#its got real “Scar no” energy

[applepixls]

lowkey why do cody and may's dialogue from It Takes Two kind of sound like grian and scar

[hinamie]

alongside someone like you

[black-dhalias]

Hello? Are you willing to write about Jasper Hale x human female reader where they keep having inappropriate thoughts about each other and Edward cannot stand it any longer? It is completely okay if you are not interested in writing such a thing. Have a nice day :)

Lacks Control

Jasper Hale X Human!F!Reader Warnings: contains/mentions sexual content, light swearing

In most ways, you thought similarly to most humans and thought you understood how the world worked. You knew that there were balances in place, checks that keep the universe from overreaching a little too far. You believed in energies, and how people interact with each other often impacts what they receive unto themselves. You were absolutely sure that you understood yourself, but that was a year ago--before the Cullens arrived in Juneau, Alaska. Your home.

It was before Jasper arrived.

Now, a year later, you could hardly believe how different things have become; in many ways, you don't see the world in the same way. You see the world as brighter, and intense, and more mysterious than its made out to be. You glance at the alarm clock, shocked to see only minutes left--the night got away from you faster than you expected. It felt like you had just laid down, and now slanted morning light is streaming in from the partially open window—unbelievable.

You hardly understood what you heard that night, and if they wouldn't have reacted so brashly—you probably would have written it off, and left without another thought.

However, upon hearing Rosalie, Emmett, and Bella talking about Jasper's control—you almost left right there, but no—they kept talking. They said too much to just write off, and when they turned that corner to see you pale white pressed against the wall. They realized just how much you had heard, and its not like they could just make you forget—so there. That's how you found out the newest members of Juneau community were vampires, and that humans knowing their secret is not exactly accepted.

Despite Jasper being the topic of conversation that night, his control specifically, you almost forgot it entirely every time you saw him. Admittedly, Jasper was terrifying and in the right lighting, his scars were very visible even to a human. His eyes were often dark, and his expression stoic and tight. Most of the time, you tried to avoid him entirely, but being near him was exhilarating. It felt like gravity pressing against you, everything impossible, felt possible.

Now that left you in a precarious position, with an undeniable attraction to probably the most lethal Cullen.

Maybe that's a bit of an understatement, half the time you were in the same room with him—all you could think about was the possibility of undressing him. Images of your fingers dragging down his body, and it wasn't like you had to use your imagination—you had caught him changing once and that was it. All the fuel your mind needed to keep you interested, practically drooling at the thought.

"Darling?" You hmm, sitting up straight in your seat, you mentally curse yourself for letting your mind wander so far. Remember that whole thing about how you thought you were normal before, now you know you think differently because who else loses time like this? Who else could go from their home, all the way to their University; just thinking, just itching to think about him.

Once more, his eyes were in that in-between shade—not exactly amber, but not bright either like his unofficial siblings. You were shocked at the beginning of the semester when he walked into this class, because what was a vampire doing at the University of Southeast Alaska? No reason, but Jasper must had his because it takes a real psychopath to spend their time in an Animal Physiology class. Yet Jasper fit right in, and you have to admit the company is much nicer than others might think.

However, it was also incredibly distracting and in some distasteful ways, you spent the better half of class time enamored by him. His thick southern drawl, the way his blonde curls moved when he spoke, but especially with his hands. God, what else can those hands do? Per usual though, you feel warmth spread to your cheeks and look at your hands, you really need to get a handle on yourself if you plan on passing this class.

"Yes?" You ask, practically cursing the very ground you walk as you pretend to scribble down some notes on the cellular makeup of artic mammals—only it wasn't information the professor was saying, but rather verbatim notes of the last line you wrote. In fact, it is the same thing you've written at least ten times on the paper, but you just couldn't help your wandering mind.

"Class ended five minutes ago..." You perk, eyes widening as you look around the room and see that no one else is here. Just you... slowly, your eyes turn to Jasper. And him. Just you and him.

Perhaps his words shouldn’t have affected your demeanor, or maybe it had more to do with being alone with him, but something inside you snapped. Not only did you clearly feel an urge to take his face in between your palms and kiss him—you also had the inherent urge to bury your face into your arms and hope you got sucked away.

“Fantastic…” You kind of murmur into your skin, before sitting up with a sharp inhale and glancing over at the smirking Texan. His accent always seemed so out of place in Alaska, his honey like drawl always stood out when he spoke. It’s what got your attention in the first place, you couldn’t help yourself when you heard it.

You shut your notebook, sliding it into your bag with your laptop and pens—zipping it before Jasper tossed it over his shoulder. This was the routine, he showed up and you spent more than half of class imagining a million different ways you could take him on the desk.

Was that wrong? You hardly think it’s a good thing, but when you glance over at him. The way he held open your doors, and always close enough to catch you if your feet bumped each other. How could you not have those kinds of thoughts?

“Carlisle and Esme are still asking when you’re coming over again?” You hmm, before looking forward again—processing what he said, it just always takes a second.

“Oh yeah, we can head there now. I don’t have anything to do today.” If you weren’t too busy trying to ignore the throb of your chest, you would have seen the smile. The one that Jasper only reserved for you.

“Well then, after you…” Jasper holds open the door, letting you pass before leading you towards his car.

The Cullens were happy when you came around, Alice had told Jasper that he’d find someone eventually. She knew you were coming, but no one knew the effect it would have on him. The way he seemed to control himself, he didn’t feel like a runaway train anymore. The way Jasper seemed to smile more often, especially when he spoke of you.

“Y/N!” Esme exclaims as you enter the Cullen home, embracing you close as she smiles brightly. She always seemed so excited to see you, more than the others—what you didn’t know, was she had wished more than anything for Jasper to have someone. They all had their person, and well, finding you just fit into the puzzle so well. “Oh it’s so good to see you.”

You follow after her, Jasper watching as you go before heading into the living room. While he knew you’d be preoccupied for the time being, he couldn’t help, but sit in a spot where he could see you.

Today you seemed extra beautiful, not just beautiful—ravishing. You weren’t doing anything different, but something about the way you were looking at him earlier. If he were human, his heart would have been racing and his breath caught up.

What did you look like naked? The thought caught him off guard, it piqued his interest as he admired you from afar. Jasper did his best to not rush into things, to let you take the lead when it came to your relationship.

Did you have any birthmarks? He wondered how long it would take to count every freckle and mark upon your skin, if he could kiss each and every one. He’d even been in the room with you before, when you decided to stay over and you changed into some of his clothes. But still, he couldn’t bring himself to look.

You could feel his eyes on you, even from across the room. Even as Esme spoke to you so earnestly about something, you glanced over.

Jasper seemed to be looking at you, but also into you—you could feel the intensity. The sensation of him, again thoughts from class came to mind.

What would it feel like to be between a wall and his body? You purse your lips, trying not to linger on the thought—but they seem to always come in twos. And if you were, what would he do? God you wanted to know so bad… To feel what it felt like to be under him, pleading with him to take you right there.

“That’s it!” Jasper moves quickly as Edward appears at the bottom of the stairs, “You two need to go!” It wasn’t angry, but Jasper was at your side.

“Edward?! What’s wrong?”

“These two! They need to go, I can’t take another minute of them having mind sex.”

Your eyes widen, looking over at Jasper who seems to be looking everywhere except at you.

“You could just—not read our minds?” Edward shakes his head at your assertion, pushing you both towards the door.

“Nope. Your thoughts are too loud to just ignore.”

“I-” Edward gives a final shove out the door, as you bump into Jasper. Feeling his hand brace against your waist, steadying you as the mind reader gives a smile.

“Go to their house. And, think whatever thoughts you want. Just not here.” The door shuts and you look over at Jasper, then away as quickly as possible. Cheeks flushed warm.

Perhaps you should have saw that coming, Edward practically avoided you like a plague when you were over.

“So mind sex, huh?” You groan, glancing up at Jasper—the playfulness of his tone suppressing the obvious curiosity you note in his eyes.

“It takes two…” His smile broadens as he unlocks the car door, “Two people.”

.

.

.

“Whatever you say, darlin’…”

[pressureplus]

I actually have this request in my head for a while now... but I'm not sure if you be up to do it so thank to let me know if you will do it or not. Fem! Reader who is happily married and live together with Sebastian (when he still human). Until, Sebastian was arrested and sentence to dead. Reader found no long after his dead that she was pregnant. Years later, Sebastian manage to escape Hadal Blacksite probably very injured in the process. He was soon spotted by the kid that look similar to his human self (the kid probably be now close to be a teenager now), as the kid call up their mother. Sebastian was shocked to see his wife come to view.

I'm looking 👀

Love this dramatic shit, I'm SO here for it!

I'm going to be referring to your son as S/N, so y'all can name your boy yourselves! (I'm real interested in the stuff you might choose, so if you wanna put them in the replies, I'd love to see your baby names!)

Smaller Hands

Pairing: Sebastian Solace x Fem!Reader

Au: [Unnamed]

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy, an Absent Father, injury, and Imprisonment

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

He had been running a very long time before he got to where he was now.

Escaping the Blacksite was only the beginning of his long, long journey home. He had wrestled himself from the depths of the deep ocean and fought his way all the way up to the light far, far above him.

Breaking through the surface of the water had provided him with a hope he never thought he'd see truly grow into something he could really hold. Sunlight and open air and a horizon that stretched endlessly in every direction... Sebastian hadn't known freedom in over 10 years, but there it was.

The way the natural light caught the glint of his wedding ring had him already tearing through the water with a grin, energy back in his tired body. It certainly wasn't his original ring, no, that one wouldn't fit on his new, much larger hand anymore, but the replacement that he got so he could wear a ring on his hand and not just as a pendant was enough of a visual reminder of his love, sending him treading the water the way this body was made to do. He had to get to his wife.

He had to see his Y/N again. That's always what his efforts were for.

It was days before he even reached a beach, and weeks of dragging himself through the shadows and the alleyways, keeping himself out of sight. He would squint at road maps and try to figure out how he was going to get himself home, not very well able to get on the public transport or drive himself there with a body like this. He had to be more than a little creative with how he was going to cross the countless miles between his lover and himself if he wanted to make it there at all. He'd spend his seemingly endless days hopping trains and swimming rivers just to close the distance faster, like it may wash away the last decade he's had to go without her.

Sebastian could only hope she waited for him, though those chances were next to none. She had been there the day he was 'executed', watching him get taken back to the chair that was supposed to put his story to its end. She has every right and reason to think he died that day, and he could never be angry or upset if she decided she still needed to be held the way his other hands used to hold her... Would these hands even fit her anymore? They'd outgrown his first ring... Would they be too big to hold hers anymore? The painful thought was a reoccurring one, and it plagued every dream he had in the moments he would manage to rest.

He's nearing his old cottage now, beaten and scarred from the long trip home, more than a little bit tired and definitely hungry. He's barely going to make it if he manages to get to the doorstep at all, but more thankful than ever he'd made his home with her outside of the city and out into the woods so he might have a moment to his thoughts. He could very well find her with another man, or he could find a completely new family, or even find nothing but flowers and trees- The life that he made with her could be all but ashes on a breeze that swept this place years ago. She could be a memory and this could all be for nothing just as easily as anything else. He wouldn't even have a right to be angry... He wouldn't even feel a right to cry if she's decided to move on.

"SNAKE MAN! SNAKE MAN!!!"

He's shaken from his pondering by an unfamiliar voice, a starry eyed child fumbling out of the bushes like a little animal.

He nearly panics and flees before the brave, feral little boy reaches out for his hand and looks up at him like something right out of a story book- Which, he supposed may be fair given the way that he looks now.

"Are you a forest monster!? Do you grant wishes and eat people and stuff?!" It's clear the boy doesn't know fear, young and small still, with new eyes... But familiar ones.

Sebastian's heart drops into his stomach when he begins to recognize the thick, dark hair and deep brown eyes. This boy is the spitting image of the way he looked when he was around 10 or 11... It's like he's been pulled right from Sebastian's old childhood photos.

Too dumbfounded to speak, Sebastian stands there, every muscle in his body tense while his eyes flick around the boy's face trying to figure out how this could be.

"S/N! What are you doing talking to strangers, you were supposed to be at least playing in the yard and not the woods before the sun started setting." Y/N rounds the trees with a stubborn look on her face and immediately freezes when her gaze meets Sebastian's.

The air is knocked out of the both of them, leaving them only able to stare, and he notes the way she's remained nearly the same as the day that he was forced to leave her behind. Like a flower that never wilts, she stands as beautiful and as amazing as she was when he had first met her. Frozen with an expression he can't place, she makes no motion to do anything at all. The larger man acts first at the realization she must be frightened of him, going to put his two unheld hands up and open his mouth to explain himself-

"You said not to talk to strangers, this is CLEARLY a forest monster." Little S/N beats both of them to the punch and confirms to Sebastian all at once that his attitude is as strong in his blood as that unruly dark hair is.

"Heed your mother, would you? I could very well eat you." Sebastian ushers the child forward with a playful threat, the boy in reference pouting and looking back up at him.

"Come on, I'm only out a little bit late! It's not dark yet! Monsters only eat people in the dark." The boy argues, unfamiliar with the idea of real danger, it seems, but certain of himself the way only children really can be.

"Sebastian I can't believe it... Is it you? Am I losing my mind?" Putting the scolding and corrections on her son's statements off for a better time, Y/N looks up at the mutated form of her lover, hoping she might be right. When Y/N speaks, it's soft and uncertain, a hand going to rest on her child's shoulder so as not to lose him while she's distracted.

"You recognize me?" His heart practically jumps into his throat and he struggles to cope with how quickly she's guessed it was him.

"If not for the way one soul knows another, then for your voice and... Our ring." Unafraid just as well, she walks right up to the towering creature and brings her hand up to the necklace it's strung onto around his neck.

"Am I too late?" Sebastian asks, still scared.

"You're late, but never too much. You had better come home now though." She gets firm near the end and he laughs, melting.

"Awe that's no fair! I'm in trouble for being a few minutes late and he gets to be gone forever!" The boy whines and Y/N seems to laugh when she ruffles his hair.

"You can be out of trouble because it's a special day. Now, let's go home and get you to bed." Y/N's eyes stray back up to her husband, the fondness that was there in those beautiful eyes he fell in love with was something that had grown blurry and hard to recall until now. The way her gaze rested on him so softly brought him back like he'd never left in the first place.

"I think I have some things to talk about with your monster, here." She smiles at him and goes to slide her hand into his, the cold feeling against his palm of her own ring -the matching one to his from the promise that they'd made at that altar a long time ago- made him feel warm again, and made him feel alive.

"Yes, I've got a lot of things I've been waiting to tell her for these years we've spent apart."

[killerpancakeburger]

Dating Soap HCS: (Combatant!Reader)

A/N: Shoving in there all the thoughts I've had about him and couldn't squeeze into my current fic ideas.

When I say Combatant!Reader, I mean they can fight/kill/use a gun but aren't part of the Task Force nor a soldier.

SFW:

Two words: power couple. You guys could take on the world if you wanted, so good for the world that you’re part of the good guys.

Soap is one of those freaks who’s out of bed by 6 a.m on his days off and starts the day with a jog. He can’t help it, he’s got energy to spare and is addicted to the endorphin he gets from it. Before meeting him you’d have said that a partner up so early was a pain; but how could you be mad at him when he takes such care to not wake you up, and has coffee and a mouth-watering breakfast ready when you emerge? You enter the kitchen where he rewards you with the luscious view of his sculpted body covered in sweat, having already shed his shirt, then sneaks an arm around your shoulders to press an adoring kiss against your temple, along with a “G’morning, Bonnie.” before heading to the shower.

Sometimes you show up unannounced on base - well not completely unannounced cause you’d get shot -, barge into the sparring room like you own the place - and considering the company you keep, you might as well -, and hit all its occupants with a “What’s up losers?”. Before anyone else can react, Soap’s already leaping over the ring’s ropes and running to you, hugging you with so much enthusiasm that your feet leave the ground. “Ye didnae say ye were comin’!” His voice booms with unadulterated joy. “Yeah, that’s called a surprise MacTavish. Now let go of me, you stink.” He throws you a cocky, challenging smirk at that: “Make me.” His voice is way lower, intended for your ears only this time. The glint in his eyes, as he’s staring right into yours, is just as provocative as his smile. You retort with your own. “I could, but I would hate to humiliate you in front of the new recruits, Sergeant.” Cue Ghost, joining you by walking like a civilised human being, and already sick of your flirting. “If you two are done makin’ a spectacle of yourselves, we could have a smoke outside.” There’s no real heat to his words though.

During some evenings at the base when Ghost snuck up God only knows where, Soap, Gaz and you compete to see who can do the best impression of the Lieutenant. Soap’s in the lead with the advantage to be the one having exchanged the most words with Simon, but you’re confident you can turn it around.

Will touch you all the fucking time (except on missions), whether it’s an arm around your shoulder, or your waist, or a hand in the back pocket of your pants, or holding your hand. Will restrain himself if you’re against it but if he can’t cuddle in private he will be sad.

No PDA on missions, but he will definitely flirt over coms. You’re both skilled enough that you can afford to fuck around a bit while still doing your job expertly.

Talking about flirting, he is smooth… until the other person reciprocates. Then he needs a moment to get back in the saddle after short-circuiting. 

Fervently loyal. If someone comes onto him, he will reject them frankly. And if they dare to bad-mouth you, they’re getting an earful from him.

The rare fights you have are intense but brief. He always wants to apologise as soon as possible afterwards but he gives you your space if you need it. 

You patch each other up after missions. One day you pore over each other’s scars during a lazy morning in bed, asking how the other got them.

He loooves seeing you put assholes in their place. He’s so fucking proud and aroused. Tend to snap at them faster than you though. And if you’re not in the mood to fight, he will gladly take over. “You know I can fight. Pleaaase let me fight”

Your #1 supporter. Will Smith showing off his wife.meme. He admires you a lot. Not as much as Ghost, sure, but that’s still a lot. If you wanna try new things, especially thrills inducing ones like canyoning or bungee jumping, or push back your own limits in the gym or in combat prowess, he’s always down and so, so enthusiastic. First because he’s so thrilled to share these with you, and second because he relishes in seeing you become a better version of yourself and/or the person you wanna be.

He’s proud of his job and will rant about it for hours if you ask about it. Especially explosions. Your idea of a romantic evening is taking in the sunset with a couple of explosions fireworks. 

He’s a freaking sunshine and sometimes the light feels blinding. You worry you’re bringing him down. He has such an optimistic outlook on life, and you… simply don’t. You also fear that one day he realises he’s too good for you, whether it’s in terms of looks, personality, morals, or mental resilience… he’s always quick to appease your worries though. 

Not getting along with the TF would be a deal breaker. Not that he’s expecting you to become BFF with Ghost or anything, that role is already taken by him

Will not hesitate to use his sad puppy eyes on you. Or even pout. To get what he wants.

He demands a kiss for good luck before every mission, a bit lOUDLY, which makes Ghost rolls his eyes and Gaz makes gagging sounds. Price is just like "Lord Give Me Patience".

NSFW:

Don’t be afraid to (wo)manhandle him: pulling his hair, slamming him against a wall, grabbing his jaw… that will make him moan more often than not. 

Call him a good/pretty boy, praise him, tease him, make him beg… He will tease back to challenge you but it just means you should keep going.

He’s a good soldier, he follows orders well. Do with that what you will.

Endless stamina. Will wear you out first every time.

Gets off when he gets you off.

Did I mention that he’s terribly competitive? Will ask you what’s the highest number of orgasms you had in one night and will immediately try to beat that record. 

If he doesn't make you laugh at least once during the do, he has FailedTM 😔

[runnning-outof-time]

I’m Not Gonna Leave You | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by @rangerelik

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: (Y/N)'s still having trouble with getting past her husband's injuries. Tommy assures his wife that he's not planning on leaving any time soon.

Warnings: nightmare, Tommy’s season 3 injury

Word Count: 1872

A/N: bit of a shorter one here….it was fun trying to work the prompts into the story - I hope it all makes sense. The prompts are italicized. Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Comment/Message me if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

(Y/N) threw the door to the townhome open, her heart beating so loudly that it was all that she could hear. "Ada!" she called out as she began looking in the front rooms, "Ada where are you?" her panic increased with each second as she wondered if the ambulance had come already. She wasn't sure if she wanted it to have or not.

She got her answer when she walked further into the main hallway and found her husband and sister-in-law sitting at the bottom of the stairs. Ada was trying to keep Tommy engaged while Tommy was trying with all he could not to let his head lull back and his eyes shut. "Oh no," she gasped, rushing over to where they were. "Tommy...Tommy, what's happened?" she frantically searched for his hand, wanting to hold onto it.

"I don't know what happened, (Y/N). He came here like this," Ada answered, her voice shaky, "he...he said that he had a fractured skull, a concussion and internal bleeding, and that he couldn't see," she then rattled off what Tommy had told her when he'd asked her to drive him to the hospital. She decided to call him an ambulance instead.

"(Y/N)..." Tommy stumbled over his wife's name as he tried to get it out with what little energy he had left.

"Tommy? What, what is it?" she quickly turned her attention to him, holding onto his hand tighter.

"I...I love you. You and the children...they, they mean so mu...so..." he stammered out, squeezing his eyes together and opening them again in hopes that he'd see her beautiful face, but everything was still black.

"No, no...you're not doing this. You're not saying goodbye," (Y/N) began choking on her cries once she realized what he was doing.

"I need to...I need to sleep," he panted out before he finally let his head drop, his body losing its tension as his grip on her hand went limp.

"No!," (Y/N) screamed, a wail leaving her body as she grabbed onto her husband's jacket, trying anything she could to get him to come back to her.

"(Y/N)..." Ada's voice came from her side, calmer than she should have been at that moment, "(Y/N)..."

"No, he's..he's..." she choked on her words, still trying desperately to get Tommy to stay with her.

"Wake up, (Y/N)," she heard before she was shaken awake. She noticed that she was in her dark bedroom as she sat up, gasping for breaths while trying to figure out fact from fiction.

"Tommy," she panted, looking over at him as she tried to calm her breathing, "you're...you're here."

"I am, love...I'm here," he nodded, speaking in a calming voice as his eyes searched over her face, "come 'ere," he said to her then, opening his arms so that she could fall into them.

She tucked her face into the crook of his neck and took a deep breath, inhaling his scent and repeatedly telling herself that he was still alive. Her hand traveled up from his shoulder to the top of his head, feeling the scar that was left over from his surgery. Feeling it made her heart hurt, but it reminded her that he'd survived...that what had happened in her nightmare wasn't how things went down in real life.

"Another nightmare?" Tommy asked her after she seemed to have calmed down.

"Yeah," she whispered, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. She finally felt like she could hold herself again. The shaking had calmed down and her mind wasn't running at a mile a minute.

She let go of him, sitting up straight in bed so that she could look at him. She studied his face for a few moments, as if she was committing it to memory, before she looked down at her lap.

"You ok?" Tommy broke the silence, watching her intently.

"I, uh..." (Y/N) trailed off, brushing her hair out of her face as she looked up again, "I'm going to go for a moment," she said then, moving the covers off of her body so that she could leave the bed. She was able to leave the room without being asked any questions, and that was something she was thankful for.

She found herself on the chaise lounge in her private study after checking to make sure that her children were still sleeping soundly. She stared at the ceiling as she laid back on the lounge, trying to focus on the sound of the crackling fire that one of the maids had just made for her. Trying to think of anything other than what she'd just gone through.

These nightmares had been playing out ever since Tommy's incident and subsequent surgery happened four months ago. He was home now, taking it slow and trying to work his way back to the level he was at before, but (Y/N) still worried that the effects of his injuries would persist and return. The doctors hadn't said that there wasn't a chance of that happening. No matter how many times he assured her that she was ok, she still worried for him. He would always tell her that he was ok, right? But yet the scene that she walked into at Ada's townhome that evening was still burned into her mind.

Thankfully the ambulance did show up in real life...and that they were able to get Tommy to the hospital and to the help he needed before he died on the steps. But the worst always happened in her nightmares, and that was something that she kept to herself; no matter how realistic they seemed. She didn't want to burden others with the horror of them.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting in there before there was a knock on the door. It opened shortly after and Tommy stepped into the room, sleep prevalent in his mannerisms from across the room. His hair was disheveled and his trousers were haphazardly pulled up over his legs, the henley shirt that he usually wore to bed half tucked in and half let out. (Y/N) couldn't stop her heart from squeezing at the sight. Some days it was still a mystery; how she'd managed to find herself a man like him.

"You've been away for a while," he said to her once he was standing in front of the lounge.

"I lost track of time," she replied, glancing up at him before she brought her knees up to her chest and hugged onto her legs while staring out at the fire in front of her. Tommy watched her do this, silently feeling out the climate; trying to decide if he should stick around or leave her be.

He made his decision by sitting down on the now empty spot of the lounge. Him doing so blocked the fire from (Y/N)'s line of view, making her look at him instead. "What are your nightmares about?" he decided to jump right to the question, "they may not be so bad if you talk about them."

"I don't want to burden you with it," she answered him, resting her chin on her kneecaps as a frown formed on her face.

"You wouldn't be, love," he shook his head slightly, "you know about mine...it's only fair you tell me yours. You don't need to worry about scaring me off. I'm not going anywhere, and you can try as hard as you want, but there's nothing you can say that's going to make me love you any less," he assured her then, his eyes soft as he spoke.

(Y/N) sucked in a deep breath after hearing Tommy's statement. She thought about all of the times throughout their relationship where he'd been the one needing to be woken up due to his nightmares. (Y/N) would sit up with him after each and every time; talking through what he'd experienced so that he'd get some clarity from the terrors he'd just gone through.

"They're always of the night that I found you at Ada's house...but you never make it long enough for the ambulance to arrive," she detailed the events of her nightmares, starting to get choked up just from thinking about them. Tommy furrowed his eyebrows as he listened to what she had to say. It was obvious that he was thinking over what she was telling him; putting the pieces together in his mind so that he'd have a thought out response for her when she was finished talking. She continued after taking another deep breath, "they make me think about the worst case scenario...about how things could have been had I lost you that night. And they make me think of how things could be if anything comes up as a result of your injuries."

"Nothing's gonna happen to me, (Y/N)," he assured her, his eyes locked onto hers as he spoke, "I'm not gonna leave you."

"We don't know that for certain. The doctor's said they couldn't rule out the possibility of there being lasting effects from these injuries...or the possibility of something happening to you after the fact," she rattled off her biggest fears, her mind being transported to that harrowing conversation they had with his team of doctors before he was discharged from the hospital.

"I'm going to try my damnedest not to let it happen," he told her, speaking with the utmost confidence. (Y/N) offered him a shaky smile in response. She wanted so bad to take his promise and let it override all of her worries, but no matter how hard she tried, that nagging voice in the back of her mind kept telling her to think the worst. "Hey...come 'ere," he said to her, realizing that she was at war with herself inside her mind again.

(Y/N) listened to him, scooting over on the lounge so that she could fall into his arms for the second time that night. She exhaled the breath she'd been holding as she allowed him to hold her tightly against him. It felt like a weight had been lifted off of her chest now.

"I'm not gonna leave you, (Y/N), ok?" he mumbled into her hair after some time had passed. (Y/N) finally lifted her head from his chest so that she could look at him again. Their eyes met and she instantly felt like all of her fears and worries were miles away. The slightest smile formed on her face as she nodded her head, showing him that she'd heard what he said and that she was going to hold onto that statement with all she could.

Tommy smiled softly at her, happy that she seemed more relaxed now than she did when they'd both been woken up by her nightmare. He leaned in and kissed her then, feeling her smile grow the second his lips met hers.

Tomorrow surely had another set of challenges coming with it, but (Y/N) wasn't going to worry about that now because, at least for tonight, things were ok.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @acewritesfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @iambored24601 @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

[yourlocaltreesimp]

The First to be Forsaken

been in the works for a while!! This was actually a request that got deleted.

So to the anon who requested a reader who was cursed by Hylia like Eda in the owl house, this is for you!

tw: chronic illness, death

۵♡۵

The ache in your hands never lessened and the maring cracks in your skin never healed. It made for a rather ugly sight, all considered. The creeping vine-like scars showing in rather gorey details the tainted flesh.

No medical salve nor healing spell could rid you of the malice that poisoned your blood. And according to the words of the fairies themselves, it’s latched to your very soul. It festers, feeding off of your energy until you’ll be left as a husk. A puppet with no one to pull its strings.

It’s not pleasant knowing you’re going to die, but it’s less so knowing that no matter how often you pray to the goddess it will not be fixed. The divine never needed to give reason for why they shunned that which gives them power. Still, the chain did what they could, and for that you had many thanks.

Wild always had hearty food to replace the energy stolen from you, Legend let you wear whatever charmed jewellery you wanted, Time would never let you take night shifts, Warriors would carry you on the days you were too fragile to walk, Twilight doubled as a bed and his pelt as a blanket, Four made braces for your brittle joints, Hyrule was always testing different mixes in hopes that one might lessen your pain, Sky would hold your hand and talk to you on the days you could walk to make sure that you had something to distract from the crying of your nerves, even Wind spared some of his grandmother’s soup in hopes that of it didn’t rid of pain, it might ease your distress. Your Heroes were funny like that, sacrificing whatever they had for anyone that needed it, no matter how precious their time or belongings are. Certainly not a coincidence they act this way. They’ve seen what’s become of you under the neglect of the gods. And you’ve seen the familiar ache in their eyes, the recognition of themselves within you.

The newest hero, First —well perhaps then he’s the oldest— was in many ways similar. He too would offer you stories and ballads from his time, forgotten by the time the next era rolled in. His words had a majesty that had the whole camp turn an ear to follow whatever tale he recalled. And by the time it came for you to lay your head and rest, your woes would be far off from the front of your mind.

He’d sweep you off your feet both in the figurative matter and the literal. With only the gentlest graze of your skin and only the sweetest words that could be uttered did he regard you. He did not hold you to a sense of pity, as was common among many who knew of you, but a genuine care. A care for you beyond measure that he’d shown on many occasions that he would stop at nothing to ensure that if you could not be comfortable, you could be content.

And currently you were, despite it being a bad day.

The champion watched over the cooking pot carefully and the traveller flicked through one of his journals, looking for a combination of herbs that might be of help to you. The two passed questions back and forth in an effort to find an overlap of medicinals they haven’t already tried.

You had Twi’s pelt, Sky’s sailcloth and First’s scarf to try and dull your cold flashes. You leaned back against the First hero as his arms warped around you and his face buried into your shoulder. You shiver as the next cold wave hits, wincing. The moment sits in silence before his arms around your abdomen gently pull you closer.

“I am sorry for what she did to you, My beloved.” His voice was deep and poetic as usual, the unwavering strength he displayed to the world melted to softness at your touch. Through the staticky emptiness that settled in your brain, the question stood, alone and without any real context nor answer.

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrow and you look over at where he rests his head on your shoulder. He draws a heavy breath, mumbling something into your layers of clothing.

“Hylia- all of this because of her vanity. I am sorry you fell victim.” There is a pain in his voice, a guilt he’s held for long. Shackles upon his wrists that he’s not willing to let himself be freed from. You suppose it is him where their united care for the world came from, no matter how unrequited. He’d bleed himself dry for the world if it meant that it’d be better.

“I don’t mind being here with you all” You hear the distant rowdy laughter of Wind and Twi, and you find it in yourself to bask in this one moment, “It’s certainly worth it. To me, at least.” He grumbles happily, kissing the nearest place of unscathed skin he can find, right below your jaw.

“I am glad, Dearest. But that-“ His voice wavers as another chill wracks your body. You can only find a wince as you try to block away the ever advancing chill.

“That is not what I meant. I- It’s because of her that you cannot find rest. It is she who whittled down your bones and set alight your nerves” You find nothing to say as you stare at him, urging for more. “She thought it was wrong for me to love you, to long for your care and yearn to hold your heart. So, she tainted y-“ You wish to hear his words. A muse longing to read the poets works, and yet-

The words grow fuzzy as the gloom within you swells, gnawing painfully at your bones. It seems that you had forgotten exactly how brittle you were. It was always hubris that killed heroes, wasn’t it? But that didn’t make sense. You were no hero. How could it be hubris if you never meant to taunt the gods. How could that be- you weren’t dying, are you?

They said you’d be ok.

You’ll be ok right?

Everything will be ok?

The pressure in your head doesn’t stop growing and your stomach hurls.

The sun is so bright.

It hurts.

She’s taking you again, isn’t she?

[danikamariewrites]

Hello! Could you write a story where Azriel and reader are ambushed, reader is hurt and Azriel has to care for her? Thank you! 🤗

You’re Okay

Azriel x reader

A/n: I live for soft Az

Warnings: blood and injuries

You hit the marble floor of the foyer of the River House hard. You clutch at your side, screaming out in pain. You and Azriel were supposed to be on a simple recon mission that took a nasty turn. It ended up being an ambush by lingering Hybern supporters.

The two of you put up a good fight, but one soldier got you in the side with a dagger coated in Fae Bane. It was a big gash too. You’re lucky Azriel had an energy left to winnow you back to Velaris.

Azriel clambered over to you, slipping in your blood a little. His face pales as he looked at the floor. There was far too much blood. Your wound wasn’t closing fast enough. Azriel pushes you to lay on your back and you let out a yelp. He sees your face has lost some color. You were crying, your face contorted in pain.

“Fuck,” Azriel lays his hands on your side to put pressure on the wound, “Its ok, we’re home now. RHYS! Just hold on baby, hold on.” The last thing you remember is laying a trembling hand on Azriel’s and then darkness.

When you open your eyes next the sun was just rising, casting a yellow glow throughout your bedroom. Azriel’s soft snores catch your attention. Your torso was still too sore to move so you turn your head toward him. He looked tired, like this was the first time he’d slept in days.

You tried to move into a comfortable position as quietly as you could. But, one shuffle against the sheets has Azriel shooting up, wide awake an alert. His shadows quickly swarm your body then return to their master.

He gives you a sad smile and cups your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “You’re awake.” He whispers. You lay your hand over his, “I’m ok now Az. You can sleep.” He shakes his head, as if sleep was unnecessary. “How long was I out?” “Three days.” He says solemnly.

“Shit.” You go to sit up, but Azriel moves faster, gently making sure you stay flat. “You have stitches and I don’t want you to rip them.” You nod. “You must be starving, can I get you breakfast?” Your stomach growls at the mention of food. “That sounds nice.”

After he brought you breakfast in bed, Azriel spent all day and the rest of the week looking after you. He felt so bad that the mission went so wrong. He did everything from laundry to cooking to braiding your hair.

When your stitches had dissolved and the cut had fully closed a week later, you were a little sad you didn’t have an excuse for the two of you to sit in bed together. You got up to stretch and take a real bath.

As you wait for the tub to fill you run your hand over your smooth side. Madja told you it would leave a scar but you didn’t care, as long as it closed. You were just happy to be alive.

You sink into the hot water and let out a moan at your muscles relaxing. Azriel’s rapid knock on the door startles you. “Y/n? Can I come in?” “Yeah.” He enters giving you a pointed look. You smile up at him swishing the bubbles around the surface. “Will you get in with me?” You give him a fake pout to help sway his decision, like he could say no to you.

tags: @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane @aroseinvelaris

[tobecatherine]

Nightmare Comfort

Part 2

Okay ya'll, it's been a very long time since I've found a character that has made me want to write like this. Once I got to romancing Gale in the second act I was hooked. I've read so many good stories lately that I decided last night to write and see what comes out. Please keep in mind I am still only in act 2 of the game so I don't know the ending. So some details may not be accurate.

I will warn you, it's a little depressing to start but apparently it's something my brain needed to get out. I would probably label this as sad, mixed with fluff and if enough people want me to continue, there could be a spicy second part.

To set the scene, picture this: It's been a few months since you returned to Waterdeep with Gale after the end of your travels. Ever since slowing down your mind has been racked with guilt, feeling like you don't deserve comfort you start to push Gale away.

Please be kind:

First person

Gale/Reader

Word Count: 2332

Nightmares had, in some way, always had a hold on you. But once returning to Waterdeep with Gale, they seemed to have gotten worse. It started with small, repeated dreams of the battles you fought together that pushed you to do things that normally would have been out of character for you. Haunted by lives you couldn’t save, the people you had failed. They would slip into your dreams every few weeks, reminding you of where you had been. It didn’t matter how many you did save, in your mind, only the ones you failed mattered deep down.

When you would wake, for just a moment, you would think you were back there, in the heat of battle. But as your body regained its senses and you’d open your eyes, you’d see Gale’s slumbering face, listening to his soft breathing. Just having him so close would bring you back to reality. It made you glad that you didn’t move much in your sleep. The shame you felt over this, you couldn’t tell him. You knew he’d listen but you also knew he would want to fix it but in your own way, you felt like this is what you deserved. So you let the dead haunt your dreams, doing your best to hide your growing exhaustion.

As the nightmares became more frequent, it felt almost like it was becoming a ritual to wake up and just take in Gale’s sleeping face. You would spend hours just gazing and scanning every wrinkle, dimple, freckle and scar he had. The thought crossed your mind that if you did this long enough you could memorize the slope of his nose and the curve of his cupid's bow and maybe, just maybe, the picture perfect image of him in your mind could chase away the bad dreams. 

Tonight's nightmare was especially bad. You stood there, the day you thought you had lost Gale forever. The moments replaying in your mind as you watched him die, shedding tears over his body because you weren’t sure he could be brought back. While your party had found a way to revive the love of your life, the feelings of mourning were still all too real. When you awoke, you felt tears on your face and when you opened your eyes the comfort you sought wasn’t there.

Panic arose in your chest as you sat up quickly to see where he could be. Your eyes scanned the room, coming upon the open doors that lead to the balcony. There, in the pale moonlight, you could see Gale standing shirtless, leaning slightly against the door frame, his back to you as he gazed upon the stars. While you couldn’t see his face, his body language and the energy you felt from him, you could tell something was wrong.

Quietly you removed the blanket that covered you on the bed you shared. The air was warm on this night so you had gone to sleep with nothing on other than one of Gale’s tunics. Slowly you raised yourself off the bed, walking slowly up behind the tall striking man in front of you. As you reached him you wrapped your arms around his waist, your hands gently placed on his belly, leaning forward just enough to rest your forehead against his back. In automatic fashion Gale’s big hands rested over yours as a long sigh left his lungs.

You could feel the guilt in your throat coming up like bile, wanting nothing more than to tell him everything you had been feeling but you still couldn’t bear drowning him in your issues. You need to be strong, perfect, beautiful, all the things he tells you you are every day. If you couldn’t do that then you failed him too. So instead you pressed close into his back, tightening your arms around him, worried that at any minute he could just drift away into a cloud of smoke.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” He asked, ever so softly. So softly that you almost missed it but you had felt that familiar rumble from his chest as he spoke.

“You knew?” You asked. A lump in your throat forming as you try not to speak louder than a whisper. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I wanted you to come to me… I… I knew something was wrong but I could tell that you wanted to handle it yourself so I didn’t push. You are beautiful beyond comparison but you are also stubborn and bullheaded. But the longer this has gone on My Love, your nightmares aren’t as silent as you think they are. It breaks my heart to see you struggling like this and I can’t just sit back and wait anymore,” He said, turning around to face you, still holding your hands. “I’m starting to think you don’t trust me.”

Gently he raises each of your hands to his lips, leaving small kisses along your knuckles before placing each one so you're holding him around his neck.. The hair on his face tickling your skin almost made you smile but you found yourself still looking at the floor, your heart at your feet. With another sigh, Gale laid one hand against your waist, keeping you close to him. The other carefully raises your head by the chin to look at him. Gale’s eyes look longingly into yours as his hand cups your cheek. 

For a moment you relax, tilting your face into his palm, feeling your body relax for just a moment. The heat from his hand felt comforting against your skin. 

“I’m sorry, none of this is your fault. You have done so much for me. I didn’t want to add another burden to your plate.” you say, lip quivering. “I must look pathetic… I am pathetic.” 

You watch as Gale’s brows furrow and the corners of his mouth point downward. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip to calm its quiver. His eyes search yours for understanding, recognition. “Where is the strong brave Druid that I fell in love with on the road?”

You can feel your gut clench, you didn’t have an answer, he was right, this wasn’t you. “I’m afraid I lost her,” You replied, your fingers twisting curls with the hair on the back of his neck. You were sure Gale was going to end this, ask you to leave because you weren’t the girl he fell in love with anymore. Tears flowed freely down your cheeks now. It felt like a dam had burst behind your eyes.

At the sight of this, Gale wrapped both arms around you, with one smooth motion he lifted you into his arms, carrying you back to bed. You were sure he would just lay you there and walk away but instead he sat on the bed, resting you carefully on his lap, cradling you in his arms.

“Every day you tell me how you love me, you reassure me about the choices we’ve made. Why won’t you let me do the same for you?” He asked softly. “You can’t keep bottling up all these feelings. I  don’t understand why you insist on suffering in silence but if that’s what you need then…. I want you to cry for as long as you need to and I will hold you for as long as you need me to.”

With his words, suddenly a flood of emotion burst forth. Pressed against his chest you let yourself sob, groan, and scream. Muffling yourself against his skin, you let out the rage and anxiety that pent up for the last few weeks. He was right, you shouldn’t have bottled this up, the heat in your chest made you feel like you were in the throat of a dragon.

It took a few minutes but you soon realized Gale was whispering in your ear. Straining your ears to hear the soft words he spoke. Between your sobs and frustration, you could hear him say, “I love you.” “my heart has never ached more for anyone than it does for you.” “I will be here for you always, you just have to let me in.”

For the first time you could admit the truth. “I’m scared,” You said, finally regaining control of your breathing.

“What are you scared of, my sweet?” Gale asked, now rocking the two of you back and forth.

“Of everything.” You said, taking deep long breaths now as you come down from the all too embarrassing tear filled journey you just took in Gales arms. Moving ever so slightly you rest your head on his shoulder, wishing your nose wasn’t now stuffy so you could breathe in his scent.

Softly you let your lips kiss the soft skin of his neck, admitting to yourself that this really had gone for too long. So, you started to let it all go.. There in Gale’s arms you tell him your whole story. You admit that before the whole venture started you had been alone for quite some time. It has made you view sharing things with others a burden because who could you trust when you were mostly alone. You spoke about those you failed and how they haunt your dreams but the biggest fear of all, was the fear of waking up and realizing Gale had only been a dream the whole time.

At the mention of himself, Gale chuckled. “You aren’t going to lose me. The road we traveled was a rough one, and even with everything I know, I would trade all the stars in the sky, all the air in my lungs, even all my books just to spend every last moment I live with you.”

Your eyebrows raise as he mentions his book collection. “You’re really serious,” you said, lifting your head to look at him with surprise. You search his face for anything other than the serious look he now wore.

“I don’t joke about my book collection sweetheart,” he said, gently placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I don’t deserve you, I feel like all I’ve done is trick you.”

This time Gale placed his lips against yours. Slow and soft, his hand moving to rest on the back of your head, his fingers running through your hair. You’ve known Gale was one who showed his love more than he spoke about it, but he was good at both nonetheless. You could feel the pure emotion he put forth in his kiss. He took his time kissing each section of your face, wanting you to feel as loved and precious as he viewed you. When his lips found yours again it was like your heart was suddenly being filled with more love for this wizard than you ever thought possible.

Once your lungs ached for air you finally pulled away from his lips. Gathering your composer you finally explained the rest of your insecurities, you finally explained your fear of losing him and how it felt to feel your heart break into a million tiny pieces from the uncertainties of his survival that day.

“Every day I get with you feels like a dream… and when I sleep… the nightmares are my reality. Everything has just felt too good to be true. I’m sorry Gale… I know this side of me isn’t what you signed up for,” you tell him, your eyes meeting his.

Gale leaned forward, kissing your forehead for a long moment before pulling back and resting his own against yours so you could share each other's breath. “My love, when I asked you to marry me, I meant it. There is no one in this world or in the heavens that I have loved so fully and who has made me feel like just being me is good enough. I want to stay beside you, no matter what life brings. Be that nightmares, blissful dreams, fights, love making, every moment I get to spend with you makes me feel like the luckiest man alive.”

“I have never loved someone the way I love you,” you say in return. “That’s why it scares me so much. Now that all of that is behind us, it’s like my mind won’t just let me be. We’ve been through so much, we’ve shared so much. What if I ruin this?”

“I won’t let you,” he said simply. “I will just have to remind you how loved and cherished you are.” With that Gale tilted his head and caught your lips in another kiss. Gentle and sweet. You could feel love move through him, making your heart skip. “I have an idea that might help… maybe not right away but with time I think we can change the way your mind has tried to trick you.”

“I’d do just about anything to make this end and get to just live… here with you,” You say softly.

Sitting up straighter Gale smiled down at you in his arms. “Good, I love you… we’ll do this in two parts. First, every morning, I want you to tell me five things that make you happy. It doesn’t matter what they are or why they make you happy. You just need to remind yourself that there are plenty of things that bring you joy. Then second, I want you to tell me something we could do together that would make you feel better.”

Your cheeks flush from the first thought that crossed your mind when he said this. A small smile creeping onto your lips as your teeth start to lightly chew on your bottom lip. “Like making love under the stars like we used to?” You mumbled. Sex felt like it should be the farthest thing from your mind, but the stolen nights the two of you shared on the road were some of the most comforting and happy moments you remember having in your whole life. 

With a smirk and a chuckle Gale nodded. “That my love, I can provide.”

[hinamie]

so just know, I'm healing / even though it don't feel like it

insp

[mtkay13]

Affection running deep

(^ me pretending I title my illustrations) More info below! It's a bit personal and fandom related.

So WKX likes to bite. Let's be honest, from what I know, most priest "gong"'s do, so this is more a priest thing than a WKX thing--but if we look at TYK in a vacuum, we can still just say that it's a WKX thing (and, coincidentally, in Qi Ye, a Wuxi thing 🤭) It's pretty delightful, isn't it, to think that ZZS will permanently bear the scar of WKX's deep bite in his wrist... I'm going to use this piece as an opportunity to talk a bit about the permanent mark that TYK and QY have been carving into me for the past year and a half, then.

Funnily enough, although I started sketching and making a few illustrations here and there before, I consider that the infamous bite is my real "entry" in this fandom, when I made the animatic based on the scene in the audio drama. It's to this day my most viewed piece, and is sort of what made me... "known" as an artist in the fandom, I guess.

Although I've always devoted the most energy to personal projects, I'm no stranger to being a dedicated fan, even though this is my first real, "public" fandom experience. And honestly, personal and fandom projects combined, the animatic is the biggest, most ambitious work I had ever done so far for something not work-related. It was exhausting, and I almost succumbed to burnout after I finished it (just because, combined with work, it got too much). Ironically, it's the state I found myself in afterwards that made me enjoy rereading TYK in a way I never had before.

It's hard to say, whether I let TYK's fangs sink in my throat, or if I was the one to latch on and not let go ever since; but my life has certainly been changed by it.

I often forget about the bite scene; about the bite, in general. It's rarely ever one of the scenes that I think about spontaneously--and I rarely think about drawing the bite scar. Maybe because I've always thought it was a more typical scene? Maybe because on the surface I didn't resonate that much with it? And yet, as I'm going through really rough times right now, this new piece is what I chose to draw yesterday. A bit more than a year ago, when work felt like it was completely consuming me, this is the scene I chose to animate. I'm not sure there is a point in diving too deeply in this. Maybe, more than I would have assumed, I resonate with the desperation and hope that this scene carries. I'm glad I got here, in this fandom. It has had its very difficult moments, in many different ways, and I've discovered new sources of anxiety along the way--but at the same time, I've discovered many joys that I had never known before, and I think it's worth it. I'm grateful for those books to be in my life--grateful for Wen Kexing, for Zhou Zishu, and all the other characters, to be in my life. But of course, more than that, I'm incredibly grateful for the people I met, for the people who spend time with me, who cheer on me and let me cheer on them. Thanks everyone, for being there, and helping me form memories of better days that I can always look forward to.

I'm glad I'm here.

[ellephlox]

Embers and Ashes

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's not easy to keep a low profile when you've got the power to heal, but you've managed to carve out a home for yourself in Hell's Kitchen. By day you're an assistant at a literary agency, and by night you mend broken bones and bloody cuts. It's a double life that constantly forces you to question your morality, because the wounds you seem to magically heal don't vanish forever — they've got to eventually go somewhere.

But after you make the mistake of healing the wrong people, you become Daredevil’s next target, and suddenly your double life becomes far more tangled than you could ever have predicted.

Set post-S3. Slow burn Matt x Fem!Reader. Chapter one will be posted here on tumblr, but ensuing chapters will be uploaded to AO3. You can read Ch. 1 on AO3 here, if you'd prefer.

Warnings: Description of injuries and profanity.

Most normal people in the city dreamed of being an Avenger. 

You overheard them at work constantly, ever since it became increasingly commonplace for people to crop up with super-strength or freakishly accurate aim with a bow and arrow:

“I actually ran into Spider-Man this morning — the real Spider-Man! I begged him to sign my arm, obviously, because there was no paper around, and he actually did it! Look, right here. I'm going to get it tattooed after work.”

“Well, last night I had a dream that I was recruited by the Avengers. It was absolutely amazing, Debbie — Tony Stark wanted me to be his girlfriend! God, it was fantastic. He even let me try on his Iron Man suit.”

“Oh, I’d give anything to be enhanced. I’d want to be able to fly. Or teleport. Any power, really, if it could get me a one-way ticket to fighting with them.”

“But did you hear my friend got threatened by Daredevil the other night? That red horned suit is gone, though. He’s in that black suit from the days when we called him the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. I’d love to run into that guy — he’s so strange, isn’t he? Handsome, in a mysterious way.”

At this point in these types of conversations you always tried to tune them out. Their rosy idea of enhanced ignored the things that you saw whenever footage of the Avengers was shown on the evening news. After the battle in New York, they raved about Captain America’s strength, that magic hammer of Thor’s, and the way Dr. Bruce Banner metamorphosed from a man into a monstrous hero, as though it were the best thing in the world to have super-powered abilities.

But when you had watched that footage on the news, after the battle was over, all you saw was the blood. The bodies. The expressions on the Avengers’ faces, of the anguish and turmoil they had witnessed. Being enhanced was a curse, not a gift, and you came to resent the word itself — not for the political controversies it provoked, but for its connotation. In the mouths of anyone else, enhanced was a good thing. 

But you knew. 

As you held the temples of the man lying in front of you, his skin burnt severely from his fingers to his wrists, you knew. 

He writhed, his hands flopping like gasping fish. They were scorched as though in a paisley pattern, leathery and swollen. Second-degree, if not third-degree burns, you thought, as the man jerked away from the light emanating from your own hands, but you kept your grip steady. Slowly the skin began to return to its normal color — splotches fading like they were diluted, heaves of scars sinking back and reshaping as though they had never been there, the energy of his wounds transferring into your hands and through your bloodstream. 

You knew, better than anyone, that every gift had a price.

 

TWENTY-ONE HOURS LATER

It was snowing, yet your hands were blistering. 

The plows hadn’t come through yet, and there wasn’t much foot traffic on this side of Hell’s Kitchen, so the sidewalks were thick with snow. Despite your best efforts to hop in the few existing footprints, snow kept falling down into your boots. Your toes were numb, and your ears felt like they were about to get frostbite; you weren’t dressed for the weather. There hadn’t been time to grab a hat and thicker socks when you left your apartment, because you were more preoccupied with the searing burns that were popping like budding flowers on the palms of your hands. They weren't yet to the severity of the burns you had healed on Lynch's hands the previous night, but it was only a matter of time before they began to worsen. 

Only one more block. 

It was past midnight, and all you wanted was to be in bed, curled up with your pillows and quilted blanket, but just before falling asleep, you’d felt the skin tear open on your hand as though someone were holding a blowtorch to it. It was unnerving. You'd estimated another eight hours, until morning, before the energy you had taken from Lynch's wounds would make itself known.

Clearly I was wrong. You seethed with irritation at yourself and at the fact that Lynch had burned his hands in the first place as more snow collected in your boots. A warm pair of socks would be really, really nice right now.  

But situations like this came with the job, even if most people didn't realize it. Whenever people discovered you were able to heal — and they never truly knew it was you, because you were careful to keep your identity obscure — they assumed it was simple. As though you could just lay your hands on someone’s bleeding wound and it magically stitched itself back up. Poof, problem solved! Sort of like all those Avengers your coworkers persistently chatted about. Yeah, if only healing were as easy as doing a few fancy finger movements to open up a portal into another dimension. Doctor Strange doesn't know how good he has it.

Because fancy finger movements definitely wasn't how it worked for you. It wasn’t even close. 

You inhaled sharply as another burn made itself known, this time higher on your hand. A quick handful of snow against the welt soothed it slightly, but not much, and you picked up your pace down the street.  Your destination was an unassuming brick building, wedged between a hardware store and auto repair shop. LYNCH FUNERAL HOME AND CREMATORIUM, read the sign outside, underneath a layer of graffiti. It was one of your closest friends who owned the funeral home, and the previous day he'd sent you an emergency call for help, though you still hadn't heard the story of how he'd burned his hands in the first place. Not that it mattered much. You didn't ask questions very often; healing was your only responsibility. 

There was no one else on the street. There wasn't even much light, because most of the street lamps that weren’t burned out had been buried in a pale coating of frost. Your thoughts turned abruptly to the reports of the so-called vigilante Daredevil, who had reportedly been back on the streets lately. With what you had done in the past, and even with what you were doing now… well, you hoped you never crossed paths with him. Quiet streets like this always made you wonder if today was the day you’d run into him, but it had never happened. Sometimes you wondered if the media simply made him up as a fear tactic to keep crime off the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. 

You hurried inside the funeral home, searching for the only person who you knew would be up and about. Please, be here, please, please…

He was. “Grey,” the man at the desk said, surprise crossing his face when you burst into the crematorium. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Grey . Just like the word itself, it was ash on your tongue. It wasn’t your real name. Years ago it had been bestowed on you as a code name, a way to keep your identity impersonal from the people you worked with. But it stuck, and now you could count the number of people who knew your real name on one hand. 

“Emergency visit, Thato,” you said, showing him your hands. “I’m sorry. I thought I could manage it until tomorrow, at the very least, but—” You cringed as another burn blistered forth, erupting on the pad of your thumb. “Ow. Shit.”

Thato got to his feet, wincing in sympathy. “Never apologize for this. It’s not your fault.”

You shook your head. “I should be getting better. Improving… this . And I’m not.” It was true. For years, you had been at this same level. If you healed someone — which wasn’t really healing , if you were being technical; it was more like taking their injury and transferring it elsewhere — you could only hold onto it for a short amount of time. 

Option One was taking that energy from the injury and transplanting it onto someone else — typically, a corpse. You had a strict policy for yourself to never inflict a wound from someone else that you’d healed onto someone who didn’t receive the wound in the first place.

Option Two was just holding onto that energy until it began to manifest itself on you instead. And that was never pleasant. 

Case in point: the damn burns on my hands right now. 

You glanced at the door to the morgue. “Please tell me you’ve got bodies in for cremation?”

“As a matter of fact, one arrived tonight,” Thato said, and he put his hand gently on your back to steer you inside. “Let’s go.”

The morgue was cold. Goosebumps pricked up your arms. Thato worked quickly, and within a minute he was pulling out a storage drawer. A woman, her body pale and lifeless, slid out in front of you. 

Even when the bodies were dead, this was never easy.  You averted your eyes, opting instead to look at the ceiling, and placed your freezing hands on the sides of the dead woman’s head, against her temples. Gradually, after a minute, your hands began glowing — not the yellow glow of the man the newspapers called the Iron Fist, nor the red glow of that Avenger you’d seen on television, Wanda Maximoff. Instead, it was a pale slate color, as though smoke itself had become a source of light. It was this color that earned you your nickname. 

“Grey,” your brother had told you, lifting your chin up roughly to stare you down. 

He wasn’t really your brother, but he might as well have been. You’d known him as long as you could remember. Kane was the one who raised you, who had been with you since... for a long time. “Got it? Here with us, that’s what you’ll answer to.”

“But my name is—”

“No. When you’re with us, you don’t use your real name,” Kane said. Of course, just like your name wasn’t really Grey, his name wasn’t truly Kane. “You use Grey instead, okay? Grey Arztin, if anyone ever asks for a last name.” He handed you forged identification papers. 

“Why Arztin?” you asked, reading the name, and fumbling over the pronunciation of the word. 

“It means doctor, in German. Come with me. I have people for you to heal.”

“But I’m not very good at it.”

“Then you need to practice that ability. It’s going to be your greatest gift someday, Grey.”

The energy pulsed in your own temples as it transferred to the corpse, and slowly you began to feel it drain out of you. There was no comparable feeling to this moment, when the build-up of pain was finally relieved from your mental storage space — your cache, you liked to call it.  And, suddenly, burns just like the ones on your own hands bloomed across the white hands of the dead woman — raw, fiery welts, discolored in the center and streaking from her wrist bones to her fingertips. They were identical to the burns that had stretched across Lynch's hands the day before, down to the charred bit of skin just below the thumb knuckle. When the energy was gone, you dropped your hands, and the smoky glow faded.

The few burns that had already marked your own skin were still there, of course, because your healing abilities could never fix what had been done to your own body — yet another shortcoming of your power — but they wouldn’t get any worse. It was over. 

The corpse was rolled back into her drawer. The family would never know that her hands now bore severe burns that hadn’t been there at her time of death. She’d be cremated tomorrow, Thato assured you. It would be as though you had never even touched her. Guilt curled in your stomach at her desecrated hands. Maybe she had been a pianist. Those hands might have been held by someone else, once upon a time — a mother, a lover, a child. She could have used those hands to climb mountains or type out a novel on a laptop or serve plates of food at a restaurant. 

Now, because of you, they were mottled and burnt. 

“She’s dead,” Thato reminded you quietly, once you were outside of the morgue and back at the funeral home desk. “She’ll be burned anyway.”

“I know.” You played with the edge of the desk. “I just always feel bad. It feels like I’m… spitting on her memory, or something.”

“It’s a price you have to pay,” he agreed. “But it’s in exchange for the good you do, each time you use your skill. You even bore some of the price yourself.” He nodded at the burns scattered across your own hands. “I don’t like to see you feeling bad, Grey. Anything I can do?”

You smiled. “It's okay. You already helped me. Thanks, Thato. Really.” 

I don’t want to keep doing this, you wanted to add. I’ve had enough of all this. The healing, the transferring of the injuries and scars and bruises, the role I’ve played in Hell’s Kitchen. I’m done.

You wanted to tell him, so badly that it made your chest feel tight. Thato had been your friend for as long as you could remember. But if you told him, then your brother would find out, and if your brother found out…

Well, Kane wouldn’t be very pleased with you. He'd see it as a failure on your part, or worse, a betrayal. But it didn’t matter anyway, because you couldn’t leave the organization. Not after everything Kane had done for you, and especially not while you were the one thing that stood between him and death every night that he risked his life. 

You tightened your jacket around your shoulders before heading back out into the night, towards your apartment. You took your time; your earlier exhaustion was gone, and with your hands bandaged now, you were able to appreciate the falling snow as it amassed silently, insulating the streets from the sounds of the city beyond. 

But you might not have had such a leisurely walk back if you’d happened to tilt your head upwards and look at the roofs — if you had been able to hear the footsteps above as someone followed you in the shadows, if you had known the man they called the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen stalked you, having listened to every word of the conversation in the crematorium.

[mcflymemes]

ASK PROMPTS ABOUT THE PAST & REGRET *  requested by tatsunotsurugi

yesterday is gone.

you have to let go.

i never look back. it distracts from the now.

i just don't see why the past has to matter.

it's pointless to dwell on it, you know.

i don't know who you used to be.

memories are dangerous things.

the past is never where you think you left it.

i wish i could go back.

we all do things we desperately wish we could undo.

my past does not define me.

we can never go back again.

we were so intimate once upon a time i can't believe it now.

if we had met years ago, would you still have liked me?

scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.

the past beats inside me like a second heart.

looking back you do not find what you left behind.

no one saves us but ourselves.

no trouble ever got fixed late at night. midnight is for regrets.

i wish i knew you back then.

what's past is prologue.

i want everything back the way it was.

put your energy into today.

my scars remind me that i did, indeed, survive my deepest wounds.

that was... the dumbest thing i've ever done.

no one is rich enough to buy back his past.

are you still thinking about what happened?

there has to be something we can do to change it.

it's being here now that's important.

there's so much i wish i could change about what happened.

i'm a product of my past, but i don't have to be a prisoner of it.

my past is everything i failed to be.

i regret knowing you.

what's done is done.

it might have been.

you are the only person i'd like to say goodbye to when i die.

it made you stronger. i hope you know that.

i am worthy of a future.

me and you, we got more yesterday than anybody.

memory is a mirror that scandalously lies.

take it from me. if you hear the past speaking to you, feel it tugging up your back and running its fingers up your spine... the best thing to do, the only thing... is run.

if only. those must be the two saddest words in the world.

the past can't hurt you anymore, not unless you let it.

my yesterdays walk with me.

i loved you so much once.

i like who you are now.

i wish you'd just let go.

there's no future for me.

what do you regret most?

do you ever miss it?

there are so many things that i want so badly to tell you, but i just can't.

the past no longer holds you captive.

maybe in another life.

i hope you never have to think about anything as much as i think about you.

i never should have done that.

i'm trying to forget you. it's not easy.

you're just another story i can't tell anymore.

how many regrets do you have?

those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.

you can learn from it... but you can't change it.

[cassidysinferno]

snippet #2 — constantly rotting

CW — depressed / burnt out henchman , bed rotting , mentioning of medications, dissociating

Henchman hasn't picked up any of the calls from the Villain lately and dear god, Villain was displeased.

And for a good reason, Henchman was the most trusted out of all henchmen in the organization with how well they perform and how they had stayed with the villain since the beginning.

so, how did it all change? They showed up less and less ever since That incident, even if Villain had called or visited them, they didn't have the energy to get out of their bed- their boss being unhappy with their lack of presence was reasonable.

all they do is rot in bed. constantly felt like they were only wasting their years.

Hell, Henchman doesn't even have enough money to live anymore so not only were they on the brink of getting fired or even considering retirement at this point but also getting kicked out of their own apartment.

This is stupid.

They were unemployed in their personal life and even if they did show up at work again, they felt nothing but guilt as others started to talk to them less or try to avoid them ever since. They didn't even know what they did wrong?

so every conversation they tried to take part in felt awkward because of that.

They looked around their room, everything was..a mess.

They sat up on their bed, looking down at their scar filled arms. Why are they even willing to devote themselves to a criminal, thus risking their own life?

many thoughts ran to their head until their phone started to ring again. another daily call from their boss, apparently.

they let it ring until it hung up on itself, while waiting so they finally got up, put on their uniform, and got ready.

if they had remembered correctly, they were called for a personal meeting upon stepping in the building.

And if Henchman was being honest, they were anxious. but at this point, do they even care what would happen to them? no.

–

Well, that didn't go well. for the henchman, at least.

It felt like a counseling session rather than a meeting and it took them back to when they were in highschool.

back to when they got so fucked up that they got sent to therapy and put into medications.

the villain was..worried, yet displeased. they not only had known each other for awhile on the job but they've also been close.

fuck, they felt even more terrible after they were dismissed. going back here was a mistake.

They were ordered to organize more paperworks and, even if the villain didn't say it directly, they didn't want to disappoint the villain even further so they got to work.

Now here they are, printing copies of the documents the villain gave, I mean, most of the time they were dissociating anyway.

nothing felt real at this point, they felt extremely disconnected from their body. almost as if their own body doesn't belong to them.

they wanted to go back rotting in their room again but it seemed like it wasn't an option now that they were here.

they were just staring at the printer as the machine does its thing, well, at least their body is. they didn't seem to hear the knocking on the door of their little office the villain provided them until they felt a tap on their shoulder.

[weebsinstash]

Not gonna lie if I were the reader after they got replaced by YouTwo I would be a neurotic mess lmao. I already mental issues but I can't imagine going through their trauma on top of everything. I would definitely be scratching myself again out of sheer stress and anxiety about whether or not everybody will replace me again. My arms would look horrible. Oh boy imagine everybody's reaction to realizing they've messed up this badly and absolutely ruined the reader

Other people: fun ways we can write! Coffee shop au! Red string of fate! Hanahaki! Enemies to lovers!

me: what if I sat and tried to seriously and realistically contemplate the ramifications of a severely traumatic experience and the following neurotic habits that arise from the spiral down

Reader gets back to Spider Society, either glitching back in or "being rescued" whatever, and, you're just doing shit like digging food out of the trash "you'd never guess what kinds of perfectly good stuff people throw away, and it saves time to not have to wait for anything to be prepped! Never know when you'll vanish in the middle of a meal or that one serial killer will pop out at you again!! Ahaha!

Someone comes to check on you and you deadass have a fucking, tripwire web trap all around you, you're not even sleeping in a bed you're in your own webbing (because we rock organic webbing here because it fucks) so the second anything like, opens the door of your apartment or comes near you, you're instantly aware. Peter B comes in "heeeey, just wanna check in, make sure you're doing ok--" and there's fucking web wires rattling cans as he opens the front door and suddenly you're wide awake with an actual fucking knife or some kind of equally brutal survivalist weapon and it takes you a few seconds to fully snap out of it and let him calm you down and he has to tell Miguel You Are In Fact Not Doing Ok

You've got real "scaring all your loved ones and everyone around you" energy during those times you're just like going through some manic shit, opening your mouth and going on a sudden 'epiphany' like "i know what would help!! I'm gonna start cutting my face in really visible prominent places and that way you guys will know by the scar who I am :) and when it heals I'll cut myself again :) and again :) maybe I should just cut off a finger, how many of me do you think are missing fingers? Or maybe I could give myself a cool scar!!" And it's just like. What the fuck do they even say to that. A lot of them just genuinely could cry over this, seeing what this did to you. You sound genuinely cheerful at the realization and give no mind to how casually you just suggested self harm out of paranoia and self preservation.

You're just having like hard-core eating disorder issues going from overeating to undereating, binging because you're suffer9ng trauma from starving and then starving yourself "no its fasting, I'm FASTING to save food and money and resources, ok, I can only fit so much in my backpack and--"

You have this backpack from your multiversal glitching travels and keeping it with you basically 24/7 even when you go to the bathroom becomes a comfort habit, because, "never know when your camp has been found by the runners and you've gotta make a break for it" or some other cryptic memory you babble at them like you're discussing coffee when it could be one of the most vile horrifying things they've ever heard

I think the most interesting but tricky thing I've thought of is, what if Reader's trauma-humor coping mechanism gets dialed up to 11 and you can basically never turn it off because, your brain is protecting yourself. It's like you're Doing A Bit but literally all the time like some traumatized method actor and you're just, they're never sure if you're actually telling the truth or actually recounting things you experienced after a while

"Oh man the last time I ate a meal this big was when I finally stopped glitching and I had to break into someone's house and rob them for food! Just call me Santa Claus! But this Earth had suffered a nuclear fallout so all they had was like, DRY CRACKERS and, a lotta canned stuff, icky, and, I was in the middle of trying to pry a tin of lil cocktail weenies open with my teeth when the irradiated house centipedes smelled my blood, just imagine like a normal centipede but, like, the size of a Shetland pony, hey, friendship really IS magic right, and me and these centipedes got SO close, so anyways they smelled my blood, right, and it made them hungry, and--" and here you got like The Entire Squad speechless, Hobies just over here like "fuck, I don't even know what to say to that, you want some ketamine bruv" and yall just hit em with "nah last time I tried ketamine I had a fever dream of being replaced by an evil clone and I was shunned by all my close friends who i thought of like family. Oh wait, that was you guys! That's awkward!"

[silversatin2105]

Inspired by the response from Grand line dreams Angst ask about severely injured reader

Writer’s comments:

This is a response to the ask answered by the user known as @grandlinedreams, this is my take on a best case scenario, thank you so much for your permission to post

TW: Angst, mentions of medial stuff, potential character death, if I’ve missed anything please let me know and I’ll add them to the list

It had been two weeks and three days since (Y/N) had been severely injured, you had survived the reaper’s scythe that night, its amazing how you did, you were decimated, deep lacerations on your arms and chest, before Law even got to you half a pint of your blood had already been spilled, without hesitation that day Law had carried your dying form to the Polar Tang and emergency surgery had to be performed.

Blood had to be warmed and prepped, bandages had to be removed and the wounds under sutured after Law checked for signs of internal bleeding and any shrapnel that entered the wounds had to be removed and then fish skin was placed upon the wounds before being re-dressed, when the blood was ready it was allowed to flow into your veins as the other arm took in IV fluids, no need for a sedative you were already out of it.

The first night was always the fist challenge you would face, At this moment deaths embrace felt comforting, the natural next step but what about him?

Law had always feared that your devil may care attitude would lead to calamity and so right he was, you fucked up and now the Captain of the Polar Tang had to deal with the very real threat of loosing you, On one rare conversation he would tell you of the brave man whom gave him a second shot at life, to tell you the truth that’s the first time he opened up to you, hearing his story you vowed to do anything for him, become anything for him and right now there was a very real chance that would be a corpse.

No were the thoughts in your mind as you channeled all your energy, all your might, everything into breathing, you were not going to add to the myriad of mental scars to him, NO MORE SUFFERING, breathing in and out you fought, the heart beating in your chest like terrible thunder as in the reality that your coma had sealed you from, you lay heaving concerning law.

“Damn have you developed an infection?” Law asked wiping your brow with a clean cloth, the male grimaced lip bitten as he checked your wounds, a few were red and hot to the touch so he applied IV antibiotics to your course of treatment, the second hurdle in your journey to spit death in the face and draw another waking breath, raw emotion galvanizing your resolve, fight on, live on.

After a few days the antibiotics took effect, the second hurdle back to the land of the living almost cleared, Law was still taking his meals by your bedside, still cautious- On alert, and He left the running of the ship mostly to Beppo after forming a plan of attack for the next moves to make, like before he spoke to you, Asked what was going thought your mind?, No doubt he’s seen some wild occurrences, since his alliances with straw hat, but in truth, seeing you that day on the battlefield, he never dared to hope that you’d draw another waking breath. 

Heck he was so worried that he had taken to shifted bathroom breaks with other members of the crew watching you and this was the norm for two weeks and four days, He must have had too much coffee that morning as he couldn’t wait for cover, he made his apologies to your sleeping form and bolted for the bathroom, as he walked back to the med bay he sighed- I better get another cup of coffee later for tonight..im so fucking tired …when’s the last time I slept, were his thoughts as he walked into the room where you were being kept, his tired and drained eyes gaze out to a surprise.

It was you, sitting up in bed your (insert color) eyes looking at him with a sort of tired look, you had seen better days then again so had he, he looked disheveled, sleep deprived and honestly so fucking done, in that moment no words were spoken, just a quietness as your eyes locked, ten minutes had passed and then it happened, you began to speak.

“I’m so sorry captain, I messed up… their Haki was too strong, I promise it won’t happen again” you told him an apology, one of the things you fought through death for, Law was stunned, the first thing from you after three weeks was an apology.

“Is that it… after three weeks the first words out of your mouth is an apology, We’ve all been worried sick, you damned idiot !” Law went on to say in a harsh tone, cold words masking the internalized concern he daren’t let himself feel, the emotions he stonewalled from his own heart, Law in this moment was as before romantically hidden behind a sheet of Plexiglas.

You looked up at him with shock in your eyes, you expected this but you didn’t expect it to hurt so much, tears welling in your eyes you slid back onto to the bed clutching the blanket to your chest, Law grumbled and sighed laying his hat on the bedside table resting his head by your side, a hand timidly reaching out to yours, within a moment, you felt the roughness of his fingertips upon your hand, the hand of your captain, you froze in response, you go to turn to look at him.

“D-don’t look at me right now. Please…” Law orders as you oblige him to take in the warmth of your hand, the pulse on your wrist, a pulse that those three weeks ago could have been taken from him, could he finally bring himself to hope now that you were once more amongst the living, fifteen minutes past as he assessed you, got his heart ready and then he began to speak.

“Listen up, I am going to say something, take it as you will…the truth is (Y/N) I feel deep kinship for you, since you joined the crew you’ve shown unwavering loyalty, courage in the face of adversity. What I mean to say is…I love you”

Law speaks to you, the world in that moment shattering, your eyes widen as he presses his head close to you back, and you blush as Law finally falls asleep after three weeks of hell.

You go to move and as you do, you feel an arm move carefully around you, light snoozing sounds from the captain of the heart pirates can be heard, and so in that moment you smile lightly and fall asleep again.

“It’s easy to promise someone that you’d die for them but even more difficult to promise that you'd live for someone"

END SCENE