#and you don’t deserve the trauma they will put you through by keeping them in your life

[emmcfrxst]

I’m wondering how Laura would react if reader and OldMan!Logan got into a fight? Maybe they tried to keep it away from her but unfortunately the girls too much like her father and ends up hearing most of it.

Ugh and imagine if she saw Logan storming off not realizing that he left you in tears…

(I’m feeling extremely angsty tonight.)

TW: MENTIONS OF DEATH, TRAUMA, ILLNESS, UNHEALTHY COPING MECHANISMS, SUICIDAL IDEATIONS & GOD (I guess????) Set before Logan gets, as nonnie put it, chest-fucked, so during the period of time everyone’s trying to escape the fucking Reavers while figuring shit out. It got too long so it’s under the cut

You don��t argue that often with Logan— your relationship is solid and although communication was rocky at first, he’s made significant progress and is able to hold a serious conversation without immediately jumping back into his defense mechanisms (misguided anger, deflection and ultimately fleeing were his initial reactions when you tried establishing proper communication about feelings in the beginning). His progress, however, is rendered completely useless when the conversation is about his rapidly declining health; he’s immediately on the defensive, body going rigid and eyes going dark, jaw clenched so hard you’re afraid he might shatter it— he hates thinking about his newfound mortality, not necessarily because he’s afraid of death (it’s actually quite the opposite, he seeks death in a way, longing for the pain and the nightmares to just stop once and for all) but because he knows that dying means leaving you on your own and that’s something he can’t bear to think about— the guilt he feels at the thought of leaving you is immeasurable; it overwhelms him entirely because he knows that losing him would break you and it makes him feel physically ill to think about the consequences. So in true Logan fashion, he blows you off whenever you bring up your concerns, stating that he’s fine, and the anger he feels at himself and his body for failing him ends up being taken out on you through biting words he regrets as soon as they slip from his tongue.

“I’m the one who’s fuckin’ dying, for Christ’s sake, quit your fuckin’ yapping.” It’s a phrase he regrets uttering for multiple reasons: he hates being rude to you in any way, shape or form because you’re the last person who deserves to be subjected to his emotional constipation— you’ve taken all of his broken parts into your hands and pieced them back together with your unconditional love and unwavering patience, you’ve made him feel loved, you’ve made him feel alive, and most importantly, you’ve shown him that he doesn’t have to feel guilty or bitter about his existence. You’ve done so much for him throughout the years and he fucking hates himself for letting his emotions get the better of him like that. The other thing that bothers him deeply about his reaction is the verbal acknowledgment of his condition; it’s something that he somehow believes can be ignored, as if denying it could make it any less real. Acknowledging that he’s dying makes bile rise up his throat— it’s a bitter feeling, really, because he used to wish for death everyday before he met you, heart and mind torn to shreds from years of horrific abuse and unwavering violence; he even prayed to whatever God was out there, despite not being a believer, to just let him go, to free him of the chains of trauma that bound his psyche. His prayers were left unanswered, Logan only accumulating more trauma as the years went by— he can’t count how many times he’s cursed God for making him go through what he’s gone through, needing someone to blame and wishing for a way to end it all. Ironically, Logan’s immortality only seems to waver once he starts treasuring life; it feels like a stab in the back, a cruel joke orchestrated by God who finally decided to answer his prayers now that he wishes he could take them back. The feeling of betrayal only seems to further fuel Logan’s anger towards his illness, which, combined with the guilt he feels at the thought of leaving you alone, causes him to act out whenever you bring up the subject. You take offense in the words thrown at you, hurt by the reminder of his impending death and the way he navigates it, arguing back that you do this because you care about him, for fuck’s sake. Unfortunately, that only seems to make things worse, upsetting Logan further and bringing back years’ worth of feeling unworthy of your affections.

“That’s your fuckin’ problem bub. I told ya you shouldn’t waste your time with a man like me.” he physically winces as he utters those words, wishing he could unsee the way it makes your entire face crumble with despair— it’s a slap in the face, really, to be brought back to square one and have him reject you in this way. Logan flees before either of you can say anything else, slamming the front door behind him and walking in no particular direction until he feels like he can finally breathe again, leaving you in tears at home. Laura, although playing in her makeshift room at the time, hears the whole exchange as clear as day due to her enhanced senses, her fists clenching with rage when her ears pick up the sound of your stifled sobs. You feel her before you even hear her, your body tensing as a pair of small, skinny arms wrap around your middle, a head resting along your spine. After the initial alarm of feeling someone touching you, you can’t help but let out a watery laugh at just how easy it seemed for her to surprise you, turning around in Laura’s arms so you can look down at her. A frown is etched onto her features, lips puckered into an angry pout as she hugs you tighter, insulting Logan in spanish under her breath. It makes you laugh again, this time softly, your hand smoothing out her hair as you sniffle.

“I’m okay, Laura. I’m okay.” she glares up at you, unconvinced, giving you another squeeze and reluctantly allowing her features to relax when you gently run a fingertip across the furrow of her brows— despite not being together for long, you find that you’re able to soothe Laura quite easily; there is a connection between the two of you like you’ve never felt before, a bond that you feel like you were always destined to have. Your heart warms at the obvious way the child seems to care for you, wanting nothing more than to make all of her worries disappear.

“He made you cry.” her voice is so quiet that you almost miss it, a soft, indignant noise leaving her at the sight of your tear-stained cheeks. You sniffle again, free hand moving up to wipe at your eyes, the other caressing her hair lovingly.

“I know.” you don’t say that it’s okay because it’s not— Logan crossed a line that you thought had been worn down ages ago, and you’ll be damned before you ever teach Laura that hurtful words can be brushed aside so easily without an apology. It’s for her as much as for you; you’re aware that you deserve respect even when Logan is upset, and you’re not about to stomp down on your self-worth to coddle him when he’s done something wrong. He’ll apologize, you’re sure of it, but until that happens, you’re not going to pretend that his reaction was acceptable. It’s something you categorically refuse to do, and it’s one of the many reasons Logan fell in love with you in the first place. You know your worth.

“I’ll be okay soon.” you tell her honestly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She studies you for a moment longer before nodding her head, allowing you to lead her onto the couch where she curls up next to you.

You’re asleep by the time Logan starts walking back towards the house but Laura hears the crunching of sand and gravel under his shoes, quietly untangling herself from you and moving to the side of the door, frown back on her features. Logan barely has the time to pass the threshold before she’s on him, jumping onto his back like a feral animal and punching his shoulders repeatedly, growling when he grabs her and holds her still, visibly confused and irritated by her behavior.

“Don’t even think about it.” he warns her when she makes to bite the hand that holds her down, frowning down at her just as hard she does up to him. She struggles in his hold, trying to hit him again, making him grunt in pain.

“You made her cry, coño.” the words make Logan freeze in his tracks, eyes falling on your sleeping form on the couch, noting the way your eyes look reddened and the tear tracks on your cheeks. Nausea immediately strikes him like lightning, the expression on his face seeming to satisfy Laura as she stops struggling, frown still evident on her face. She sits up and watches silently once he lets her go, staying nearby to see the situation unfold.

You awake to a calloused hand gently running over the plane of your cheekbone, eyes opening to meet Logan’s remorseful ones. He’s sitting on the ground next to the couch, looming over you in a way that makes you feel safe like no one else ever could.

“Hey.” his voice is hoarse but soft, thumb swiping back and forth over your skin in a silent act of comfort. It makes you smile despite your grogginess, and you feel more than you hear Logan releasing a soft, relieved inhale through his nose.

“Hey.” you answer him just as softly, leaning into his touch and closing your eyes again, content to feel him again.

“I’m sorry.” the words sound heavy coming out of his mouth, a grim expression taking over his features as he wipes off the remnants of your earlier tears.

“I know.” you reply simply, turning your head to press a gentle kiss against the roughened palm of his hand. It makes him exhale shakily, shoulders squaring as he prepares himself for the discomfort of the following words.

“Didn’t mean to snap at you, baby. I just… I feel helpless, I guess, and it fuckin’ pisses me off. Never had to worry about dying and leaving you alone before.” he says the words slowly, trying to make the last sentence sound like a joke, tone falling flat. You can tell he’s uncomfortable with the discussion but he pushes through, causing you to feel a rush of sympathy— he’s trying, you know he’s trying, and that means something to you.

“I know. I feel helpless, too. But you have to remember that you’re not alone. Not anymore. And I’m not going anywhere. No matter what happens, it’s you and me until the end.” he laughs wetly at your words, nodding his head and swallowing thickly before speaking again.

“I know.” this time it’s his turn to provide reassurance, the two little words more than enough for the both of you. The feeling of his warm lips connecting with your forehead makes your eyes flutter shut, hand coming up to lay over the one he’s curled around the back of your neck.

“Kid’s kicked my ass for making you cry.” he mumbles against your skin, the amusement in his voice clear. It makes you snort in surprise, unaware that Laura had intervened before you woke up.

“Did she? Well, you kinda deserved it.” your answer is playful, tone devoid of its previous heaviness, your eyes meeting Laura’s over Logan’s shoulder for a brief moment before focusing on your lover once again.

“That I did.” he agrees simply, a soft, tender, apologetic smile on his face. You lean further into him when he kisses your nose, heart feeling lighter than it had in a while.

You were going to be okay.

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART TWELVE

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, heavy topics such as death, blood, and past trauma mentioned masterlist a/n: thank you for all your support while i grow through a difficult time!! i appreciate all of you for being so patient and loving. long chapter for u!! <3

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Ghost didn’t remember much about his childhood. His mind blocked it out for him. But he did remember the pain and suffering he went through at such a young age.

He didn’t deserve that. Seeing his family, massacred in front of him. The blood mixed with the metallic scent that even now seemed to tinge his nose with a nostalgia that made him sick.

He was only a child, yet that was the day Ghost was born within him.

It was like an awakening. He saw how cruel the world could be through a pure lens and it tainted his vision red. Nothing was ever the same that day, and gradually, Simon was forgotten and Ghost was his new muse.

He could recall the nights he spent alone, digging through waste bins and slumping out on the streets like a dead dog. Stealing bread from shop merchants and having to run, barefooted to avoid getting beaten. Freezing to death on the street corner when winter came around and the pure snow covered the ground in a blanket.

It was scary for a boy his age. Dehumanizing. He didn’t deserve that.

He thought he was lucky when a ship crew came along, parading the streets to offer security. A job, a place to sleep, and meals — it seemed perfect for somebody who had absolutely nothing.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Ghost never saw Simon again after that day. He was lost somewhere at sea, hidden under the roar of waves. Ghost didn’t know where to look for him until soon enough, Simon had disappeared and Ghost replaced him. Graves made sure of that.

A captain, like hell he was. Ghost knew something wasn’t quite right about Graves the moment he met him, yet as a child, he was desperate. Once he was in, it was too late, and the broken pieces of him became completely irreparable.

Graves held a devilish aura about him, one Ghost could practically see radiating around him. Every step he took was one closer to chaos.

No matter the destination, Ghost was held on by a leash with Graves being the handler. The sights Ghost saw, some being from his doing, was something he’d never get back. It was as if reliving that very day where he lost everything.

Living amongst Graves’ crew was worse than living in hell. He would’ve preferred it. To be banished for his sins, to taste the sweet nectar of death, and live his eternity punished. Anything to stray from Graves and his ship.

When he saw the way you looked—the darkness looming over you, the distress in your eyes—he saw himself. And when he saw Graves, he saw the life that was stolen from him.

That red that clouded his lens when he was a child was all he could see. Pure, angry red.

Now, standing in Price’s quarters, that red only grew angrier. This time, for you—for putting you in the same position he’d been stuck in for years.

You didn’t deserve that.

Your mind was a whirlwind of chaos. It was struggling to digest the information given to you. So much at once and you could barely manage to keep yourself together.

Everybody looked sorry for you. Ghost looked enraged. Price was lost. Soap and Gaz were remorseful. It was too much.

You hated that they looked at you like that. You hated when they didn’t look at you like that more. Having them worry, when for the duration of your stay it was like walking on burning rocks, it felt strange.

Their own worry caused yours as well.

“What is that?” you asked. “The mark of death. I— I don’t know what that is. What does that mean?”

You were becoming more frantic. The panic that ensued was growing, and you could tell it bothered Price. He was quick to grasp your shoulders, settling you.

“It’s complicated,” he explained quietly, hushing you. “That man you saw? His name is Phillip Graves. Some call him the Devil of the Seas. He’s a wicked pirate who feeds off of the innocent, their fear. None of us know what he truly is, not even Ghost, but we believe he’s apart of something sinister.”

“What, like he’s sold his soul? Made amends with the Devil? You are talking madness!” you exclaimed, exasperated.

“We are talkin’ truth,” Price corrected. He was as patient as ever, yet still held the firmness of a leader. “He’s that of a reaper. Souls is what he wants. The mark of death is his contract, you may say.”

“But you are not telling me what the mark does,” you cried.

Your head hurt. The world was spinning. You didn’t understand.

“I think it’s quite obvious what the markin’ is, dove,” the Captain said solemnly. “It is only by miracle it hasn’t happened to Ghost yet.”

“So I am to die? Is that it?” You flickered your gaze between each man. Your eyes told a million stories, and each of them were ones of fear and anguish. “I am going to die?”

“No,” Ghost snapped. You looked at him. He seemed as pain as you were, but the anger was taking over logic. “You ain’t dyin’. Not today, not tomorrow. M’not lettin’ it happen.”

“Ghost,” Soap tried, but he was quickly shut down.

“I said no,” he repeated resentfully. “Price, show her the map.”

Price turned to him, stiffening. It seemed he still didn’t quite want to let you know the full truth. Now, you felt it was to protect you rather than leave you out. It was too late for protection.

The Captain silently walked to his desk, pulling open the old drawer with a slam, shaking the table. He pulled out the map you’d seen so long ago, unrolling it and slapping it on the table.

“Come, dove,” he called, and you listened.

The men surrounded the desk with you, staring down at the map. The ink was still the same as it was before—islands crossed out with an X, while one remained circled.

“Suppose it’s time you knew, hm?” he asked, offering the smallest of smiles. You found that you missed his real one. The one he tried to hide when he found a joke of yours humorous.

Your nerves shot up. Your emotions were at an all-time high. You were scared, scared to find out the truth.

“These islands,” he began, tracing his finger along the map to point at the ones with an X, “are all land marked by Graves. Every single one, we went to in search of a medic. The one in the poem, remember?”

The one who heals the ill and poor

shall be the cure to all demise.

You weren’t sure how it linked to you. You’d never met Graves, nor had you met your pirate crew until they took you away. The connection wasn’t there. It didn’t make sense.

“Yes, I remember,” you confirmed quietly. “What does it have to do with me?”

“We searched for a medic from every village, yet when we arrived, they were famished with death, or on the brink of,” he explained. “All of the villages were all succumbin’ to Graves’ mark of death. We think he was attemptin’ to get rid of all villages as much as he could so we wouldn’t be able to find their medics. We don’t know how, but he knows we have the prophecy, and he doesn’t like it.”

“And how do you know the prophecy is related to Graves?” you questioned. “How do you know it relates to me?”

“Ghost got the prophecy a long time ago when he was still on Graves’ ship,” Soap piped in. His hands rested on the table and he leaned over the map, but his eyes bore into yours. “He was searchin’ for answers even then. This is all he got.”

You couldn’t imagine the desperation Ghost must have felt, knowing Graves had him under his despicable spell. Not knowing whether he was going to live or die.

Your heart ached.

“And me?”

The room went silent, as if your words burned a wound in them.

“Your village had the mark, yet nobody had suffered from it,” Gaz said quietly. His eyes were soft when he looked at you with the unmistakable glimmer of pity in them. “We knew you were the one we were lookin’ for.”

“My village was not cursed,” you denied, shaking your head. “There is simply no possibility. We rarely got outsiders unless they were coming to browse the merchants.”

It clicked in your head how quickly it must’ve happened. Graves, visiting your village under the guise of an innocent shopper, gearing his interest towards the various merchants that littered your small streets.

It would’ve been so easy for him. So terribly easy.

Your people died to Price’s crew, but the true evil was the man who gave the pirates reason to ensure a massacre.

“That’s why you did what you did,” you muttered to yourself in disbelief. “You killed them because of him. You killed Mary because of him.”

“The curse would’ve taken over the moment you left,” Gaz explained. “You were the shield protectin’ them without even knowin’. You’re meant to fulfill the prophecy, grantin’ you immunity until we found you.”

All this talk about a prophecy made you want to scream, cry, yell, anything. Why you? Why were you the one chosen, and why did it have to be you?

You wanted your life back. You didn’t want to be apart of this.

Before you knew it, tears welled up in your eyes. They stung, causing you to blink rapidly. You didn’t want to seem weak, but in this moment, you were.

“Dove?” Gaz called out, concerned.

“I don’t want this,” you cried, shaky hands balling into fists. “You—you knew I was apart of this and never told me. You kept me in the dark for this long, you hid me from the truth, and for why?”

“We don’t have all of the information yet, dove, please—” Price began, but you shut him down.

“Bullshit!” you shouted, and he reeled back in surprise. You had been outspoken before, plenty with the Captain especially, but he had never seen you lash out so fiercely. “You took my life away because you assumed I was the one in your ridiculous prophecy on a whim. You took a guess and went with it. I am hardly a proper medic, let alone worthy enough to be that person for you, so why have you chosen me?”

“You must understand, you were the only medic left alive,” Price defended. “We had no choice. We did what we had to do.”

“At my expense,” you argued.

“At all of our expense,” he retorted. “I did not care for your life when we stole it. I did not care for it when you were locked in the brig. I cared for Simon’s.”

You fell silent, whipping your head to look at Ghost. You’d heard Price call him Simon before, by a slip-up, but now he had said it purposely. Ghost simply looked away, arms crossed over his chest.

All that talk before and now, at your aid, he was as quiet as a street mouse.

“Without you, he will die. We do not know when. Graves hasn’t killed him due to the thrill of holdin’ his life in his hands. It’s a toy to him. He can take his life away at any moment, and I would not allow that, even if it meant ruinin’ yours.”

Price’s cheeks were reddened from the frustration and helplessness he was feeling. He was a Captain trying to save his crew’s life, uncaring of yours—in the beginning, at least.

Now, the mere thought of losing both had him kneeling like a pitiful dog to the Devil of the Seas.

“I do not wish to be here,” you murmured, taking a step back. Soap opened his mouth to retort, but you silenced him. “I need to be alone.”

The Captain gave you a sad smile, nodding his head. He was respecting your wishes.

“As you wish,” he agreed, and you made your way out of the suffocating quarters, returning to your shared one with Gaz and Soap.

“Dove,” a voice called out. It was quiet, like it was whispering, yet to you, it sounded loud. You hated its voice.

It was black. Your eyes couldn’t adjust to the light, no matter how much you shifted them to look around.

Your body felt heavy, as if something was weighing on you. Your lungs were tight, and when you opened your mouth for air, nothing came in. You slapped your hands over your throat, clawing at the skin.

Why couldn’t you breathe? You felt like you were drowning. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t take in an ounce of air, and you could feel your lungs beginning to protest.

A cold panic came over you, like an icy wave consuming you in its dangerous waters. You tried to move your legs, but they were stuck. They were too heavy.

All you could do was helplessly paw at your throat, praying to gasp for a breath, praying that the Gods had mercy on you.

“Dove,” it whispered once more. Where had you heard the voice before? You knew it, but your mind was blanking from the lack of oxygen.

“I’ll be seeing you, dove,” it mocked.

Dove. Dove. Dove.

“Dove!”

You shot awake, a sharp gasp invading your lungs. The burning in your chest was harsh, and it was as if you truly hadn’t been breathing.

Coming to, you blinked the groggy confusion away, lifting a hand to wipe at your eyes.

Soap peered down at you, his eyebrows knitted worriedly. His hands were on each side of your shoulders, as if he’d shaken you awake, and when you realized you had been asleep, you only guessed that’s what he was doing.

“I kept callin’ ye but ye weren’t wakin’,” he said wearily. “Are y’alright?”

You glanced around the room, taking it in. Gaz’s bed. The clothes strewn on the floor. The mess on the small desk that you’d never seen occupied.

You were no longer suffocating in darkness. It was a mere dream—no, a nightmare. A terror.

You were safe.

“I don’t know,” you confessed breathily, still catching air.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you recalled the nightmare. You couldn’t remember the voice, not when you were fearing a death that was merely fake, but you knew now.

“Tell me,” Soap urged gently, taking a seat next to you on the bed. You sat up to join him, frowning at the floor. “It’s okay.”

You risked looking up at him, searching his eyes. They were soft whenever they looked at you, and they’d been like that since the beginning. He was always patient, even when you did things that cost him a scolding from Price.

You felt like you could trust him, more than any of them.

“It was that man,” you explained. “Graves. I think he is messing with my head. I dreamt of dying, like… like I was drowning. I couldn’t breathe. The whole time, I could hear his voice, calling me out. Mocking me.”

Soap listened carefully, taking in every one of your words. He cared, that much you could tell, and the situation weighed heavy on him. The worry lines on his face were proof.

Graves was tormenting with your mind, feeding into your fear. He knew you were terrified, and he enjoyed it. The way he mimicked what he told you, whispering it the same as before, it sent chills down your spine and made your blood run cold.

You understood now why Ghost was always a mystery—because he was scared, too. He just hid it better.

“I am scared,” you confessed shakily. “I do not want to die.”

“And ye won’t,” he assured, but you shook your head.

“You do not know that,” you argued. “None of you do. You have not given me a chance at life. I am stuck in this without a choice, and I am the new target. It’s not fair.”

Soap’s expression dropped into one of guilt. His focus shifted away from you, avoiding your eye, before returning back to you.

“It’s not,” he agreed quietly. “We’ve done to ye what Graves did to Ghost. Treatin’ ye like—like burdening scum, like ye don’t matter. I can’t express to ye how sorry I am for everythin’.”

You didn’t want an apology, but you accepted it nonetheless. It was the first anybody had truly apologized for the mess you were thrown into. Maybe it was something you needed without realizing. You felt a sliver of weight lifted.

“I never had a family,” you told him, staring down at your feet that hung over the side of the bed. The shoes Soap surprised you with stared back at you. “The village did not like my values or my lifestyle. It was hard being an outcast there, but it is even harder here.”

“Yer not an outcast.”

Looking back up at him, you found him smiling, a faint sparkle twinkling back at you.

“Not anymore. We thought ye were a little strange in the beginning, though,” he said, the end of his sentence bordering a tease.

You couldn’t stop your own smile from forming. Despite carrying the crushing weight of the world’s worries, as well as growing a headache with every word spoken from each of them ever since your arrival, you found yourself growing more fond over them the longer you lingered.

It’d been a bumpy road, and there were still miles ahead of you, waiting to unravel. But you couldn’t fully convince yourself that there wasn’t a part of you, yearning to belong with them.

“You are all very strange,” you retorted lightly. “I have never met such people as you before.”

“Thank ye.”

“It was not a compliment.”

Soap snorted, shaking his head at the banter. “The Captain is bitin’ tooth and nail in his quarters, thinkin’ he fucked this all up with ye. Never seen him that worried before, but with Graves bein’ around again, I don’t blame him.”

The statement caught you off guard, and you found yourself curious. “He is worried for me?”

Soap eyed you strangely, as if it had been obvious the whole time. “Ach. ‘Course he is. Cap’s got a good heart, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

“I did not realize he cared for me after everything,” you confessed.

Soap hummed, looking down at his trousers and picking at a loose thread. “We all do.”

You stared at him dumbly, cocking your head in question when he didn’t elaborate. You had become acquainted with them, surely, you lived with them now after all, but you weren’t aware they truly cared.

When Price had told you they’d grown fond of you, you didn’t quite believe it. You assumed it was his way of convincing you to trust him, but it seemed that wasn’t the truth.

The two of you sat in silence, staring anywhere but at each other. The awkwardness grew, and it felt strange to feel that when the relationships had been too uptight even consider having those moments.

You took the time to weigh out your options. The Captain being worried, especially over messing things up with you, had you in a turmoil.

As much as you wanted to deny the path chosen for you unwillingly, you felt an obligation to please them. Yet, not in the way you initially thought.

You didn’t want to let them down.

Maybe you truly were as strange as Soap thought.

“Is he still in there?” you asked Soap. He perked up, nodding his head.

“Aye. He’ll be rottin’ in there before we know it.”

You pursed your lips, facing that inner battle once more before coming to a conclusion. “Would you like to join me, then?”

Soap raised his eyebrows, watching you stand from the bed. You shot him a warm smile, tilting your head at his confusion.

“For?” he asked.

“You all need a medic,” you said, giving a nonchalant shrug. “And I do not wish to die by the hands of a filthy pirate such as Graves. I am in this now, so I suppose I’ll simply have to deal with it, am I correct?”

Soap’s smile slowly grew at your sudden courage, standing up to join you. He reached out for you, and once you became confused, he looped your arm with his, grinning down at you.

“Sure are, dove. I’ll come with ye.”

The Captain looked a mess when you entered his quarters with Soap. Ghost was beside him where Price sat at his desk, the map and prophecy still scattered on the table. The two of them were speaking hushed to one another, yet when the door opened and you stepped in, they went silent.

“She wanted to be alone, Soap,” Price protested, but you quickly shook your head, taking a step closer to the desk.

“It’s alright,” you assured. “I have had time to think.”

Price’s eyebrows raised and he glanced at Gaz for a brief moment before returning to you. “I see,” he hummed, nodding. “I have as well.”

You cocked your head, eyebrows furrowing. He gestured for Ghost and Soap to step out of the room, requesting privacy, and the sudden realization that you would in fact have to speak after your outburst made your nerves to churn.

Ghost gave your shoulder a light squeeze as he walked behind Soap, catching you off guard. When you looked at him, he stared forward, avoiding your gaze.

The door clicked shut as they left, and you stood uncomfortably in place, shifting on the balls of your feet.

“I owe you an apology,” Price began. “A true one. I may be a Captain, and I know in those regards, I come off rather violent. I can be a brute, I will admit, but I am also a man who knows times when he is right and wrong.”

He stood up from his chair, circling around the desk to face you. He leaned against the old wood, crossing his arms and clearing his throat. Upon quick inspection, you saw the faint smoke of his cigar swirling in its ashtray.

“I should not have treated you so unkindly since the beginning. I should have considered how scared you must have been, how alone it must feel,” he continued, eyes drifting off for a moment as if deep in perplexing thought. “I do not apologize for doin’ what I thought was right in that time to save my own, but I do feel sorrow for what transpired in your time bein’ here.”

You couldn’t help but wonder if Ghost had been the reasoning for this. He wasn’t a man of many words, but you knew the respect him and Price had for one another. It was safe to assume he’d speak with him privately regarding everything.

“I’d like to apologize as well,” you began, but Price stood up straight, quick to raise his hands in protest.

“You have nothin’ to apologize for—”

“I am sorry for lashing out the way I did earlier,” you cut off. Price stopped, lips pressing together. His gaze remained stuck on you, now that you had his attention. “It does not excuse what you have done to me, and I see you have realized that. If this is to be my life, I wish for compromise rather than seclusion.”

Price didn’t say anything at first. His eyes darted over your face, taking in your features. He saw the calmness you held compared to when you were last in his quarters.

You didn’t seem defeated, nor did you seem to simply agree for the sake of him and the others. You wanted this for yourself.

“I will grant you that,” he agreed in a hum, nodding once. “I do not wish for you to feel out of place no longer. You have had enough of that, I believe.”

You took in his words, and they made you smile. It was what you wanted to hear—no angry exchanges, no selfish banter. A simple compromise, one you both wanted.

“Graves came to me in a dream,” you told him. His expression soured. “I believe there will be plenty more instances where he will do that. Based off of what you have told me about him, I do not want to prolong his presence longer than I must. So, I’d like to be of help.”

Just as quickly as Price grew tense at the mention of Graves, he calmed down, shoulders relaxing when he realized your implications.

“Soap has not convinced you, yes?” he asked, uncertain. “This is your call. I may have taken you due to my own selfishness, but I give you the choice now. You do not have to be a part of it if you do not want. You are part of us now, but this is not your battle.”

“It is,” you disagreed, though remained a calm composure. For the first time around Price, you felt at ease in the same room. “If I am to be part of your crew, your family, then your battles are my battles. I may not have had a family, but I am certain that’s how it works. Does it not?”

Price stared at you; expression unreadable. It took mere moments for his lips to slowly curl up, granting you one of his rare smiles that seemed to radiate a certain light you’d never seen before. It caused your heart to pick up, though you were unclear as to why.

“That is how it works with us, dove,” he agreed softly. “Your battles are ours. You can count on it.”

“Wonderful,” you cheered with a smile of your own. “Shall we continue what wasn’t finished before, then?”

Price chuckled low under his breath, his amusement growing the longer you stuck around. He nodded, tapping his desk and calling you to it.

“Come on, dove.”

[jennifer-jeong]

Fluff | Genshin x GN!Reader What Made Them Fall For You?

Xiao, Wanderer/Scaramouche, Diluc

SUMMARY Headcanons on what makes the genshin pookies fall for you <3

CONTENT Fluff, gender neutral reader, men falling for reader, reader is not traveler but is friends with them, mentions of character's trauma, CHARACTERS ARE 18+

AUTHOUR NOTES I hope to eventually write about all the men >:) it will probably take a while to get to it but I’ll try to keep each one short to encourage myself to finish them all hehe.

XIAO

I think Xiao would start to fall for you because you see through his tough, mean guy act. You can tell that even though his words are harsh and he’s telling you to leave him alone, he’s just protecting you. You might not see it at first, but as you understand his condition, his karmic debt, you understand him. Your realization makes you feel warm knowing that Xiao is really just an innocent soul who wanted to keep you safe. He wants so badly to never hurt anyone ever again and “repent” in solitude even though he has nothing to really repent for; he was forced to kill by his previous master and his karmic debt only comes from killing the remnants of old gods and absorbing their debt.

You start to hang around him more as a result and, much to Xiao’s dismay, he doesn’t hate it. In fact, he actually enjoys how you reignite the warmth in him, the warmth he hasn’t felt in so long since his fellow Yaksha have passed. But did he want to let you in? Shouldn’t he push you away? He’s been alone for so long, why change that now? He felt like he didn’t deserve to enjoy company again, that he didn’t deserve you and your kindness. But maybe just this time… just once, would he allow it.

WANDERER

I think Wanderer would start to fall for you because you make him feel human emotions like he’s never felt before. He’s always searched for a “heart” in the form of a gnosis, thinking it would make him human and make him feel loved and wanted. But even when he had it, it didn’t feel right. Even now, with his anemo vision, he feels more, but still not what he wants. But with you, it feels perfect. Others would probably describe what he feels as something like “butterflies in my stomach” but since he probably doesn’t really experience physical things like that, being a magical puppet and all, he thinks about how you make his vision glow. When he feels a surge of emotions, it feels like he’s using his vision. It feels powerful, happy, strong, and warm, like how a light breeze feels on a sunny afternoon.

You know about his past, what he did, and how the world wronged him. He’s been so traumatized and can barely comprehend his emotions. So when you reach out to him after he regains his memory and a new anemo vision, you try to help him through his emotions in the gentle way that you do. You’re so soft with him and it makes his vision heart ache. He believes he doesn’t deserve you but you try your best to show him otherwise. As you two get closer, you never really notice, but the wind always picks up just a little bit when he sees you.

DILUC

I think Diluc would start to fall for you because you don’t just see him as “the young and rich son of the Ragnvindr family estate.” You see him for him: Diluc. You see a beautiful soul with a broken heart that has put up walls that he intends to never break down again. Others might think that Diluc is just cold, but you and the others close to him know that no matter how cold he may seem, the pure fire that burns inside him always spreads its warmth to those around him. He’s believed for a while now that barely anyone can see what he’s hiding underneath, that people want him for his money, his property, his material things. But you prove him wrong time and time again. You sweetly say hi to him every time you see him not because you want to put on a facade to get on his good side. You don’t help him break up a fight at the tavern and clean up after because you want a monetary reward. You don’t bake him an adorable strawberry cake for his birthday because you want something back. No, you do it because you care, because you have so much love to give, and Diluc feels so lucky to be a part of your life.

He feels his feelings grow for you as time goes on. He feels you getting closer and he barely hesitates to let you in. You didn’t break down his walls, you politely made a door for yourself to enter and it makes you both laugh to think about it that way. He stays reserved around most others but always holds the door open for you, physically and metaphorically.

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

[m4rv3l-girl]

hello! I love your writing!

I have a request, where the reader is recovering from recently being captured/tortured/raped by hydra, after a few months of recovery she asks bucky too make love,

after some persuasion bucky finally agrees and is so gentle he so gentle as if you would shatter at any moment, the morning after y/n realize just how loved and that after months of trauma and being broken y/n finally feel safe and loved more than y/n could have ever imagine.

maybe some flash backs of the after math of rape and torture? maybe the moment y/n realizes that shes been broken?

Broken Together

Warnings: Allusions to past rape (All smut is consensual). Mentions of flashbacks. Smut. Fingering. Unprotected p in v sex.

The world outside the window blurred into a canvas of muted grays and whites, the first snow of the season settling gently on the windowsill of the small Brooklyn apartment. It should have felt serene. Peaceful, even. But for Y/N, sitting curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over her shoulders, peace still felt like a foreign concept.

The apartment was quiet, save for the soft clinking of dishes from the kitchen. Bucky was there, moving with a quiet efficiency that spoke of a man used to silence, used to keeping himself invisible. Y/N glanced at him, the broad lines of his shoulders, the familiar slope of his jaw.

He had taken care of her since the moment she’d been freed from Hydra’s clutches, never once wavering in his devotion.

Her fingers absently traced the edge of the blanket. It was one he’d brought home one evening, insisting it would keep her warm during the brutal New York winter. She had never been good at accepting kindness, but with Bucky, it was different. He gave without expecting anything in return, but she wanted to give back, to show him that she was still whole in ways that mattered.

Her mind, however, betrayed her at every turn. No matter how much distance she tried to put between herself and the horrors Hydra had inflicted, the memories clung like a shadow. Flashes of cold, sterile rooms and the sensation of being utterly powerless would hit her without warning, leaving her gasping for air. She hated that. Hated how it made her feel weak.

The worst part wasn’t even the memories. It was the aftermath—the realization of how deeply Hydra had broken her. They hadn’t just hurt her body. They had tried to break her spirit, and for a long time, she believed they’d succeeded.

But then there was Bucky.

He appeared in the doorway now, a mug of tea in hand, his features soft but tinged with concern. “You okay, doll?” His voice was low, steady, grounding her in the present.

She nodded, even though it wasn’t entirely true. She had gotten good at pretending she was fine, but Bucky saw through it every time. His steel-blue eyes searched her face, and he didn’t press further when she offered him a small, almost apologetic smile.

He set the mug on the coffee table and sat down beside her, his warmth immediately chasing away the chill in the room. His metal hand rested lightly on her knee, the coolness of the vibranium a stark contrast to his flesh-and-blood hand, which gently took hers in his.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

She shook her head. Talking about it always felt like reopening a wound. But tonight, the silence between them felt heavier than usual. Y/N knew it wasn’t fair to keep everything bottled up. Bucky deserved to know what was on her mind.

Taking a deep breath, she whispered, “I don’t want to be broken anymore.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, and his grip on her hand tightened ever so slightly. “You’re not broken, Y/N,” he said firmly. “Not to me.”

“But I feel like I am,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “Every time I try to move forward, it’s like I hit a wall. I’m scared, Bucky. I hate being scared.”

His hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that slipped down her face. “It’s okay to be scared,” he said softly. “You’ve been through hell, but you’re still here. You’re still fighting. That’s strength, not brokenness.”

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. She wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that she wasn’t as shattered as she felt. And maybe, just maybe, she could start to heal. But there was one more thing she wanted. Something that had been on her mind for weeks but felt too big, too raw, to voice.

“Bucky,” she began hesitantly, opening her eyes to meet his. “I want us to… be together.”

“Doll, we are together..?”

“No, no, I-…I mean I want us to…you know. Try again at…yeah.” She mumbled.

He blinked, taken aback by her words. “Y/N, are you sure? Last time it-”

She nodded, even as her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and determination. “I know what happened last time. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I want to take back what they tried to take from me. I want to feel… loved. Wanted.”

His jaw tightened, a storm of emotions flickering across his face. “Doll,” he said quietly, “I don’t want to hurt you. You’ve been through so much. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“You’re not pressuring me,” she insisted, her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her chest. “I’m asking because I trust you. I feel safe with you.”

He exhaled, his gaze searching hers for any sign of doubt. When he didn’t find any, he nodded, though the hesitation in his expression remained. “Okay,” he said. “But we’ll take it slow. If you feel uncomfortable at any point, you tell me. Promise?”

“I promise.”

The tender brush of Bucky’s lips against hers was like a warm embrace from the winter’s chill outside, sending a shiver of comfort down Y/N’s spine. His hand, the one not made of gleaming metal, cradled the back of her head with a gentle firmness that made her feel cherished. His touch was a promise of protection, a silent vow to never let her go through that hell again.

——-smut——-smut———-smut———-smut———-smut———smut

Their kiss grew deeper, a conversation of shared pain and hope. His thumb traced the line of her jaw, and she could feel the steady beat of his pulse against her palm. His other hand slid down to her waist, the vibranium cool against her skin, serving as a stark reminder of his past, of the battles he’d fought, and the sacrifices he’d made. But here, now, it was a symbol of strength—his and hers.

Bucky pulled back, his eyes searching hers, looking for any sign of fear or doubt. What he found instead was a spark of something fierce, a determination that mirrored his own. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers, and whispered, “I’ve got you, doll.”

They undressed each other slowly, with a reverence that spoke of the sacredness of their bond.

Each item of clothing removed revealed a piece of their shared history, a battle scar or a tender spot that told a story of survival and resilience. He kissed every inch of her skin as if worshipping a living testament to human endurance. His touch was featherlight, a stark contrast to the bruising grip of Hydra’s agents, and she sighed with every tender caress.

Y/N’s trembling subsided as Bucky’s warmth enveloped her. His metal hand paused on her abdomen, tracing the soft curves of her body with a gentle curiosity. He took his time, savoring each moment as if it were their first and last together. And in that moment, as their eyes locked, she realized that she had never felt more alive than she did with him.

With trembling hands, Bucky cupped her breasts, his calloused thumbs brushing lightly over her sensitive nipples. A soft moan escaped her lips as she arched into his touch, her body responding to his care with a fiery hunger that she had long thought lost. He watched her closely, gauging her reaction, making sure she was ready for every step. His touch grew more assured as he felt her body relax, the tension seeping out of her muscles like sand through an hourglass.

Her skin was a palette of soft blush and cream in the dim light, and he painted her with his fingertips, tracing the delicate lines of her collarbone and the gentle swell of her breasts. His palms were rough from years of fighting, but on her, they felt like velvet. His thumbs circled her areola, and she could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks as arousal bloomed within her.

He leaned down, his warm breath ghosting across her skin, and took one of her nipples into his mouth. He suckled gently, the soft sound of his mouth on her skin echoing in the quiet apartment. She gasped, her eyes flying open to watch him, his gaze never leaving hers, as he continued to tease and pleasure her with a tenderness that seemed almost sacred. His flesh hand caressed her other breast, his thumb and forefinger playing with the tight peak, eliciting sensations that sent her spiraling into desire.

Bucky’s tongue danced over her skin, tracing patterns that made her squirm and arch into his touch. The feel of his mouth, the roughness of his tongue, was a stark contrast to the cold, clinical abuse she had suffered. But here, it was a balm, a declaration of warmth and affection. He took his time, exploring every inch of her breasts as if he were learning the secrets of her soul. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin, not enough to hurt, but just enough to make her gasp and clutch at his shoulders, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

His mouth moved to her other breast, and he applied the same gentle pressure, the same loving attention. He knew her body was a battlefield of sensations, and he navigated it with the precision of a soldier. The feel of his tongue swirling around her nipple sent shockwaves through her, and she couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her. The metal hand on her waist tightened slightly, a silent reminder that she was safe, that this was real, that she was loved.

Y/N’s breath hitched as Bucky’s mouth grew bolder, his teeth tugging lightly, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core. He knew exactly how to make her feel alive, how to remind her that she was more than a survivor.

But then, without warning, the serene winter scene outside the window shattered like a frozen pane. In its place, the cold steel of a Hydra operating room, the smell of antiseptic burning her nose, the sound of laughter from her tormentors. The panic clawed at her chest, and she gripped his shoulders tighter.

Bucky felt the change in her, his eyes snapping up to meet hers. He knew the signs, had seen the flashes of fear in her eyes before. He paused, waiting for her to either pull away or push him to continue.

“Keep going,” she breathed, her voice strained but determined. “Please, Bucky, don’t stop. I need this. I need you to chase them away.”

He searched her eyes, looking for the truth in her words, and found it.

The fire in her gaze burned away the shadows of doubt. He knew she was strong enough to face the ghosts of her past, and he vowed to be the anchor that kept her tethered to the present.

With a gentle nod, he kissed her again softly, his mouth moving lower and tracing the line of her sternum to her navel. He kissed away the cold sweat that had beaded on her skin, his touch a warm reminder that she wasn’t alone in this.

Her breathing grew uneven, her eyes drifting shut as she focused on the sensations he was giving her, the gentle kisses and nips that were slowly reclaiming her body from the clutches of fear. His hand slid down her thigh, his thumb grazing the soft skin of her inner thigh. He could feel the tremble in her legs, the residual echo of a nightmare that she was fighting to banish.

But as his hand reached the apex of her thighs, she tensed, the flashback threatening to consume her once more. He paused, his hand hovering, waiting for her to confirm if she still wanted this.

Her eyes snapped open, the stark reality of the moment slicing through the fog of her past. With a shaky nod, she whispered, “I’m okay, Bucky. I just want you to make me feel good.”

The gravity of her words settled heavily on his chest, but he understood. He knew that by pushing through this, by claiming her body as her own with his love, she was fighting back against the horrors Hydra had inflicted. He kissed her again, deep and lingering, as if he could somehow transfer his own strength to her through the connection of their lips.

Slowly, so slowly it was almost agonizing, his hand slid between her legs, his fingers finding the soft heat of her folds. Bucky’s touch was gentle but insistent, as if he were coaxing a wild creature from its hiding place. He parted her with the utmost care, exposing the treasure he sought. Y/N’s breath hitched as his thumb found her clit, that sensitive bud that was the very center of her pleasure. It was swollen and responsive to his touch and he took a moment to just look at it, to memorize every detail before he started to stroke it with the pad of his thumb.

The touch was light, almost non-existent at first, just the barest brush that had her arching into his hand. His movements grew firmer, more deliberate, as he found the rhythm that made her breathing stutter and her hips lift off the couch. His strokes grew more insistent, pressing and circling, as he watched her face contort with pleasure. Her eyes fluttered closed, her head tipping back, and her mouth fell open in a silent scream as the sensations grew more intense.

The sound of skin on wet skin filled the room, a sound that had Bucky’s cock straining against his pants. He swallowed hard, focusing on her pleasure, on the way her body was reacting to him. He could feel the tremble in her thighs, the way her muscles tensed around his hand. He knew he had to be careful, that she was still so fragile, but the desire in her eyes spurred him on. He applied more pressure, his thumb moving faster, and she began to pant, her back bowing off the couch.

The sight of her was almost too much for him. He wanted to bury himself inside her, to claim her in every way possible, but he knew that wasn’t what she needed right now.

Bucky slid one of his fingers into her warmth, moving with the same meticulous care he’d shown her entire body. He watched her face for any sign of pain, of discomfort, but all he saw was a deepening of the blush on her cheeks and the soft parting of her lips. He pushed in deeper, feeling the tightness of her clench around his digit.

“All good, Doll?” He checked.

She nodded quickly.

He waited, giving her a moment to adjust to the sensation, before he began to move. His fingers curled and stroked, searching for the spot inside her that would make her forget everything but the here and now. When he found it, her hips bucked, and a whimpering sound escaped her throat.

“That’s it, doll,” he murmured sweetly, his voice a gentle caress in the quiet room. “You’re so brave, letting me in like this.” His praise was a gentle balm, soothing the jagged edges of her fear. His words were whispers of love, reminding her that she was more than just a product of her experiences - she was a woman, reclaiming her own body.

Her breathing grew ragged as he worked his magic, the strokes of his thumb and the thrust of his fingers an unspoken language of adoration. She was wet, so wet, and the sound of his fingers moving in and out of her filled the air, a testament to the desire he had stirred within her. She could feel the heat building, a pressure that grew more insistent with each pass over her clit.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he said, his voice a low rumble that resonated in her core. “You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?” His words were a challenge, a sweet, loving challenge that she wanted to conquer.

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, and she met his gaze with a fierce determination. “Yes,” she murmured, her voice thick with desire.

Bucky’s eyes darkened at her response, and he added a second finger, stretching her gently, filling her more completely. The sensation was overwhelming, the feeling of being so full of him, so surrounded by his love and care, it brought tears to her eyes. He watched her closely, his eyes never leaving hers as he worked his hand in a slow, steady rhythm that had her writhing beneath him.

Her hips began to move with his hand, a silent plea for more, for everything he had to give. He complied, his thumb increasing its pace, the pressure just shy of pain, but oh so close to bliss. His fingers curled inside her, hitting that spot that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through her body.

The world outside the window disappeared, the cold and the snow forgotten. There was only Bucky, his hand on her, his eyes holding hers. And in that moment, she knew she could conquer anything.

Her orgasm built, a crescendo of sensation that grew and grew until it was all she could think about. She was vaguely aware of Bucky’s hand leaving her breast, of his other hand reaching for her, but it was the feel of his mouth on her clit that sent her over the edge. The shock of the cool metal against her overheated flesh was the final note in a symphony that shattered her into a million pieces.

Her body convulsed as she came, her cries echoing in the quiet apartment. Bucky held her through it all, his mouth never leaving her, his fingers never still. He was her anchor in the storm, the one constant in a world that had been ripped apart.

As the aftershocks of her climax began to subside, he kissed his way up her body, his tongue tasting her sweetness, his teeth grazing her skin in a gentle bite that made her shiver.

Y/N’s eyes searched Bucky’s, looking for reassurance. He kissed her softly, his breath warm and steady against her mouth. “I’m here, doll. We’re doing this together.”

With a nod, she reached down to undo his belt, her trembling fingers fumbling with the buckle. He took over, his movements slow and deliberate. He knew she was watching him, could feel her eyes on him as he revealed his own vulnerability, his own scars from the battles he’d fought. His cock sprang free, hard and eager, and she took it in her hand, feeling the pulse of his need.

Bucky’s eyes closed briefly as she stroked him, the sensation sending waves of heat through him. He groaned, his head falling back, and for a moment, she felt powerful - like she could take on the world.

Guiding him to her, she whispered, “Inside me, Bucky…?”

He positioned himself at her entrance, the tip of his cock nudging against her slick folds. He paused, his eyes searching hers for any hint of hesitation. Finding none, he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt.

The feeling was indescribable - both a homecoming and a new beginning. He filled her in a way that was both familiar and terrifying, a stark reminder of the power he held, and yet she felt more in control than she ever had before.

They moved together and their rhythm was slow and tender, a dance of healing and love. The room was silent except for the sound of their breaths mingling, the occasional soft moan or whispered word of encouragement.

His calloused hands, battle torn, trembled slightly as he cupped her face. The pad of his thumbs tenderly brushing against her cheeks. "You set the pace, doll," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble of reassurance. "Whatever you're comfortable with."

Y/N took a deep breath and nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips. She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him closer, feeling the warmth of his skin against hers. She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on the sensation of him inside her, filling her completely. It was more than just physical; it was a connection, a bond that transcended any doubt.

With renewed confidence, she began to move, her hips rising to meet his. Each movement sent a jolt of pleasure through her, and she gasped as he hit just the right spot. His eyes never left hers, watching her intently as she grew more comfortable with the rhythm they’d found. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, words of love and admiration that sent shivers down her spine.

Her hands roamed over his broad shoulders and chest, tracing the lines of his muscles and the scars that mapped his history. She felt him tense and quiver beneath her touch, his breath hitching as she explored. She whispered back to him, her voice a soft purr of satisfaction. "It's okay, Bucky. I want to feel you."

He thrusted his hips down into hers with passion, but still gently enough that it radiated love and care. The bed creaked beneath them, a gentle background to their grunts and gasps.

Y/N felt the heat building within her, a warm crescendo that started in her core and spread throughout her body. She tightened her grip around him, her nails digging into his flesh as she fought to hold back the moan that was bubbling up from within. Bucky's eyes narrowed, his own desire growing with every passing second. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a fiery kiss that left them both panting.

Their tongues slid over one another gently, a non-verbal conversation of passion and need. His hand moved from her hip to her breast, cupping it within his large hand and simply holding it there like a reassurance.

With every few moments, Bucky checked in with her, his eyes searching hers for any signs of distress. "That feel okay, doll?" he'd murmur, the words barely audible above their heavy breathing.

She'd nod, a soft smile playing on her lips, and he'd reward her with a deeper, more deliberate thrust, making her moan with pleasure.

Their bodies melded together, filling the room with skin-on-skin whispers. He never missed a beat, his eyes never leaving hers as he read her body like a map, charting her every response, every shiver of pleasure. He knew exactly when to slow down, to kiss her neck and let his teeth graze the soft skin just beneath her ear, to whisper something dirty that made her toes curl.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, his voice a rough caress that sent a thrill through her. "You're so perfect, dripping for me."

Her cheeks flushed at his words, but instead of feeling embarrassed, she felt a surge of excitement. He was speaking the language of raw, unbridled desire.

Their movements grew more urgent, their bodies speaking a silent but powerful language of need. The friction between them built, setting her nerves on fire, and she could feel her orgasm approaching like a freight car.

With a gasp she arched her back, her breasts pressing against his chest, her hands digging into the sheets. "Bucky," she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm… I…"

He nodded, understanding the unspoken words, and kept his pace consistent. His strokes dragged against her every time and didn’t move an inch from her sweet spot, each one pushing her closer to the edge she was teetering on. "That's it, doll," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "You can come whenever you want, Baby."

And she did.

With a cry that was part pleasure and part relief, she shattered, her body convulsing around him as waves of euphoria crashed over her. Bucky’s arms tightened around her, his hips stuttering as he felt her clench around him. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot and ragged against her skin as he fought his own release.

The tremors of her climax subsided, leaving her panting and limp in his arms. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, her sternum, tasting the sweat on her skin, feeling the thunder of her heartbeat beneath his lips.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "So beautiful and so strong."

Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze soft and adoring. She felt a gentle tug at her chest, a feeling she hadn’t felt in a long time, as if her soul was reaching out to entwine with his. "Thank you, Bucky. I really enjoyed that." she murmured.

“I’m so glad, Doll.” He took her hand and placed it on his chest, right over his heart. "Feel that?" he asked, his voice gruff. "It's yours. It's been yours since the day I met you."

Her smile grew, and she squeezed his hand in response, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath her palm. They lay there, still connected, their bodies slowly calming from the storm of passion.

Bucky pulled out of her with a soft groan, rolling to his side to lay beside her. He brushed her hair out of her face and kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheeks. "You okay?" he asked, his eyes searching hers for any lingering doubt.

She nodded, feeling a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the afterglow of their lovemaking. "I'm more than okay," she said, her voice a quiet promise.

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her, and she nestled into his embrace, feeling safe and loved.

For a few moments, they lay there, their breathing syncing up as they both tried to come down from the high of their shared release.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

The next morning, the light streamed through the curtains. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N woke up peacefully. Seeing that Bucky was already awake staring at her adoringly, she gave a gentle smile.

Leaning up and kissing him softly - "I love you," she whispered against his lips.

Bucky’s eyes searched hers, filled with a fierce tenderness that made her heart ache in the best way. "I love you too.”

——————————————————————————————————

I really hope you liked this, I tried my best to capture what you asked for. Let me know if you can! Thanks for leaving a request. 🫶

Requests Open!

[stargirl-in-dilfspace]

It Will Come Back - Logan Howlett x f!reader

[a/n: hi!! It’s been a minute but your girl is back with some good ol’ wolvie. another joel fic is in the works, and possible a part two to this one depending on feedback <3 love yall]

Warnings: angst, brief smut (NSFW), cage fighting, alcohol, cigar, mention of cat death :(

Content/themes: angst! cage fighter!logan, bartender!reader, not really an age gap idk I see reader as a full grown established adult, based of the hozier song, reader & lo hookup in this chapter but don’t get together, fear of love, mild smut, big stray cat metaphor, possible mutant!reader, reader has a sexy car so, brief section on their backseat of her car sex, the claws come out (or did they?), idiots who deserve comfort and love and need to recover from years of trauma to love each other because they are meant for each other

Summary: A stray Wolverine finds his way into your bar looking for the cage fights. But you both find something you swore off a long time ago. [1.3k words]

You knew better. You’d known better since you were told at age 7 not to feed the stray because he’d keep coming back. But you never really learned your lesson, since that cat proved to be the sweetest of them all. He’d curl up to you when you left your window open at night, push up against your legs in the backyard when you’d come home from school, hiss at any other person or animal. That’s why they put him down, when the neighborhood decided he was too aggressive.

Love like that wasn’t something you'd ever find again. The unconditional protectiveness you received all from simply feeding a stray with your kindness. And that's how you got him killed.

Never again.

To say your love life was parallel to a nun’s would be an over exaggeration. No man had ever drawn in your love the way a stray could.

The tragedy that is a stray.

Maybe you gravitated to working in this bar because everyone here was a stray. Everyone an orphan, who was someone’s, once. It helped that the cage fights were rather entertaining. Watching grown men lose their shit over losing bets, dealing out drinks left and right, everyone who came through had a level of respect for you, everyone’s favorite bartender.

“What can I get you?” Your voice flowed with the familiar words, watching the new face turn up to make eye contact with you, a cigar hanging from his lips, a good head of hair and a worn face.

“You the lady to talk to about getting in on these fights?” He asked, giving you a questioning eyebrow.

“No, Jimmy takes all the bets around here, pudgy guy, beard, back right.” You pointed past him, to Jimmy. Instead of following your finger, he gently waved his hand, looking back at you.

“No, are you the lady to talk to about fighting?” He rephrased, and you grinned. Fresh meat, right?

“Sure, I need a name.” You replied with the grin still on your lips. He looked fit, you wondered if he’d be getting his shit rocked in the cage within the hour. Or preferably by you, and not in that cage.

“Logan.”

“I need a fighting name. Privacy, and whatever.”

“Wolverine.” He puffed out the cigar’s smoke, a smell that this place already reeked of.

“The Wolverine, that's a new one. Welcome.” You smiled more genuinely, waving over one of the announcers, alerting them to your newest competitor. “Can I get you a drink, while you wait?”

“No, just the fights.” He replied, observing you in a way that made it seem like he was taking all of you in.

“Sure you can take more than one round in the ring?” You tilted your head a bit, observing him in the same way, the tension something burning that you squeezed as you spoke, as if it’d choke him up.

“You’d be surprised.” He cracked a grin, you almost wanted to take that in a different way with the way his eyes lingered on you.

————————————————————

You weren’t exactly surprised that he was a good fighter, but it's been 3 hours of continuous beatings, without a cut or a bruise to show for it, he liked to make eye contact with you, doing some dance on that tightrope you were both walking this evening. You wouldn’t complain about the view, since he started he’d shed the jacket and shirt he’d had on. It helped that he won every fight, with a somewhat practiced ease, which made plenty of viewers upset for the losses of their bets.

As the night winded down, bets closed, drunks left angry or big winners. Some frequent patrons lingered on your stools, or in the seats. You watched Logan return to the same stool as earlier.

“Would our very own Wolverine like a beer?” You offered again, wiping up some spilled beer on your bartop.

“Logan’s fine. And yeah, hun, whatever you’ve got in a bottle.” You were used to terms of endearment used by men for you around here, but nothing like the way it fell off of his lips. It made something burn in your body, a sense of nervousness and excitement, that had you grabbing the first bottle you could for him.

You popped the top, moving it over yout bartop into his hand, and part of you wanted to ask how he was unscathed from all the beatings he’d supposedly taken.

“Anything else, Logan?” You asked, more soft than you intended, taking in his appearance. What was it about this particular stray that you felt needed you? Like the way your neighborhood one had? It felt pathetic, the way you tried to straighten yourself out after the slip of your voice.

“No, darlin’. Unless you’ve got a name for me?” He grinned the same way he had earlier, and you could feel the blush dusting your cheeks.

————————————————————

That’s how you made it to the backseat of your black 67’ Ford Galaxie, being fucked like you don’t think you ever have been. Something about digging your fingernails into his skin, the way you couldn’t even see any indents with how hard you pressed, maybe it was the dark? Your legs wrapped around his hips, secured by one strong arm, the other holding himself up above you, buried in your hair. He didn’t seem the affectionate type, maybe you were wrong.

You were so lost, you couldn’t distinguish the small praises and growls on his breath, even if they met your ears like a goddamn symphony.

Something made you make eye contact with him that night, making what should've been a regular hookup into something much more intimate than it should be.

————————————————————

Maybe he shouldn't have looked into your eyes that night. Maybe he shouldn't have given himself a taste of something he should never have deserved once in his life.

But he did.

And by the time you were asleep on him, maybe he should have woken you up, told you he should go. Maybe he should have denied himself the tug you had on something deep inside him, what could be a tug on the heart he swore he didn't have.

But he didn't.

And in the morning when you said goodbyes, it wasn't nearly as awkward as it should've been, at least to him, he liked watching over you that night. He craved that tugging he felt inside of himself to curl up with you, so close you couldn't ever leave him, so close that he would let nothing hurt you.

After years of losing every person he’d ever loved, some wall stayed built, a locked door that kept him out of the warmth of your embrace.

————————————————————

You figured you wouldn't see him again for a long time, he’d told you he was a wanderer, traveling from place to place, with no home to call his own.

He reminded you of that stray cat, and maybe you should've ran the moment you felt like you needed to give him comfort and the home he deserved. You swore you’d never let someone who needed you die again.

But this was a man, a man whose mind had to be wired differently than a cat’s. But something told you part of it wasn't wired differently, the something that heard to skint of metal in the dark of your backseat when he’d damn near growled and come with you.

If the man wasn’t like your stray, why did he have the claws to prove that he was? You reminded yourself that was your imagination, because just as you turned your head to the sound, the glimmer of metal was a figment of your fucked-out mind, not really slipping back between his knuckles.

Hung up on a hookup? How pathetic. You’d never see this man again, he'd never stumble into your bar again, looking for a fight, and finding you instead.

Finding something neither of you wanted to give a name, yowling at the door you stayed on either side of, pleading to come in.

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[a/n: I LOVED writing this!!! PLEASE let me know if you enjoyed, it’s much appreciated PLUS it will help me know if yall want another part to their story <3]

[sluttysnowangel666]

Home Is Where the Heart Is - jace velaryon x reader (request)

summary: in a modern au, jacaerys must return home from studying at uni to help his stepsister care for his younger siblings when their parents and brother die. The step-siblings already complicated relationship grows more and more tense given the circumstances, and they find themselves being each other’s source of comfort in hard times.

cw: stepsiblings, death, angst, grief, emetophobia warning, childhood trauma, modern au, modern!jace, smut, idiots in love, mutual pining, slow burn, talks of abusive/ unhealthy relationships, jealous jace, NO INCEST(except daenyra but like not really bc it’s au) not entirely canon, drinking, use of Y/N

this one was hard to write for me, given i’ve experienced parent loss. i put a lot of emotion and personal experience into this one so pls be gentle with this one if you don’t like it.

I - The Leave

To say you and your step brother had tragic lives was a bit of an understatement.

Jace’s father, Harwin, had died in a fire when he was a young boy. Your mother had died in her birthing chambers having you. The paths your lives had been on as children shifted, leaving your parents to remarry when you and Jace were both only 15.

You initially did not get along. Jace did not like your father Daemon, and you did not like Jace’s mother Rhaenyra.

Over time though, you both acclimated to each other. You grew closer as the years aged you. By the time you both turned 19, you were thick as thieves. You had comforted each other through heartbreaks, similar childhood trauma, navigated what it meant to grow and change as people, and protected each other from the rest of the world.

Jacaerys was your best friend, and you were his. In another universe maybe, you could’ve been more than that. But it seemed in this world you were only meant to remain as blended family.

So when Jacaerys told you he was leaving to go across the country to Uni, your heart nearly split in two.

“What’s in Manchester?” You ask him.

“A school.” He replies sarcastically. You throw a pillow from his bed at him.

“No shit.” You say as he throws it back. “But why’d you pick one so far?”

He pauses, not wanting to reveal the honest answer. Truth be told, he found it more and more difficult to keep his secret around you. He needed to go simply for the fact he was falling in too deep, deeper than a stepbrother should fall for his sister.

It was hard seeing you every day of his life yet never being able to be with you. He saw you with other men, which ignited a jealousy in him he didn’t even know that he had. He couldn’t stand being around it, couldn’t stand lying to your parents when you snuck out of his bedroom window, couldn’t stand watching you allow yourself to get treated like shit by men who provided nothing. If you had been his… in another life… things would be different.

“I just think I’ve outgrown London.” He says, continuing to pack his clothes.

“I hope you love it.” You tell him. You were so sweet, so kind to everyone. You hadn’t deserved the hand life had dealt you. He only wished you could see the love you deserved, he wished he could show you.

He felt sad leaving you, but he felt better knowing you would be safe with mom and Daemon. He knew you would take good care Aegon and Viserys. He knew you would care for Joffrey and Luke too. Even though they weren’t your blood you loved them like they were.

“When do you go to get your rental car?” You ask him.

“In the morning. Then I’ll drive non stop to Manchester.”

“Hm.” You hum while petting his cat, Vermax. “He will miss you.”

“I trust you’ll take care of him for me.” Jace says.

“I will, besides he’ll have Arrax and Syrax to keep him company.”

“And what about you? Who will keep you company?”

“Don’t you worry about me, Jacaerys. I will get by.” You say. He looks at you, comfortable on his bed with Vermax on your lap. “Perhaps you’ll even meet a girl in Manchester.”

“Perhaps you’ll meet someone who won’t cheat on you.” He says, a random anger appearing out of nowhere.

“Don’t be fuckin’ rude, Jacaerys.” You say. “I’ve done nothing to anger you.”

“No, you’ve just allowed yourself to be treated like shit by men and I know you will continue to when I leave.”

“I don’t see how it’s your business anyway.” You say. “But be like that if you wish. I have a tampon I can throw in your bag if it’s that time of the month.”

He sneers at you, waving you away with his hand. You stand to leave. “Goodnight, Jacaerys.”

“Wait.” He says, grabbing your wrist as you open the door. “I’m sorry… I’m just… scared. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“You have nothing to worry about Jacaerys.” You say, taking his hands in yours. “You’re gonna do great.”

You look into his eyes, but he looks past you at the door. His hand pushes it shut, and you look at it, then back at him. “Jace?”

He presses his lips onto yours and you pull away, shocked. You both stare into each other’s eyes in silence, both of you gasping in shock at what just happened.

Neither of you had any idea what to say to each other, so you pressed your lips back onto his. His hands rested on your waist, pulling you into him. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he backed you onto his bed. You landed on the pile of clothes on his bed, letting him in between your legs while playing with his pretty brown curls.

“Bubby!” Viserys yells, coming into Jace’s room. You practically kick Jacaerys onto the floor. Viserys doesn’t seem to notice what you two were both up to, too distracted with his mission. “Have you seen Aegon? We’re playing hide and seek, mommy said check in here.”

“No, Viserys! Get out.” Jace says on the floor. Viserys sticks his tongue out at him.

Your heart was racing from the fear of getting caught by your sibling, clarity hitting you in the face.

“I’ll help you find him, Vis.” You say, standing and leaving Jace’s room, avoiding Jace’s eyes that were pleading for you to stay.

The next morning you all woke early to say goodbye to Jacaerys. He’d wanted to text you during the night and ask you to come to his room so you both could talk, but he gave you your space.

Your family all said goodbye to Jace, helping him bring his bags to the car and giving him a tearful goodbye.

You waited by the car door and he walked over to you with a gentle smile. You both stared into each others eyes, pleading.

Tell me to stay. I’ll stay. His eyes begged yours.

Stay. Your eyes begged.

But in the end neither of you said a word. Instead you wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug, and he did the same.

He moved you by your hips away from the car door, getting inside and avoiding your eyes. Your family all waved goodbye to him, saying they loved and were proud of him.

He drove off, staring at you in the rear view mirror.

That was the last time your family was all together.

II - The Photo

A few months had gone by since Jace left, and neither of you had spoken. You occasionally stalked his Instagram to see how he was doing though. He had been traveling, getting sunburnt, clubbing, DJing apparently. A hobby you hadn’t expected him to pick up, but one he had nonetheless. He had made two friends you noticed often, Cregan and Benjicot.

He was doing good. He was handsome, growing into a man. You missed him, in ways a stepsister shouldn’t miss her stepbrother. You dreamed of him often, even sneaking into his room at night every once in a while just because you missed his smell.

You stole oversized shirts he left behind, sleeping in them. You messed around on his PC, playing games like Roblox knowing he would get home and think it was Luke.

One day you had been mindlessly scrolling on Instagram when you saw Jace was tagged in a post by Cregan.

It was the two of them… and a girl. Jace’s arm was wrapped around her and they were practically connected at the hip. You gasped softly, trying to find who the girl was.

Her name was Sara, and she was obviously Cregan’s sister. They had the same sharp features.

“Slut.” You mumbled to yourself. You liked the post to be petty.

Jace’s heart dropped at the notification. It was the first interaction, if you could even call it that, that you two had shared since he left.

He wondered if you were jealous.

You were. You wondered if they were hooking up, or even dating.

They weren’t, she was a lesbian, but he knew the photo would get your attention.

Jace had told Cregan about your kiss, and Cregan wanting to be a wingman posted the photo in an attempt to get you to message Jace.

It didn’t work, and slowly you both started to move on from each other. You never exchanged any texts or calls or letters, and another year and a half would go by before you would reunite under the most unfortunate circumstances.

III - The Loss

You’d awoke in the middle of the night to a frightening knock on your door, a knock that only comes when there is bad news.

And bad news had come indeed.

Rhaenyra and your father Daemon, as well as Lucerys died in a car accident.

The news was debilitating for you and your walls had broke down.

You called Jacaerys in the middle of the night, and when he seen that call he knew only the worst had happened.

He answered, his voice shaking. “Y/N?”

“Jacaerys.” You sobbed into the phone hysterically. “Jacaerys, come home please. You have to come home now.”

“Y/N, I’m on my way. Y/N, please please calm down, you’re scaring me. I’ll be there in the morning. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”

“No, Jacaerys, just please get home as soon as you can.” You sobbed, and he heard your brothers crying in the background too.

“Okay, okay.” He said, beginning to cry. Cregan heard the commotion and awoke from his side of the dorm.

“Are you alright, brother?” He asked, his voice groggy with sleep.

“I don’t know, I don’t know. Y/N called me freaking out, the twins and Joff were crying too. I don’t know what’s going on. I think it’s my parents.” Jace said crying.

“I’ll drive you to London.” Cregan said, immediately dressing.

“You-sob-don’t-sob-have to.” Jace cries.

“Dude, you’re in no condition to drive. Don’t worry about it.”

“B-But it’s a four hour drive and there’s-sob-classes-“

“Dude. It’s fine. Alpha Drac for life, right? I’ve gotchu.”

Cregan drove them to London without stopping once, speeding 15 over the limit the whole time. Jacaerys cried half the car ride, then fell asleep the second half.

Cregan pulled down your street, waking Jacaerys before reaching the driveway.

“Be safe. Call me when you can.” Cregan says, but Jace was already sprinting out of the car door and tripping up the stairs.

He burst into the door, saying your name, mom, luke, anyone.

He ran into the living room, waking you from the couch where you had pulled out the hide-a-bed and were sleeping with the twins and Joffrey.

You immediately started crying when you saw him, trying to stay quiet so you didn’t wake the boys.

“Oh, Jacaerys.” You pulled him into a hug, and you both sobbed into each other.

“Is it mom and Daemon?” He asked, knowing the answer but fearing the worst.

You nodded. “And Lucerys.”

Jace pulled away from you. “You’re lying.” He said in a whisper.

“No, Jacaerys, please listen-“ He turned and walked away from you upstairs. You followed right behind him as he turned into Luke’s empty room.

He fell onto Luke’s bed, screaming into the pillows. You laid behind him, rubbing his arm and sobbing into his back. You kissed his shoulders, quietly saying a prayer for your broken family.

He sat up, “Oh my god, I think I’m gonna be sick.” He said, leaving to the bathroom.

You followed again, holding his hair back as he got sick into the toilet and sobbed. You sat on the edge of the tub, and when he was done he rested his head onto your thighs continuously sobbing while you rubbed his hair and sobbed with him.

You eventually walked downstairs when the sun began to rise, and you both laid down and fell asleep next to your brothers, not letting go of each other once.

You both only slept for a few hours before you woke up, seeing your brothers awake and sitting in silence.

“Jace.” Joffrey said, and he and the twins all moved to lay on Jacaerys. He held them, wanting to cry more but there was nothing left.

“Kids?” The door opened and Rhaenyra’s aunt and uncle Rhaenys and Corlys, her cousin Laena, and your cousins Baela and Rhaena walked in.

Rhaenys and Corlys were also Jace, Joffrey and Luke’s godparents. Joffrey and Jace immediately greeted them, while you and the twins remained seated. They were not your family, and you had only met them a few times.

Your father could be an ass, so he had a lot of enemies you could say, including majority of Rhaenyra’s family.

Thankfully they had been kind and sympathetic of your grief and the twins as well, knowing you all were now also without a father and mother. They were your father’s enemies, but not yours.

Corlys and Rhaenys pleaded with you and Jace to foster Joffrey so they could teach him about the Velaryon family business in overseas trading, as they had done with Lucerys.

You wanted the best life for your siblings, so you let Jacaerys decide for his blood brother. You knew Joffrey would be better off with them and his older cousins, but Jace said no.

“Our family is here. We need to stay together from now on.” He told his aunt.

“Jacaerys, you’ll have to return to Uni at some point. You’re so close to being done. How do you expect Y/N to raise three children on her own so young?”

“I’m not going back.”

“Jacaerys!” You yelled at him. “You have to finish school.”

“No. My decision is final. We’re staying together. Nobody raise the matter again.”

The funeral was a few days after that, and it had brought all of Rhaenyra’s family as well as Daemon’s weird and mysterious friends from all over the world.

People gave you and Jace their condolences, as well as tons of money. You knew Rhaenyra was rich from inheriting her father Viserys’ estate, which Jace would now inherit in turn, but Rhaenyra’s cousins and aunts and uncles and friends wanted to make sure you both were well set on top of that inheritance so that you and Jace could take care of your siblings with no trouble.

It was a generous thing, money, but it didn’t bring your family back. It didn’t matter how many checks they wrote, you couldn’t cash them to heaven.

“Brother.” A deep voice said.

You and Jace turn your heads to see Cregan and his sister approaching you.

“Cregan?” Jace embraced him in a hug, both of them holding each other for a moment.

“Hi, I’m Sara.” Sara said, taking the moment to introduce herself. “I’ve heard nice things about you.”

You turned your nose up at her, thinking she was being sarcastic. She wasn’t but despite your attitude she was polite to you anyway, knowing you were heavy with grief.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m sorry it couldn’t be under better circumstances.” Cregan says to you, hugging you as well. You appreciated them coming, knowing it meant a lot to Jacaerys to have them there.

Jace took your hand in his, both of you in all black, staring at the three caskets. You thought he held your hand for your comfort, but it was for his.

The guilt Jace felt was huge. He hadn’t been there, he had left to Uni for his own selfish reasons. It didn’t matter how many people told him it was okay, he was trying to get an education, it wasn’t the real reason he was there. He left to get away from you.

And that own selfish reason he had for leaving… he thought it could be the reason why your parents and brother were now in the ground. If he had stayed, they might have too.

“Jace?” Your voice was muffled. “Jacaerys?”

“Hm?” He asked, your voice pulling him back to reality.

“They want you to say a few words.” You said. He looked around, noticing his family was looking to him to say the final goodbyes.

“Will you come with me?” He asked. You nodded, standing with him to look over the caskets.

He said a few words of love and praise to his now lost family, holding your hand the whole time. You both couldn’t recall what he said, only having said it for the others around you.

You both grabbed a pile of dirt, throwing it onto the caskets. Jace winced when it landed on Luke’s.

“Are you okay?” You asked, rubbing his arm. He shook his head no. You brought his head to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss on his temple. “Me either. But we’ll be okay… someday.”

He liked to believe that what you were saying was true.

IIII - The Recovery

Jacaerys moved home, taking a leave of absence from Uni. They were more than generous with him, giving him as much time as he wanted to decide when to return. You begged him to reconsider, but he was set in his decision.

You both stepped into a parental role, playing mommy and daddy 24/7. And by god’s grace for some reason those kids to listened to you.

You did everything Rhaenyra and Daemon had done like bathing, cleaning, cooking, laundry, etc. You and Jace had become a power duo at the household chores just like they had.

Neither of you worked, taking time off to grieve and you also really didn’t need to work due to Jace’s inheritance.

You both contemplated moving. The house held bad memories for you both, but you dared not touch your parents and Luke’s room. Neither of you had the strength to even go in the rooms anymore, nor uproot your little brother’s lives by making them move from the house they were raised in.

You and Jace never talked about the night before he left, instead focusing on the chaos of two teenagers raising three young, rambunctious boys.

A year went by of this lifestyle, making it three years since your initial kiss and a year of your parent’s and brother’s passing.

In a way, you both had moved on. You were older, forced to mature quicker than you’d have liked, raising three kids, unable to focus on the past of what once could have been.

Cregan and Sara moved down to London following their final year at Uni, requesting you both to come out and celebrate their birthday.

You both hesitantly agreed, given the boys had all just left a day before to be with Rhaenys and Corlys for the summer, and you had not experienced what it was like to still be a young adult in almost a year.

You had nearly forgot life could be fun when you weren’t being a parent.

You all met up at a sports bar since Cregan had wanted to watch a soccer game, and it was packed.

You managed to find a table, but it did hardly anything. Bodies were packed in there like sardines to see the world cup final.

You and Sara both sat, sipping on a cocktail while the boys got more drinks. You weren’t particularly keen on being left there alone with her, given you hadn’t cared for her since you didn’t know what had gone on between her and Jace when they were at Uni.

You made polite small talk, but Sara was a certified yapper. She’d find anything to keep the dying conversation going.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Sara asked.

“Uh, nah. Haven’t really had the time nor the want with the kids and all.” You said, sipping your drink.

“Maybe you ought give girls a try.” She said. “I did once and I’ve never gone back since.”

“Yeah, maybe.” You chuckled. “Wait, what?”

“What?”

“You’re… a lesbian?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” She said.

“Well, I thought you and Jacaerys-“

She spit her drink out onto you, laughing at even the idea. You wiped your face off with a napkin, trying not to smash your drink upside her head.

“And this whole time I had no idea why you hated me.” She sat back, crossing her arms and smirking. “No wonder… This whole time you thought I was in love with Jacaerys.”

You couldn’t hide the little smile that crept on your face.

“Oh, sweet thing… Jacaerys is all yours.” She looked over at him at the bar. “I think he always has been.”

“So… were there any girls at Uni?” You asked.

“A few.” She mumbled, hesitant on telling you. “I’m sure you had a few back here as well.”

She wasn’t wrong, but it still hurt knowing Jace had moved on too during the time. It hurt knowing girls were getting his love that you desperately craved.

“He told me and Cregan about your kiss.”

“That was a long time ago.” You say. “We both have bigger things to worry about now rather than a moment in time three years ago.”

“I know you love your brothers, Y/N. I know Jace does too.” Sara says. “But don’t forget to take care of yourself. It’s okay to be selfish sometimes.”

You looked at Jace, who was making his way back to your table with more drinks. His eyes caught yours, and he smiled at you. He didn’t do that a lot anymore since they died.

“I got you a negroni, my lady.” Jace says, setting your drink in front of you. You roll your eyes with a smirk.

The four of you drank all night while watching the game, you and Jace loosening up the more alcohol you consumed.

The night had spiraled out of control, the four of you separating from each other.

You found yourself at the bar, ordering more drinks, Sara was in the bathroom with a girl, Cregan was busy arguing and growing closer to a fist fight with Germany fans, and Jacaerys was busy searching for you on the wrong side of the bar.

A man sat beside you by the bar while you waited.

“Her next drink’s on me.” He said to the bartender.

“No, that’s fine actually. I’ve got a tab open. My drunk friends will find out in the morning they paid for it.”

He laughed, and a blush creeped across your cheeks. “What if I had been ordering 15 shots? Then what would you have done?”

“I would have paid for 15 shots.” It was your turn to laugh now.

“What’s your name, pretty?”

“Y/N. What’s yours?”

“Jason Lannister.”

“Nice to meet you.” You say. He was kinda cute, and the thought made Sara’s words from earlier echo in your head.

It’s okay to be selfish sometimes.

“Actually, you can pay for my drink.” You say.

He smirks, pulling out his wallet. “What’s your poison?”

“Surprise me.”

He bought you both a few rounds of shots, and you grew more confident and more drunk with each one.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom.” You drunkenly slur.

“Do you want me to come with you?” He asks. You say yes, taking his hand and dragging him along behind you.

You got lost on the way to the bathroom, instead ending up dancing in the middle of the floor.

You were chest to chest with him, his hand on your lower back as you leaned up to kiss him. Your hands held tight onto the collar of his shirt, which was keeping you from falling. He matched your energy with the kiss, his hand tangling in your hair.

His other hand snaked its way to your inner thigh, his fingers tickling the skin under your skirt.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Huh?” You pulled away to ask Jason, drunkenly wondering how he was able to talk while kissing you.

But it wasn’t him yelling, it was Jace.

Time slowed down for a second, and it all happened in slow motion as you watched Jace swing his arm to hit Jason in the jaw.

Jason stumbled, holding his jaw and glancing back and forth between you, Jace, and Cregan who had noticed the commotion and came to back up Jace.

“The fuck, Y/N?!” Jason yelled at you, pushing your shoulder lightly, but you were drunk and uncoordinated so you fell.

Jacaerys practically jumped on Jason after that, punching him over and over in the face.

“Jacaerys, stop, now!” You yelled. “Cregan, stop him!”

Cregan didn’t help the situation, only helping Jacaerys jump Jason.

“Oh my fuckjng God.” You yelled to yourself, trying to pull Cregan and Jacaerys off of Jason.

Bar security came, kicking you all out and banning you forever. You didn’t care about that though, you were just pissed at Jace for embarrassing you like that.

You, Cregan, Jace, and Sara took the taxi home in silence.

Cregan and Sara had immediately went to bed downstairs, while you angrily stormed up to your room.

“Are you seriously angry with me?” Jace asked, following you into your room and closing the door.

“Get out, Jacaerys.” You said, both of you sober by this point from all the adrenaline of the last hour of events.

“I was just protecting you!”

“From what?” You laugh, frustrated.

He had no answer. He knew he had only attacked the guy out of jealously, seeing you kiss a man that should have been him.

“Why would you do that?” He asks, his voice laced with sadness.

“Do what?” You ask, rubbing your eyes as you felt a headache forming.

“Kiss him.” He said. You sighed.

“Because I wanted to. I don’t need you protecting me.” You looked at Jace, his signature pout forming. You glanced down to his hands, which were bloody and bruised.

“Jesus.” You mumbled. “Come on.”

You pulled him to the bathroom, making him sit on the toilet while you cleaned and bandaged his hand. He watched you the whole time, your eyebrows knit together as you focused on his wounds.

It was there it hit him, that he loved you. He was tired of burying that feeling. He loved you. He loved how you took care of your siblings, he loved how you immediately stepped into the role of a mother without ever complaining, he loved his life with you.

His hand caressed your cheek.

“Stop, I don’t want you to hurt yourself anymore than you have.” You say. His fingers were gently gliding over your jaw, eventually taking a hold of it to make you look at him.

Your heart was racing, you knew what he was feeling because you felt it too.

“You’re mine.” He said, and without even thinking you smashed your lips onto his. He pulled you onto his lap, his damaged hands loosely resting on your waist.

Three years it had been since your first kiss, three years of longing and aching for him, trying to let the feeling go for the sake of your children.

It’s okay to be selfish sometimes.

You pulled him into his room, kicking the door shut as you fell onto his bed, just like the first time.

He nestled between your legs, kissing you intently. He moved his lips down, pressing kisses on your neck and chest.

You whimpered, your fingers toying in his hair.

“I need you, Jacaerys.” You whisper.

“Fuck, I need you more.” He whispers back.

You sit up on your knees as Jacaerys stands. You pull his shirt gently off him, avoiding his hands, and move to helping him undo his belt and pants until he’s in only his boxers.

You undress your torso, then wiggling to kick off your skirt to reveal your thin little panties.

“You might have thought you had a mission but really you had a death wish going out in those.” Jace said, pressing his lips onto the thin black lace. He kisses your wetness, moving your panties to the side so he can eat. His tongue glides into your cunt, making sure to lick and taste the sweetest parts.

“So possessive, and for what?” You moan, your fingers gripping his curls.

“Because you’re mine.” He says into your heat, and you moan at his voice.

He eats you with a burning desire, a taste he had dreamt about for years. He’s messy, yet coordinated, kissing and sucking just the right spots to make you melt onto his tongue. He was starved for you, and now he eats as if he’ll never eat again.

You chase the release, grinding your hips into his face.

“I’m gonna cum, oh my god.” You whine, your hand trembling in his curls. He moans into your heat, pushing you over the edge. You spill onto his tongue, and he doesn’t miss a drop, licking as long as he can until you’re shaking.

You go to kiss him, but he pulls away. “I’ve still got you on my lips, I wanna savor it as long as I can.”

“You can’t share?” You tease.

He shivers at your words. “Ooh, don’t test me.”

You settle for kissing his neck instead, pulling him by his hips between your legs to make him grind onto you.

You feel his length inside his boxers against your heat, and you shiver at the size.

“Don’t keep me waiting any longer, Jace.”

“How long have you been waiting exactly?” He teases.

“A long time. Longer than three years.” You say. He finally presses his lips back onto yours, his hand weakly kneading your breast. You gently take his hand in yours, guiding his weak fingers.

“I wish my hands weren’t numb.” He moans between kisses.

“What-“

“Sh, it’s fine, just keep kissing me.” He says, refusing to let you break away. His tongue plays with yours, and your lips are bruised and swollen from the eagerness of his.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” You moan, trying to push down his boxers to rub his length.

“Just like you were at the bar, walking around in that tight little black skirt, kissing on guys who had no business even breathing the same air as you.

You finally reach your hand in his boxers, eliciting a gasp from him as you rub his length. You push his boxers down, and he pulls your panties off you.

You rub his length against your wet slit, moaning as you guide him inside you.

“Baby.” He moans. You shiver at the pet name, wanting to hear more of his sweet voice. He rests his weight on his fore arms, kissing and sucking on your neck to leave marks. His thrusts are fueled with love, unlike ones you’ve felt before from others.

He fucks you so sweetly, pulling away your neck so he can look in your eyes. He holds your hips into the bed, fucking you. You moan and whine, gripping his wrists for support.

“Say you’re mine.” He moans.

“I’m yours. Fuck, Jace, I’m all yours.”

“Yes, my girl. Fuck, you’re so wet.” He says, his words sultry and low.

“I’m so in love with you.” You moan, lost in lust.

“I wish I could fuck you all night long.”

“Don’t worry.” You moan. “We’ve got a lifetime to do that.”

“Fuck, I love you so much.” Jace moans. “I’m so in love with you it hurts.”

He nestles into your neck, and you hold him close to you, moaning in his ear.

You feel his thrusts grow sloppy, and he shakes as he grows close to his release. He fucks you so deep his pelvic bone rubs your clit, drawing you closer too.

You pull him by his neck into your lips again as you both cum. He fills you up, warm and deep inside your stomach as he moans into your lips.

“Fuck, fuck.” He pulls out, gasping. He looks into your eyes, both of you catching your breath and coming down from what just happened.

“Are you alright? I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He asks, still shaking him his release.

“No, Jace.” You say, tucking a curl behind his ear. “You were perfect.”

“I’m sorry about tonight.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

He lays beside you, resting his head on your shoulder. “What happens now?”

“We…” You say, not knowing where to start.

Your whole life had been uprooted. Both of you had done nothing for yourselves, until now. You both had a choice to make. You could quit living half a life, one foot in one foot out the door, doing your duty yet nothing for yourself. Or, you could get busy living. Take care of your brothers, love each other endlessly, make the most out of your life and your love like your parents would have wished for you both.

“I think we just start enjoying it.”

“Enjoying what?”

“Our lives.” You look at him, and you take his bruised hand in yours.

“Together.”

[kitnjon]

I will be forever glad I was a Jonsa in 2019. The fics were truly the best thing to come out of season 8.

Do you have a season 8 fic recommendations??

Yeah those fics really helped us after the trauma d&d put us through right? I started reading jonsa fics around the same time to get over S8 ending. I had read a lot of S8 fix it fics back then but didnt have ao3 account so unfortunately I don't have many of them bookmarked :( Sharing a few I can recall reading and was able to find.

they tumble down by thimbleful

He meets her gaze for the shortest moment before turning to look out over the woods, gesturing at it with a gloved hand. “Is this why you brought me here? To talk about memories?” “No. I wanted to talk about marriage.” When Sansa suggests it's time for her and Jon to marry, she means they should make marriage alliances with the other Northern houses. Jon, though, assumes she means they should marry each other. A post s7 story where Jon and Sansa struggle to navigate their new political landscape while suppressing their feelings for one another, Arya does everything in her power to protect her pack, and Bran and Sam try to figure out how to kill the Night King.

2. intentions of gold (with my plans) by @jonsaslove

this is a series of one shots that follow a loose season 8 au. each episode has a fic and it works under the premise that Jon and Sansa orchestrated political!jon back in season 7 and planned to have him manipulate Daenerys into coming north.

3. victory is in my veins (oh ye of so little faith) by Lady_Alice

“Jon,” Sansa says quietly, her hands twisting together in front of her. “Tell me the truth. Do you love her?” He starts, eyes widening. “Love her?” That’s all the confirmation she needs, but Jon rushes onward, stepping closer to her, hands outstretched and voice nervous, reassuring, as if he were a husband swearing to his wife that he loves only her. “Sansa, no, no, gods, after this, I hope I never have to see her again.” // The Season 8 we deserved. (and that the characters deserved) (yeah i'll die mad about s8, sue me)

4. and no net ensnares me by thimbleful

Since Jon left, Sansa has struggled to keep things together and she longs for his return. However, when he does return things only become worse. Jon learns about his parentage and doesn't know how to make sense of anything, how to fix the inevitable mess the reveal will create, or how to protect the people he loves. But at least, after all these years, the pack is finally back together. Then, one day, Sansa disappears. Post season 7 fic.

5. such simple words (such a complicated truth) by thimbleful

"You don’t have the right name to make men rally behind you, you don’t have any armies nor land or a castle or--” “No, but I do.” Sansa drops her necklace and Jon shifts in his seat to get away from the twisting sensation in his stomach. He knows where this is going: his depraved dreams come true under the worst possible circumstances. Jon and Sansa get married and consummate that marriage. That's it. That's the fic.

6. what do you want (that you do not have) by thimbleful

When the Winterfellians learn that Cersei has hired men to kidnap Sansa, they decide that Sansa needs to run away and Jon volunteers to protect her. During their travels the tension builds between them--especially after Jon suffers an injury and they're taken in by an older couple. Because, in hopes of protecting their identities, Jon and Sansa have to pretend to be happily married and in love. Every day. In close quarters. For quite some time. Takes place after the war against the NK is won. Not a kidnapping fic.

7. soldier, go bravely on by @missfaber

King's Landing is ash. The game is revealed. Jon Snow faces the consequences of his choices. Daenerys Targaryen seeks subservience from all. Sansa Stark will not go quietly. Westeros hangs in the balance. + an alternate ending for Game of Thrones. 8.x06 fix-it fic

8. we are buried in broken dreams by @writerbri-archive

Prompt: Sansa and Jon sleeping together before he goes to Dragonstone and when he comes back he finds out she is pregnant. A full on s8 fix-it fic at this point.

9. A Time for Wolves by missgreeneinthlibrary

Winter was coming. Now it's here. Season 8 reimagined with a Jonsa twist.

[oddyseye]

Let's talk about Polites in EPIC: The Musical...and Eurylochus.

I do not get the hype for Polites. Yes, he’s supposed to be this sweet, trusting, “open arms” guy who exists to show Odysseus the value of kindness, but he’s an actual walking disaster. He’s a hypocrite through and through. This man fought in the Trojan War — there’s no way his hands are clean — so his sudden push for peace and “let’s all trust each other” feels completely illogical. You don’t get to be a warrior and then act shocked when the world bites back. Here’s what gets me: Polites doesn’t even suffer the consequences of his own idiocy. He dies immediately, leaving the rest of the crew (especially Odysseus) to clean up the mess. His naive, sunshine-and-rainbows approach literally causes everything to fall apart. It’s because of his influence that Odysseus shows mercy to the Cyclops. Look, Polyphemus wasn’t just some big guy with sheep; he was a monster who ate people alive. Odysseus could have stuck to what he does best — being clever, ruthless, and surviving — but instead, Polites’ “let’s be kind and reasonable” act softened him. What did that get them? Poseidon’s rage, storms that killed dozens of men, and an endless chain of suffering. I don’t even feel bad for him because he’s the one who got them into that situation. He got bludgeoned to death, and Odysseus was left holding the guilt and the trauma. Polites did more harm to Odysseus than any monster, god, or storm combined. His naive “open arms” nonsense shattered everything Odysseus built.

His “open arms” philosophy doesn’t even fit the world they live in. This isn’t some cozy, peaceful land — it’s a brutal, war-torn reality where gods toy with humans for sport and monsters eat you for dinner. Odysseus knows this. He’s been through ten years of war, and his leadership is built on cleverness, caution, and yes, ruthlessness when necessary. Polites telling Odysseus to just trust people is like handing a lamb to a lion and acting shocked when it gets eaten. It’s ridiculous. And for all the praise he gets for his ideals, what do they actually accomplish? Nothing. They just put everyone in danger. I care about the impact he had on Odysseus, of course, but not him as a person — because his ideals were dangerous, and his death came way too soon for it to feel meaningful. He was a plot device, not a hero. Meanwhile, Eurylochus gets called selfish, but at least he wasn’t stupid enough to greet the Cyclops or a pretty witch with open arms (and legs).

And keep in mind that, in the original epic, Polites is barely even a footnote — a guy who gets name-dropped once or twice and that’s it. He wasn’t Odysseus’ best friend, he wasn’t some great philosopher of peace, and he definitely didn’t have this huge impact on Odysseus’ leadership. He was just another member of the crew. Yet, for some reason, Jorge decided to pluck him out of obscurity, slap on some manufactured “kind soul” personality, and act like he’s this beacon of morality who changes everything. And for what? Polites’ entire presence in Epic feels like a forced excuse to make Odysseus feel bad about everything. Polites wasn’t important in The Odyssey, so why does Epic act like losing him broke Odysseus? If the story wanted to explore Odysseus’ guilt, fine — but why pin it all on some guy who didn’t even matter in the original myth? At least Eurylochus had a real role in the Odyssey. He was Odysseus’ second-in-command, brother-in-law, and actually did stuff. Speaking of Eurylochus, my man deserves some credit for being an actual human character. Eurylochus makes bad decisions, but at least his choices feel human. Polites, on the other hand, is just...there. A one-note plot device designed to give Odysseus trauma.

I call Polites a hypocrite, while everyone slaps that title onto Eurylochus. But honestly, if anything, Eurylochus is the only crew member who shows consistent growth throughout the story. Eurylochus doesn’t just blindly follow Odysseus or cling to pretty ideals like Polites. Instead, he’s pragmatic, deeply flawed, and painfully human — exactly the kind of person you’d expect to survive years of war and suffering. And honestly? He’s the only one who sees through Odysseus’ contradictions and calls him out when it matters most. Let’s start with the wind bag incident. People love to blame Eurylochus for this, but let’s look at what really happened. Odysseus did tell the crew what was in the bag — he made it clear: “This bag has the storm inside, we cannot let the treasure rumor fly!”

But by that point, the crew was exhausted, starving, and suspicious of their leader. It didn’t help that the Winions planted the idea that the bag contained treasure. That’s what drove the crew to act — greed and distrust, born out of their suffering. And despite the fact Eurylochus didn’t act alone, he often gets singled out as the scapegoat. But reminder that Odysseus refused to let anyone carry the bag, didn’t share its burden, and still kept himself separate from the crew. The men were barely hanging on, and their captain’s secrecy — however well-intentioned — made it easy for paranoia to fester. Was opening the bag a mistake? Absolutely. But it wasn’t just Eurylochus’ fault. It was the natural result of a crew pushed to their breaking point, fueled by mistrust. And when everything blew up — literally — who carried the blame? Eurylochus. Because that’s the role he always ends up in: the fall guy for everyone else’s failures. Then there’s Circe’s island — another moment where Eurylochus’ actions get unfairly criticized. When the men are turned into pigs, Eurylochus does something incredibly human: he panics. He doesn’t want to rush back into danger, and his instinct is to survive. And thus, he suggests abandoning the men and sailing away with Odysseus, which is a harsh and selfish choice. But when he suggests leaving the men, it’s because the situation with Circe is impossible, and the men are trapped. He doesn’t want to abandon them out of cruelty. And let’s not forget that Odysseus’ response is pivotal here. He tells Eurylochus this:

“There’s no length I wouldn’t go if it was you I had to save. I can only hope you’d do the same.” This line changes everything. It plants a seed in Eurylochus that will shape his future actions and, more importantly, his expectations of Odysseus. From that moment on, Eurylochus believes in the idea of loyalty — of never leaving a man behind. He takes Odysseus’ words to heart and learns from him. That’s why what happens later, at Scylla, feels like such a betrayal. When Odysseus sacrifices six men to Scylla to save the rest of the crew, Eurylochus is furious, and rightfully so. From Eurylochus’ perspective, this is hypocrisy of the highest order. Odysseus, who taught him to value every life, now coldly sacrifices six of their men without even warning them. He plans their deaths. “If you want all the power, you must carry all the blame!” This line hits hard, because it exposes the truth about Odysseus’ leadership. Odysseus demands loyalty, respect, and obedience, but he doesn’t want to share the weight of his failures. Eurylochus’ anger isn’t hypocrisy — it’s justified. He held Odysseus to the same standard Odysseus set for him on Circe’s island, and when Odysseus fell short, Eurylochus refused to stay silent. This moment is a turning point: Eurylochus transforms from the scared, self-serving man on Circe’s island to someone who believes in loyalty and accountability. He learned from Odysseus, only to realize that Odysseus doesn’t always live up to his own ideals (hmmmm who does that sound like, oh I wonder).

And to make matters worse — because of course Polites' chaos wasn't enough — we have the cattle situation, which is basically Eurylochus and Odysseus reaching their absolute breaking points. Let’s get one thing clear: what happens with the cattle of Helios? That’s not Eurylochus being weak or selfish — it’s Eurylochus being human. By the time they get to the island, the crew is starving, hopeless, and barely hanging on. Odysseus’ guilt, Poseidon’s fury, everything else, it broke everyone, including Eurylochus. So when he sees those cattle, he cracks. It’s not just about hunger. It’s about everything that’s led them there: the death, the constant danger, the years of being dragged across the seas because of Odysseus’ mistakes and gods playing games. This is where the lyrics hit like a gut punch. Look at the difference in lyrics: “I need to get home!” “How much longer must I go about my life like this, when people die like this?” And that right there? That’s the heart of it.

Odysseus is fixated on his goal, on getting home, because that’s what keeps him going. But Eurylochus? He’s stuck in the present. He’s surrounded by death and misery every single day. Polites’ naive optimism is long gone, and what’s left is the harsh reality of survival. Eurylochus isn’t wrong for saying “enough is enough.” They’ve been starved, cursed, and hunted; the gods have abandoned them. Why wouldn’t he break? And Odysseus loses it. “You’ve doomed us all, Eurylochus!” And yeah, it’s easy to say that when you’re the one in charge (since Odysseus did not kill the cattle, he holds none of the blame). But Eurylochus was broken by everything that’s happened. The way Odysseus says “I need to get home” feels so disconnected from everything Eurylochus has been going through. Odysseus still sees home as the end goal, while Eurylochus has already seen how much it costs to get there. And when Eurylochus calls him “Captain” instead of “Ody” at the end, it shows that everything between them has changed. There’s no more camaraderie. There’s no more brotherhood. He knows what he’s done, but he also knows that Odysseus will never be the same after this. That shift in how he addresses Odysseus shows how much their relationship has deteriorated — and how much Eurylochus has lost. And let us not forget, Odysseus was doomed from the start.

Polites set the curse in motion. Poseidon was already out for blood. The gods were never going to let them off easy, no matter what Eurylochus did. So let’s stop blaming him for one moment of desperation when he was already broken. People always point out Eurylochus’ flaws, but they forget one key thing: he’s the only one who really gets it. He’s the one who challenges Odysseus when he sees his leader making reckless choices. He’s the one who has the courage to question Odysseus, even when everyone else is too afraid to speak up. If you ask me, Polites represents the idealistic lie — this idea that kindness and trust will save you in a world ruled by cruelty and chaos. Eurylochus, on the other hand, represents the harsh truth of what it means to survive. He’s messy, flawed, and emotional, but he’s real. And unlike Polites, who dies early and leaves everyone else to clean up his mess, Eurylochus stays until the bitter end. He bears the burden of Odysseus’ choices, and when he breaks, he does so in a way that makes you feel for him, not judge him.

Eurylochus never gets the credit he deserves because everyone’s too busy crying over Polites. Polites, who gets to die early and leave Odysseus saddled with guilt. Polites, who delivers one cheesy song about “kindness” and then gets bludgeoned in a cave. I’m supposed to feel bad for him? Sure, his death is sad, but the impact he left on Odysseus and the crew? Utter chaos. He’s the reason Odysseus showed mercy to Polyphemus, which kicked off Poseidon’s revenge. Without that storm, they could’ve sailed back home after the cyclops incident. No Circe, no gravity killing Elpenor, no Scylla, no Zeus obliterating the last of them with his thunderbolt. Polites may as well have killed the 599 men himself. Eurylochus deserved his place in the story. He earned it, and he deserves more credit than anyone is willing to give him. Polites was just a naive dreamer who died too early, leaving everyone to deal with the mess he made.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 13, Uncomfortable - Pt. 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, the last straw, arguing, violence, Sexually Explicit Content Minors: GTFO; I don’t serve your kind here (angry/rough PIV, fingering, degradation kink), memories of past CSA, self harm, Bucky really, really fucks up.

Word Count: 4k

Previously On...: Tony sent you a very expensive apology gift.

A/N: Ya’ll are getting this early! Just one thing to say:

I am so, so sorry.

Coincidentally, this is getting posted on the day I'll be coming home from NoLa, so I'll arrive just in time to hear you all say how much you now hate me. Yay. -_-

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @jmeelee @cazellen @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @erelierraceala @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @jupiter-107 @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @sashaisready @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @doublejeon @pattiemac1

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, lost in the dark colors, the reflection of the moonlight over the water. The sound of the door opening broke through your thoughts, and you turned to see Bucky shuffle into the room. 

“Hey, sweets,” he said, toeing off his boots.

“Hey,” you said without emotion, turning your face back to  the painting.

“Whacha lookin’ at?” he asked, coming to sit next to you on the couch.

“Apology gift from Tony.”

“What’s he apologizing to you for?” God, you couldn’t even muster up the energy to be angry at him.

“Calling out your unhealthy obsession with Jade in front of the team,” you said, voice flat. 

“I do not have an unhealthy obsession with Vix,” Bucky said, annoyance coloring his words. “How many times do I have to tell you there’s nothing going on between the two of us before you start believing me.” 

“Maybe you should stop telling me there’s nothing and start actually acting like there’s nothing,” you said as you stood up. “Because honestly, I’m tired of hearing your empty words.” You began to walk away, but Bucky reached out and grabbed your arm.

“They aren’t empty, Pocket!” he said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it filled the room as if he’d shouted. “It fucking hurts like hell to hear you say that.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” You couldn’t help the sarcasm that oozed from your voice now. “Your feelings are hurt now, so that changes everything. Let me put aside the pain I’ve been dealing with for months to reassure you.” You yanked your hand free from his grasp. “I’m exhausted, Bucky. Nothing is getting better. In fact, things are getting worse, and I keep pretending that I can be okay with things, but you just keep picking her over me, time and time again. I don’t deserve that. Not from someone who’s supposed to love me.”

“Pick her over you? That’s fucking bullshit and you know it,” he said, voice rising.

“Is it?” you asked him. You pointed to the corner where your overnight bags sat waiting for a trip you’d never take. “Is that bullshit, Bucky? Cause we were supposed to be in the Catskills right now, but because that fucking cunt came crying for you, you went running to her and left me sitting here, alone and forgotten. Again.”

“Pocket,” Bucky ran a hand over the back of his neck, a sure sign you were ruffling him. “She needed someone to support her. She’s not like you– she doesn’t–”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Barnes!” you interrupted, shouting now. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m breaking up with you because of her and you still just stand there and defend her!”

Bucky’s face paled and his eyes went wide. “No,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“What?” You weren’t sure you heard him.

“I said ‘no,’” he said, his voice louder, but still soft. “You're not breakin' up with me. Doll, please. I need you. You said you were gonna fight for us, fight for me. That’s what you said!”

“I’m so tired of fighting for you when you’re off fighting for her! I can’t do this anymore, Bucky,” you practically sobbed. “You are fucking destroying me and feel like you just. don’t. care. I can’t just sit here and let it keep happening. You say you need me, but you’ve made it clear time and time again that you don’t give a shit about what I need. Every time I’ve asked you to put a boundary between you and Carthage, you’ve stomped right over it. And I can’t keep living like this. Yesterday was supposed to be a celebration of one of the greatest accomplishments of my career, and she ruined it.”

“It wasn’t her fault she got bad intel!” Bucky shouted.

“Could you just FUCKING STOP?!” you screamed. “Stop defending her! She either royally fucked up or she set them up on purpose! Those are the only two options! Either way, the entire thing was her fault. Rhodey is unconscious– almost died– because of her! She’s got you so wrapped around her fucking finger that you can’t even see it, and I am SO. GOD. DAMNED. OVER. IT! You promised me you’d make it up to me,” you continued shouting at him. “You fucking promised! But as soon as she bats her lashes, your promises don’t mean shit! You keep making excuses, you keep saying you’re sorry, but you keep doing the same fucking thing over and over again, and the only thing your actions are promising is that she means more to you than I do!”

“That’s not true!” he shouted back at you. “You mean more to me than anything!”

“I don’t fucking believe you!” you screamed, your voice going hoarse.

“I’ll fucking prove it to you!” He grabbed your elbows and pulled you to him, kissing you with such force it would have knocked you over if he hadn’t been holding you up. The moment he broke the kiss for air, you slapped him across the face. Only to immediately kiss him again.

Within seconds, you were ripping at each other’s clothes, desperate to feel one another, skin to skin, your tongues battling against each other as though whomever could dominate the kiss could win your fight. Bucky literally tore your shirt in half before you pushed him down onto your bed. Crawling on top of him, you scratched your nails down his chest, hard enough to draw blood.

Bucky hissed into your mouth, reaching down to yank off his pants and boxer briefs. You hastily pulled them down and off his legs before climbing back up to his mouth. Your kisses were passionate, angry and feral, each of you trying to prove a point to the other. 

You felt both of Bucky’s hands grasp the waistband of your jeans and rip them open, sending the button and zipper teeth flying. “Those were my favorite fucking jeans,” you warned.

“I’ll buy you another pair,” he growled, shoving a hand into your panties and finding your clit. You arched your back as he pinched and rolled it between his fingers, the aggression in his movements igniting your blood. You gasped as he shoved two fingers into you while simultaneously flipping you so you were now on your back and he loomed above you.

He pulled his hand from you, leaving you aching and empty. He kissed you as he divested you of what was left of your jeans and your panties. “Taste yourself,” he said, shoving his fingers into your mouth. You sucked on them, savoring the tang of your essence on his skin. Bucky groaned at the sight before pulling his fingers out and kissing you again. 

“You’re mine,” he growled, grabbing at your breasts and roughly kneading the flesh. “Look at me, Pocket. You’re mine.” You turned your head away, not wanting to meet his eyes, but Bucky would have none of it. Gripping your chin tight enough to leave a bruise, he yanked your head back so you were looking him in the eye. “I said, you’re mine.” He entered you then, the force of it nearly splitting you in half. “You’re mine and I’m fucking yours. Forever.”

He pounded into you as if his very life depended on it, and you clutched at his shoulders for dear life. “God, yes, Bucky,” you cried, all your resolve finally leaving you as the pleasure rose within you. “I’m yours, and you’re mine. Only mine. Only fucking mine!”

With a roar, Bucky picked up one of your legs and draped it over his shoulder, the new angle allowing him to hit you deeper as he drove into you. His thrusts were punishing, as though he were trying to see just how deep he could get himself inside of you before you actually broke in two.

"You like that?" he murmured as he rutted his hips into you.

"Fuck, yes, please, Bucky-- just like that," you moaned. He had you close. So, so close. "Keep going."

"Yeah, I thought so, you dirty slut," he grunted.

"What?" you asked, pulling your head back into the pillow so you could stare at him, wide-eyed as he continued to pound relentlessly into you. His words had taken you aback-- this was not something your loving boyfriend had ever said to you before. You dropped one leg from around his waist and tried to pull the other from his shoulder.

"Knew you loved taking my cock. God, you're such a filthy whore for me."

"Bucky, stop." You pushed gently against his chest, but he was already so far gone to his lust that he didn't seem to hear you.

"Such a good fucktoy for me," he grunted, his pace quickening as he neared his release. You felt your breath coming hard and fast now, but not from your impending climax, which had died with his words, but from an oncoming anxiety attack. “You goin’ dumb on me already, like a good little cockslut?”

Flashes of your miserable childhood flickered through your head, the way Darren would call you his "good little money-making whore" after you'd been raped by yet another of his clients, or when he decided to violate you himself, calling you his own personal slut, his special fuck toy.

"Bucky," you shouted, punching him with your fists, desperate now to get him off you, out of you. "Stop! Get off of me! GET OFF OF ME!" You screamed, thrashing at him. You saw the moment your words registered-- his eyes lost their haze of lust and his hips stopped pumping into you.

"Doll?" he asked, looking down on you in confusion. "What's wr--"

"Get off me, get off me, get off me!" you shrieked as you rolled out from under him, your entire body suddenly on fire with shame and disgust. The second your feet hit your bedroom floor, you were reaching for your silk robe, wrapping yourself in it as though the thin fabric could protect you from his words. From him.

"Pocket," Bucky watched your movements, his eyes betraying his bewilderment at your actions. "What's going on? What did I do?"

"Why would you call me that?" you asked, your words coming out in between your desperate gasps for air. "Why would you say those things?"

Bucky sat up, reaching for you, but you moved away from him. "Baby, what things? What did I s--" Realization dawned on him then, and his entire face fell. "Shit. Oh, God. Oh, Pocket. Sweetheart, I am so sorry. I didn't think--"

"Why would you say that, Bucky?" you asked, fighting back the tears that so desperately wanted to break free. "You've never called me a-a-..." you couldn't even get the word out. "How could you do that?"

"Fuck, Baby..." Bucky began, running his hands through his hair in response to your distress, "I never... I thought you'd like it. I should have realized, after Darren..."

"Don't say his name!" You hadn't meant to shout at him, but you were damned if you were going to invite the ghost of your tormentor into the sanctuary of your room. "Please," you cried, "don't say his name."

Bucky got up and tried to wrap his arms around you, but you pulled away, feeling too vile, too dirty, to even let him touch you.

"Sweetheart, please," he began, reaching for you again, "you're shaking. Let me hold you." You shook your head as you moved away from him yet again, trying to steady yourself.

"Where did that even come from, Bucky? Why would you think... What would even make you think that was something I would want?"

Bucky's hand went to rub the back of his neck as he looked up at you from behind his lashes. "I... I heard girls... like that sort of thing. That it turns them on."

"You can't just start it out of nowhere," you cried, "It's something you need to agree on first! You can't just say it without making sure your partner's okay with it! And I can't believe you'd ever think I would be okay with it! God, who even told you that?" You couldn't imagine any of Bucky's friends saying something like that to him; hell, Steve would have a coronary before even suggesting it. Did he read about it in some degrading kink group online?

"I was talking to Vix, and she said--"

"You what?" you spun to face him, your words sharp in your shock.

"Vixen. Jade. I was talking to her during training one time and she said girls like it when guys talk to them like that during sex. Well, she said she likes it. Said it, uh, turns her on."

Your entire body froze as if you'd been doused with ice water. "You were talking to Jade Carthage about sex and what gets her off." Your voice was hard and clipped. It wasn't even a question, just a statement that made your stomach twist, but you had to make sure you had understood him correctly.

"Well, when you say it like that, it sounds bad," Bucky hemmed, "but sweets, I swear, it wasn't like that."

You called for FRIDAY to turn up the lights, no longer wanting to be trapped in the intimacy of the semi-darkness with him.

"It wasn't like that? Then please enlighten me, Bucky, what was it like? Jesus, how did you two even stumble into that conversation in the first place?"

"Baby," Bucky looked frantic as he grabbed his boxer briefs from the floor and tugged them back on, "I don't even remember how we got on the subject. We were sparring and I pinned her and--"

"You had a conversation about sex while you were lying on fucking top of her?" You could barely contain your rage; you were seething, about to vibrate out of your skin with revulsion.

"Honey, it's not that big of a deal, really."

"Not that big of a deal?" you asked, knowing you were about to tread into some very dangerous territory, but needing him to understand you. "So, it wouldn't be that big of a deal if I let Steve get on top of me and had him tell me what gets him hard? What makes him come?"

Bucky's jaw tightened immediately at the mention of Steve. "Don't," he growled. "Do not bring him into this. It's completely different."

"It's not, Bucky! It's a thousand times worse! God," you threw your arms above your head as you began to pace in front of your bed. "I can't tell if you're actually this naive or if you think I'm fucking stupid."

"I don't think you're stupid, Pocket," Bucky's voice was quieter now, more restrained. "I... God, I just messed up. I'm an idiot. I didn't think it through and..." He trailed off and slumped onto the edge of the bed, his hands pushed into his hair as he stared down at the floor.

You could see his muscles craving to pull you back into his arms, but he resisted. His eyes flickered to you before darting away again, like looking at you caused him physical pain.

"Do you want to sleep with her? Were you imagining her while you were fucking me?" It was a reckless question to ask--a question that you didn’t want the answer to--but it slipped out before you could stop it.

Bucky's head whipped up, his eyes wide with shock as he stared at you. "What? No!" He stood abruptly, hands outstretched towards you. "Baby, no! God, no! I would never... I can't even believe you'd think... Don't even talk like that."

"But you took her kinks, her turn ons, and you brought them into our bed. You spoke words you knew another woman-- a woman you know I fucking loathe-- wanted to hear, you... you used them on me, knowing my history, and you didn't give a shit about what saying them might do to me!" Your voice was trembling with accusation, your body shaking with tremors of hurt and betrayal.

"No! No, sweetheart... it wasn't like that." He kept repeating himself, his words rushed, his face pale with shock and regret. "I didn't mean to disrespect you like that. I heard her say it and I thought... I mean, she's a woman too, right? So, if she liked it, I thought maybe you..." He trailed off, his expression one of sheer desperation as he tried to find the right words.

"But I'm not her. It wasn’t about pleasing me; it was about using what pleases her." You shook your head harshly, a lump forming in your throat. "You don't even see how wrong that is. And you shouldn't even have been having the conversation with her in the fucking first place!"

"What can I do?" Bucky pleaded, his voice a strained whisper as he raked his fingers through his hair again. His face was etched with pain, regret seeping from every pore of him. "How can I fix this? Tell me how to make it right."

But you were too overcome by anger and heartbreak to think straight. You moved further away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself as if you were trying to shield your heart from further damage.

“What did you tell her?” you asked, but Bucky looked at you with confusion etched across his face. “You said it was a conversation. I’m assuming she didn’t do all the talking. What did you talk about? Did you tell her what gets you off? What you like? Were you sharing intimate details about our sex life with a complete outsider? Did you tell her about your ‘sergeant’ kink?”

He didn’t need to speak for you to read the truth in the expression on his face.

The silence hung in the room, heavy and oppressive, as Bucky fought for words. A nerve twitched in his jaw, the only movement in his otherwise frozen face. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he finally spoke.

"I... Yes, I did," he admitted, his voice a mere whisper. "I didn't think it through. I didn't mean to... I just..."

His voice trailed off again and he sunk back onto the bed, looking completely defeated. His hands covered his face as if he were desperate to hide himself from your accusing gaze.

“Get out.” You couldn’t even stand to look at him. This was a betrayal beyond anything you’d ever have expected from him. 

Bucky’s head snapped up at your words, his eyes wide with shock. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He just sat there on the edge of the bed, staring at you as though he was seeing you for the first time.

"Get out," you repeated, each word a dagger. "I can't... I can't stand to even look at you right now."

Still, Bucky didn’t move. He just sat there in stunned silence, his face pale and his eyes filled with regret.

"I said get out!" Your voice was shrill, filling the room with a chilling echo that seemed to reverberate through every fiber of your being.

Bucky flinched at your tone, and finally roused himself to his feet. He looked at you one last time, his steel-blue eyes so full of pain that it made your heart ache despite everything. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something else, like he might try to explain, but you’d had enough of his ‘explanations’ for the evening. Hell, maybe for the rest of your life.

Bucky swallowed hard, his eyes filling with a mixture of fear and dread as he nodded slowly. "Okay... yeah," he stammered. "I'll give you some space."

“No. I can’t do this anymore. I’m done, Bucky. This… this is unforgivable. We’re finished.”

"Doll," he breathed, the pet name he had given you sounding like a prayer on his lips, but a curse to your ears. "I love you... I'm sorry. I messed up, I know. But I love you."

“I don’t believe you.” You felt like your heart was being ripped apart as you watched him standing there, consumed by remorse. You had never seen him like this before, his usual charismatic confidence replaced with fearful uncertainty.

“Just go,” you whispered, turning away so you wouldn't have to see the pain in his eyes. You felt a sob rising in your throat, but you held it back, refusing to let it out while he was still there.

With every inch of him screaming resistance, Bucky walked over to the door and hesitated at the threshold. "I'll... I'll do anything to make this right, sweetheart," he promised, his voice choked with emotion. "I'll fix this... We can fix this."

But you remained silent, your back still turned to him as you tried desperately to keep your tears at bay. The sound of the door opening and closing behind him was deafening in its finality.

You wrapped your arms around yourself tighter, suddenly feeling cold. The room was suddenly too big, too empty without Bucky's reassuring presence. You sunk onto the bed, burying your head in your hands as the events of the night washed over you with overwhelming force as you began to sob in earnest.

You weren't even sure what you were angriest about. He’d broken yet another promise and left you waiting, your romantic getaway forgotten so he could be by her side. He'd called you a slut and a whore. He’d discussed your sex life with Jade-- the one woman you hated above all others, and openly discussed her kinks with her, and his own desires in return. He'd forced her kinks on you without your consent.

And then there was the worst part of it all, the bit that made you feel sick and hollow: he'd failed to see what he'd done wrong.

You had thought Bucky knew you better, that he respected you more than this. You'd shared secrets and fears with him, things you'd never shared with anyone else, not even Tony. He knew your past, knew how much trust meant to you - knew how difficult it had been for you to open your vulnerabilities up to something more than just casual sex - and yet he'd violated that trust in such a profound way.

This was just beyond anything else that had come before it. You couldn’t see a way to move forward after this.

Numbly, you began to strip off the sheets from the bed, your hands shaking as you balled them up and threw them into a corner of the room. You couldn't sleep on them now, nor ever again. You couldn't bear the thought of lying down where he'd... where he'd...

Tears started to spill down your cheeks as the reality of what had happened set in. You tried to blink them away, tried to swallow down the lump in your throat. But it was too late. Tears blinded you as you moved through your space on muscle memory alone, grabbing a garbage bag from under the sink in the kitchenette and shoving the offending sheets into it to dispose of later. Boiling them in chlorine wouldn't be able to relieve them of the taint they now carried.

Once the offending sheets were securely bagged and out of sight, you stumbled your way into the bathroom. Turning the shower on as hot as it would go, you stripped from your robe and stepped under the scalding stream from the waterfall shower head.

Hissing as the water hit your body, you let yourself succumb to your emotions. You reached for your loofah and began scrubbing at your skin, doing everything in your power to wash away the intense feeling of shame that had permeated deep under your dermis. You scrubbed until your skin was red, until it was raw and cracked and bleeding, but it offered you no relief.

The sensations were familiar, the burning heat, the stinging of newly torn flesh. It had been so long since you had felt the need to ritually cleanse yourself like this, you had desperately hoped you'd finally found yourself beyond the need to do so, but just a few words from Bucky's mouth had sent you reeling backwards, back to being that worthless, vile, used up girl that no number of college degrees, fancy company titles, or board-approved computer programs could fully erase. It was in your DNA, and you couldn't escape it. You scrubbed and scrubbed until time had lost meaning.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Happily Ever After

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~500

Warnings: fluff

Summary: You and Bucky deserve your Happily Ever After, and something tells you that you’re going to get it. It doesn’t matter what you face. If you have Bucky by your side, you know you’ll get through it.

Between Love and Hate Masterlist

Squares Filled: this won't a bit (2023) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: this is something short to give you an update on their lives after the events of the entire story. thank you to everyone who loved this series! i had a lot of fun writing it <3

x

You pinch the two fabrics together and slide the pin to keep them together. You take another pin and hold it between your lips before finding another loose spot to pin together. Bucky stands in front of you watching as you work effortlessly on the suit you’re tailoring to his body. He parts his lips when he sees you take the pin out of your mouth to use it on his suit. You lick your dry lips and Bucky shifts in an effort to hide his arousal.

“Would you stop moving? I’m going to poke your skin and you’ll bleed.”

“It won’t be the first time I’ve bled for you.”

“Okay, well, get blood on these clothes and I’m going to kill you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods.

“Okay, last pin. This won’t hurt a bit.”

You slide the last pin into place and look up at Bucky with a certain glimmer in your eyes.

“Keep looking at me like that and I’ll get more than blood on these clothes.”

“You’re vulgar,” you gasp and step back.

“You love it.”

“Well, I’m finished now. I’ve recorded my progress and you can take the suit off.”

Bucky steps off the small platform to do just that, and you walk to the double glass doors that lead out to the balcony. You lean on the railing and admire the Eternal City below. Italy. The place you fell in love with since Bucky first took you here. Now you live here and get to do the one thing you’ve aspired to be growing up: a fashion designer. It’s been a year since the incident with Gio but the trauma is still there. You can’t go anywhere without Bucky because you fear you’ll get kidnapped and experience something similar or worse.

Bucky has given you everything you could ever hope to want and need. You don’t have to work since Bucky takes care of you financially. Two months ago, he took you to Paris and gave you a million dollars to spend on whatever you wanted. He truly spoils you even though you don’t need all of that to be happy. You could be in a one-bedroom apartment with an overpriced rent fee and be just as happy. This is what makes Bucky happy so you’ll take it as long as he wants to give it.

Shortly after moving to Italy, you opened your first studio and started making clothes you hope to see in stores soon. The only thing Bucky has provided you with is a studio. Everything else is coming from you which is exactly what you want. You want to look at your clothes and know that it all came from you.

After changing back into a t-shirt and jeans, Bucky walks onto the balcony barefoot. He stands behind you and wraps his arms around your stomach, and you lean back with a smile.

“We should get home. Brute and King are waiting for us and if you keep leaving them alone, they’ll ruin yet another couch. The old one had claw marks everywhere on it.”

“Not my fault they have separation anxiety,” you laugh.

Bucky turns you around and scoops you into his arms, and you wrap your arm around his neck for support.

“Come on, Mrs. Barnes. We have a home to get to.”

“We’re not married… yet. Only one month to go.”

“And a short month it will be.”

“Lead the way, Mr. Barnes.”

And he does all the way home and right back into his heart where you belong.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[mrshesh]

thinking about "the distraught father adopting an orphan daughter" trope but with price and ghost :( like imagine, the reader is a younger girl in the task force, and she has kind of become like a daughter to them but they've never really disclosed it, and one day she just mutters "i love you, dad" to them (individually) :(( how do you think they'd react?

"i love you, dad." - simon "ghost" riley x reader

overview: calling simon "ghost" riley dad for the first time

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x gender neutral reader, platonic

genre: fluff, angst

a/n: hi anon! i looooove this request :( i've actually been thinking of this exact scenario for sooo long! however, i couldn't really think of anything for price. so if someone can help me out by sending some ideas & headcanons to me privately, i will make a price version asap! and, as much as i love the father-daughter trope, i decided to keep this gender neutral, so everyone can feel included. i hope you love it.

TW! mentions of abuse and torture. proceed with caution.

Simon’s father was the devil personified. His dad is the epitome of evil to him, even more so than his captor, Roba. He cringes when he sees a dad and son being affectionate with each other in public - it pains him to think about what could’ve been, how he could’ve turned out. He knows most of his trauma stems from the abuse his father put him through, which has forever shattered the image of fatherhood in his mind. 

That is until you came along. 

Simon immediately felt drawn to you when you joined the Task Force. Being the youngest member had difficulties, yet you took it like a champ and kept toiling while still being so bright, colorful, and full of life. He admired that about you. 

He found himself worrying for you more than he liked. If you were reckless on a mission, he’d pull you aside and yell at you, scolding you for pulling such stupid stunts at the risk of your being. But after every talking-to, he’d give you a gentle pat on the head with shaky hands. “You need to be more careful, mate.” He’d mutter, feeling a pit in his stomach. Why does he care so much? And why does he feel the need to protect you? 

He would keep an eye on you at all times. He’d ensure nobody got too touchy with you and that everybody on base treats you with the respect you deserve. If he saw you getting mistreated, he would use his authority to punish the person hurting you. He would then turn to you, his eyes softening as he stares at you through his balaclava. “You tell me if anyone’s hurting you, alright?” 

The day Simon realizes he loves you like his own child is the day you open up about your past to him. At this point, you’ve known each other for a few years. 

He has always known that he has a special love for you, but he never came to terms with it until this day. 

When you tell him about all your painful experiences in life, he can feel his heart tear open and get shredded into millions of pieces. Regardless of what you’ve been through, his soul aches for you. That day was the first time Simon ever hugged you, and he vouched to care and be there for you as long as he was breathing. 

Today, you’ve had a difficult time falling asleep. Tossing and turning in bed can only get you so far, and the thought of drinking warm milk at this time makes you physically ill. You’re in the comfort of your room, but you don’t feel the amenity. You need someone to talk to. 

You know that Simon is usually up during this time - he who deserves sleep the most gets it the least. Insomnia’s a bitch. 

You decide to send him a text. 

You: “You up?” Read, 3:38 AM.  Simon: “Yeah. Why are you awake?” Read, 3:38 AM.  You: “Can’t sleep. Your sleeping habits have rubbed off on me.” Read, 3:39 AM.  Simon: “Welcome to my world.” Read, 3:39 AM.  Simon: “Is everything okay, though?” Read, 3:39 AM. You: “Yep. Just need someone to talk to, that’s all.” Read, 3:39 AM. Simon: “So you decide to text me?” Read, 3:40 AM. You: “I would’ve texted Johnny, but he fell asleep at midnight.” Read, 3:40 AM. Simon: “What’s so wrong with me?” Read, 3:40 AM. You: “You’re a grumpy, old man.” Read, 3:41 AM.  Simon: “Thanks, mate. 🐶” Read, 3:41 AM. You: “You’re welcome.” Read, 3:41 AM.  You: “Don’t worry, though. I like that about you.” Read, 3:42 AM.  Simon: “Not enough to be your first texting option.” Read, 3:42 AM.  You: “Don’t hyper-fixate on that, I’m begging.” Read, 3:42 AM.  Simon: “It’s funny.” Read, 3:42 AM. You: “It’s not. 🙄 It’s so boring I’m starting to feel sleepy, actually.” Read, 3:43 AM. Simon: “That’s good. Go to sleep, mate.” Read, 3:43 AM. You: “Yeah, might as well. You should sleep, too.” Read, 3:43 AM.  Simon: “I’ll try.” Read, 3:43 AM.  Simon: “Goodnight.” Read, 3:44 AM. You: “Night. I love you, Dad. ❤️” Read, 3:44 AM.  You: “Hold on, before you go! I have a question.” Read, 3:44 AM. You: “Hello?” Delivered, 3:50 AM.  You: “Simon?” Delivered, 3:55 AM.  You: “Did you fall asleep?” Delivered, 4:01 AM.

You sit in your bed anxiously, not knowing whether you fucked up. You know Simon had a rough past with this father, but you didn’t even think about that when you sent that text. You feel an instant regret wash over you, rereading your messages hundreds of times, hoping Simon will open them. 

Your spiral of uneasiness is interrupted by a hurried knock on the door of your room. You can hear breathing, almost panting, through the door - you immediately know it’s Simon. 

You walk to the door, hesitantly opening it, only to be met by Simon’s bare, tear-stained face, and the whites of his eyes have turned a bright red. You stare at him in shock, only stepping aside to let him in your room. 

You close the door behind you after he enters your accommodation, and you turn to look at him right away. Your eyes meet instantly, and you feel a cloud of shame pour down on you, coating you in an aura of grief. “I’m sorry.” You instantly whisper, and your own eyes sting. “I shouldn’t have… said that.” 

He doesn’t respond, only looking at you as if you’re the only matter in the universe. Everything else has become nonexistent - a vacuum. 

“No.” He sniffles, stepping closer toward you. He had a panic attack right after you called him dad - and you know it. “No.” He repeats, his tears spilling out of his eyes. “Don’t be sorry.” He whispers. He reaches out to you hesitantly, his trembling hands gently gripping your shoulders. He holds them there for a few seconds, getting used to the feeling. 

Before you know it, he pulls you into him, burying his face in the crook of your neck and weeping quietly into you. It’s the first time you’ve seen him cry. Ever. 

He’s stiff as he embraces you, his shaking body telling you everything you need to know. Your heart breaks for him, resulting in you biting back your tears - you’ve got to be strong for him. But you can’t.

You let your sobs fill the air, your arms wrapping around him to hold him close to you. 

You stay in each other’s embrace, pouring out your emotions for one another. You don’t even dare to speak until Simon has calmed down slightly, his breathing getting slower and softer. 

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too, kid. More than you know.”

[many-but-one]

Hey, you, person scrolling on tumblr.

It does get better.

I know you hear it all the time, you’re probably sick of hearing it. I know I was when I was going through it. Like yeah, great, it’ll get better in ten years! Doesn’t help me right now, though, when I’m going through mental hell and just wish that death would take my suffering away.

I get it, I’ve been there.

Whether you are actively suicidal and practicing writing your note in your phone’s notes app, whether you’ve attempted and want to attempt again, whether you’re passively suicidal in the “I’m gonna start smoking because I don’t care if it kills me” way or the “I don’t drive with a seatbelt just in case I get in a car wreck and might have my suffering finally ended” way or in the “I don’t look both ways before crossing the street because maybe someone will be speeding and not paying attention and kill me” kind of way.

I’ve been in all of those states before. Many times. I’m writing this because I’m feeling ideation and it’s why I’m writing it. The reason it’s ideation and not action and why I’m not acting is because I know it will pass. I just gotta ride the wave.

It does get better. It doesn’t happen overnight. It can take hard work. Which sucks, because I know you’re tired. You’re bone tired. Soul-deep tired. I know. Hard work sounds like the last thing you wanna do right now, when you wish that every time you slept that you wouldn’t wake up again.

But it’s not the kind of hard work that you have to finish at a certain time. There’s no due-date for wellness. You have plenty of time to get it done, all you have to do is keep showing up.

For some, it’s talk therapy. For some it’s therapy and medication. For some it’s gonna take processing some deep seeded traumas and it’s gonna suck. But it is worth it. It really is.

Currently you are looking through life with sunglasses on. Everything is so, so dark. Even on sunny days when sunglasses can be helpful, you’re still muting the world around you. The colors aren’t vibrant, everything is a dull shade. You step inside and it’s dark. At nighttime, it’s too dark to even see. Eventually you gotta work on taking those sunglasses off. It might seem futile to step outside and take your sunglasses off because you know that you’re just going to put them right back on. But every day you go out and take those sunglasses off even for a minute at a time and really take in everything you’ve been missing, you’ll start leaving them off more. You’ll get to see more things. Do more things. Things you would have totally missed with them on. And eventually you’ll realize that if you had killed yourself, you wouldn’t get to see and do all of these beautiful things you’ve been missing.

I know that analogy makes depression seem like a choice, but hear me out. Sometimes you will need help taking those sunglasses off. Sometimes you will need to take medicine that makes taking the sunglasses off easier. Sometimes you’ll need to talk to your therapist about this dark world you’re seeing, and you know you need to take these glasses off but they are so heavy. Eventually you will gain the skills and the strength can take them off one minute at a time and experience the bright world you’re missing. Sometimes you need that mobility aid that can help you get outside in the first place, that pain medicine that helps you get out of bed to even make it to the door. It can take time to get those things too, and it’s so devastating when it takes so long to get the help you need, but you can’t give up. There is so much beautiful world out there and you deserve to see it.

Rainy days will happen in the midst of the bright and sunny ones, and that’s okay too. Rain is necessary, it keeps the world bright. It makes flowers grow, it nourishes the earth around you. But rainstorms don’t last forever, and neither will this bout of sadness amongst your sunny days. (Talking to you, folks who have been doing well and feel yourself getting bad again. Ride the wave, things will settle down again soon.)

Ten years ago I was sixteen. My first suicide attempt I can recall was when I was eleven. In the last ten years alone I’ve had many, many more. Some were meant to end my life, others were related to my specific circumstances and were meant to cause me harm but not kill me.

I am glad I am here today, at 26. These last six years alone have been some of the most difficult parts of my mental health journey outside of my young childhood. I had to work through some serious trauma. I had to learn how to set boundaries. I had to divorce my wife whom I had thought was good to me but was actually abusing me and I didn’t know it because I didn’t know what a healthy relationship was supposed to be. I had to finish college. I had to come to terms with a physical disability. I had to learn how to be comfortable asking for accommodations. I had to learn to stop fighting my brain and start working with it. I had to learn how to love myself. Every version of myself, even the versions of myself that are small and scared and hurt and want me to die. I had to work on my self esteem. I had to come to terms with cutting out toxic family for good. I had to go to work while I’m doing all of this. I had to find a reason for living every day, even if the reason is so simple as “my cats would wonder where I went if I died.” Even if the reason was “I don’t want my internet friends to wonder why I’m not posting anymore.” And as I started to gain larger followings of people who were rooting for me, it became “I can’t let them down, I have to show them that healing is possible.”

Something I’ve said to a lot of suicidal people who feel bad about telling me that they are only alive because they don’t want to make me sad is this: “if that is what is keeping you alive right now, then good. Whatever keeps you on this earth is important. Because every day that you are here is one more day that you will get closer to being able to live not just for other people, but for yourself.” And I am here to tell you that it is possible to be in a place where you are living because you want to. Where you are living because you are excited for what the future will bring. Where you are joyfully curious to what you can accomplish. Where you will look back on your toughest years and say “shit, if I can get through THAT then I can get through ANYTHING.”

I am 26 years old and I still get suicidal ideation. Usually because of trauma related stuff. Triggers, anniversaries, etc. I am not suicidal every day anymore. I don’t wish for death every time I go to sleep. I love myself. I look at myself in the mirror and even when I’m sleepy headed and bleary eyed with dry ass skin and messed up teeth, I am like “DAMN LOOK AT YOU SUPERSTAR” because gods damn, if I can live through all I’ve lived through already, then I sure as hell can take on just about anything the world can throw at me.

I am in a healthy relationship now. It’s not something I thought was possible. (Seriously, the first time I saw my girlfriend look at me with love in her eyes I almost cried because I’ve never seen a partner look at me that way.) I’m learning how to be a good partner too, and how to set boundaries. I’m still learning how to be a human being. I’m still learning how to speak up when I get mistreated by people at work or out in public. I still get anxiety about leaving the house on occasion.

I’m learning that romantic love and platonic love can be equally deep and rewarding. I love my best friend with all my heart and soul. I love my girlfriend just as much. I’m learning I can have healthy amounts of intimacy with both my friend and my girlfriend, and it doesn’t have to end in a triggered spiral or desperately taking a shower trying to scratch the feeling of skin on skin contact off of me.

I’m learning that grounding methods and distractions are some of the most important tools in my healing toolbox. I’ve learned that sadness and anxiety and emotional pain doesn’t last forever. This post right now is me distracting myself and riding the wave through this triggered feeling I’m working through. I’ve learned that another important tool in my toolbox is hope. Hope that I will get better, hope that my life will not always be one nightmare after another, hope that things will settle down and I’ll be able to breathe again. And maybe have a fancy umbrella drink to celebrate, too. (Inside joke😉)

It will get better. Sometimes all it takes is a scenery change. Other times it takes literally tearing your life apart at the seams and gently stitching it back up into something you want to live. If you are a teenager reading this, you would be shocked at how much better things get when you move out of your parents’ house. If you feel stuck in an abusive situation and there’s no way out, I’m here to remind you that there is always a way out, and there will be people who will help you do so.

And remember, you’re not alone. No matter how unique your situation may be, someone else has either gone through it or is going through it now too. Find a community who is centered on support and healing. Changing your mindset and perspective is important.

You can get better. It takes time, patience, grit, and determination. And you’ve already got all that. I know, because you are here reading this post.

It will be okay. You will be okay. Deep breath.

You got this.

[genderqueerdykes]

Another weird thing about the TME/TMA thing is that the people who push it often believe that any suffering or bigotry we face for being transmasc is by nature lesser. When like I can list on and on the social alienation and violence we face and have faced myself as a transmasc person.

And also it doesn’t fucking matter what intent a bigot has behind their violence, if they’re pointing their violence at me I’m still a victim of that violence! I had a friend almost got attacked while walking down the street cause he’s a trans dude who was wearing drag. Like aw man sorry you got attacked by violent bigots, it seems however your labels don’t match up with that bigots intent. Guess what happened to u doesn’t mean anything!!!! What a weird concept.

i'm sorry you experience it as well. it sucks ass, i'm so tired of people trying to weigh transmasculine oppression vs. transfeminine oppression on a scale to see which one's heavier. like stop that, why are we trying to compare situations to see who has it worse? why are we telling people who are also oppressed that their struggle is "lesser"? what does that accomplish? all it does is hurt the person being downplayed. it doesn't uplift trans women to put other people down. that's not how this works.

i really don't fucking understand this current mindset of "person who has it The Worst gets to talk all the time forever for as long as they want and be as rude as they want and everyone who has it Less Bad has to shut the fuck up and sit with rapt attention and listen and never speak or comment or have an independent thought of their own on what they got lectured on." those people still have problems even if they're ""less"" bad, why do only certain groups of people get to talk about them? everyone in the queer community has problems, it doesn't matter the "severity," they all deserve to be discussed. and yet.

i'm really sorry that happened to your friend, holy shit. that is terrifying. but it happens. you're dead on the money. it doesn't matter what their intent is. they committed an act of violence. it does NOT matter what was going through the attacker's mind. they chose to commit an act of violence. sitting there on your petty ass high horse going "well akshually, i have a transfem friend who got attacked by TWO bigots and it was way worse so be grateful and shut up," isn't helping a goddamn soul. please stop shutting people up when they talk about their pain and trauma.

i don't know how else to tell every other transfem and trans woman on this website that we are not the only trans people who suffer. like i really need every single one of us to step down off the damn horse already and admit that we aren't the only fucking queers that suffer because we're not. we can't keep controlling the narrative like this. that's what we're doing at this stage. we are COMPLETELY controlling the narrative, making it ENTIRELY about us and our suffering and how we have it bad. we DO have it bad. but other people do, too. y'all GOTTA accept that other people suffer. y'all GOTTA accept that trans men are assaulted and killed every single day for being trans men. y'all GOTTA accept that most trans men don't and will never benefit from patriarchy. y'all GOTTA accept that transmascs and trans men have it really, really damn bad too.

i am honestly just so sick of the victim complex already. can we finally discuss how these currently emerging transfeminine and trans woman victim complexes are just out of fucking control at this point. i've wanted to talk about this forever and it's just getting worse right in front of my damn eyes. i've been in transfeminine spaces for a long time, but lately i just don't have a single desire to spend time in them. way too much arguing. way too much hostility. way too much anger directed at the wrong people. yes we are miserable, yes we suffer, yes we are heavily oppressed, yes we ARE very much victims. but so many transfems and trans women make that their entire ass personality and it's gotta stop.

womanhood isn't about being a victim. i don't know if i like the idea of making "woman" and "victim" synonymous. that's not empowering. that's not feminist. if you only see yourself as a victim, that's what you'll be. you will never progress to being a survivor if you keep thinking like that. you can't turn being a victim into a personality. it's a state of being, but it's not an identity. you are relinquishing power when you voluntarily identify as a victim. you are surrendering your control voluntarily if you keep throwing your hands up in the air and giving up like this.

someone else talking about their suffering doesn't diminish ours. someone else talking about their pain is not somehow an attack on you. trans men and transmascs talking is not an attack on you or transfemininity or trans womanhood. trans men existing are not an attack on you! stop with the victim complex already! it's not empowering! not everything is an attack! the world sucks but not everything is an attack on trans women and transfems!!!

i don't fucking care how much it offends you that people other than you suffer, but they're not talking about their suffering to make you feel like yours is lesser.

so why are you doing it to them?

[igotanidea]

Father's day present : dad!Jason Todd x mum!reader

I'm so in love with this graphic UwU.

Requested by @parkjammys: sweet Jason fluff of him and his girls celebrating his first Father's Day, and although his baby girl is only a like year old she just knows her mum is giving dad kisses and copies her. (hope this will lift your spirits a bit, candice :) )

This is just purest form of fluff. Get your tissues ready.

***

„Who’s my little sunshine?” Y/N cooed standing above the cradle watching her 1 year old daughter with a bright smile and yet, slightly wet eyes.

God!

If a year ago someone told her, that despite all the vigilantism she will have a kid with Jason, she would simply laugh at that person face.

But now? Now, she was the happiest woman on earth. She had an amazing partner and a child, both of whom she loved with all her heart. And it was even better since it was fully reciprocated.

“Gagagaga” d/n babbled, putting her little fingers in her mouth, laughing at her mother’s funny face, looking just so adorable.

“Oh, my little one” Y/N reached inside and her daughter immediately extended her tiny arms, ready to be lifted and hugged. “Who’s mummy’s daughter?” Y/N rubbed d/n nose, getting another giggle “You are. Yes, you are. Oh, I love you so much, peanut” the girl kissed the top of her daughter head, rubbing her back and holding her tightly to her chest. “And your daddy loves you too. And why we speak of your dad, we have a very special day today, you know….”

“Dada, dada, dada…..”

“Yes, honey. Dada. That’s right.” Y/N sighed “It’s Jay’s first father’s day and we are both going to make sure it’s special for him. God knows, how much he had to go through to get just a bit of happiness with us.”

“Dada!” d/n crowed again, squirming in her mother’s arm as apparently she saw something behind. At first, Y/N got scared that some assassin broke into the house and were to attack, hurt or kidnap them both, giving Jace another trauma instead of a happy father’s day (can you blame her considering the past experience?), but it was just the talk of the devil.

“Well, hello to you two my lovely daughter and her equally lovely mother.” Jason smiled brightly, closing the door behind him.

“Hi, honey.” Y/N whispered taking a moment to appreciate him being safe and healthy, not bruised, bloodied, scared or bleeding. Despite the fact that he didn’t fully give up on his vigilantism, he was far more careful during patrols. He knew what he had to loose. And that little moments, where they could just be a normal family, laughing and spending time together were everything for Y/N.

“How was my troublemaker today?” Jason took a step forward, leaning over and pecking Y/N’s forehead “did you get some time for yourself?”

“Just a bit. But you know, d/n is definitely father’s daughter” Y/N let out a chuckle “quicksilver. Gotta keep an eye on her cause otherwise….”

“Oh, I know what can happen. Do you need rest, love?”

“No, not really” the girl shook her head “I rest best knowing I have you two with me. But. Since it’s your celebration, we got a little gift for you. Can you take her so I can bring it?” Y/N handed the daughter to Jace who grabbed her tightly and did a little helicopter in the air, making funny sounds and entertaining his little girl. And to think that he was the one worried he would be a bad father.

He was the best.   

“Wait, you said my celebration?” he frowned  a bit, confused “it’s not my birthday or anything like that so what….?

“Oh, please, don’t tell me you forgot” Y/N yelled from the other room and soon came back holding a small paper bag “It’s father’s day, obviously.”

“Oh.” Jason’s eyes grew wide. His very first father’s day. The second that thought hit him, his eyes watered a bit. There was still this little, vicious voice inside, that sometimes told him that he did not deserve any of this. That after everything he did, he should not ever interfere with anyone’s life. That no matter how hard he would try, one or both of his girl will end up getting hurt because of him.

“Jace….” Y/N quickly approached him, cupping his cheek, recognizing all the signs of his doubts and memories and impending mental breakdown “Jason, baby, look at me.” He listened, his eyes focusing on her pretty face “I love you.” she simply said “your daughter loves you. We need you, baby. The past is in the past, what you did or who you were does not define you, you hear me? That was not you.”

“thank you….” he whispered “it’s just…. a lot.”

“I know, love, but you are not alone. Hell, you should know by now you will never be. You got us. You got family, Jason.”

“I love you both.”

“We know.” Y/n smiled and stood on her tiptoes, capturing Jason’s lips in hers quickly, pulling away way too soon for his liking. So taking the initiative, adjusting his grip on his daughter, he wrapped his other hand around the mother, pulling her back.

“I’m not done with you.” he mumbled, leaning forehead on hers.

“Really?” Y/N smiled, pecking his right cheek and then left and then his nose, giggling.

“Still not enough.” he connected their mouths again, kissing her with all the love and passion he felt. Jason was not good with words, especially with the big ones, but his actions and his gestures were the best expression of them and Y/N learned that through the years they were together.

“Jason!” the girl squealed and pulled away the second she felt his hand sneak under her T-shirt “Not in front of our daughter! And not now!”

“Later than?” his eyes became a bit darker as he watched the blush creeping on Y/N’s cheek. At this point answer wasn’t even necessary. “Besides.” He continued as d/n started wriggling a bit “I don’t think our grig mind us being all touchy-feely towards each other.”

“What do you…?” Y/N started, but as her gaze landed on her daughter she couldn’t hold back a laugh. D/N put her little arms on Jason’s shoulder for some balance as she leaned forward pressing her little, soft lips against his cheek leaving a wet mark. And then she giggled and repeated the action two more times.

“mamamamama”

“Oh yes, that’s right. That’s what mummy does to make daddy feel better” Jason whispered, heart clenched with all the feelings “guess she got her observational skills and intelligence from you, Y/N. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For making this the best father’s day I could ever imagine.”

“You didn’t even open your present yet…..” Y/N pointed out.

“You both are my presents. I just want to be with you and hold you. Is that ok?” he whispered.

“Sure, Jason. As long as you want.”

“Perfect.” He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, minds wandering in some places only he knew. “But I still get to open that bag, right?” it only took him a  minute to get back to his smug attitude he didn’t lose during the years.

“Sure, babe. We definitely have a no return policy when it comes to any present.”

[sundew199]

Never Lose Me snippets

In honor of my Post-Rumbling Fic being completed, I wanted to put together some of my favorite moments/snippets from each chapter because I love it so much and I've become extremely attached to it. This is probably some of my best writing and I'm super proud of it. This is only the first ten chapters and I'll probably make a part two, just so this isn't ridiculously long.

Warnings/tags: mentions of suicide in chapter one's snippet. Postpartum depression implied in Chapter 10's snippet. This is a f!reader x reiner fic, the story is centered around Reiner creating a building a family with you post-rumbling.

Chapter One: A journal entry from one of Reiner's journals after he attempted, something you were unaware of and stumbled upon:

"I can’t stand to look at myself in the mirror, want to vomit when I catch a glimpse of what I am, who I was and what I’ll never be. I don’t deserve anything, I deserve to die, rot away in a nameless grave for all that I’ve done. I’m not a good person, I’m the epitome of everything opposite. 

I should be dead, I don’t know why I hesitated on blowing my head off. I guess it's because I couldn’t get her face out of my head, her eyes and how’d I rip everything she holds dear if I went through with it. An early death wouldn’t be so different from when I pass on the armor, I can’t be with her forever. Then again that’s what I deserve. She deserves better, deserves a man who doesn’t recoil at his own image and cries himself to sleep as memories flash repeatedly at night. 

I can’t allow myself to be selfish anymore, even if I so badly want to spend the rest of my life with her, as unrealistic as it sounds. She’ll live to old age and I’ll die at 25 and become nothing but a faded memory to her. I have so many regrets, more than I can count on two hands, but I think my biggest one was going through with the warrior program and signing my life away when I could’ve spent it with her. 

I’d give anything to wake up next to her in our own house, with kids running around in the early morning begging for us to get up and make them breakfast. I’d fucking break through wall Maria all over again if it meant I could have that. 

I’ll love her till my last breath even knowing her love for me will fade over time. "

His reassurance after you stumbled upon the journal and read what he wrote: "Reiner could see the hurt written across your face and saw how you took his explanation. Even if you knew just you alone wouldn’t be enough for him to mend the wounds that were his trauma, it hurt hearing how he wanted to give up. You were glad he didn’t but it stung as if he did. 

“Hey look at me.” Gently guiding you back to face him, thumbs brushing away the stray tears that ran down the old ones dried to your face. “If it weren’t for you and putting so much faith in me I wouldn’t be standing here in this kitchen. You’ve been the grounding force all my life, my reason to keep going, my reason to be better than who I was. I owe you who I am right now and I thank the universe every single day that we crossed paths, everyday sweetheart.”

The tremble in your bottom lip increased by a ten fold, allowing yourself to go limp in his hands for him to catch you, wrapping you in the familiar embrace that was him. You needed him as much as he needed you, bound together smoothly and seamlessly to always be the salve to each other's wounds, the reminder that it will get better. 

Time carried on in the kitchen, calming yourself in his arms with your face pressed to his chest. There was no urgency on his end, allowing you all the time to let everything out. When you pulled away, he smoothed the sides of your face from any remaining tears, pecking your lips."

Chapter Two: Proposing to you.

"His hand came to cup the side of your face, turning you in for a kiss. You smiled into it, placed your palm on the nape of his neck and stood on your tiptoes to meet him properly. The kiss turned into several, languid and deep, all laced with the love so strongly intertwined into your beings. Reiner pulled away, pecked your lips twice more and embraced you. 

“You are my everything, my other half.” Pulling away, running his hands up and down your arms. His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, words he wanted to speak turning his throat dry with emotion. “I can’t ever tell you how happy you make me, how lucky I am that my love for you wasn’t unrequited. You are my angel, sent to me when the universe knew I needed you most, without you sweetheart I wouldn’t be standing here, sharing this moment with you.” 

He smiled bashfully, pulling his arms away and shoving one of his hands into the pocket where the ring box was, clutching it tightly. He warmed under your expression to his words, the soft smile creasing your red cheeks. Ignoring the constant flipping of his stomach, the dryness in his throat and sweat beading on his neck, Reiner began again, lowering down to one knee. Instantly you gasped, hands over your mouth and your body shaking with near instant tears that hadn’t fallen yet. 

“From the moment I met you on that sidewalk in Liberio, when I was ten years old I knew I had to find some way to make sure you would be in my life. Even when I thought I wouldn’t live to see thirty, I still wanted to marry you, wanted to share a life with the woman who became the other half of my heart.” His voice shook, laughing cumbersomely and finally bringing out the ring box from his pocket. 

You were sobbing before him, stifling your tears of happiness as best as you could. Reiner’s entire body trembled as he fought to find the next words to go along with the famous four. 

“There is nothing else in this world that I have ever been so sure of, what was once a hopeless dream that I knew I had to make a reality when I was given a second chance, a second chance with you and to make the most of this life and cherish you like you deserve.” Pausing, Reiner blinked the few tears that escaped, opening the top of the box to reveal the ring he spent so much of his time fussing over. 

“Which is why I brought you out here tonight, to ask you a very important question sweetheart. Will you marry me?”

Chapter Three: His Doubts on Fatherhood:

"Saying that outloud was a lot for him at that moment, a vague statement that held layers upon layers beneath it. Reiner knew his most inner insecurity was failing as a partner and now add father to that list and he was a mess with unrationalized thoughts about what could or couldn’t go wrong. Not having a dad growing up and seeking out said father and finding out he had nothing to do with him rewired him that day. Reiner didn’t want for one second that his future son or daughter felt unwanted by him, to not see the lengths he went to to make sure they were loved and cherished by him, that they were all he could’ve asked for. He knew the nursery not being done when they arrived wouldn’t matter to a newborn baby, but it mattered to him. 

“Why’s that?” Came your tentative voice, one of your hands resting over his hand and your thumb rubbing soothing circles on the inside of his wrist. 

“Because I want them to feel appreciated and wanted before they arrive, to know that I want them in my life and that I’m excited to be their dad. I know a newborn baby isn’t going to know or comprehend any of that so I guess it’s more for me, to make up for what I didn’t have.” 

He wanted to cringe at how selfish that sounded, but he was telling you the truth. This baby would never experience what it felt like to be unwanted, to go to the farthest lengths to earn approval from him. Reiner would die before he ever allowed his children to feel an ounce of what he felt growing up. Finishing the nursery may have been seen as something not as important to anyone else, but to him it was the first step to being anything but what his mother and father were to him. 

“Reiner. This baby is already so loved. I know how important all of this is to you, but I feel like you’re trying to prove something to me as well, which you don’t have to.” 

Tears were burning at the corners of his eyes, blinking rapidly so he wouldn’t embarrass himself over crying in the kitchen over old buried trauma. Frustration simmered inside him often when he felt the weight of old wounds resurface after so many years, so sure that he’d healed from it at this point. Even with your constant reminders that healing was never linear and that it was okay, Reiner at times felt pathetic for letting it affect him like it did. 

“I just want to be a good dad, I’m scared that I’ll get in my own head and fail and be like my dad and I don’t want that. Even though I’ve wanted kids and I’m so excited, it’s overwhelming sweetheart.” A thumb came to brush the tear that slid down his cheek, inhaling a shaky breath and shuffling his weight on his feet. Reiner hated that this was overwhelming when it’s all he’d ever wanted. Grappling with new emotions and situations was never his strong suit and he hated that about himself sometimes, he wished it were easier to carry the stress of an impending arrival such as this one, but by god he was overwhelmed and scared and channeling that into working and finishing the nursery along with various other things for you and the baby. 

Chapter Four: After his daughter is born:

"A quick glance over to him and Reiner was crying, holding Maisie just under his chin and repeatedly kissing the crown of her head. Her fists were curled tightly to his shirt, holding onto Reiner as if she knew it would comfort him. Seeing your fiance so emotional at such random had the all too familiar lump forming in your throat. 

“I’m sorry - it just feels like I’ve been dreaming, that I’m going to wake up back in warrior barracks in Liberio.” Choking out on a whisper, tipping his head back so the tears wouldn’t roll down his cheeks too quickly. A smaller hand that belonged to you, landed over his that was cradling Maisie to his chest, offering your presence. “I don’t know why I’m having the sudden realization now that this is real when she’s six weeks old I- fuck sweetheart this is real right, I’m not going to wake up.” 

A quiver began in your bottom lip hearing the plea in his tone, like he was so afraid this would all fade from existence, slip from his fingers as he tried to hold on. Forming the words of reassurance were a struggle, mouth running try as you mouth silent words to a response. That seems to prompt a further reaction from him, blinking rapidly and forcing a smile, pulling you tighter to him. 

“Yes, this is…this is real Reiner, you're not going to lose this. You’re going to wake up in your bed in the home you built, next to me and next to your daughter.” Finally managing to say a few words, though your voice was so strained from keeping the tears at bay you feared he might’ve not heard you. 

His head bobbed in understanding, pressing his lips to the crown of Maisie’s hair and squeezing his eyes shut. What once was a broken, scarred man who convinced himself he was worthy of nothing but an early death, sat beside you a man who couldn’t be more grateful for the life he had, the life he swore would never come to fruition. Reiner inhaled sharply, lifting his head up and back to take in a few deep breaths. 

“I mean it when I saw you’re the greatest thing that’s happened to me, you’ve given me a family sweetheart, made me a father and will make me your husband. You and Maisie are my entire world, my entire purpose.” His hand came to cradle the back of your head, looking at you with glossy eyes that swirled with endless amounts of love and appreciation for the impact you had on his life. Tears were falling down both of your cheeks, Reiner wiping the one he could with his thumb and letting out a few laughs, amused that his uncontainable emotions were bringing you both to tears. Maisie remained unfazed on his chest, sleepily blinking back at you, bringing a tender smile to your lips.

“I’d choose you all over again if I had to, every single time sweetheart.” Sealing his words with a tentative kiss, allowing it to linger even if it was only meant to be short, swiping his thumb over your cheek once more for added adoration. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, bringing it to you so you could plant a kiss on his palm."

Chapter Five: A conversation you had with Pieck about her grief post-rumbling and planning for a wedding:

“Perfect, she can help us with the wedding planning, maybe wait till she’s old enough so she can be a little flower girl.” 

Warmly you smiled at Pieck, touched that she wanted to involve Maisie in her wedding. She’d make the cutest flower girl for sure, steal the show from the new couple by accident, but Jean or Pieck wouldn’t care, Maisie couldn’t help it. 

“How is the wedding planning going?” 

“It’s…it’s a work in progress. Jean and I are so busy half of the time there’s barely any time to discuss. I know he for sure wants to try and have it back in Paradis.” 

“Really? How do you feel about that?” 

A shift in emotions crossed her face, weakly giving you that somber smile. Pieck was guarded, a lot more since the rumbling, losing everything like everyone else did, but also losing so much more at the same time. 

“I’m really not sure. His parents are back in Paradis so of course I understand that, but my dad is buried here and so is…everyone else.” 

Your heart clenched, remembering the day you attended the small funeral for Mr.Finger and not too long after helping with the small grave sight for the friends who never got to see the end of the war. Marcel, Porco, Bertholdt and Colt all had headstones made in commemoration, not too far from the town hall. Reiner, Annie and Pieck visited often, as did you before Maisie. Though small and something dear to the four of you, the gesture and connection was there. 

“I’m sure Jean understands.” 

“I haven’t mentioned it.” 

“Pieck…” 

She sighed, tapping her nails on the table and looking around the cafe. You had a feeling you knew why she hadn’t mentioned it to Jean, the almost relationship she had with Porco and the time it took for her to accept his death. Like Reiner, there was a weight that crashed down after the rumbling, the weight of losing everything and realizing you'll never get to see some people ever again. 

“I know I should, but I don’t want him to take it the wrong way.” 

“How would he take it the wrong way?” Questioning her gently, careful not to pry too much into her relationship. Maisie smacked at the table, innocently unaware of the heavy emotions hovering between you and Pieck. 

“I don’t know, I’m probably overthinking this. I just wanted to get married here, because… I want our friends to see us get married.” 

Anguish of a different kind came over you, reaching for Pieck’s hand and lightly squeezing it. The tonnage of losing people you considered family would never go away, shadowing over happy and joyful events that were intended for celebration. You felt a little bit of it after Maisie was born, wishing Bertholdt were here to meet his best friend's daughter. Reiner never said, but you knew.

“Talk to Jean about it, it’s your wedding too and I have a strong feeling he’ll understand and the two of you will come to a compromise.” 

The small signature smile came from her, nodding softly and squeezing your hand back finally."

Chapter Six: the aftermath of your daughter turning one:

"When he returned, you waited for him, curling into his chest when his arms came around you. The attempts to lull you to sleep with the gentle motions of his hand rubbing up and down began to work until you shifted and reached for your book. Instead of grabbing it from the drawer of your nightstand, your fingers grasped the soft fabric of something, pulling it out to reveal the baby blanket you brought Maisie home from the hospital in. You’d put it in there a long time ago so you’d never lose it, a small keepsake from when she was a newborn. 

Bottom lip trembling seeing how small the fabric was, instantly reminding you that at one point she was that small. You sniffled and let out a sob, clutching it to your chest and curling back into Reiner. He called your name repeatedly, confused by the sudden turn around of events. 

Finally, looking at him through the tears you spoke.

“She was so little, Reiner she was so little. What happened?” 

Unable to see the relieved smile on his face as you’d buried yours in his chest, Reiner bit back the little chuckle and squeezed you close. He held you while you cried, the emotions of your baby turning one crashing down all at once. If you knew all it took was looking at the blanket she came home in, then maybe you would’ve done this earlier, get all the emotions out beforehand. 

Pulling you away, Reiner wiped your tears and let out a sigh. His face read of endearing smugness, the kind when he knew eventually all your worries would be solved. Part of you felt as if he was simply waiting for a moment like this, knowing it was bound to come. 

“Do you feel better?” 

“No?! Our baby is one, I feel sick.” 

He laughed then, hauling you into his lap and using his hand to tuck your head under his chin, rocking you as if you were Maisie, which actually turned out to be kind of soothing. 

“It’s only going to get worse from here.” 

“Thanks, I feel so much better.” Sarcastically sniffling, rolling your eyes even if he couldn’t see. 

Kissing the top of your head, a mischievous chuckle rumbled in his throat, already knowing he was just going to continue to add on. 

“She’ll start talking in full sentences. Eventually waking us up in the middle of the night to crawl into bed with us.” 

“Stooop.” Whining on top of him, purposely interrupting his ramblings for the sake of your emotional stability. 

“Then she’ll be begging you to put bows in her hair, braid it and style it how you want. Insist on following you around everywhere, turning into a mini you.” 

“She’s already growing so fast, she walked for the first time all by herself today.” 

Unable to help the small sniffle and tears once you remember Maisie hit another milestone today, Reiner paused for a moment, bringing you up to look at him. His eyes were misty, the attempt to pester you backfired. 

“Yeah, but she’ll always be our little girl, our Maisie.” Whispering and fighting the tremble in his bottom lip with a weak smile. 

Thumbing over the quivering lip, you pressed a small kiss to his lips, curling back into him with your face pressed into the side of his neck."

Chapter Seven: Yours and Reiner's wedding vows.

Reiner's to you: "Instead of reaching for the cards stuffed in his pocket, his head dipped in one final composure of his emotions before looking back up to meet you in the eye. 

“From the moment I met you sixteen years ago it was love at first sight, even if ten year old me didn’t exactly know what that was, I can guarantee it was. When I had to leave for Paradis the first time all those years ago, I promised myself I would make it back, not for Marley or the brass but for you. I didn’t have a grasp on why my heart yearned for you all those years away, but I finally understood when I saw you standing there on that dock, meeting me in each other's arms.” His voice shook further and further with every word he spoke, noticing the two tear stains on your cheeks. Sucking in a deep breath, Reiner kissed your knuckles and continued. 

“You didn’t have to care for me the way you did when I returned, didn’t have to reassure a broken man who saw himself so unworthy in his own eyes, didn’t have to stay up late with me all those nights when I couldn’t sleep, but you did. You showed me unconditional love and understanding after five years apart, never judged when at the time that was all I felt deserving of. You mended the broken pieces of my heart and soul with your attentive care, brought the light back into my dark life, helped me push through each day. You were my second chance at life, my reason to keep going even when I thought living to my thirties was never going to happen. So when I saw you again in Fort Salta, I promised myself to be the man you deserve, be the father our daughter deserves, because there aren’t enough words to express how much I love you, how much you mean to me and how you shape this heart of mine, I never want to leave this world without saying I love you.” 

Yours to Reiner: "The faint sniffles from the friends and family watching on was nothing but a buzz in his ears, training his eyes on yours and watching the emotion swirl. Reiner kissed your hands one last time, holding them between your bodies and waiting for you to speak. When you were composed enough, you let out a little laugh with the tremble in your lip. 

“Crossing paths with you changed my life forever, even if our first encounter was brief. I will admit I never understood the infatuation you had for me, why you pestered me endlessly and always ended up by my side. When I dropped out of the program, I was scared I wouldn’t get to see you again, but of course you made it a point to walk with me to and from the headquarters, even if it potentially made you late to training. I realized my crush for you right before you left, feeling so blindsided and wondering if I’d ever get to see the bright blonde boy who loved to point out the butterflies on our walks home again.” 

Your hands shook in his, Reiner quickly seeing the turn of your emotions for what you were about to say next, bracing himself for the tears that were building in his waterline and the lump rising in his throat. 

“When you did return, I was so happy to have my best friend back, so excited to mess around like before you left, but I realized that boy was buried deep inside you. I knew you weren’t lost completely even though some nights spent in your apartment I questioned if there was a light at the never ending tunnel. I never had any concrete reasoning for staying by your side when you returned, just wanting you to be okay and scared I would lose the one person who made my heart flutter when I saw them. I know you feel as if you’ll never truly be the man I deserve and I want to tell you that you’re wrong. You’ve always been a man worth loving, a man worth a life full of happiness and health, worthy of a family and friends who see you for who you are. You’ve always been the other half of my heart before I even realized it and I could live a thousand lifetimes and still not be able to tell you how much I love you.” 

Chapter eight: Yours and Reiner's daughter feeling her younger sibling kick for the first time.

"Smiling at the following question, Maisie crawled over your leg to get to Reiner, climbing onto him like a tree and poking next to the corner of his eye. You watched as he praised her for the correct answers and the gentle correction at the wrong ones. Reiner went over the features of his face until he started to point to different ones and wait for her to respond. And Maisie did flawlessly, still working on some of the pronunciations but both of you knew what she was trying to say. 

“Baby.” 

Your daughter had rotated her head in your direction, pointing at your stomach. Reiner shared a look of awe with you, neither of you had mentioned that often there was a baby in your stomach but Maisie knew and both of you were a little shocked to say the least. 

“That’s right, there's a baby in Mommy’s tummy.” Patting the center of your abdomen as you confirmed her observation. Even though Maisie had just pointed it out, she looked a little perplexed, moving to sit between you and Reiner, staring at your stomach. 

Lifting the hem of your shirt until the small bump was revealed, you rested your hand at the crown, watching your daughter's eyes widen in even more fascination. Like she was scared something was to happen, Maisie reached her tiny hand out and rested it on the side of your stomach. Eyes blinking so slowly as her mind turned with pondering, working out the complexities of your pregnancy that she now suddenly became aware of. 

A flutter rippled under your hand, barely noticeable at first but when the action repeated your eyes widened. If you were correct, the baby just kicked for the first time, and patiently you waited to see if they would do it again. 

“Reiner.” 

“Hm?” Taking his eyes off of Maisie to see what you wanted, having to balance his weight quickly as you grabbed his wrist to place his hand where yours was. At first he questioned what you were doing until he felt the tiny kick. The air in his throat hitched, body completely frozen as he waited for the baby to do it again. Maisie had been watching you two, not sure why your eyes were wide and bodies so still, so she moved her hand next to Reiner’s, feeling left out. 

Instantly, your husband guided her hand to where his once was, placing his comically larger one over Maisie’s and waiting on bated breath for the baby to hopefully kick just one more time. It would be an experience for your daughter, feeling her sibling kick in the womb in her presence and you hoped they would cooperate. 

Sighing in relief when the kick came, Maisie jolted a little, unsure of what that was, looking back at Reiner for answers. 

“That’s your brother or sister Mais, say hi.” Speaking softly by her ear and smiling with pride, encouraging his daughter to greet her sibling. 

“Hi…” 

You were melting on the spot, seeing Maisie timidly acknowledge the baby even if they couldn’t hear her, Reiner sharing the same look as you. A few moments passed with occasional kicks and Reiner guiding his daughter's hand around your stomach to entice them to keep making their presence known. With each one, Maisie smiled, even if she wasn’t entirely sure what she was feeling, she knew just by the looks on yours and Reiner’s face that it was a good thing. 

When the kicks couldn’t be felt anymore, you pulled your shirt back down and curled up next to Reiner, with Maisie beginning to doze off in your lap. The soft pats from your palm and the occasional threading of your fingers in her hair, she loses her battle with sleep quickly."

Chapter nine: doubts about being a good mom.

"“What’s wrong?” Murmuring, letting your hands fall in your lap and running his own up and down your arms. As he waited for your response, he tried to think of any possible reason why you could be upset, wanting to have his own comforting words ready the moment you were. 

“I’m just worried over��everything .” 

Reiner softened, nodded for you to keep going. “I feel stupid for all this anxiety when we’ve already done this, but what if Maisie doesn’t like the baby and lashes out? How am I going to take care of two kids when you’re at work? What if I can’t-” 

“You can.” Cutting you off despite knowing there was probably so much more on your mind you needed to voice. A deep sigh exhaled through his nose, taking a moment to wipe your tears and kiss the little salt stains they left behind on your now flushed cheeks. Understanding how you felt, feeling similar to before Maisie was born, Reiner moved to take you into his arms for an embrace. The soft strands of your hair tickled the side of his face, threading through with his fingers for further comfort. He could hear the further cries into his shoulder, letting his arms tighten around you. 

“I know it’s been a lot for you recently, but sweetheart you know I’m going to be here. You know I’m going to go out of my way to be there and help you out, even if I am at work.” Pulling you away so he could look you in the eyes as he spoke. Reiner couldn’t help but give a silent chuckle when he scanned over your face, looking so much like Maisie when she got upset. Dipping down for a small soft kiss, he held the sides of your face as he gave you the most affectionate look he could muster. 

“You are an incredible woman, mother and wife. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that you won’t be able to handle both of them because you’re smart, caring and face every obstacle with a calm, sound mind. Everything is going to work out one way or another.” Affirming to you once more that there wasn’t anything you couldn’t do nor face alone if Reiner could help it. His commitment would always be to you no matter what, be there for you like you were for him in trying times. Even if he were away and you needed him, Reiner would break and bend laws to be by your side, it was the least he could do for all that you had done for him. 

“I just don’t know why I’m so worked up over this?” Wiping your nose on the back of your hand, looking up at him and then back down to your stomach. Reiner followed your gaze, carefully climbing over you to sit beside you, quickly checking on Maisie as she napped. 

“Because it’s an entirely new situation, for the both of us, double the responsibility. We don’t know what it's like to raise more than one kid and that’s okay, it’s all about figuring it out as we go.” Running his finger lightly over your bump, then palming it in the center. Reiner would admit that he’d had thoughts like yours recently, nothing to this extreme, moreso worried about the present, forcing himself the reminders that he would face the future when it came. 

“Yeah.” 

Your response was plain, but reduced of the worry and uncertainty. Hooking the hand on your bump under your chin, Reiner laid the last of his comfort into the kiss he pressed to your lips. Whatever anxiety remained, melted off of you as you kissed him back, quickly wrapped in the blanket that were his words and actions. Reiner kissed your forehead, reaching over to bring Maisie back to his arms. 

“You’ll be okay, I’ll always make sure of it.” 

Slouching against the headboard once he was readjusted, he reached for your hand, stroking his thumb over the top. Whatever life had to throw this way, Reiner made the same promise over and over again, to be everything and more to you, till the day he drew his last breath."

Chapter ten: dealing with postpartum depression after yours and Reiner's son his born.

“I’m sorry.” Trembling words left your lips, sounding so pathetic and weak. You were pulled off so you could look him in the eyes, concern laced with sternness was what you were met with. 

“For what?” Asking as if it were a rhetorical question, holding the side of your tear swollen face and dabbing a few of the tears away with his hand. 

“For…for I don’t know, he wouldn’t calm down or stop crying and I tried everything but it wouldn’t work.” 

Your husband somehow softened and hardened at your words. Reiner wasn’t truly upset with the situation, moreso with the fact that you immediately turned apologetic for being unable to calm Gabriel down. There were no signs that this was inherently your fault, and Reiner knew things would be testy with your emotions a good while after giving birth. Navigating these emotions were like walking on crack glass high in the sky, stepping lightly and weighing his words and actions to keep from everything shattering. It pained him like no other that you were a mush of emotions, knowing how mentally taxing it was on you. If somehow it were possible for him to carry all of that for you, he would. 

“Sweetheart, there’s nothing to apologize for. Sometimes babies get that way and it just takes more time to calm them down, you know that.” Wrapping an arm around your waist and hauling you into his lap. Dexterous fingers glided along your flushed, tear stained cheeks, looking at you with pure adoration. Reiner knew you were bearing the weight of being strong and capable as he returned to work earlier than expected. He hated that you felt the need to do that, his promises were still true and he would uphold every last one to ensure your emotional and mental health. 

“But you just got home from work and immediately had to take care of the situation. I didn’t even have dinner ready, nor did I greet you.” Your words turned into apologetic ramblings, overexplaining to make up for the situation at hand. 

Sweetheart,” Brushing a thumb along your bottom lip to quiet the shaking words leaving your lips. “It’s okay, I don’t expect any of that when I get home. I care about seeing the three of you, that’s it. And it doesn’t matter if I just walked in the door and you need help, I’m your husband and their dad, it's the bare minimum of what’s expected of me.” 

His words were like a wall of truth smacking you in the face, not wanting to accept it. Your husband deserved to come home and relax for a bit before jumping into parental duties, at least that was your reasoning. Reiner already had so much to handle and throwing more on him just felt…wrong. It was a way of showing your appreciation towards him, a little out of the ordinary but you couldn’t think of any other way at the moment. 

“I’m just-'' Taking in a shuddering breath, squeezing your eyes shut for the confession you were about to let out. “I’m just so tired. They both need all of my attention and I want to do everything I can to give it to them but I feel so drained and I know that makes me sound like a bad mom. It’s not fair that you’re not here and it’s even worse for me to just dump more on your plate when you get home, I hate it and I feel like a failure.” 

Unable to look Reiner in the face, ashamed at the words that left your mouth, you buried your face in your hands, letting out pitiful little sobs. It was one thing to inwardly confess to feeling like a failure, but to voice it aloud to your husband struck you so much harder than you expected. Intentionally or not, you dubbed yourself as the strong one, the one to lean on instead of the other way around. Reiner never burdened you with that notion, that was all your doing and you knew that. Everything had gone so smoothly with Maisie, you’d admit your expectations were high with Gabriel. Naive thinking yes, but were you so wrong in thinking that? 

Settling for embracing you and pulling your hands away before he spoke, Reiner smoothed his hands over your back, rubbing circles to calm the pent up emotions inside you. He knew you held some resentment for him going back as early as he did and he couldn’t blame you. But for once he didn’t let that get inside his head, because at this moment he needed to be the rock to your support and not pity himself over something he couldn’t control. 

“You’re not a failure sweetheart. The fact that you’re so upset over this tells me how much you care.” Using age old lines he once heard over and over from you to offer the same reassurance and relief it brought him. “I know it can be hard to ask for help when you feel like you can handle everything, but you need to put yourself first sometimes. You are not just a mother, you’re a person with their own individual self that deserves to just have moments to yourself. It’s not selfish or greedy to want to be away from the kids for a bit, its healthy and that’s all I want for you angel.” 

Bringing yourself to look Reiner in the face, letting out a long somewhat defeated sigh, you gave a small nod. There were thousands of reasons why you loved Reiner, but his poetic words of reassurance were at the top of your list, the man stringing together words and sentences that were so beautifully conveyed that calmed your weary soul. Your husband was truly the better half of your and you couldn’t even imagine living in the world without him. 

“It’s not going to happen overnight.” Countering back a bit with slight humor in your tone, the tonnage of your inner struggles lifting slowly.

His lips curled into the softest smile, tracing the lines of your cheekbones and tilting his head in a small nod. “I know, but you’re not alone, you’re never alone and I want you to get used to leaning on me more when you need to. I’m never going to judge you for whatever is bothering you, nor your thoughts or feelings.”

[piebingo]

Some of my favourite current YR wips

Because wips deserve lots of love🫶 please add any additions you have!!

I see you in my future | 15/? | by littlefandom

Love, apparently, comes at the most unexpected moments and in the most random places. Wille agrees with that. He did not expect to meet the love of his life online, but the moment his eyes landed on Simon through the screen, it was like he knew that it was going to be something special, something extraordinary...

What he did not know then, was the distance between them, the differences, the troubles they were going to face in order to be together in the way they wanted to.

But another thing that he does know, is that Simon is worth it and that they are in this together, both of them willing to put themselves through all of the obstacles if it means they get their happy ending.

The question is: will they get it?

Their relationship is super sweet here and I love the way they handle conflict. It’s so well done.

To be where you are | 5/? | by RBlytheo8

“It will get easier, Wille, once you find your Guide. They’ll be able to help you and support you like mamma and I can’t.”

“Oh, haven’t you heard? I don’t have a perfect match. I won’t have a Guide.”

(Or, a Sentinel and Guide story for Simon and Wille.)

Super interesting concept and lovely to see their dynamic.

Bittersweet ecstasy (I pick my poison and it’s you) | 2/3 | by wthbaby

Pure blooded wolves were said to descend from the moon goddess herself, being able to shift to their wolf forms, their genes stronger than the ones of the common wolf. They were the prime species. If a wolf were to be born pure blooded, no matter alpha, beta or omega, they were automatically in line of succession.

Wilhelm presented as an Alpha, in a long line of pure-bloods, at eighteen moons of age. He had a role to fulfill as the future Head Alpha of the northern pack.

And Simon, a male omega, a nobody, had fallen head over heels for the young alpha.

The only problem? Wilhem was set to be mated to another omega.

This feels like a fantasy setting which I love! It’s a lot about them as actual wolves , which is different (for me). The dynamic is again super interesting.

Where we left off | 4/10 | by gulliblelemon/ @gulliblelemon

Simon meets Wilhelm by accident in the wake of Erik's sudden death. This story follows their lives through the years, and through more of their accidental and on-purpose meetings, as their lives change and they cross paths again and again.

The last update broke me and I’m greatful for it🫶

Royally whipped | 15/16 | by bigalockwood / @bigalockwood

Erik's death leaves Wille unable to pick up his duties as Crown Prince right away. Instead he's granted two years away from the spotlight at Hillerska. Now that he's finished his education, the court expects him to make a public reappearance.

What better opportunity for a reintroduction than Sweden's favorite baking show? It's low risk, low stakes, no distractions.

Well. If it wasn't for Simon Eriksson, musician and Wille's long-time celebrity crush, everything could've been so easy.

This is a blast to read. It’s so sweet and I love to tune in every week to ready my chapter. I’ll be so sad when it’s done!

Constellations of love | 8/9 | by spidaya / @simons-purplehoodie

TLDR: An enemies to lovers & fake dating story, with focuses on Simon’s struggle to keep his family afloat despite his father’s abuse and addiction, and Wille’s trauma and anxiety from childhood to adulthood, heavily based on the book “They Hate Each Other” by Amanda Woody

They are silly and they are sweet and they are in love and I love them too. Again one I’ve realized is almost completed which feels bittersweet already!

I’m know I have more but those are the ones I could remember up the top of my head!