efforts, I couldn't. And that made me hate myself so much. But I was seeing why he did it. It was a payback that, sooner or later, had to happen. 

“I do”. I just said. “I love you, Che”.

His cry got louder with his forehead on mine when he heard me. I knew that he was suffering more than anyone around us and I had to save him, of one way or another, so that Riz wouldn't have died in vain.

“But you can't go”. I sat down between his legs, holding him as he was doing with his face sinked in my neck and one of my hands on his head. My fingers got tangled in his hair, pushing him somewhat closer. The agony was oppressing us, knowing that we should live with that secret anchored in our hearts. But, what else we could do? Keep fighting for a cause. “Stay with me. We have so much road to ride. Don' let Michael die for anything”.

“I'm so sorry”. He said with all the sincerity I could felt in him. 

“I know. But we're together, you hear me?”

#mayans mc #mayans mc x reader #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #che taza romero x reader #taza romero x reader #taza romero #taza romero imagine #michael riz ariza x reader #riz ariza #michael riz ariza #riz ariza x reader

[storytellerssanctum]

Petals & Thorns - chapter 10/?

Pairing: Fred Weasley x oc

Warnings: heavy mentions of abuse

Word count: 2.6k

SONG OF THE CHAPTER - take me to church • hoizer

"You are pathetic!" His words hit her hard. She quivered at the sound. Not once in her life had she ever been called that. "You were the one who wanted to fix this, yet you continue to be the problem!" The echoes bounced off the astronomy tower walls. This is where they came to fight. It was secluded, so nobody would hear. Not many people travelled up to that part of the castle. She cowered at his raised hand as he shouted. "All I do is cater to you, love you, and you can't even show a bit of respect to me." His volume lowered as he finished.

"Adrian, if you'd let me explain-"

"You don't have to explain anything! I know exactly what kind of person you are. As soon as I turn my back, you're all over Marcus like he's the one who has to put up with you all of the time!" Tears had fallen down her face, but not at his anger. They were tears of pain at the belittlement she was feeling. Adalinda had never felt as small as she did in that moment. She was shivering in fear. "And you're sitting here crying like you're the victim!"

"I wasn't 'all over' Marcus! I was helping him with his homework!" She raised herself, finding a power to fight back. She would not stand and be punished by a man with no power. "You just can't stand the thought of me talking to another boy!" A slap sounded in the room. It was so powerful it knocked her off her feet, but her physical shock could not match the mental stun it gave her. She was on the floor, placing gentle fingers to her sensitive cheek. She could taste blood in her mouth. It was like everything in the room froze. As soon as his hand came in contact with her, she could only think of the gentle touch of Fred Weasley. She thought about how he never could even dream of laying an angry hand on her.

"Adalinda, I am so, so sorry." Adrian was down by her side within seconds. She stared blankly past him, looking at a wall on the other side of the room. She picked a focal point so she wouldn't cry any more than she already had. "I didn't mean to, it was a mistake." He pleaded, trying to get her attention. Her ears were abuzz with ringing. Her face ached. "I love you, and I would never want to hurt you. I didn't mean to." He repeated himself. Her eyes left the far wall and settled on his face. "I was angry and I let myself slip."

"Do you have any idea what you've just done?" She whispered. He could barely hear the words.

"Please, Addy. I didn't mean to do that. My temper got the best of me, I swear it'll never happen again." She was choked up. Her words were caught in her throat. She had so much she wanted to say, but no energy to speak them. How would she hide the mark on her face? Makeup only went so far. She wanted to run, to turn around and never speak to him again. She wanted to hit back, to draw her wand on him. She did none of these things.  "Talk to me, please." He begged. She wasn't angry. She felt an enveloping feeling of numbness. Her cheek throbbed as she sat.

"I don't have anything to say."

"Yell at me, cry, do something!" He was frantic. He was only afraid of Adalinda when she was quiet. She wanted to do this, but she sat still instead. Her fathers booming voice sounded in her ears. The lectures of how she needed to be with Adrian, how she had to love him despite her true feelings. She wasn't sure how much longer she could pretend. This had been the first time he hit her, but she was positive it wouldn't be the last.

"I want to forget it happened." She said, finally.

"Are... are you breaking up with me?" He had tears in his eyes now. She clenched her teeth at the sound of the question. She didn't answer. "Addy, please." He took her hands into his own. They were still crowded together on the floor.

"No," She said, her tone hard. "But I want you to leave me alone for the rest of the day." She ordered.

"Please, Ad, I'll do anything to make it up to you."

"Then leave me be for right now." She snapped.

"Can I kiss you?" He asked, a tear falling from his eyes. She still had to stay with him. As bad she wanted to leave, to turn away from him, she was stuck worshiping him and all of his lies at the hands of tradition. She felt like she was losing her religion by simply looking at him. Still, she gave him a bleak nod. He pressed his mouth to her bloodstained lips. The act held no love. It was merely a contact of skin. When he pulled away, she didn't meet his eyes. It would have hurt her further, knowing she couldn't look up to see Fred's eyes. She was in pain and she wanted him there to help, to make her feel better. Instead, she was stuck in a room with a venomous excuse for a boy. "I'll see you later?" He asked, hopefully. She nodded once more, and he left her there. She sat on the floor for a period of mourning. She grieved the fact she would never be able to experience true happiness. The glimpses she caught with Fred were fading away at the hands of the abuse she was enduring.

It was a mental torture to be in a relationship with Adrian. She knew with him in her life, she'd never have a worthwhile existence. She wanted to let him go, to embrace the relationship that was blossoming between her and Fred. If she did so, things would be worse than they were now. She was staying in her position to protect who she really cared for. When she was sure he was gone for good, she pulled her knees to her chest, letting out a wail of agony. She felt like her life was falling apart. She rested her forehead on her legs as she let her tears flow. She wasn't afraid of anyone catching her crying. They'd find out what had happened in this room in the days to come. If she couldn't cover the purple marks on her face, everyone would see what was happening behind closed doors.

Footsteps creaked up the stairs. She didn't bother looking over to the door, afraid she would catch the eyes of her boyfriend. "Addy?" The person called. "Addy, what happened?" Her brother rushed to her side, kneeling before her. Draco had never seen her cry before. Maybe once when they were much younger, or a single tear every now and again, but she often didn't. Never like this, at least. He'd seen Adrian tumble from the bottom of the tower looking distraught. He figured she would be up here, and he was worried about what might have been wrong. Her words from the Yule Ball still pounded against his skull. She could only cry. She didn't have any words to answer him, so she replied with a sob. Draco couldn't see her expression. He couldn't see what secrets her face held. "Addy, please." He placed a hand on her back. He was terrified of how she was acting. He could handle her rage, her quiet anger, but this? He had no idea what to do. She sniffled and lifted her head, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

She didn't speak, she only turned to look at her sibling. What he saw caused a rage to bubble inside of him. Her lips were chapped, stained red. Her eyes were puffy and irritated. Her cheek was swollen and littered with an angry handprint. "He did this to you?" He asked softly, reaching out to push her hair from her face. "I'll kill him."

"No," she croaked. "You can't do anything to him. Dad will kill you." Another tear fell from her eye at the thought.

"I don't care what our father has to say, you don't deserve to be treated like this. Our father won't stand for it, either. He wants you to marry someone with pure blood, not someone who harms you. It doesn't matter how pure Adrian's blood is, this just isn't right." He sneered at the thought. Since the ball, the two siblings had grown closer. Not enough to talk every day, but enough to stop insulting each other. Draco was concerned after what she shared with him, and he was beginning to understand her situation after he saw the glances she stole from the Weasley boy.

"Draco, you can't." She let out another sob.

"Did he find out about Fred?" He asked. Her blood ran cold.

"Did he find you about what?" She asked, shrilly. The tears had stopped at his question, and she was trying to put on an angry mask. She wasn't sure what he meant.

"I know, Addy." He paused. "I see the looks, I see you disappearing without explanation. I saw him run after you when you left the ball. You've been different this year, ever since the night they announced the champions. I thought it was something else, but after a while I could figure it out. You're not being nice because you had a sudden change of heart. You're being nice because somebody is showing you true love and kindness." He whispered, wiping another tear from her face. She didn't believe he'd be the first one to figure it out. She didn't think he was smart enough. "I get it. I don't condone it, but if he treats you well, I can accept it. You deserve everything in the world after what Adrian's putting you through. As much as I hate to admit it, you'll never find a pure-blood wizard that would make you that happy." He kissed her forehead. "You're not as hard as you look. You crave a better life than the one our parents have given us." Her lip quivered at his words. "I want you to be happy. You are my sister. I won't tell dad, or mom. I promise. I'll take it to my grave."

"Draco, nobody can know." She cried, panic seeping into her. "If anyone finds out, we're both dead." She informed him. "Adrian was mad about something else, not that."

"I know. That's why I haven't said anything. I'm not doing it for him, I'm doing it for you." He pulled her into an embrace. He was talking about both situations. He was afraid to mention anything about what had happened that day, because he wasn't sure how badly it would affect her life. On her behalf, his mouth would stay shut. "You have to leave Adrian. He'll only do it again." Draco took his sisters good cheek in his hand.

"I can't do that. I've already told mom about how he's been treating me. They don't care. They just care about making The Dark Lord happy."

"I care, Adalinda. I care." He paused. "You can fake a relationship with anyone, it doesn't have to be with an abuser."

"Dad told me I had to be with Adrian for when he's resurrected. If I'm not, I'll be punished." Her brothers heart broke. He didn't know what to say. Instead, he pulled her into a hug.

"Come here," he pulled her into his chest. "We'll figure this out." The blue sky fell into a dark purple as the time passed. He held her there in comfort as she cried. The girl was terrified at the mess she found herself in. For once in her life, her brother was giving her a comfort nobody else could: acceptance. She expected him to yell, to disown her when he found out the truth. Instead, he was looking at it from her perspective. He knew deep down that she didn't have the morals her family stood for. When she said a racist slur, she tried to cover the hurt in her eyes with anger. She just wanted to live up to Lucius and Narcissa's standards, but she didn't have a cold heart. This year, she proved it. With the impending arrival of Voldemort, she was frantic enough to do anything to keep her true feelings a secret. She hid them well until the Gryffindor boy showed her a new world.

She sat in silence, tears falling from her eyes. The shock had worn off and now she was aching and tired. She wanted to go to sleep, to forget about everything that had happened that day. "Maybe we should get you back to the common room." Draco whispered. She gave a bleak nod. She messed with her hair so it would cover her injury, and let her brother lead her downstairs. They stopped at the bathrooms to give her a chance to wash her face and rinse her mouth. She took a long look at herself in the mirror as she did so. Her heart broke at the sight staring back at her. Not once had she ever felt so powerless, completely stripped of her name. Being with Adrian made her feel like she wasn't a Malfoy, like she didn't belong in the family.

Draco could hear her cries from inside the bathroom. Anger rose in his chest; he had no idea what to do. He wanted to hurt her boyfriend, to make him pay for what he'd done to his sister; she didn't want him to. She didn't want to risk anyone knowing she was vulnerable. She believed it would ruin her reputation if everyone knew she let someone throw her around like he did. She was scared it would make people less fearful of her and more curious. She wasn't involved in a good situation for people to be curious. Still, he wanted his sister to feel safe and protected. He didn't want her to be afraid all of the time, and he didn't want her to think Adrian could get away with what he was doing. She was scared if she let go of Adrian, her relationship with Fred may be easier to figure out, but Draco didn't care. He wanted Adrian to regret ever laying a hand on his older sister.

As Draco stood, he heard a chorus of laughter pop around the corner. He knew exactly who it belonged to. Fred Weasley and his twin brother. As they walked towards him, they gave him a snide look, expecting Draco to make a remark on their behalf. "What's this now, Snape appoint you to be the official body guard for the girls toilets?" One of the two laughed, he didn't care enough to tell which one it came from. The two chortled at their own joke, but cut themselves short when another wail of agony sounded from inside the washroom. Fred shot Draco a warning look.

"This is none of your business, Weasley." Draco shook his head, slowly. George ushered his brother away, but Fred looked back and caught the Slytherin's eyes. He wanted to know if it was Addy in the bathroom. When the ginger refused to break the glance, the girls brother nodded. Fred didn't know Draco knew about their relationship, but nearly everyone in the school knew Fred fancied her. The sixth year hoped Draco thought it was his crush giving him the sudden curiosity. A look of pain washed over his face as he saw the bleak head movement, but he had to let George carry him away. Fred knew he would ruin the charade if he ran into the bathroom to hold her, to take the pain away, so he walked the other way.

Tags: @play-morezeppelin

#harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #fred #fred and george #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x oc #fred weasley story #fred weasley imagine #george weasley #petals and thorns #chapter 10 #harry potter imagine #harry potter fic #draco malfoy #lucius malfoy #narcissa malfoy #bellatrix lestrange #malfoy family #malfoy #love story #writing #mine #written #tw abuse

[silverynight]

The fire call

There's chaos around him; Newt walks right under the five dragons that have recently escaped from enclosure. They're flying over Central Park, confused and scared while wizards and muggles have started screaming because they can't see they're not in danger, they're not the ones who have suffered.

Members of MACUSA are having a very hard time finding and obliviating all muggles in the zone. Picquery is desperate; she called Newt early that day, telling him he just needed to help the wizard of the enclosure to get the creatures back.

But dragons, especially Ironbellies like those, they're not creatures to be kept inside an enclosure, they're born to be free and happy.

"I get to decide if they stay or not," Newt had told her furiously. And Picquery, President of MACUSA, had no other choice but to comply.

Newt stops right in the middle of the circle they're doing in the sky, they're not that high so he can perfectly see the grey-silver color of their wings, the long talons and rough scales that are very distinctive of the species.

Percival and Theseus stand right next to him, both of them with concern all written over their faces.

"I'm afraid you need to get far from here, by the way the Ironbellies are flying, they're very confused and your presence is definitely not going to help at all," Newt says, not even surprised by the way Percival narrows his eyes.

"You could get hurt," he finally blurts out, not taking his eyes away from Newt's.

The magizoologist smiles kindly, wrapping his arms around the Director's neck. He gives him a kiss on the lips that the other returns with enthusiasm.

"I'll be fine," he assures and adds, when he sees Percival trying to protest: "Trust me."

The Director finally gives in and takes several steps back, not as much as Newt would want him to, but enough for the Ironbellies to be comfortable if they decide to join Newt.

Theseus is so much worse. He has taken Newt's hand in his and has intertwined their fingers together in a way that looks like he's not planning on letting go anytime soon.

He's staring right at him with the same expression of fear he looked at him years ago. That day Newt had just wanted to see the new hippogriffs their mother was breeding and Theseus went with him. It was late and Newt was so excited he ran towards them, ignoring his brother's warning.

One of the new ones, an hippogriff that was not used to Newt, got startled and hit him on the chest. He still remembers Theseus sobs right above his curls, as he tried to cure his wounds, blood still coming from his chest.

He can almost feel what his brother is thinking at the moment as he pulls Newt into his arms; that hippogriff could have never hurt him seriously at the moment, it was just a mere scratch. Right now though there's a couple of dragons that could get upset, scared, angry and they could make Newt disappear into a cloud of flames in an instant.

"Please, little one," Theseus begs over his shoulder. "Don't make me watch."

Newt cups his face in his hands and kisses him on the forehead.

"Watch what? As I free these beautiful creatures?" He smiles and counts it as a win when his brother's lips quirk up a little bit. "Nothing is gonna happen to me. I know what I'm doing."

Theseus sighs, nodding at Newt's determined look; reluctantly he lets his baby brother go and walks away, stopping not much farther from Percival.

Finally, Newt looks up and grins as the wind, made by the dragons' wings, plays with his hair and coat. Then, he notices the blue line on one of the Ironbellies' tail.

It's Lily and next to her Henry, Clara, Marcus and Gregory; they're his dragons, the ones he met in the war, the same he thought he was never going to see again.

Newt points his wand at the sky and three beautiful spirals of fire spread up as he calls all of their names.

He hears the happy roars in response and watches as they land, one by one around him; the ground trembles as it usually does when an earthquake happens. Newt can actually feel his aurors staring worriedly at his back.

"I'm fine!" He has to put his wand on his throat to get heard over the excited purrs coming from the Ironbellies as they try to nuzzle him.

Although his words are not enough for Theseus, not even for Percival. He knows they would gladly run towards him, risking their lives in the process, if they weren't afraid of Newt getting hurt.

"Yes, I'm very happy to see you too, Lily," he chuckles, stroking her muzzle. Marcus gets a little bit jealous and pushes Newt lightly, almost playfully to get his attention. "Now don't be like that and let the others get closer too."

Henry is uncharacteristically shy that day though, he hasn't approached Newt yet and he's getting the impression that the dragon is reluctant to look at him.

"What is it, Henry? Are you okay?" He reaches out, voice soft and kind. Finally, encouraged by Lily, the Ironbelly gets closer and that's when Newt finally sees it, there's a scar on his left eye, which is completely white, no pupil or iris left. The dragon gets down, enough for Newt to inspect the old wound; it's not something dragons get when they fight each other, no, this one has been made with magic.

As tears slowly fall down his cheeks, Newt curses himself for not noticing before. Henry sees his distress immediately and tries to comfort him by nuzzling against his side.

"It's okay," he smiles at them. "I'm fine. And you'll be too. No one's gonna hurt you anymore."

"Is everything okay, little one?" Comes Theseus scared voice and Newt notices that Percival has just grabbed his brother by arm, stopping him from getting too close.

"Don't worry," he tells them. Although he knows they're both dying to approach him.

"Picquery was right, you're really good at this," a new voice comments.

Lily hisses at the wizard, fear and anger in her eyes as the man stops, suddenly nervous. It's enough for Newt to know what he is, what he has done and that horrible emotion bubbles inside him like fire, making him narrow his eyes.

Percival and Theseus tense.

"She said you'd help me to get them back," the wizard says.

"I won't," Newt replies, trying to control his emotions. "I'm gonna take them to a safe place."

The man bares his teeth at him, but he doesn't move; Theseus and Percival are close and Newt knows that coward wouldn't go near the dragons, at least not without help.

"Who do you think you are, you fuc–"

He doesn't get to finish the sentence; Percival does a quick gesture with his hand and the man is on his knees, both arms behind his back.

MACUSA's aurors are very far, busy with terrified muggles to pay attention to what's going on there.

"Oh, but what do we have here? More scum for me to take care of?" Perhaps that's why Grindelwald shows up without disguise, looking down at the wizard that has started to panic just at the mere sight of the dark lord.

"You should be more careful, Gellert," he says and watches as Grindelwald smirks at him, delighted to hear his given name.

"You don't need to worry about me, darling," he purrs, prompting Percival to narrow his eyes at him.

"Percy, please find out if he has more creatures in his enclosure," Newt says then, the wizard on the floor stares at him with hatred and for a moment he thinks he's going to spit and curse, but Grindelwald silences him just in time.

"And while you do that, Graves, I'm gonna take care of this... thing," the dark lord says, looking down in disgust. He leans in, anger flashing in his mismatched eyes as he adds: "You made him cry and you have to pay for it."

"What are you doing, little one?" Theseus is the only one that hasn't taken his eyes off Newt, that's why he notices him approaching Lily.

"I'm gonna take them to Ukraine."

"On your own?" His brother says at the same time Percival growls: "You have to take one of us with you, at least."

"I can take care of myself."

"Remember what happened last time, love," Grindelwald points out, pain clear on his face; he still feels responsible for that one. It was one of his followers that tried to kill Newt after all.

They're right, besides, none of them are going to let him leave otherwise.

He sighs, walking out of the dragon circle and he takes Theseus' hand in his. He has been the most affected by the whole situation so Newt thinks he's the one that has to go.

"It's okay," he tells the Ironbellies. "This is my brother, 'Seus, he's going to go to Ukraine with us."

After they give their approval, Newt jumps over Lily and helps his brother up. The two aurors and the dark lord are so relieved it's almost comical.

"It's like when we were just the two of us," Theseus comments playfully. "It was better that way, don't you think, little one?"

Percival and Grindelwald glare at the British auror in a way that makes Newt giggle.

"Don't be mean, 'Seus," he scolds, still smiling. And he adds, looking down at the other two. "I'll see you in a week."

The Director shakes his head stubbornly.

"No, love. We'll meet you there tomorrow," Grindelwald corrects him and Newt just rolls his eyes in response.

Theseus puts his arms around him and Newt thinks that the three of them are acting like overprotective idiots, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

#the fire call #gramander #grindelnewt #theseus scamander #love is not a victory march #writing prompt

[ausaplenty]

Swift

Kiara. Allegra. Immortal AU.

Kiara could hear the wails of the mourners as they passed through the street. She went in the opposite direction, unable to even catch sight of the litter carrying her beloved.

She could have saved her. There was not a mortal alive who could have stopped Kiara, but the only one that mattered refused.

Allegra wanted to die.

The woman was curled on her bed, sobs wracking her body as Kiara hovered over her. The vampire reached out to comfort her lover, but retreated at the pained cry.

“We should go,” Kiara murmured, fearing the cries would alert the guards and lead to Allegra’s demise. “You can escape. Leave Rome and its monsters, and be with me.”

“N-no,” the Vestal Virgin sobbed.

“Allegra, please,” the blonde pleaded, dropping to her knees to be at eye level with her beloved. She went to catch the brunette’s hands, but stopped when she pulled away. “They care not for whose fault it was, just that their symbol has been defiled. They will kill you.”

“I want them to.”

If Kiara’s heart still beat, it would have stopped then. “Beloved, please, come with me. I have seen these punishments. They are torturous, a slow death that is not fit for a victim. If we –“

“You do not understand, Kiara,” Allegra interrupted. Her voice was cooler than the vampire’s skin. “I know I do not to deserve to die. But I do not deserve to live with these memories.”

The Romans chose to do the ceremony at sunset – she supposed they thought they were being poetic. As Allegra would descend into her grave, the sun would descend over the horizon. The priest would seal the door, leaving just enough food for a day before letting her waste away.

The last time Kiara had witnessed the ritual, she had intervened. Ended the suffering with a quick twist of the woman's neck because the thought of tasting such sacred blood seemed wrong.

What world was cruel enough that a monster such as herself was more humane than its rulers.

The wails were beginning to get louder as she traveled the adjacent streets, always within range of the mourners. Allegra was a treasure of the empire, with dozens eager for her thirty years of service to expire so they could beg for her attention.  But as her admirers followed Allegra to her grave, Kiara wanted to howl that they had never loved her as she had.

Instead, she lingered at the edge of the crowd, unable to watch Allegra descend. The wineskin at her hip weighed heavy, waiting to be used. But Kiara could not bear to say goodbye, with so many people unknowingly witnessing it.

The sun sank lower below the hills and the mourners slowly filed away. The blonde stood still until the last one departed, head bowed with despair. And the darkness parted ways to allow her to see her beloved.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Allegra told her front the couch. The food was untouched and Kiara resisted the urge to knock it to the floor. “My mind is made.”

“I wish it wasn’t. I wish I could convince you to stay. For me. For us,” the blonde replied, kneeling beside her. “But you are as stubborn as I am.”

There was a small, pained smile. “You changed my mind once.”

“Because you let me,” Kiara murmured. She grasped Allegra’s hand, running her thumb over the inside of her wrist. Her beloved’s pulse throbbed beneath her fingers, strong and lively. “Let me do one last thing for you?”

Allegra’s eyes - beautiful sapphires that shined even in the tomb’s darkness - landed on the wineskin.

“It’s your favorite,” the immortal promised. “So sweet, Bacchus himself would be jealous.”

“You’re being selfish again,” Allegra chastised softly as she took the poisoned nectar.

“If I must surrender you, I want you to suffer as little as possible,” Kiara admitted. “You deserve a swift death. Unlike the monster who forced this upon you.”

Allegra was quiet as she pulled Kiara onto the sofa. Willingly, the blonde let herself be held, knowing this was more for her than for her beloved.

“You have spent months whispering the sins of mortal men into my ear, guiding me from the innocent. Why do you shield him from me?” Kiara asked, her barely contained rage focused on the rapist. Allegra knew, in her special way, and gently squeezed her hand.

“I am selfish. I do not want my last moments with you to be tainted by him.”

“He’s going to end up a corpse. The only thing that will change is when.”

“Then before you go, I will tell you.”

She did not want Kiara there at her end. Did not want the pain she already felt doubled by Kiara. As it was, she was spending more time with the immortal than she had intended.

For her, this death was a relief. From the memories. From the pain that plagued her since she’d become a woman.

For Kiara, this was torture.

“Promise me you’ll drink the poison?” the blonde pleaded softly. “Though you welcome Pluto’s embrace, I want you to go swiftly and stealing satisfaction from those pompous asses.”

Allegra didn’t respond. Instead, her sweet voice filled the tomb as she sang. Soothing stories of the ancients and their deeds. Her fingers carded through Kiara’s locks.

This was the intimacy Allegra preferred. The simple act of being there. A purity Kiara had forgotten in her centuries of existence.

She sang into the wee hours of the night until the moon had begun its descent.

“One last time?” Kiara asked, unwilling to part. with a light kiss to the top of her head, Allegra pulled away. “For me?”

“I have done enough for you, my heart,” the woman murmured. “This is for me.”

“I will miss you, beloved, for all my years,” the immortal promised, stalling.

Allegra shook her head, knowing her tactics. “Go find Marcus Caelius Vetranio and give him my regards.”

#Kiara Scuro #Lilian Moros #Immortal AU #31 days of writing #Prompt: Swift

[frankxkaren-blog]

hope is the thing with feathers

I promised @intostarlight something based after her beautiful ‘did you always love bellamy?/he crept up on me’ gifset. I wrote a 3k word fic for her and then accidentally deleted it and I could never rewrite it. But I still wanted to give her another fic, so here it is. Prepare for the feels and of course, a very happy ending.

(not season 4 compliant after 4x05, minus the Ark burning down)

.

His voice is gone.

He isn’t sure when he stopped screaming. Probably when he couldn’t anymore. Then it was just silent gasps that didn’t stop until he felt the sting of a needle in his neck and then he knew nothing else.

When he wakes up, he’s laying on a cot in medbay. Octavia sits in a corner across from him, her arms folded around her belly like she’s trying not to fall over. She flinches when she sees he’s awake, slowly rising to her feet and clumping over to where he lays. A second passes before he realizes he has a towel wrapped around his throat. His fingers claw at it, trying to pull it away and Octavia bats at his hands.

“Abby put a salve on your throat. You screamed yourself hoarse,” she whispers, her own voice soft and broken.

An angry tear escapes his eye and he brushes it away. He tries to speak but nothing comes out.

“Try to rest, Bell,” Octavia murmurs. “I’ll go tell Abby you’re awake.” She gets up to leave and he can’t call out to stop her.

She returns a moment later with Abby on her heels, a tired looking Miller trailing after the two women. He starts at the sight of the older woman, almost trying to turn away from her. She’s gentle with him, like Octavia was, examining his throat and finally pulling away that towel. “I’m going to get you some tea.” Before he can even try to say anything, she’s gone again.

He’s left alone with Miller, Octavia leaving with Abby. The younger man gazes at him sadly and Bellamy turns his head away.

“It wasn’t your fault, Bellamy,” his friend whispers.

A blanket is suddenly laid over him as he curls his body up as tightly as he can, wincing at the ache in his throat. Miller gently pats his arm, claiming Octavia’s abandoned seat. Bellamy watches him, wide eyed for a moment, then conceding to the fight against sleep that takes him in.

-;

He looks for her in the hallways of the Ark.

There’s a shine of blond hair and his heart swoops, only to sink when he realizes that it’s Harper.

He feels her there but he has never felt more alone.

His throat heals slowly but he doesn’t speak unless he has too. Kane tries his best to get him to begin the plans of rebuilding once the doors open again.

“Those doors will never open again,” he whispers to Kane’s retreating form as the older man walks away. “Never again.”

-;

She stands before him, hands on hips and a look of absolute fury etched across her face. “Octavia tells me you haven’t eaten.”

“Nelson was hungry,” he shrugs, not looking at Raven as he continues to obviously not read his book.

“Bellamy –“

“Don’t, Raven,” he adds warningly. “I’ve already heard it from O and Miller.”

The brunette’s gaze softens and she lowers herself down onto the cot beside him. To his surprise, she begins to talk about Clarke. She creates a picture in Bellamy’s mind so clear that it feels like he can reach out and touch her and oh god, that’s not what he needs right now. He’s about to angrily tell Raven to go when her arms wrap around his shoulders and give him a quick and hard hug.

“Get some sleep,” she whispers into his ear before getting up and leaving the room.

-;

They have guards by the doors to stop anyone from trying to escape. He takes several shifts, standing there until the wee hours of the morning and never moving. Not once until a hand comes down on his shoulder and pulls him back into his reality.

The fight with Abby happens on a late evening when a scuffle breaks out by the doors. A young boy who had just turned eighteen suffered a break and tried to open the doors, begging to be let outside. Four others jumped into the altercation, resulting in a few splits lips and one broken wrist. His own.

He’s sitting in the hospital wing again, his wrist being splinted by the elder Griffin when the words spill out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.”

The look Abby gives him is sharp enough to cut a brick. “She saved you,” she reminds him and he can feel the bitterness coming off of her tongue. “You were always her priority.”

“That’s not true.”

Abby laughs dryly. “It is, Bellamy,” she says, no hint of gentleness in her tone. “And that’s okay, I guess. I really can’t blame you for that.”

“Abby,” Kane suddenly appears, his voice warning. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Marcus?” Abby asks him. “This boy is here when he shouldn’t be and my daughter is a pile of dust outside. How do you think I am supposed to feel?”

“That’s not fair –“ Kane starts but Bellamy holds up his uninjured hand.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, getting to his feet. “She’s right.”

He leaves then, missing the flash of guilt crossing Abby’s face, returning to his quarters and collapsing on his cot to fall into a fitful sleep plagued by dreams. Dreams of her and god, she’s right there. She’s right there and he can’t even reach out and touch her.

-;

“Bellamy, you need to get inside!”

He grabs her by the shoulders, ready to drag her through the Ark doors. “I am not going anywhere without you!”

She kisses him then and he’s so surprised that he misses the slice of pain in his neck. His vision blurs and other hands are pulling him back, up into the cave of the Ark. He can barely hear Clarke’s voice, giving orders to who he suspects is Miller and Roan. He’s behind the doors when his vision clears again and before he can walk back outside, they slam shut.

The last thing he sees is a shine of blond hair, swinging in the heavy wind as she turns to run.

He screams then, loud and painful. The screams tear his throat, causing him to choke and cough and plead with whoever is holding him back. Miller twirls the locks on the doors, bolting them shut without a whisper of light coming through.

He’s still screaming when he feels the needle coming down onto his neck once more.

-;

“Bellamy?”

He flinches visibly when he sees Abby, stepping back to allow her inside. Her face twists, folding her arms in front of her chest as she steps through the door and closes it behind her.

“What do you want?” he asks rather abruptly and this time it’s her that flinches. “Sorry.”

She waves a hand. “I deserve that.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “No you didn’t. Please sit.”

Abby perches on the edge of the chair across from his cot. He sits on the bed, arms resting on his knees. She eyes his splinted hand, the swollen fingers. “Are you being careful with that?”

“Huh?” he looks down at his hand and an eyebrow rises like he had forgotten. “Oh. Yeah, I’m trying.” They sit there in awkward silence for what seems like an eternity. “Something tells me you didn’t come here to ask about my hand.”

She chuckles, shifting on her seat. “I came here to apologize.”

“No, you don’t need too. You’re right.”

 Abby shakes her head. “I do. What I said to you was horribly unfair.”

“Abby...”

She gets up, moving her chair closer to him. “Clarke loved you. She loved you so much.”

Bellamy is dismayed at the tears that are forming in his eyes. He blinks them away, brushing his uninjured hand across his eyes.

“To make sure you were safe, she would do anything and ... she did,” Abby adds. “I cannot blame you for that. She would do anything for the people that she loved and I knew...” her voice breaks. “I knew one day I would lose her because of that.” She manages a watery smile. “But I have to ask one thing of you, Bellamy.”

“What’s that?”

She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees so she can look into his face. “Did you love her?”

He understands the meaning behind her question, and it isn’t the simple kind of love like he has for the rest of the hundred answer she is looking for.

He manages a nod, swiping at an angry tear that spilled down his cheek. “So much it hurts.”

She looks satisfied with his answer. She feels it, to know that her daughter died being loved and loving someone else. Sharing the same love that she herself had shared with Jake and now with Marcus.

Abby was so glad her daughter was able to experience that.

She sobs then. “I feel like I failed her,” she admits. Bellamy’s eyes soften. “We never made it right after everything that happened above.”

“You did,” Bellamy softly tells her and she’s ready to cry at the gentleness in his tone. He taps her knee. “Did you love Clarke?”

“So much it hurts.”

“She knew that.”

Abby manages a smile, patting his shoulder as she gets to her feet. “I came here to apologize to you. Don’t you go making me feel better.”

She’s at the door when his voice calls her back.

“Abby,” he whispers. “I’ll do my best.”

There is so much behind those words but she knows what he means.

I’ll do my best not to let her sacrifice go to waste.

She nods, accepting his words before leaving, quietly closing the door behind her.

-;

The doors open on an early morning.

Raven had nearly exhausted herself with the weeks of air quality tests to make sure they would be able to even breathe once the doors opened, to find out if they should even bother to try. Once she gave the go ahead, Bellamy stood beside Miller as the doors slowly creaked open.

They were greeted by sunlight.

Then life.

As they moved through the wilderness again, they see signs of it everywhere. Green leaves dancing in the breeze, a blue butterfly that Octavia can’t help but play with. The rush of water somewhere close by.

The Earth had been reborn again.

They see the first sign of human life when a grounder child wanders into the camp. Bellamy finds the boy, bringing him to Abby as the words spill from his mouth.

“She’s out there.”

Abby nods, hope lighting up her eyes as she examines the child for injuries. “I know.”

-;

He leaves the next day once the child had been collected by his parents. Octavia has a rapid conversation in Trigedasleng with the child’s father, her face shining with hope once the family leaves.

“She’s near. They’ve seen her.”

“I have to go,” he says.

Octavia nods. “I know.”

To his surprise, Roan accompanies him. “You need a translator and a tracker,” he says.

Bellamy rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. The last five years trapped together in the enclosure of the Ark had produced many unwanted run ins but the Azgeda king is right.

They leave at the high noon hour, and he promises Abby once last thing. “I’ll bring her home.”

-;

The trip takes seven days.

Bellamy ignores the possible meaning behind that.

They come across a small village that was obviously in its first steps of being rebuilt. Roan converses with a few people that live there, his demeanor becoming quite animated as his hands move with his words. He gives Bellamy a triumphant smile when he moves away from the last one. “She’s a mile away. They said she went north with a hunting party and is due back soon.”

“North?” he repeats dumbly. Roan nods, a whisper of a smile on his lips.

“Go.”

He does. He’s not sure when he started running but he does, moving through the trees at a speed he didn’t know he was capable of. 

Roan’s instructions ring in his ears, and he picks up the hunting trail easily, following it deeper into the woods. The darkness lifts after a while and he tumbles through a set of trees and into a clearing. 

The sun is setting and people are up ahead, moving over the hillside. They are all dressed in furs, carrying their game on their shoulders or swinging from their belts.. He panics when he doesn’t see her at first.  

 And then...   

Oh god, and then...

“Bellamy?”

His knees are trembling as he staggers towards her. She drops her weapons and her own game, moving at a pace quite like his. Her eyes are wide, spilling tears already and oh god, he hopes he never sees her cry again. He always hated it when she cried.   

She gasps when their bodies collide and they fall together to the ground. Someone’s sobbing and he realizes that it’s him.   

“Y-you’re here,” she murmurs, her hands carding through his hair. “Oh my god you’re here.”

“So are you,” Bellamy manages. She laughs, more tears falling down her cheeks that he wipes away with his thumbs. All he wants to do is just stay here and hold her forever.   

 “Is everyone else...?” The unsaid word hangs heavy on her lips and Bellamy nods.   

 “They’re alive.”   

 She breathes out in relief and he pulls her close again. “Bellamy?”   

“Hmm?”   

“Can we go home now?”   

He nods, gathering her closer if that is even possible. “One thing though.” She waits. “I’ve been meaning to do this for a long time.”   

She kisses him, cutting him off. He laughs into the kiss, startled but returning the motion with as much vigor as he can. His hands tangle in her hair, and for god’s sake, if he could mold their bodies into one, he would.  

 “I love you,” Bellamy whispers. Clarke smiles, nipping at his chin and murmuring the words in return like a mantra.  

Love you, love you, love you. 

-;   

Octavia’s call tells Abby that there are people approaching the new gate. Having been built fast in the weeks they had been here once again, guards and lookouts paced along the edges to keep watch for new arrivals.   

She walks with Kane through the compound, watching as the gates open. At first, Abby can’t see anything. The sun is blinding her.   

And then, as her eyes adjust, she can see three figures walking up the beaten trail. She recognizes Bellamy and Roan’s outlines but the third one is smaller, obviously female and –   

 “Oh my god!” she chokes. Kane’s hands try to steady her but she bats them away and begins to run. “Oh my god!”   

Clarke pulls away from Bellamy and starts to run too. The two women meet in the middle and she grabs her daughter around the waist, Clarke’s arms going around her neck. As she clings to her daughter, she catches Bellamy’s eyes over Clarke’s shoulder.   

 He’s smiling, softly and finally at peace.     

“Thank you,” she mouths and Bellamy nods.   

 Time to live again. . . 

 This will be posted on AO3. 

#bellarke #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #bellamy x clarke #the 100 #my writing #intostarlight

[just-horrible-things]

Loiral and Marcus - The Holding Facility - 2.iv

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Loiral can’t just cry forever. Misery and impotent fury are one thing, but the pain is a lance through his mind, a constant reminder that he needs to do whatever it takes to stop it from hurting so. It should be a simple matter. ‘Perform better,’ get healing. It’s so frustrating. He was past breaking point, he was willing to beg, why would it only come out faltering and false-sounding? It came easily when he was out of his mind with pain. Yes, and he will push me to that point again if I can’t learn to swallow my pride so focus.

Slaves do it all the time. It shouldn’t be a difficult act. Maybe he can put the words together in advance, and practice until he gets it right. It’s a humiliating idea. But that’s kind of the point, isn’t it. He knows how it goes: all ‘please please please’ and ‘master I beg you’ and ‘please I need it’ and --

Memory intrudes unbidden. Her hands on his cheeks. Her bright, bright eyes. The curl of her lip as he pleads, breathless, hypnotised - no, focus! He’s grown used to countering recollection by focusing on the present. But here and now the present is even worse. His skin prickles with fresh sweat and he hates it because he’d only just started to get dry and now the cold will redouble again and he hates his body for its responses that he can’t control and he hates the human for doing this to him and it hurts so much...

And the cycle of useless thoughts goes round again.

When he hears the key in the lock, his heart all but stops. He’s not ready. He’s not ready to face his adversary again. But it isn’t the surfacer, it’s the facility attendant. He lets his head drop back to the tiles and watches her numbly.

She has a bundle of cloth in her arms. It looks thick and warm and Loiral is too suspicious to hope. Her face is expressionless. This is just routine to her, he supposes. She doesn’t even bother to close the door behind her as she walks over and unceremoniously drops the bundle on top of Loiral. “From your master,” she states boredly, “For good behaviour.”

First he suspects some trick or trap. Then, warily, he lets himself anticipate warmth and be glad. Belatedly, it occurs to him that he should be speaking to the attendant, trying to convince her that it would be worth her time to help him out... but when he lifts his head free of the cloth, the door is already closing again and she is gone. Damn. He curses at himself for being so stupid.

But hating himself is less engaging that investigating the new blanket. It is coarse and hairy and rough against his skin and he doesn’t even care because it unfolds large enough to cover his body and keep the cold air off his skin. If he could just get it underneath himself, it would even shield him from the tiles a little.... but that would mean moving, and motion is hell. If I can get warm, though, the shivering will stop. No shivering, less pain... it’s a good motivator.

Carefully, using his arms at awkward angles so as not to have to move his hips - and thus jolt his feet - he spreads the blanket beside him. He takes a moment to grit his teeth and work himself up to it, then forces himself through the motions of rolling over. His feet drag across the tiles. He groans and whimpers and half-sobs, but he does it. And when he’s done he lies still and pants and congratulates himself. It’s not perfect. Folds of the cloth end up trapped beneath his body and there’s not enough left to cover himself completely... but it’s good enough. Good enough not to pay the tax in agony of trying to adjust it.

Only once the pain has ebbed back from all-encompassing to merely horrible, does it occur to him to think about the attendant’s words. For good behaviour. A chilling thought occurs. If this is his ‘reward’ for good behaviour... is he still even going to get the chance to beg for a healer? Don’t be stupid, he chides himself. The man will have to get him healed sooner rather than later if he wants him to be useful and not to die of blood poisoning. But later could be a lot later. It could be days before infection becomes a concern... The pain is maddening already, the thought of having to wait days for relief is enough to drive him back to despair. Not that he can do a thing about it either way.

Slowly, slowly the shivering diminishes and stops. He’s still cold. The pain still gnaws at the edges of his mind. But it’s better, and that’s enough to let him relax, just a little. Perhaps he can even find reverie.... He tries, but it’s still out of reach. He’ll have to just lie here, and wait, and perhaps rehearse what he is going to say and do when the surfacer returns.

When it does happen - who can say how much time has passed - the sound of the door is startling. He twitches in surprise, which hurts, which in turn causes a strangled yelp to escape his throat before he can choke it off. And this time it really is the surfacer. Best behaviour, Loiral reminds himself. No pride.

Reluctantly he abandons his fragile shell of warmth and faces the agony of forcing himself up to his knees. The human waits until he is upright and his gasping has subsided a little before speaking. “How are you feeling?” Loiral swallows. “In pain, master. Please, please have mercy.” An expectant silence is his cue to continue. So he does. He regurgitates rehearsed phrases, doing his best to put a genuine tremor into his voice, to show how badly he wants to prove willing. To humiliate himself for a chance of relief. “Please master, take mercy on me. Please, please forgive me, I beg you master. I - ah - I’m sorry I disobeyed, I’ve learned, I won’t do it again, I’ll do better. Please, I’m grovelling, I’m desperate, please just let me --” “Stop.” He stops instantly, shivering with dread. What has he done wrong now? He searches the surfacer’s face for hints. But the man doesn’t seem angry per se, just... frustrated? And perhaps a little amused? Is that good? Bad?

“I realise now that I asked for a performance, and that is exactly what I’ve received. But this farce is not what I want from you. I require your sincerity, drow. I require your fear.” “This is sincerity,” Loiral insists, bitterly morose. “I’m scared. I’m willing, just tell me-” “No,” the surfacer continues pensively, talking over him without a second thought. “This won’t do at all.”

He approaches, footfalls audible on the tiles, and Loiral flinches away. Frowning, the surfacer crouches beside him where he kneels. Loiral’s breath comes in quick gasps, dread rapidly sharpening into panic. There’s absolutely nothing he can do to escape whatever new torment is in store, and that truth is paralytic.

One large, surprisingly deft hand reaches out towards his shattered feet and Loiral goes rigid with tension, curling into himself in anticipation of agony. But the human takes hold of him by the calf, not the foot. Relief flashes through him, absurdly potent despite the certain knowledge that the reprieve will be seconds long at best.

“Do you know what my favourite thing about breaking bones is?” His tone is pleasant, conversational. Loiral can only whimper in response. His trembling has given way to full-body shaking. Every tremor is pain. “Broken bones make it so easy to elicit further pain when required.” He runs his free hand gently over the foot itself. Loiral cries out involuntarily. The human’s palm is rough and warm against the swollen flesh. Even this subtle contact is shockingly painful. What will it feel like when he applies pressure? When he crushes and twists, bone shards tearing through the bruised and swollen tissues... “No, please,” Loiral whimpers, “Please, no, please.” And there is that rapidly-becoming-familiar smile. And there, quick on its heels, is understanding. This is the sincerity the man is looking for. Not fighting past his pride, but here on the edge of agony where terror is overwhelming and pride a distant memory.

The weight of his powerlessness is crushing. He can hardly breathe. He is utterly helpless in this creature’s hands. He can’t fight back. No one is going to intervene. If this human so chooses, broken feet could be the least of his pain.

“Please,” he begs, “Please, please, no more.” “Beg me.” “I beg you.” “Swear to obey me.” “I swear, anything you say, I’ll do as you say.” “Tell me...” a pause, a smile. The man’s hand brushes over the foot again and elicits another whimper. “What are you thinking right now?” “It hurts. Oh please, it hurts, and --” Barely any hesitation. “And I’m afraid and I’m helpless and you’re in control and --” Gasp, shudder. “And I just want to give you what you want and get mercy, is this what you want?” He is desperate, and pathetic, and he barely even cares. “Do you think this is what I want?” “Yes?” Loiral ventures in a tiny voice. This is sincerity. This is fear. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more afraid in his life.

His leg is released, gently. “Good,” the surfacer tells him calmly. “Smart drow.” He runs a large and calloused hand through Loiral’s damp, tousled hair. Loiral flinches under the touch, but doesn’t try to pull away. “Let it never be said that I am without mercy.” The surfacer smiles.

Then he speaks in a deeper, more formal tone, incanting in a language foreign to Loiral’s ears. The cadence is reminiscent of prayer, which is far from comforting. He places one hand on the back of Loiral’s head, forcing it down, and the other on the centre of his back. The room suffuses with a reddish glow. The human’s voice is amplified, echoing unnaturally. And all of a sudden, his hands begin to burn against Loiral’s skin.

Loiral cringes instinctively against the floor to escape the pain, but the human’s strong hands follow him down. The heat spreads outwards across his skin like liquid fire. Each half-healed wound comes alive with fresh, sharp pain as the magic washes over them. Loiral twitches and yelps with it, bewildered and overwhelmed.

And then the fire reaches his feet, and he forgets everything else. A raw scream tears out of his throat. He barely hears himself. He can feel the shattered bones moving beneath the skin, grinding against one another. The pain is sharp and bright and clean and fierce, driving out the throbbing, swollen ache that had made its home in his flesh. The intensity leaves him spasming on the floor, eyes unseeing and mind utterly blank.

And when the pain passes, it leaves blessed relief in its wake.

He comes back to himself slowly, shaking and sweating and gasping for air. He tears his eyes off the ceiling and glances around the cell in a moment of panic. But the surfacer is gone and he is alone.

He breathes. Fear is giving way to confusion. Nothing hurts.

He knows before he checks that his feet are whole again. Not even bruises remain. There is a sort of a phantom memory of pain under his fingers as he prods and pokes. But the joints move through their full range smoothly and without so much as a twinge. His other wounds are gone too. Even the places where he bit his tongue struggling. No scabs, no bruises, no scars.

Why? He doesn’t understand. Pain makes a prisoner easy to control. Why heal him so thoroughly? And at the same time, he is stunned. It had not occurred to him that the surfacer might be able to deliver healing personally. Let alone with such power. How much favour must he have with his strange surface gods, to heal so much damage so swiftly? Is that the point? Another show of power? And why did it hurt so much?

His thoughts go round and round in little, baffled circles as he sits and stares blankly at the door. He hates the human for doing this to him. Hates him more fiercely than he has ever hated anything. But just the thought of the creature leaves him queasy with fear too. And somehow, at the boundary of fear and hatred, he finds a kind of unexpected respect. He had no idea that a member of the lesser races could be so ruthless. He’s so hopelessly off balance.

But... at least he isn’t hurting? For now?

[Next]

#my writing #loiral and marcus #loiral al'sekath #(pronounced lwah-ral) #marcus arcuarius #torture #captivity #broken bones #begging #compliance #mind games #fear #despair #creepy captor #magical healing #painful magical healing