#kudos to him for pulling through i could never

[iztea]

self-made

[ghuleh-draws]

A Mary Goore commission for the very lovely and talented @da-rulah!! This particular Mary stars in “The Mayor’s Daughter.” It is such a delicious read—do yourself a favor and check it out. Excerpt under the cut. ♡

“Wanna try something new. Get over here, doll,” he instructed, beckoning you over. You rose from your seat, closing the distance between you both. He leaned back onto the sink, folding his arms over his chest as you got a little closer than necessary, stood between his feet and leaning your hands on the edges of the sink. Mere inches separated you, and you waited for him to continue.

“That’s a pretty shade of lipstick you got on tonight,” he flirted, pulling your bottom lip down with his thumb and inspecting the red residue that lingered on it when he pulled back.

“You should recognise it, not the first time I’ve worn it for you.” If he remembered right, he’d know you wore it the first time he’d snuck in through your bedroom window; the same pretty shade of blood red. “You asked me back then if I thought it would look good on you, and then you kissed me.”

“I did, didn’t I?” he mused, feigning thoughtfulness. “And it did look good on me...” You giggled at that, and it damn near sent Mary to his knees right there and then. He would never get fucking tired of that giggle. “Have you got it on you?” he asked, before he could get too distracted by that pretty little sound.

“Of course,” you said, patting the little purse hanging from your shoulder and down by your hip.

“Good, you might need a touch up when I’m done with you,” he smirked. “Think you can make some pretty little lipstick marks for me?” You nodded, moving in to kiss him immediately but he stopped you, his finger on your lip. You pouted, sagging your shoulders.

He pulled his finger from your lips and pointed it to his cheek bone, where the black met the white of his thin and chalky paints. You took the initiative, and stood up on your toes to reach, planting a very deliberate kiss to the area. When you pulled back, you marvelled at your work; the prettiest lip stain sat where you’d pressed your lips against him. Mary turned his head to look sideways into the mirror behind him, smirking at the transfer.

“Perfect, need more though,” he said, turning back to you and pointing now at his jawline on the other side of his face. You obliged eagerly, lingering just a little longer this time and pressing your body against his where he leaned on the sink. You could feel his body tense under you, like he was trying to act cool and aloof but fighting an urge rising inside him...

“Can I choose a spot?” you teased by his ear, letting your breasts press into his chest just a little...

“Choose wisely, doll...” he warned, with no real warning behind it whatsoever. But you already had a spot in mind...

Read the rest here! Don’t forget to leave comments and kudos! ♡

[amora1tarada]

Notes: This is the first fanfiction that I had the courage to post! I’m super excited but also a little nervous. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it. English isn’t my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes, and I’d be grateful for any tips you have! I’m considering a part two with some smut, but I’m still building up my confidence in English to try it. Have a nice reading, and please don’t forget to repost, leave kudos and comments—your thoughts mean the world to me!

World count: 2k

nightwing/dick grayson

The sound of footsteps dragging across the hardwood floor was what broke the silence of your apartment, jarring you awake from a fitful sleep. The clock on your nightstand blinked red: 2:47 a.m. You didn’t have to look to know who it was. You’d recognize his tread anywhere, the slightly uneven steps that meant he’d probably taken another beating tonight. A familiar knot of fear tightened in your chest, but a wave of relief washed over you as well. He was here. He was alive, at least for now.

With a sigh, you threw on the robe hanging by the bed, clutching it tightly around your body as you moved through the darkened hallway. You were so tired—exhausted in a way that no amount of sleep could ever fix. It was a weariness that lived in your bones, a heaviness that came from watching someone you loved throw themselves into the jaws of danger night after night. You tried, every time, to tell yourself it wouldn’t happen again, that you’d close the window and let him figure it out on his own. But the truth was, you could never turn him away. Every time he stumbled through that window, beaten, bruised, and bleeding, you were there to catch him.

When you reached the kitchen, he was standing by the sink, his back to you, gulping down water like he’d been running for miles. His shoulders slumped in fatigue, his usually immaculate hair disheveled, and from the faint reflection in the window above the sink, you could see a small cut on his lip, a bruise darkening along his jaw. He looked… worn. He always looked a little worn, but tonight there was something different. The way he leaned against the counter, his hand gripping the edge so hard his knuckles had gone white, it was like he was trying to keep himself anchored to the ground.

“Hey, sweets,” he said, not even turning around. His voice was rough, more from exhaustion than pain, but you could hear the tension in it. “Sorry for waking you.”

You took a shaky breath, closing the distance between you and him. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.” You tried to sound lighthearted, but the words felt hollow. How many times had you said this? How many nights had he apologized, and how many times had you brushed it off like it didn’t matter?

In truth, it did matter. Every time he came to you like this, a little more of your heart chipped away. Every bruise, every scar—it was like you were carrying them too, bearing his pain in silence. There were so many times you wanted to scream at him to stop, to beg him to leave this life behind. But you knew he never would.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and loaded. He finished his water, setting the glass down on the counter with a dull thud. You could feel the question hanging in the air, the one you always asked even though you knew the answer would be the same.

“What happened?” you asked softly, stepping closer, your hand brushing lightly against his back. His muscles tensed under your touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“It’s nothing. Just… a long night,” he replied, his voice barely a whisper. But you knew him well enough to know it wasn’t just that. He leaned into your touch for a moment, letting out a long, shuddering breath, and then you felt his body sag, as if all the weight he’d been carrying suddenly became too much.

He turned to face you, and that’s when you saw the rawness in his eyes. There was guilt there, a deep, gnawing pain that he was trying so hard to hide, but it was spilling over, cracking the mask he always wore. He reached up, his hand trembling slightly as he touched your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “A woman got shot tonight,” he said finally, the words falling heavily into the quiet. “She… she was just an innocent bystander. If I had been faster, more careful… maybe…”

“Dick,” you murmured, placing your hand over his, trying to still his shaking fingers. “It’s not your fault.” You spoke the words gently, firmly, hoping he would believe you, though you knew he wouldn’t.

But he just shook his head, a haunted look in his eyes. “It feels like it is. Every time someone gets hurt, I… I can’t shake the feeling that I should have been better. Done more.”

You took a deep breath, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over. You wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to be perfect, that he didn’t have to carry the world on his shoulders. But you knew he wouldn’t listen. His mission, his need to protect Gotham, was woven so deeply into his soul that nothing you said would change it.

Instead, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He stiffened at first, but then he melted against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You could feel his breath, warm and uneven against your skin, and his grip tightened, like he was afraid that if he let go, he would fall apart.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered, the words barely audible. You could feel the exhaustion in him, the weight of every battle he’d fought, every person he hadn’t been able to save. And for a moment, you wondered if he would finally break, if he would finally let you in, let you carry some of that burden with him.

But then he pulled back, his expression shuttered once again, and you knew that he wouldn’t. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

Still, you took his hand, leading him toward the bathroom. He followed silently, and you could feel the tension radiating off him, the heaviness of everything he couldn’t say. You wanted to tell him how much it hurt you to see him like this, how every bruise and scar he bore felt like one etched into your own skin. But instead, you just filled the bathtub with warm water, your fingers brushing against his as you gently helped him undress.

As he sank into the tub, you knelt beside him, reaching for the shampoo. Your hands moved carefully, massaging the lather into his hair, washing away the dirt and blood from his night. His eyes drifted shut, his body slowly relaxing under your touch, and you could see some of the tension melting away. Here, in this quiet, dimly lit bathroom, it was almost like everything was normal. Like he was just a man, and you were just the woman who loved him.

You could feel your own tears slipping down your cheeks, though you tried to hold them back. Watching him like this, so vulnerable, broke something in you. You wanted so desperately for him to stop, to give up this life and just… live. With you. But that was a dream, one that would never come true.

When you were done, you helped him out of the tub, drying him off with slow, careful strokes, your hands lingering just a moment longer than necessary. You dressed him in fresh clothes, guiding him to the bed, and he didn’t resist as you brushed through his hair, letting your fingers trail gently against his scalp.

“It’s enough, sweets,” he murmured, his voice soft and thick with sleep. “Can we just… go to bed now?"

You hesitated, looking down at him. You wanted to tell him everything you felt, all the fear and pain that you kept bottled up inside. But he looked so tired, so worn down, and you couldn’t bring yourself to add to his burden. So you just nodded, slipping under the covers beside him.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his face buried in your hair. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you pressed your face against his chest, hiding it from him. “It’s fine, Dick,” you whispered. “I’d do it all again.”

The silence filled the room and it was almost sacred, a rare moment of peace in a life filled with chaos. He was holding you close, his arm wrapped securely around your waist as if he was afraid you’d slip away, vanish into the dark. You could feel his heartbeat, steady and grounding beneath your hand on his chest, and for a moment, you let yourself pretend that this was your life—that he wasn’t Nightwing, that he was just Dick, and that he was yours.

A sliver of moonlight streamed through the curtains, casting a pale glow across his face. His eyes were closed, his lashes casting faint shadows over his cheeks, and you let yourself study him, unguarded and still. Every line of his face was familiar to you, etched into your memory from a thousand stolen glances. But there was something fragile about him tonight, something that made you want to reach out, to hold him a little tighter, as if you could shield him from the life he’d chosen.

He must have sensed your gaze, because his eyes fluttered open, soft and filled with an exhaustion that went beyond the physical. For a long moment, he just looked at you, as if he was searching for something, some answer hidden in your face. And you held his gaze, your own heart pounding as the weight of all your unsaid words settled between you, heavy and unbreakable.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he raised a hand to your cheek, his fingers brushing against your skin with a tenderness that stole the breath from your lungs. “I don’t… deserve this,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “I don’t deserve you.”

You shook your head, covering his hand with yours, feeling the roughness of his calloused fingers beneath your touch. “Don’t say that,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “It’s not you who decides.”

For a moment, he looked like he was going to argue, to turn away from you ignoring your feelings. But you saw the vulnerability so clearly in his eyes in a way you’d only seen glimpses of before. His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and your breath caught as his forehead rested against yours, the warmth of his skin grounding you.

“Why?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Why do you keep doing this, night after night? Why do you keep letting me in?”

You swallowed hard, should you tell him you love him? That you had always loved him and always will? That you just couldn’t leave? No matter how hard you tried? The words were almost spilling from your lips, But you couldn’t bring yourself to say them out loud. “I don’t know, I just care so much about you, that it hurts. I can't seem to let you go.”

A shuddering breath escaped him, and he closed his eyes, his face a mix of pain and guilt. “I’m just so sorry for everything I put you through. I…I thought you hated me at this point.” he murmured, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles at the base of your neck. “For dragging you into this shit. I’m sorry, I really am.”

You shook your head, your fingers reaching up to tangle in his hair, holding him close. “I could never hate you. I just… I wish you didn’t have to carry this alone. I wish… you could let me in.”

His eyes opened, locking onto yours, and in the soft glow of the moonlight, you could see everything he’d kept hidden—the fear, the longing, and now there was a new feeling that you couldn’t quite decypher what it was.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours in the lightest, most delicate kiss, as if he was afraid that if he pressed too hard, you’d disappear. It was a kiss filled with hesitation, with years of longing and fear, with all the words he’d never found the courage to say. And as his lips moved against yours, slow and tender, you felt your heart shatter and mend all at once, as if this was the moment you’d been waiting for, the moment you’d always known would come but never truly believed.

You kissed him back, your hand moving to cup his face, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, the faint scrape of stubble against your palm. It was soft, unhurried, a gentle exploration that spoke of all the times you’d imagined this, the way his lips would feel against yours, the way his breath would mingle with yours. And in that kiss, you poured everything—all the nights you’d spent worrying, the tears you’d shed for him, the love that had grown quietly in the depths of your heart, waiting for this very moment.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a faint, almost disbelieving smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His thumb traced slow, lazy circles on your back, grounding you, and for the first time, you saw a glimmer of peace in his expression.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, his voice so soft you almost didn’t hear it. “Just… stay with me, like this. Please.”

You nodded, your hand moving to brush a stray lock of hair from his face. “Always,” you whispered, and you knew, deep down, that it was a promise you would keep, no matter how many nights he stumbled through your door, broken and battered. Because this was where you belonged—right here, by his side, in the quiet hours of the night, holding him together even as he held you.

As he pulled you back into his arms, his lips found yours again, a little more certain this time, a little less hesitant. And under the soft glow of the moonlight, in the silence of your shared space, you kissed him like you’d always dreamed, like he was the air you needed to breathe, like he was the very heartbeat of your soul. Because, in a way, he was. He always had been.

The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, a gentle exploration of everything you’d both kept hidden. His hands moved up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing along your cheekbones as if he was committing every detail to memory. And in that kiss, you felt years of pain and fear melting away, replaced by something softer, something that felt like hope.

When you finally broke apart, he held you close, his head resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet. Neither of you spoke, because words felt unnecessary. Everything you needed to say had been shared in that kiss, in the way his hands held you, in the way his eyes met yours with a vulnerability he’d never let anyone else see.

And as you lay together in the quiet, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten, you knew that this was what you’d been waiting for, what you’d been fighting for. In that moment, you knew that you would always stay with him, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much you wished he would stop, you knew you would always be there for him. Because even though he was breaking you, piece by piece, you loved him. You loved him more than you loved your own heart, and you knew you would stay by his side, no matter how many nights he stumbled through your door, broken and bleeding.

Because that was what love was, wasn’t it? Holding on, even when everything in you wanted to let go.

[unreliablesnake]

Note: I'm sorry, Simon. Also, IDK who came up with the idea of Ghost breaking his own jaw, but kudos to you.

You stopped breathing the moment you noticed the wound on Ghost’s exposed forearm and when your gaze moved up to find his face, you saw the shock in his eyes for a fleeting moment when he registered what just happened. Soap muttered something under his breath as he began to pace behind you, and his footsteps were the only sound in the abandoned house at the time.

“Go,” Ghost suddenly said in his usual authoritative voice.

“I’m sorry, LT.” Before you could say or do anything, you felt Soap’s hand wrap around your wrist and he began to pull you out of the room, but you definitely weren’t about to leave him there. “Don’t make this harder than it already is,” the sergeant asked you, his voice never breaking despite the gloomy look in his eyes.

But you stood your ground and yanked your arm away from him as you took a few steps closer to the lieutenant again. “We can’t just leave you here. There must be something we can do.”

Ghost shook his head as he reached out to take your hand. “I’m sorry, baby, there’s nothing you can do,” he began as he pulled you closer. He raised his other gloved hand to wipe away your tears, then placed a soft kiss on your forehead through the fabric of his mask.

You wrapped your arms around his giant frame and buried your face into his chest. “I can’t lose you, Simon,” you told him quietly.

“Go with Johnny, he’ll keep you safe.” When you looked up at him with a worried look, he let out a sigh. “I love you. I wish we had more time, but my luck ran out.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“You have to.”

“Please, don’t make me leave.”

He drew in a sharp breath before looking over at Soap, as if he was silently begging him to step in and drag you away from him. Luckily, he knew better than to approach you now. He waited until Ghost handled this little problem himself, convincing you that being bitten meant he was as good as dead.

So he told you again and again that he would soon turn into one of those monsters you were fighting out there, his voice trembling by the end from a mixture of sadness and fear. Eventually, you accepted it. When he pulled up his mask so he could give you one last kiss, you finally believed this was goodbye.

Hesitantly, you took a few steps back, slowly building enough distance to get out of his gravitational pull. It was heartbreaking, knowing there was nothing any of you could do to stop the process. “Even if I commit suicide, I’ll just come back. You need to leave me here, locking me into this house so I can’t hurt anyone,” he had told you.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” you heard Soap from behind your back.

Ghost nodded in agreement, and you could tell he had a sad smile on his face under that mask. “I love you. I will always love you,” he said as a goodbye before turning around and reaching for a heavy statue that was sitting on a cabinet near him.

“What are you doing with that?” you asked, having a terrible feeling from the way he was holding up that object.

He didn’t say anything, he didn’t turn around, and you couldn’t even ask again because Soap forcefully dragged you out of the room and closed the door after himself. You barely reached the end of the hallway when you heard Ghost shouting in pain, and when you instinctively turned around to run back to him, Soap grabbed your shoulder and turned you around to face him.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. Don’t think about it, just walk, all right?” he asked.

No. It wasn’t all right. “No, what the fuck just happened?”

Soap licked his lower lip and ran a hand through his mohawk. “The LT and I talked about the possibility of being bitten, about what we want the other to do in this case. This is what he wanted. He wanted me to get you away from him before he could hurt you.” He fell silent for a moment when he noticed the way you were watching him. “He just broke his jaw so he wouldn’t be able to bite anyone. He told me he would do it if it came down to it.”

“Simon,” you whined quietly, once again fighting your tears.

Shaking his head, Soap put his hand on your back and began to guide you outside again. “Pull yourself together, we need to get out of here in one piece,” he told you once you reached the front door.

How could you pull yourself together when Ghost… When he… It just wasn’t… Fuck. At the moment you’d rather be bitten and locked up with him. Leaving just didn’t feel right. He wouldn’t have left you behind. Without thinking more about this, you pushed Soap away and ran back inside, heading straight to the room Ghost was in.

“I’m not leaving. I’m sorry, I know that’s what you wanted, but I can’t. I’ll stay until the very end,” you told him matter-of-factly.

You heard him groan under the mask, unable to speak with the broken jaw. For a while you were just staring at each other, but then he looked at something behind you and shook his head. It must have been Soap, but by the time you turned around, he was already gone.

After a few minutes of awkward silence he sat down with his back against the wall and patted the floor next to him. You sat down as well then took his hand and rested your head on his shoulder. If he was going to die here, you would stick around to either die with him or end his suffering. There was no other option.

[skeltnwrites]

S'mores - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie takes you camping

Word Count: 3.6k

TW: bad driving, maybe a bit of angst

A/N: This might have something to do with that box of money from my last fic (kudos to those who guessed correctly), also writing this had me giggling and kicking my feet so good luck if you thought the last one was fluffy

Silver-clad fingers tap against the steering wheel, more in tune with the van’s blinker than the Ace of Spades cassette blaring through the speakers. Eddie glances over his shoulder before veering into the next lane, throwing up an apology wave to the sedan he just cut off. You peek up from the map, sights darting to your side mirror, then to your boyfriend. He’s inches from scratching the sticker-loaded bumper ahead of you, gassing and breaking repeatedly. 

You’re well aware that Eddie’s never been a good driver. Frequently snagging curbs and pushing speed limits, once having picked a note from the windshield about his poor parking job. It’s a miracle that he’s only been in a couple of fender benders over the years. You once nabbed his driver’s license, swatting away his hands so you could see the grainy photo of teenage Eddie. But every now and then when his foot slams against the pedal and you lurch forward in your seat only to be caught by the belt, you wonder whether it was a fake. Today, somehow, he’s in even more of a rush than usual. 

The tape ends, leaving you in silence apart from a distant honk and the familiar chug of the air conditioning. “You know the campsite isn’t going anywhere right?” 

He hums dismissively, hands gripping ten and two as his gaze darts between the road and his rearview. 

You throw a palm over his thigh, squeezing. “Eddie.” 

He’s locked in, swerving in failed attempts to get back over. “One second, sweetheart,” he manages when you retract your hand. There’s a risky opening and he takes it, the car behind instantly laying on the horn. Your eye twitches. 

He rolls to a stop, with nowhere to go between the bumper-to-bumper traffic as far ahead as you can see and highway patrol parked in the median. “Seems everyone and their mother had the same idea, huh?” He turns to you with a dopey half-smile. 

“What’s the rush?” 

He shrugs, picking at the rip in his jeans, “Just wanna get set up before dark.” 

“We’ve got flashlights.” 

“No– well, yeah. It’s not that. I just don’t wanna have to worry about it later.” 

You tilt your head, “No biggie if we set up late.” 

He nods, knowing you’re right. 

When you’d got home from work Eddie didn’t give you a chance to kiss him hello before he urged you into the bedroom to pack for a surprise weekend camping trip. Rented camping gear and a bag of gas station snacks were thrown into the back of the van and within the hour, you were on the road. As he pulled onto the interstate he’d abruptly toggled off the radio as the host discussed details of the pending meteor shower, the part of the trip he intended to keep secret. You pretended not to hear when he asked, despite having read about it in the paper the afternoon before. 

The sun sinks out of sight as you reach the exit ramp. A light pitter-patter against the windshield has you preemptively cranking up your window. Your feet cross each other over the dash as you trace the approaching circle on your map with your finger. 

“You said Bronson?” Eddie asks. 

“Mhmm. Left on Bronson Road.”

“Ya sure? Cause it’s definitely blocked off.” 

You whip your head up at the construction signs and equipment lining the street, or lack of street rather. 

“Damn it.” You rub the bridge between your nose. 

“I could just try to drive through it? I mean those big trucks can–” 

“Eddie,” you raise an eyebrow. 

“What!” He slaps the dashboard, “This girl's gotten us through a lot of adventures, right? One more won’t kill her.” He’s dead serious; Zero problem with driving past a sign that says ‘Closed’ and ‘Do Not Enter’.

“I’ll find another route, keep driving.” 

“Come on,” he groans, sagging into his seat.

“Do you want to pop a tire and be out here all night waiting for help?” 

He scoffs like you’ve insulted him, “I know how to change a tire.”

“Do you have a spare?” 

His mouth opens in rebuttal and quickly shuts.

“Drive,” you roll your eyes, hiding your smirk behind the map. 

You try another road that connects, or so you thought until you pull up to a dead-end sign. It’s pouring now and pitch black out, road signs are hard to see, street lights are sparse, and you’re both cranky from being trapped in a car with each other. It’s your fourth attempt at rerouting when Eddie declares you are officially lost. 

He holds his hands up in defense, “Look I don’t wanna say it but–” 

You send him a glare before he can finish. “We’re not lost.” 

“Look, it’s okay if–”

“But we aren’t. Look, right here,” you flick a pen against the paper. “I’m telling you this is the one.” 

He falters at your serious stare, biting a nail, and sighs, “Okay. Fifth times the charm, right?”  

“That’s what they say,” you smile. 

To both of your surprise, the fifth time is the charm and you’re able to get back on track with your navigation skills. You’re on a long stretch of dirt road, miles since the last light or building or car for that matter. Still, you swear you know where you are and Eddie believes you. He drives shockingly slow, bobbing his leg and squinting at the windshield. The wipers squeal against the glass, working overtime.  

You push your palm against his knee. He continues to drum against the floor mat. 

He feels your gaze and anticipatorily answers, “Have to piss.”

“You did on the side of the road like half an hour ago, dude.” 

“Think it’s the rain. Rainiest fucking day in Indiana history. Thought it would’ve stopped by now.” His voice trails off in this dejected sort of way that you rarely hear from Eddie. 

You’re lips form a tight line and you bring your fingers up to his nape to scratch under a thick mop of curls. “It’ll let up bub.” 

He nods, eyes trained ahead. 

You literally scream when the headlights glare against a campsite sign. Eddie smiles so hard you’d bet his cheeks hurt. An unimpressed teenager mans the check-in booth which you pull up to. She slides the window open to abruptly tell you they closed ten minutes ago, not allowing you to reply before it slams shut. Eddie raps on the glass, pointing to a crisp twenty-dollar bill which she accepts, offering a parking pass and spot number in return. 

The van is parked and you jump out, delighted that the rain has let up some. It’s sprinkling and clouds block any hint of stars, but you couldn’t care less. Eddie grabs the tent first, recruiting you to help stomp the stakes into the ground. He fumbles with the flaps, scratching his neck trying to understand where the door is supposed to be when the rain picks up again. You scramble to finish setting up, throwing bags, food, a radio, and whatever else easily accessible into the tent. It isn’t until you’re both inside, soaked to the bone, that you realize how cramped it is. 

“This is definitely not a two-person tent,” Eddie chuckles, hunched over like a wilting flower, knees digging into yours. His curls are slick and shiny in the lantern glow. 

You flick a mosquito off his arm and grin, “It’s cozy for sure.” 

He flops on the twin-sized inflatable mattress you’d previously used as an umbrella. You wriggle up beside him, clothes drenched and clinging to every curve. 

“I mean think about it, this size would go for, what, a grand in New York? They’d call it an urban studio apartment with bright ceilings and textured floors,” you say magically.

His laugh bleeds into a dramatic groan as he slings an arm over his face. You leave a wake of kisses from his elbow over to his wrist until he’s peeling it away to hold you. Your cheeks are warm against his palms as he says, “I’m sorry we didn’t get to see the meteor shower.”

You lift an eyebrow, “What meteor shower?”

He covers your face, snorting, “Shut up, you knew. You aren’t a good liar.” 

You crack a smile, peeling his fingers away one by one until you can see him again. 

“But really,” he says, seriously. “We are soaked and cold and we didn’t even get to make s'mores!” 

You drop your head to his chest, “You’re right. I don’t think I’ll survive without s'mores.”

His hand finds your crown, his lips too. “I’m serious!” 

“So am I,” you mumble into his tee. 

You are content to lay there in each other’s warmth for a while despite the chills worming up your spine but Eddie breaks the stillness, “Come on. Get up. We need to change.” 

You lift your head, “Wait!” You poke at his chest, “I need to tell you something.” 

He hums, brown eyes heavy as they search yours. 

“I love you,” you say earnestly. 

“Sap!” He pushes you off, crawling over to his JanSport to fish for dry clothes. He chucks you a pair and you waste no time stripping off the sticky fabric. Before long, the lantern is off and you're wrapped in the single dry blanket, shuffling back into him for more warmth. He pecks your shoulder and mutters, “I love you too,” before you drift off. 

You aren’t sure what time it is when you wake but Eddie is breathing hot air onto your neck, curls itching you in a way that makes you pull away. His arm slinks under the covers as you sit up. No light leaks through the tent so it must not be time to get up, you decide. You feel far from sleep, however. It’s cold and somehow sticky. The pant leg pinched up your calf gets tugged down, only to realize the fabric is damp. 

Eddie must feel you shuffling because he starts mumbling and groping around your pillow. His hand claws at your sleeve in an attempt to suck you back in. He whines sleepily when you don’t budge. 

“Eddie,” you whisper, sliding a hand up the tent’s coarse walls. 

“What,” his voice catches, soft against his pillow and hoarse with sleep. 

“I think,” you swipe at the floor until your fingertips graze a freezing puddle. “There’s a hole in the tent or something.” You blink rapidly trying to see the damage. 

He cranes up with a hum, elbowing you as he scratches his face. 

“The floor is wet.” 

“Where?” 

You wrap your fingers around his in the darkness, guiding them past your body to skim the floor.

“Shit,” he sighs. 

You prod around, shoving away non-lantern-shaped or textured items. 

“Here,” Eddie clicks his lighter. It sparks a few times before lighting, casting skewed shadows against the walls. He yawns, gesturing at the lantern with closed lids. You click it on, dangling it over the gap beside the mattress—golden light glimmers against the water. Eddie climbs over you to view it, hair swaying as he shifts. Your heavy eyes travel up in tandem to catch the steady drip from the roof. A small, fraying line splits the fabric. He pushes a thumb against the next forming bead. His tongue slips back in his mouth to clear his throat, “I’ve got duct tape in the van but I don’t think it’ll stick to this.” He scratches the canvas, “‘specially not in the rain.” 

You nod, observing as his brain churns. His gaze flicks to his wrist watch and then he’s folding over his legs in a cat-like stretch. Hunched over, he says, “It’s too early for this. Let’s just go sleep in the van.” He hums as if to ask, “How does that sound?”

You trace the curve of his spine as he stretches, “‘kay.” Neither of you move. Rain pelts the tarp rhythmically. 

“Come on,” he sighs deeply before pushing up to unzip the tent. Stray raindrops blow inside, a couple catching your hand where it bunches clothes together. You sweep whatever is near into his bag, passing Eddie his sneakers. You don’t bother lacing yours. 

He throws his denim jacket over your shoulders before you race out, shoes squelching against the mud. Your heel dips into a puddle as you plant your hands against the slick sliding door. Eddie jams the keys in the lock with rehearsed practice, climbing in and pressing buttons until the rest of the locks click. You rapidly pull the metal handle, nearly eating shit as your foot slides. 

Eddie jumps back out. “Piece of shit door,” he grumbles and bumps your hip, pushing with you until the door lurches open. When he clears it, you slam it behind him. The backpack and his jacket are discarded onto the floor before you climb over the center console after him. He starts the car, cranking the temperature knobs until warm air blows from the vents. 

As soon as your eyes meet, you crumble into giggles. Any bit of sleepiness left has vanished. His hair is flattened with moisture and his cheeks rosy from the cold. You curl your nail under a black strand stuck to his chin.

“Needed a shower anyway,” Eddie shakes his hair out like a dog, spraying you in the face. 

You yell and shield yourself with your sleeves. 

He licks a stray droplet off his lip then leans over the seats searching. Eddie gets up and squirms between them, kicking the water bottle in the cup holder. You slip your shoes off, pushing them under the seat to avoid tracking any more mud. 

Your palms hover flat against the heat for a while. It’s quiet per Eddie standards so you glance behind your seat. In the dim car light, your boyfriend shuffles through his backpack. He’s chewing on his lip as he tips it over to dump the contents out, mostly clothes. His eyes widen when he finds you staring. 

“Find me something to wear?” You ask. 

He nods after a moment, still watching you like a child with their hand in the cookie jar. You turn back around hesitantly. 

You busy yourself with reading the campsite pamphlet you’d been given at the entrance. But the grinding of the slider door has you whipping your head back around. Eddie’s halfway outside, shouting, “One sec’!” The door shuts abruptly leaving you alone in the van. You climb into the back, cupping your hands against the foggy glass. Your boyfriend has his jacket slung across his back as he crouches into the tent. A couple of minutes pass and he’s running back. You pull the door open for him and he thanks you as he hops in. 

“What?” You question. 

He flashes a tight-lipped smile, “Forgot this.” He holds out his lighter in one hand, placing his jacket on the floor neatly with the other. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’ve got like three in the glovebox, Eddie.” 

“This one’s my favorite.” The lighter is lime green, adorned with a fading smiley face drawn in sharpie, thanks to you. He scratches his neck sheepishly. You don’t know whether to believe him since he’s never shown a preference for lighters before now but he seems genuinely embarrassed that you’ve found out. 

“Oh,” you settle with, choosing to let it go, lest you embarrass the poor boy further.  

You dissolve into separate chores in the back of the van. He smears the puddle by the door with his already wet t-shirt and you hunt for another pair of his pajama pants for yourself. Dry clothes are dwindling, having soaked two pairs each already. But you manage to find new bottoms and a fresh shirt for Eddie. He’s slipping it over his head, crisscrossed on the floor in only his boxers. You circle the small space, plucking any soggy clothes off the floor to hang dry on a camping chair that had been left in the van. As you scoop up Eddie’s jacket something rolls out onto the floor. You kneel to pick up a small, black box with your free hand. You scratch curiously at the velvet, wavering to hand it off to Eddie. Gears turn in your head as you glance up at your boyfriend who stares at you from the floor a few feet away. Your expression mirrors his, mouth agape, eyebrows raised. 

“I—”

“Is this?“ You say simultaneously. 

Your limbs are locked in place, mouth dry as you try to string together a coherent question. Suddenly the heat pouring from the vents is too hot. You might as well catch fire with how your cheeks burn. 

He deflates in front of you, shoulders sagging and chin drooping in one motion. 

You shove the box into his hands as if that will fix it. 

He furrows his brows and looks away, “Shit.” 

You are about to offer to pretend you haven’t seen it when he continues.

“This whole trip has really gone to shit, huh?” He shakes his head, throwing a hand out defeatedly, “I mean– I had this whole perfect plan and I was trying so hard not to fuck it up. The shower and the fucking rain. Hell, Steve, even Wayne warned me to do it right and I– I just.” He scoffs, head tipping back against the door. “I almost lost it.” 

It’s then that it dawns on you that Eddie Munson, your boyfriend, intended to propose to you on this trip. That he plans to marry and spend the rest of his life with you. 

“–want you to think that I don’t care enough—“

“Eddie,” you whisper.

“–and I wanted you to know how seri—“

“Eddie!” Your on the dirty floor of his van, knees digging into his as you push the box further into his chest, “Fucking ask me already.”

He melts under your stare, breath shuddering hesitantly despite your growing smile. “I– Will you—“

You're already nodding at the first word. “Yes, you idiot.” You’ve lunged into his chest, smiling uncontrollably into his neck. 

He chuckles nervously into your temple, slowly wrapping an arm around you. But he pulls back, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately. 

His eyes dance around your face, lingering on the spot below your ear he likes to kiss. He presses his nose there instead, giggling like a little kid. “I can’t believe you said yes,” he whispers breathily, more to himself than you. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” You squeeze him, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I dunno, I just thought,” he trails off. 

“Eddie,” you peel him off your skin, waiting until he looks at you. “This is perfect.” You knead your nose and eyes before anything escapes. “I don’t care if it rained or if we didn’t see the meteors or about fucking s’mores for Christ’s sake!” You smack him lightly in the chest, smiling hard. 

His eyes are glassy and he swallows hard. “You haven’t even seen the ring yet,” his voice shakes when he says it.

“There could be a paper ring in there for all I care.” 

He grins, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Should’ve told me that before I bought something.”

You laugh wetly and he brings the box up to your hands to open together. Rings are not something you and Eddie had discussed much if at all and yet somehow he managed to find just what you envisioned. 

The tears finally fall as you say, “It’s gorgeous, Eds.” 

He chases them away with kisses, cupping your cheek to pull you closer. 

When you're momentarily done studying the jewelry you press your lips to his. He’s reluctant to pull away, diving in for a second, then a third, like you’ll change your mind if he lets you go. 

“Here,” his hands are shaking as he plucks the ring from its cushion and cradles your hand. The ring slips on easily, a tad too big, but “Wayne knows someone who can tighten it.”

You nod, grinning wildly at your hand. He’s watching you with a similar wobbly expression when you glance up. You remain a tangled pile of soppy limbs on the metal floor until your back aches. He’s pulling you up and clicking off the lights before crawling up front. 

“I don’t know how you expect me to fall asleep now,” you whisper giddily, cheek pressed to the reclined passenger seat. 

From across you, he says, “I don’t think I can either.” He watches you fondly as you twist the ring around your finger. He’s thinking about how stupid he was to worry so much about what Wayne and Steve fucking Harrington of all people warned him about. That he knows he’s never felt so strongly about someone before and that he’d be crazy to let you slip away. 

Your gasp breaks his stream of consciousness. You’ve sat up, pointing through the windshield. “Look!”

“What?” he’s ducking his head, flipping up the sun visor, and glancing from you to the glass, trying to track your line of sight. Then he finds it, a long arc of light breaking through the clouds. It’s faint, fading in and out of the darkness as it streams from one end of the sky to the other. It passes, and you both observe for more, wide-eyed and stiff like dolls. 

“Look at that,” you blink deliriously, slumping back into the seat. 

“Did you get the universe in on this or something when I wasn’t looking?” He’s baffled, chuckling to himself. 

“Maybe it’s a sign,” you smirk. 

He nods, leaning over to peck the corner of your lip. “Didn’t need one. Knew you were it from day one.” He slinks back into his seat, leaving you a blushing ball of flames.  

[anotherlifelesshawksloverplshelp]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sweetness

Dabi x reader!!!

Kudos to Mel, she unintentionally gave me ideas to write and getting me to write it in the first place (I was procrastinating like a mf…)

I took a little turn with it and made it sfw. I was gonna add hints, but honestly I'm happy with it as is.

IF YOU WANT A PT. 2/CONTINUATION WITH A LITTLE SPICE PLEASE REPOST/COMMENT AND SAY SO! Also requests are open for now so feel free to bother my inbox.<333

Content/warnings: Insecurity, scars, (idk if those are necessary but i could understand the tw), just fluff, reassurance, and some love<3 2k

...

"Does it bother you..?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a late morning. He had been hanging low with the rest of the league for a week and a half now, everyone either recovering, plotting, or taking their chance to just rest. Taking loss after loss was exhausting, so the break was necessary, you thought. Their entire group had years worth of festering emotions, motivations and conviction. Would it be so bad to not sit there and simmer in self pity and loathing for a week?

Dabi had chosen to crash at your place midway through. He didn't mind the group. Whether he was aware of it or not, they were growing on him, but he'd never admit that. But you had grown on him more.

So, when you woke up, turning to see a tired Dabi propped up slightly against your pillows, being dragged out of thought by your stirring and shooting you a sidelong smirk, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of sleepy joy sparkle in your chest.

"G'mornin', doll.." he murmurs, his voice sultry, laced with a deep exhaustion that he'd never admit out loud, masking it with his cocky tone. You smile at him happily, scooting a little closer.

"Morning, Tou'..." You snuggle against his arm a bit which he absorbs, letting it feed his ego. He slid that arm under you, wrapping it around and pulling you up against him, looking down at you with those cool blue eyes.

"Like what you see?" Is always the first thing he ever said to you, whether you guys were out and you looked at him to ask a question, meeting up at the hideout, him  stumbling through your window with burns and blood. Something he said without thinking just to get something out of you. His way of saying “hello” or “I see you.”

You nod regardless, used to his arrogant demeanor by now. Your eyes trail the way the white sheets wrapped at his waist contrasted his dark burns along his stomach, the way his staples glimmered with the morning light pouring through the thin, airy curtains, following the curve of his smirk back to his eyes. You stretch up, pressing a little peck to his cheek which he chuckled at like you were amusing, tugging you a little closer, tracing lazy shapes into your back. He lays back a bit before humming "Go back to sleep, doll, I ain’t going anywhere."

You look up at him, tracing the sharp, messy edges of his hair, the way it contrasted to your light room, tracing back down to his glistening staples. You gently reach up and graze his skin, trailing it down his neck to run along the staples on his chest. 

He glanced down at you as you do so, the sensation sweet but dull, a muffled cry to his damaged nerves and thickly grafted skin. His smirk faltered, now just watching you quietly, the way your eyes were drawn to his skin...

"Does it bother you?.."

Your eyes snap up to meet his, furrowing in question. You were used to random or hypothetical questions from him, more often than not posing questions just as an exclamation, like "Who would've thought?" with humour before elaborating, or "Isn't it funny..?" before going on a rant about something having to do with society or heroes. But this... something about his tone was different. You could feel a sudden shift in his demeanor seep into your skin as you rested against him, chest feeling oddly heavy.

Does what bother me?.." You ask quietly.

"My skin. Does it bother you?" He asks again, strengthening the foundation of his tone again so it'd sound more natural to him, but you weren't going to let go of what he had first offered. Your motions stop, reaching up and running your thumb down the staples on his chin before cupping his cheek gently.

"Of course not." You say in gentle disbelief that he would ask that question. You search his eyes as they watch yours, totally still. His large free hand raised to brush against the side of your face, cupping around your ear, stapled palm against your cheek which you leaned into.

He took in the action, watching you with almost sad yet unreadable eyes. He was so expressive in his own ways. He thought he was so slick, but deep down he was just a kid when it came to people. When it came to himself. He’d sit there and argue your lectures when he’d go do something particularly bad or get hurt, answering with short, snarky responses, but his eyes would convey the guilt he felt. He’ll ignore, yell, or disvalue his teammates at face value, but you’ve seen the way he still counts the heads in the room, or his eyes will flicker with concern in a tight situation. He wasn’t inhuman just because he had baggage and some scarring, and your heart ached that he couldn’t see that. That he couldn’t understand you saw him. 

“Don’t give me that..” He murmurs, feigning minor irritation at the look you gave him, but it was more than that. He averted his gaze, opting to look at the wall. He was shutting you out.

You huff softly, giving his hand on your cheek a squeeze at which he glanced at you in the corner of his eye. 

“I don’t need you to pity me.” He states.

“I’m not pitying.” You say shortly, eyes flickering across his expression, the slightest pursing of your lips as you look at him.

He scoffed like he didn’t believe you, and you couldn’t entirely blame him. Nobody likes to accept words offered to them when they feel someone doesn’t have a true understanding. You got a little closer, not overwhelmingly so, but enough to reassert your presence, desperately trying to show you were here for him if he didn’t understand it any other way.

“Your scars don’t bother me. You don’t bother me. If you did, you wouldn’t be in my bed at night. If you did I wouldn’t be bringing you food despite your protests, not caring if you eat it all, just wanting you to eat something. And I think you know that, Touya.”

That’s right. How could he have given you his name? You knew he cared, and he knew you cared enough to share that with you. The name itself made him happy and sick at the same time, but the way you uttered it so sweetly, with genuine care. You could see him. Although nothing could outweigh his goal against his father(which he hadn’t spoken about with you yet, he’s just not ready), maybe your affection was good enough for now. 

He shifted to face you a little more, not entirely on his side, pulling you in close with a sigh. He didn’t like being vulnerable or anything like that, but he didn’t like when he had to shut you out too. He made a steady compromise, pressing a kiss to your forehead with a huff. 

You didn’t know if it would be right to say you loved his scars or not. They were a part of him, whether anyone liked them or not, but you did. Not whether or not they were attractive, or tolerable, but simply because of him. It was a part of his story. It showed his past and what made him who he was now, but it didn’t define him either. If you didn’t like them, then you simply wouldn’t like him. You didn’t know if that was necessary to say to him or not, but in your heart you held it as your truth for him. Instead you simply say..

“I love you, Touya. I’m not going to hate you for something like some skin…”

He looks at you. He knew it could be repulsive. He should know, he lived in it. Skin too tight for himself, scars that he had to stare at everyday, some days it felt more real than others. 

You cup his face and kiss the tip of his nose. “I promise, baby.”

You were too good for your own good, he thought. He didn’t care about your past, anything you may or may not have done. You were too sweet. Sugar that flooded his bitter existence.

“Damn…I love you too, doll.” is all he muttered, but it was sincere. He sounded a little choked, but you knew better than to expect anything to dampen his lashes. You sigh softly, pressing featherlight kisses along where the large scarring patches met the fresh skin, your touch incredibly careful.

He appreciated it. Although you couldn’t hurt him, his nerves being too damaged for anything you do to bother him, the muted sensation of your skin on his was still loved by him. Your affection over the skin he hated so much lifted his heart greatly, you adorning him with love and care steadily chipping away at his rough exterior. What had he done to deserve you?

You reached up, pressing a reassuring kiss on the staples on his chin, watching you sending him a shiver through his entire body pleasantly. It was intoxicating when you loved him, and he swore you damned him into an addiction. 

Your eyes flicked between his, searching gently as his gaze rested on you before pressing a loving kiss to his lips, him reciprocating softly to convey how he loves you back. He can’t help but be handsy either, one hand moving to your ass, the other to your hip to keep you close, humming lowly against your kiss. 

You prop yourself up a little on one arm to adjust the angle to deepen the kiss, which he obliges to, leaning in a little.His hand on your hip slid to your thigh to pull you up and over so you were straddling his hips, tongue grazing your lower lip as a request, but not forcing it, which you allowed. 

His hands trailed up and down from the small of your back to your thighs, touch light and teasing in contrast to his usually harsher grip. He was never this soft. You knew he wanted you, he made that very clear all of the time you two had been together, but it was never really like this. 

He was admiring you. Yes he held an attraction, yes he loved you, but he didn’t always look at you like this. You’d get his approval here, his protection there, but this was different. You cupped his face, breaking the kiss to watch the way his gaze softened over you, looking up at you, his expression almost sad. You peppered his face with kisses. His forehead, his brows, under his eyes, all along his cheeks. He drank it all, basking in your affection, eyes fluttered shut as you did before cracking a smirk and catching your lips once more to stop you. 

“Hey hey hey, leave a little room for air, wontcha?” He chuckles, his voice and tone a sweet break from the previous conversation, which you giggled to. He stopped you and pulled you to his chest, hand on the back of your head as he held you there softly, sighing, a sigh that expressed the genuine relief he felt deep in his chest. 

You loved him. And he was coming to terms with loving you too. Maybe there was something else to live for other than hate after all. One other thing that would make this inevitable march towards his death worthwhile. Maybe… 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[mishy-mashy]

Something I made in a post that I think'll be lost in the texts + expanded a bit more

These panels are chronological events following AFO's pursuit of Yoichi's Factor.

AFO could tell if people were related through a Quirk. AFO and OFA also are connected to each other. In Kamino, AFO could confidently tell All Might that OFA had been passed on, so all that All Might had left were leftover embers.

When AFO killed Kudo, he asked where Yoichi was. He knew Kudo wasn't the holder of Yoichi's Factor at that time. He also realized when looking at Yoichi's hand that Yoichi's natural Factor was so weak he hadn't registered its existence. This implies AFO could sense Factors since he was young, and Yoichi's natural Factor never stood out to him.

Below are three panels of Bruce (right to left). Bruce fought, AFO killed him, and looked away in disinterest.

When he beat down Bruce, he already had a sense that Bruce didn't hold the Factor anymore. That's why, rather than yell in his face to figure out where it is and interrogate for a long time, he pulled up his corpse to inspect him better.

Bruce's corpse isn't resisting anything. Look at his feet; AFO literally dragged him. Bruce is already dead. Yet he's looking for something from him.

Bruce doesn't have anything for him. Nothing AFO wants.

When he looks away, he's dismissing Bruce, because Bruce doesn't hold Yoichi. AFO is wondering where Yoichi is, because he knows now that he's out there somewhere. Thus the pensive look to the wind.

After Bruce is killed, AFO and Garaki meet for the first time. Shinomori has Yoichi at this time, and AFO never comes close to him, so AFO is lost. He doesn't have any leads, and Yoichi has vanished.

Now that he knows Yoichi can transfer, it's possible for Yoichi to be kept out of his reach for the rest of his life. So meeting Garaki and having access to Life Force gives AFO more time to search.

Yoichi is still missing for 18 years though, because Shinomori is in hiding. AFO couldn't find him during the Fourth's turn.

This is why, when he encounters Banjo, the Fifth and active wielder of OFA [Yoichi], AFO is smiling.

It's been a long time, but Yoichi's in reach again. He knows where he is now. And this is the first time he's encountered the current holder.

Thus his shock.

[Yet... you never behave as I wish.]

It was the first time a Quirk wouldn't let itself be stolen. This was AFO's first encounter with this wall: it doesn't transfer without the holder's consent, and requires willpower stronger than all the holders combined to override that.

The holder is never going to give him that consent. To override the collective willpower, he's going to need something greater.

Meanwhile, look at Banjo's arms. Shinomori is the catalyst to tip OFA over the edge, that an unprepared vessel will be destroyed by how strong the Quirk is.

Banjo's arms are both messed up below the shoulder, just like Midoriya used to be. And like Midoriya uses Blackwhip to reinforce himself and stay standing, Banjo uses Blackwhip to hold his fist / arm together. His hand is being wrapped to stay in a fist.

(What I think is) The reason the limbs turn red, and then purple, from breakage, is a matter of blood vessels. Small, itty bitty, fragile things.

Using OFA breaks the whole area, from bones to blood vessels, causing internal bleeding. Thus the redness. But breaking those vessels again in a second go turns the area purple, because it causes instantaneous internal bruising.

But En wasn't ripped apart by using OFA. There's a cut on his thumb that lines up with the path of destruction; AFO sliced him in half. Otherwise, he wouldn't have that cut if it were just OFA.

It's hidden by the text in [... you never behave as I wish], but depending on where you see this chapter, you can see he got cut on the thumb. It's clearer where we see Nana take his hair from him, in [I only want... to make you mine!]

I have a post in drafts about En being cut in half rather than it being because of OFA, but I also hit an image limit, so I'm gonna end here. Ta.

[lovelynim]

TickleTober2024/Day 30 - Magic

Genshin Impact - Kinich x Lyney

Kinich looked at the rose in Lyney’s hand, blinking a couple times as if to process what just happened. Where did that flower even come from? How did Lyney do that? Those and another thousand questions passed through his head at that moment, but there was only one thing he could think of saying.

“Are… you the devil?”

“Wh- no!” Lyney giggled, shaking his head before placing the rose back in his hat. Of all the compliments and comments people made about his tricks in Fontaine, he certainly never heard this one. How amusing. “As I said, I’m a magician.”

“So, magicians are devils?” Kinich asked, cocking his head to the side and earning another giggle from the other guy.

This scenario never crossed Lyney’s mind until he visited Natlan. How to explain his “magic” to someone who never saw magic? Should he feed whatever fantasies his new friend had in mind or tell him the truth about his tricks?

Lyney sighed, leaning over the balcony and resting his head on the back of his hand. “Would you like to see another magic trick?”

Kinich thought for a moment and, after a couple seconds, looked back up to Lyney. “Ok,” he nodded.

“Alright, pay attention or you’ll miss it!” Lyney announced, speaking as if he was in some sort of actual stage. When he was sure Kinich’s eyes were glued to him, he began his little performance.

First, Lyney flashed Kinich with his brightest, most charming smile. Then, Lyney covered his lips with both his hands and, when he moved them away, a plain, emotionless facade remained where the smile was.

Lyney clenched his hand into a fist, tapping his knuckles with his index finger. “It’s here,” he whispered, enticing Kinich’s curiosity.

“Now, with a bit of magic and with the help of my cute assistant,” he said, reaching out for Kinich’s wrist, “let’s see what I can do.”

Lyney pressed his fist into Kinich’s palm, gently opening his fingers as if to give something to him. Then, he climbed Kinich’s arm with his fingers, caressing his wrist, forearm and then his elbow. “Oh, silly me. I dropped it.”

“Dropped what?” Kinich muttered, as confused as he could be while looking at his hand in Lyney’s grip.

“My smile,” Lyney nodded, as if it was something obvious, “it’s hiding here!”

“W-whahaht?!” Kinich gasped, letting out a surprised giggle when Lyney’s hand that was resting over his elbow “jumped” and latched onto his side, squeezing and tickling it. “Stohohop it, it tihihickles!”

“Oh? But I’m not tickling you, I’m trying to get my smile back,” Lyney teased, pulling Kinich’s hand to further expose his ribs and underarm to the series of ticklish pokes and prods that followed through.

Just when Kinich felt his cheeks warming up, the tickling was gone - like in a magic trick. “Aha,” Lyney cheered, holding Kinich by his chin, “so here is where my smile went, hm?”

Even after Lyney let him go, it took Kinich a moment to sit back. He touched his own cheek, smiling slightly as tingles still lingered over his body. “...you’re the devil, indeed.”

A/N: I was going to try my hand writing my first fic for AFK Journey, but I ended up doing some last minute changes in the course of action

Anyway, still not really sure how to write for Natlan characters, so be patient with me

Also, huge kudos for @mxncher_17, on Instagram, for making this comic that heavily inspired me

[flowerpotmage]

Tight Grip, Broken Dam (1)

Masterlist | Next Chapter >>

You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him. He’s there for comfort. For rest. If only it could stay so simple.

Pair: Miguel O'Hara & GN!Reader

Notes: emotional hurt/comfort, cuddling, crying, bb got traumaaa! ambiguous relationship

Word Count: 1,092

Read this chapter on Ao3 here. If you like my work, please consider leaving kudos there as well! You do not need an account to do so.

A/N: hiiii my writer's block has been killing me, so i went back to my roots with some good old quickie comfort fic featuring spider-man. i hope the rust isn't too visible! (ps: your author [that’s me!] is nonbinary and has they/them pronouns!)

You don’t question it anymore, when Miguel appears in your bed at night. He’s not there for sex, no, you’ve never even kissed—though you would be lying if you said you weren’t open to the idea of kissing him.

He’s there for comfort. For rest.

So when the blanket lifts and the mattress shifts under you with the fluid movement of his body sliding into place next to yours, you hum and shift to make room for him. You don’t get far before one of his arms snakes around your middle. There’s a brief moment where a TV show your mom used to watch flashes through your mind, a woman calling a man’s arms ‘pythons’ and biting her lip in a comical display of attraction. You remember the man in question, and you think if his arms were pythons, Miguel’s are anacondas.

The thought makes you chuckle through your nose.

“What’s so funny?” He whispers, his breath swirling over the back of your neck, tickling and warming the skin there in equal measure.

“Mm. Just something stupid from when I was a kid,” you mumble-whisper back, taking his hand in yours and pulling it up to cradle against your chest, your heart, fingers intertwined.

He hums, shifting and pulling you more snugly against him, resting his face on the back of your neck, the soft breaths from his nose going down the loosened back collar of your pajama shirt. It’s really just an old oversized t-shirt, one you’ve had for much too long and lined with holes around the peeling graphic that rises from the hem, but Miguel has never made you feel bad or self-conscious about it. You both understand the need to hold on to something from the past. He has his videos, and you have old clothes.

You let the silence grow, wrapping the two of you in its soft cotton cocoon. Letting out a deeper relaxed breath, you start to disentangle your fingers from his. His grip tightens, his body tensing so imperceptibly that if you hadn’t been pressed against him with nearly your whole body you wouldn’t have noticed. Even his breath catches for a moment.

“Shh,” you soothe. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He lets out a measured, shaky breath, nodding into the back of your neck. He squeezes your hand gently, and then releases it.

You hum, letting your hand rub comforting lines into his forearm, moving up and down the soft skin and hair. He’s had the forethought to take off his suit this time, at least, and donned the spare clothes you keep in your closet so that he doesn’t dirty your sheets with multiversal grime and blood.

His relaxed grip pulls you in even tighter now—his arm a roller coaster safety bar across your ribs, your back now a part of his chest instead of being pressed to it.

“You’re okay,” you whisper. “Everything is okay.”

You know it’s harder for him some days than others. The trauma of his loss, the weight of his self appointed responsibility in the wake of it, as if he can atone for his sin of having ever wanted.

And then he shivers, and with the fusion of your spine to his sternum it rolls through your own body as if it had started there. You realize, with his next shuddering breath, that he’s not shivering—he’s shaking.

“Miguel? Hey, hey,” you whisper again, shifting in his grip. The safety bar of his arm loosens enough for you to roll over to face him, and yet he still tries to hide his face in your neck, in the pillow. He’s not actually crying, not yet, but you can already see the dam beginning to spill over. It finally breaks when you try to duck your head to see his face, pulling back so you don’t go cross eyed looking for him.

The first tear rolls from his eye closest to the pillow, running a smooth path as it escapes to land on the pillowcase, and his face twists as he holds back a sob.

Immediately you pull him back to you, pulling his face against your collar bone, cradling his head and stroking his hair.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper into the hair above his ear. “I’ve got you.”

And the dam breaks, great shuddering breaths fighting their way out of his chest, up through his throat, out of his gritted teeth to land on you and the space between. The tears come in earnest, and soon your neck is wet with salt and grief, his face pressed into the juncture of your shoulder and neck as if it can protect him from whatever chases him. All the while he keeps his arms around you, his fingers fisting into the back of your shirt, digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. He doesn’t loosen his hold, not for a moment, as if any moment you could evaporate and only his embrace could keep your molecules from floating into the ether.

Eventually the shuddering gentles, then stops, the tears drying up altogether. You continue stroking his hair, your fingers gently grazing his scalp in soothing movements.

And then you do something you’ve never done before, instinct acting before you can second guess yourself at this late hour.

You kiss his hair.

His breath catches, then releases in a strong steady breeze across your salty wet skin and soaked shirt. All of the tension in his body seems to leave with it, his bruising grip going lax and his fingers releasing your shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t normally–”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those ‘men shouldn’t cry’ types,” you mumble into his hair, tone light and teasing. Only now does it strike you how incredible it is that this enormous man who could probably level your apartment with minimum effort is bundled into your arms, face tucked into your neck. You wonder how it appears, him shrinking down to fit into the embrace of your much shorter frame.

“No,” he huffs through his nose. “No, I just…”

“I know,” you whisper into his hair, pressing another kiss into the soft caramel of it.

“Yeah.”

“Hard day?” you volunteer into the quiet after another moment of petting his hair.

He doesn’t answer with words, simply sighing and tightening his arms around you for a moment, pulling you closer before relaxing again. You hum, and the two of you stay like that, lulled to sleep by the soft rhythm of one another’s heartbeats and breaths.

Masterlist | Next Chapter >>

[mamashenanigans]

I still have so many fics and other stuff to write (been behind due to moving), but I just came up with this. I blame the ‘tism.

After AFO’s vestige is pummeled into oblivion, he violently opens his eyes to find himself back in the sewers, watching Yoichi fleeing from him with Kudo. He reaches out towards him, but flinches away as all the feelings of grief and loneliness hit him like a semi-truck, and he falls to his knees screaming in pain for Yoichi to not leave him.

It’s guttural. Raw. A sobbing mess as the intense feeling of loss cascades over him like a tall waterfall; rocks corroding away from its strength.

Yoichi flinches and this time he turns ever so slightly to look upon his twin, broken and shuddering in immeasurable grief.

It’s enough for him to release Kudo’s hand and fully turn around. Kudo and Bruce stop as the other resistant fighters continue to race away through the dirty water. They make to pull Yoichi back, but he takes a few steps towards his brother instead.

AFO is shaking and real tears fall from his matte eyes as he screams at Yoichi, “Please! Please GOD don’t leave me again! I can’t do it all over again! I can’t! Everything—the plans, the minions, the Quirks—all of it! It doesn’t mean anything! Not if you’re not with me. Not if I’m not with you!”

Yoichi’s eyes widen as he continues to slowly walk towards his brother as Kudo and Bruce yell at him not to listen to AFO’s deceit. He hushes them with a raised hand and tilts his head down at his brother, his confusion palpable over the stench of the gutter. He knows his twin better than anyone. He knows when he lies, he knows when he manipulates, he knows how incredibly dangerous he is. But…this is different. He knows that too.

AFO lifts his head to meet Yoichi’s emerald eyes. “You’re…you’re looking at me?! Yes! Please! Yoichi, I’m, dammit, I’m sorry! Just don’t go! The demon lord? It doesn’t matter. Nothing does without you! I’ll…I’ll give it up! Right now! You don’t even need to come with me. I’ll do it! I’ll come with you! Tell me what to do and I’ll do it! Please, please, please! Just don’t leave me alone. I’m nothing without you!”

“You’re…you’re not lying,” he remarks softly. It’s something he never would have thought possible in this situation, but it’s true. His twin’s emotions are raw and real like those he displayed back in their early youth. Yoichi flinches from instinct when he feels his brother’s arms wrap around his legs and his forehead rest on his stomach. His brother had always been so damn big.

“Please…”

Yoichi softly lays his hand on his brother’s disheveled hair and sweeps his fingers through the identical white locks. He’s so inclined to believe this is a trick. A trap. That would follow history, but this is different. Something has changed irrevocably within his brother. Maybe their entire reality. That’s how powerful this all felt. Decisive.

He suddenly remembered his confession to his two heroes. How his brother’s power could be the greatest, most kind ability in the entire world. Yoichi wasn’t sure if his brother could be that kind, but it seemed—

“Tell me what you want, Yoichi. My Qui—meta power. My meta power! Whatever you want, my dear little brother. I’ll do it!”

Yoichi peered back at Kudo and Bruce.

“Guys. I…I think we won?”

[hlficlibrary]

HL Fic Library 🌲 Stuck in a Cabin Fics

Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find the library's other recs here.

🌲 Snow by Septic_Styles {M, 70k}

The snow was packed high, completely covering the doorway. Louis reached out to touch it but Harry pulled his arm back in.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

"It's snow, Harry, not some creature from Mars." Louis rolled his eyes and pressed his index finger to it. It wasn't soft, it was firm and had an almost crunchy texture like the freezing temperature had turned it into ice as the night passed on. It had been sitting there for some time. "Yeah, just as I suspected," Louis said, closing the front door.

"What?"

"We're fucked."

Louis is set to travel thirteen hours up the country to stay with his family at a holiday rental in Edinburgh for Christmas, but when he makes an overnight stop at his cabin in the woods in the Lake District, an unexpected, unlikely face - which Louis has spent all of his teenager and most of his adult years resenting - comes knocking, seeking for help.

Little did they know that the heaviest snowfall England had ever seen would snow the two foes in for a week...

🌲 To the Ends of the Earth by stylinsoncity / @aliensingucci {M, 68k}

During a yearlong hiatus, Louis visits Harry at his cabin in Idaho, where long-buried feelings ignite like the fire keeping them warm.

🌲Take on Me by @haztobegood {E, 60k}

Actor Harry Styles is preparing for his next leadi ng role as Antonius the Gladiator with the help of Louis Tomlinson, Hollywood’s top stunt coordinator. When the demands of Harry’s career get in the way of their training, the pair head to a secluded cabin to complete their training. Then, Louis begins to share senses with Harry. What is causing this mysterious connection and can Louis and Harry figure out how to stop it before they leave the cabin?

🌲 Warming Up to You by @youreyesonlarry {E, 56k}

“I feel you,” Harry nods along as he zips his bag open, carefully pulling out his fancy looking camera before pressing a button to turn it on. “I love taking pictures for a number of reasons, but I think the best part of the whole thing is that I’m able to go through my older pictures and have all these memories from those moments come back to me.”

He puts the camera against his eye and points at Louis, and before the shorter one can even react, he hears a ‘click’, and Harry’s smiling down at the screen of his camera.

“And I don't think I want to forget about the day I got stranded in a cabin with a pretty stranger,” he finishes off.

Prompt 111: Louis and Harry are strangers that somehow got stranded during a blizzard. They find themselves in an abandoned cabin and have to cuddle for warmth. Cuddling leads to much more.

🌲 Cabin Fever by @germericangirl {E, 46k}

“What the fuck is he doing here?“ He asked still looking at him, before he turned back to look at Niall for an answer.

Niall’s mouth fell open and he looked at him with wide eyes "He um changed his mind?“

Harry stared at Niall for a few seconds in silence, before grabbing a bag and walking towards a bedroom without looking at anyone else, slamming the door shut behind himself.

Liam flinched in front of Louis.

“Well I’m happy to see you too.“ Louis mumbled, some of the tension leaving his body. This wasn’t exactly how he thought their first meeting would go. It was quiet for a moment before Louis finally spoke up “Did you seriously not tell him I was coming?“

Or: One cabin, one bed, two ex-boyfriends. What could possibly go wrong?

🌲 Snow Job by @duchesskitty16 {E, 42k}

Harry is a world famous rock star who is closeted and never gives interviews. Louis is a failed novelist and reporter for a gossip magazine that has fallen on hard times. Louis is promised a promotion if he can get the ultimate get - an interview with Harry Styles. Louis finds out that Harry has a mountain cabin near where his friends Zayn and Niall live and heads up to try and meet him. In a twist of fate, Louis has an accident and Harry saves him. Will Louis get his story, or will the fact that he's falling in love change things? Will Harry forgive him when he finds out Louis is lying to him? Will Harry find the courage to come out of the closet and finally be happy?

🌲 too much, but it’s enough by @ohpleaselarry {E, 40k}

There are about a thousand things Louis wishes he could go back in time and fix. A thousand things, and nearly all of them include Harry.

There are the more simple things, like showing him more support, telling him it’s okay to be himself, gently reminding him that a condom in his pocket is rather obvious in skinny jeans, but if he could just choose one thing, just one to change, he’d probably just have told the lad he loves him.

Always has. And always will.

🌲 Something As Simple As This by frenchkiss {E, 34k}

Trapped in a cabin in the middle of nowhere after a blizzard derails Louis from getting home, he and the attractive stranger who owns the place have nothing to do but... well, each other. It would be a real shame if feelings got in the way, and even more of a shame if a secret about this stranger's identity turned both their lives upside down and inside out.

🌲 Etched in Salt (is a cathedral of the world) by @helloamhere {E, 24k}

Louis asks for very few things in life, and they are: to solve cases, to keep bad people from doing their bad things, to get good coffee, to go home to a spacious apartment with nobody else in it, and to manage his stupid telempathy powers with minimal interference. And now he's stuck in a tiny cabin in a snowstorm in the middle of god-awful-nowhere with Harry Styles. Because of course he is.

🌲 you’re the habit that i can’t break by @ohpleaselarry {NR, 24k}

The boys decide to have a belated band reunion, just the five of them. One week, one cabin in the mountains, five boys.

Harry and Louis haven’t spoken sober in a year.

🌲 An Aurora Grove Christmas by @dandelionfairies {T, 17k}

Harry gets lost on his way to St. Louis. The roads are horrid because of the snow and he ends up spinning into a ditch. Lucky for him, he finds a cabin nearby, as well as a cute blue-eyed man who immediately helps him. Unfortunately, his car is stuck for the night, but at least he has a place to stay with Louis. With the snow continuing to fall and another storm front coming through, will he ever make it out of Aurora Grove? Does he even want to?

🌲 The fic where Harry calls Louis an idiot for ten days straight because he is one. by @mercurial-madhouse {M, 16k}

They’ve found the perfect get away from their busy lives as nationally-famous footie player and well-respected restaurant critic, escaping to the isolation of a cabin in the woods where they can simply be Louis and Harry.

If only both were actually here.

A gift forgotten in London, the untameable force of the weather, and the scent of burnt snickerdoodle biscuits find Harry and Clifford pitifully alone and Louis... Where is Louis?

🌲 Darling, Just Hold My Hand by likelarry {E, 10k}

Louis and Harry decide to spend a week at a skii resort with their families during the Christmas holidays.

On Christmas night, Harry goes into labor but the family gets snowed in which forces him to give birth in the cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Luckily, his husband is a surgeon who can help.

🌲 heaps of blankets by gemma {E, 7k}

You know when you and the one you love go for a not-so-adventurous adventure? And you do everything that's crazy, everything you want and just enjoy each other's company? That's Harry's plan when he rents a cabin at a resort in the mountains for him and Louis.

🌲 Orchids by talasArchivesx / @talasarchive {M, 7k}

“Do you find me sensible yet?” Twenty-two letters and six words, yet it lingers on Louis’ mind like an old song playing from a worn cassette. Such a memory holds so much significance it visits Louis’ mind every unsuspecting moment.

The words are a dreamy reminder of such precious seconds of his life.

A story about losing against the drifting tide, and finally coming home; featuring a cabin, winter blizzard and “one bed”.

🌲 Let It Snow by @jaerie {E, 6k}

With a blizzard approaching, Louis planned to spend his birthday with a drink and a good book. In his self exile at his remote cabin, he never expected a poorly dressed stranger to show up shivering and covered in snow. He also didn’t expect to have one of his best birthdays on record.

🌲 wish i knew how to break this spell by eleadore {E, 6k}

Maybe it should be more of a surprise to open the door and find Harry wrapped up in about a dozen blankets, face pink from the cold and soft from sleep. It isn’t.

Harry, Louis, and a cabin. It's cold outside.

🌲 Strange Trails by bananazine {G, 4k}

After one of Harry Style's third-years lost their favourite hat on a class hike, Harry goes back the next day to retrieve it. To his demise, a downpour of rain strikes, forcing him to search for shelter. He runs without a stop towards the nearest clearing and his prayers get answered when he sees an old hunting cabin. With trepidation slowing his steps, he finally makes it towards the presumably vacant cabin. Though, to be polite, he knocks, only to be faced by the bluest eyes he has ever seen.

🌲 (not) driving home for christmas by BeautifulWisdom / @justanotherghostblr {T, 3k}

Spending the holidays alone at his cabin, driving through a snowstorm Harry hits an animal. He takes the large dog back to his cabin to see if he can keep it alive until the storm breaks and he can get to a vet. Colour him surprised and woefully unprepared when said dog turns into a very bloody and very naked man.

[edges-of-night]

I just found your post and im in loove with your writing so o wanted to know if i could ask this.

What would the characters react if a Modern!reader has a scar or something from her childhood ( of theyre wild child like me) and would they though someone hurted her?

Kudos from Brasiil

Thank you, I’m glad you like the blog! Enjoy your post!

This one doesn’t have that huge bunch of gifs I’ve been using before – let me know what you like better, if you have a preference.

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

Aragorn would treat your scars with great respect and never ask any questions about them, knowing they could potentially hurt you. It is no great deal for him though; he doesn’t think less of you for having scars!

･ﾟ✧ Arwen.

Arwen would have a silent fascination for your scars, as Elvish healing powers make it impossible for Elves to develop scars. She’d let her fingers ghost over them if you let her but never speak of them, unless you want to.

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir bonds over your shared scars. He’d tell you battle stories for every one of his. In turn, you could tell him yours. He’d find it charming to hear you’d been a wild child like he!

･ﾟ✧ Elrond.

Elrond does not talk about your scars or even look at them, until you would initiate a conversation about them. He just accepts you have them, possibly thinking of the wounds they once were and how he would’ve treated them.

･ﾟ✧ Éomer.

Éomer would worship your scars, no matter how you got them – through work, fun, or battle. I like to imagine scars carry a deep meaning in Rohirrim culture. Éomer would go on and on about how Human they make you, as opposed to an Elf with healing powers. He would be sensitive if someone had hurt you, causing the scar.

･ﾟ✧ Éowyn.

Just like her brother, Éowyn would show great respect and admiration for your scars. But unlike him, she wouldn’t push the topic, knowing that you could have potentially emotional memories to them. If someone had caused you a scar by hurting you, she’d curse that person.

･ﾟ✧ Faramir.

Faramir is the kind of person to place deliberate kisses on your scars. He knows how insecure they can make one feel about their body, and he will have none of it with you – you’re gorgeous just the way you are ♡

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

Frodo has a very casual attitude toward scars. He accepts that you have them and doesn’t pull the attention onto them. He would probably ask you about them, after a long night you’ve had at the Green Dragon, but he’d always stay respectful and considerate – he’s a gentleman after all!

･ﾟ✧ Galadriel.

I imagine Galadriel having an almost morbid curiosity about scars and their place in the Human system of healing and mortality. She’d ask if she can take a closer look at them, talking about them, and even has clothing or headwear made for you that shows them off.

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

Gandalf would casually ask you where you got your scars from, as an attempt to normalise conversation about them. If you signal him that you would rather not talk about it, he’d let it be, but otherwise, you could have a deep conversation about them with him. Should you wish to have it removed, he would cook up a spell that could do that.

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

Dwarves think highly of scars, as they symbolise both brashness and hard work. Gimli is no different. Should you ever feel insecure about your scars, he’d happily show you his and assure you that there is nothing shameful about them, with a big grin!

･ﾟ✧ Haldir.

Haldir avoids even glancing at your scars. He is both polite enough to not stare and troubled about the implications – Humans cannot heal the way Elves do. He could lose you to a wound that wouldn’t even be an issue to an Elf, and he cannot stand that thought. He also wracks his brains about someone having hurt you, as opposed to simply asking about it.

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

Legolas would take the issue of your scars very lightly. That also means he could potentially bring up hurtful memories, since the concept is so new to him. However, if you told him that, he’d immediately apologise and distance himself from the subject.

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

Merry thinks your scars are super cool! He’d be the first in line to say things like, “They make you look adventurous!” Depending on how sensitive you are about them, he’d tone it down, of course. Still, he’d rather have you with them than without.

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Pippin probably has a bunch of scars himself, being both clumsy and a troublemaker. He’d ask you about your scars in a way that turns into a ‘ping pong’ game, with you taking turns with the stories you want to share with the other.

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

Sam has a big scar himself that he is rather insecure about. Bonding with you helps him accept that part of his body – though he would still blush how he got it, having defended Rosie Cotton from some ruffian at the Green Dragon.

[nocoastposts]

Happy Friday! This rec list is lengthy, kinky, and explicit. I'll have an additional list up soon, but this one is dedicated to some excellent E-rated gems.

Please remember to mind the tags - especially for these recs! - and kindly skip anything that doesn't suit you.

If you enjoy these, make sure to leave kudos and check out the authors additional works. Fic links and summaries below the cut.

in the dead of night | @littlemisskittentoes | E | 3.8k

“Hm, am I still dreaming, or is there a very pretty boy playing with me under the covers?” Alex’s voice is gruff. Its edges are coated in lingering sleep, and the drowsy-slow pull of the words slows them to a deeper accent than he usually lets slip through. The syrupy drawl skitters the length of Henry’s spine.

or, Henry knows he can always rely on Alex to tire him out when sleep is far off.

If We're Caught in a Wave (I Will Carry You Over) | @sparklepocalypse | E | 5.9k

There it is, up ahead – the small island just offshore, with Alex’s favorite broad, flat stone outcropping, perfect for sunning himself in seclusion. He splashes into the shallows and dives in when the water’s up to his knees, and it’s a matter of maybe a minute’s swim to reach the island. Alex finds his footing among the sand and pebbles, pulls himself upright, and shakes the water out of his hair, then pushes it back from his face. He can practically hear the outcropping calling to him -- you know, if inanimate rock could speak.

Alex stretches, his mid-back satisfyingly popping, and then skirts his way between some larger rocks until his sunning rock is in view. Except – there’s someone already on the outcropping, their short blond hair shimmering in the sunshine, the upper slant of their shoulders visible from where Alex is standing.

(Movie or Bookverse AU; Alex rents a remote beach house and Henry is a cecaelia.)

What I Need Tonight | @sparklepocalypse (again, always, etc.) | E | 3.5k

It’s two in the morning on a Tuesday when the clatter of something hitting the bathroom floor startles Henry awake. At first, his groggy mind assumes it’s Alex – but then Alex snuffles in his sleep behind him and tightens his arms around Henry’s waist.

There’s another clatter, and then a shuffling noise, and Henry’s eyes widen. He reaches back and grabs Alex’s thigh, shaking him.

(A temporal folding M/M/M AU that takes place post-canon but pre-bonus chapter.)

It's Called Tact, Fuck-Rag! | largepeachicedtea | E | 12.8k

Texas had been an odd choice, some might say. Henry thinks it's perfect. College is a time to go crazy, after all. A Scream AU

when he walks in (i am loved) | @kill8a | E | 10.3k

Henry has chores. They’re chores he’s allocated to himself, ones he loves to do in his free time, when he’s home alone. But he can’t keep thinking about Alex, what he did to him this morning, and it proves to be a distraction.

or, henry gets well fucked and well loved.

[ My final rec is for the four-part series please, please have me by @everwitch-magiks; the total word count is 29.7k. I really love the summaries for each installment, so I've included 'em all.]

Hope and Glory | E | 3.5k

Any moment now, that door will open again and another man will enter, another stranger will bare himself and quietly slot himself into the hole in the wooden panel. And Henry will swallow him down, willingly, greedily. He will use his mouth and his tongue and both of his hands, and he will lose himself in every little sound, every low groan and trembling whimper, every sharp intake of breath. He will bring the stranger to the brink and then over it, will smile faintly as feels the man pulsing in between his hands, will brush a chaste kiss against the tip before he lets go.

Henry joins an exclusive, members only sex club and lives out an impossible fantasy. Along the way, he forms a connection with an enigmatic lover.

Everything I Never Thought I'd Ever Find | E | 5.3k

The man is rubbing his length alongside Alex's as promised, his breathing heavy as Alex engages him in a series of wild, open-mouthed kisses, all teeth and tongue, give and take. Alex is shaking with want as he struggles to keep his arms still, to keep kissing, to keep himself from losing control entirely, to be good. God, he wants to be good.

Alex had never dared to hope that his sexual escapades with an irresistible stranger could turn into so much more.

That Look In Your Eyes | E | 4.7k

They’re trying something new. It’s a bit of an indulgence on Henry’s part. Earlier that night, he had walked into the now familiar room to find Alex as utterly irresistible as always: naked and blindfolded and so impossibly willing, so wonderfully eager. In that exact moment, Henry had decided that it was time for something a little bit different.

One brief but intriguing conversation later, Henry had been very pleased to pull the silk scarf from his own neck. Clearly, they'd just found a better use for it.

When The Time Is Right | E | 16.1k

“Maybe I could challenge you more,” Henry suggests, his eyes carefully trained on Alex. “And hold you accountable for longer. How does that sound?” “That sounds fucking amazing,” Alex tells him, the words coming out in a rush. “Yes. That. Please.” “Alright, then.” Henry offers him a sly grin. “Alex, love. You just gave me a wonderful idea.” It’s really something, how quickly Alex’s heartbeat picks up. “Oh? Do tell.” Henry’s grin widens. He looks alarmingly pleased with himself. “How would you feel about a staycation?”

When Alex asks Henry for something a little more intense in the bedroom, they end up taking more than just their sex life to the next level.

I've got another post in the works with some longer fics that are a mixture of all types of themes, ratings, and so on.

Feel free to request fic recs anytime!

XOXO,

Amy | NoCoastPosts

[writing-for-life]

Lupē

Finally, finally I manage a Calliope/Morpheus fic (the Sandman Rarepair Fest had to come along to kick me into gear). It’s just a short vignette, but I hope I did them justice because they will always be the OTP to me. The prompt is Hurt/Comfort.

You can read on Ao3 or here. And no matter where you read, your kudos, comments, shares and reblogs are so appreciated and help writers to get their stuff discovered 🖤

Lupē (616 words) by Writing-for-Life Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Calliope/Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Calliope/Dream of the Endless, Calliope & Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Reconciliation, Past Relationship(s), Rare Pairings, Canon Compliant, During Canon, Canon Related, Canon Rewrite Summary:

Calliope had wept for him so many times, and she felt the tight grip of grief resurfacing. She had mourned the laughter that would never echo through these halls again, the stories of his father he would never pass on to children of his own, the promise of a future shattered. […] And she was tired of mourning, of a grief that felt like it was hers alone to bear.

Lupē

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow upon the twisted spires of the castle. She had not returned here since that fateful day.

The Gatekeepers stood before her, eyes like onyx reflecting the aeons they had witnessed. Last time, they had been impassive, their voices cold as they denied her entry.

But tonight, something had changed: They recognised her.

"Calliope," the wyvern’s voice echoed through the mist. "You seek the Lord of Dreams."

She nodded, and her throat felt so tight she could barely swallow. "I come to speak to him."

Calliope's fingers trembled. She remembered the bitter words they had exchanged—the accusations, the tears. Later, Oneiros had been unyielding, her attempts to speak to him ignored. She was not even sure what would have happened had he acted differently then; the thought of bringing forth an apology entered her mind and was as quickly dismissed. She felt her hands ball into fists, bitterness resurfacing.

No, this is not the time.

The guardians exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. "Why are you here, muse?" the hippogriff asked.

She hesitated. "Our son's absence binds us, even in sorrow."

There was no more talk, no further interrogation. The gates just creaked open.

Calliope stepped across the threshold, and her footsteps echoed on the stairs and the marble corridors. With every step, her heart picked up pace until it was racing so fast she could hardly catch a breath.

The door was as she remembered—unchanged, the wood dark and polished, etched with symbols whose meaning she understood and yet didn’t.

Just like him.

But that wasn’t true. He had been changed when last they met. Familiar yet different, faint echoes of what once she loved—and hated.

Calliope pushed the door open, and the air itself seemed to hold its breath. For a moment, she wondered what she had expected to find. How she had expected him to greet her. And then she knew that this was exactly it:

His back turned on her, no sign of movement, frozen in space.

She crossed the room, her breath catching in her throat, unable to speak.

She didn’t have to.

"Calliope," he whispered, still not turning. There was a rawness to his voice, even in that whisper, that caught her unaware.

She reached for him, without any hesitation, and while it surprised her, it felt right. As her hand touched his shoulder, he flinched subtly, but he didn't pull away.

When he finally turned, his eyes held galaxies, and their shared history was etched on his face—the pain, the longing—it was all there, laid bare.

And it was hard not to see Orpheus in him. Hard not to remember how he had told him stories, his voice like a melody spun from darkness and light, stardust and moonbeams, while the boy’s laughter would echo through the halls of the castle, and his cries for more brought a moment of happiness to everyone who heard it.

And then it was gone.

Calliope had wept for him so many times, and she felt the tight grip of grief resurfacing. She had mourned the laughter that would never echo through these halls again, the stories of his father he would never pass on to children of his own, the promise of a future shattered.

She had sung dirges and sought solace in memories, but they only deepened the pain.

And she was tired of mourning, of a grief that felt like it was hers alone to bear.

In that moment, his eyes searched hers. “You came.” And perhaps, they were seeking answers and forgiveness.

“You called.”

And perhaps, they were also holding the faint glimmer of hope…

[fruitcoops]

Mending

Prompt D5: “Bandaid” for the 7th (and final 🥺) day of @oknutzy-week-2024 . Kudos to @lumosinlove for the characters, and so much love to all of you for reading and writing and being wonderful <3 This week is always a highlight of my year!

TW for minor injury and blood (splinters)

“You are a total and complete disaster.”

“Just pull it out.” Logan’s gaze darted over, then immediately away. His throat bobbed like he was swallowing a heave. “Just get it out, get it out, get it out.”

Leo knew bemusement was probably not the right reaction to a lover in any sort of pain. Unfortunately for Logan, you had to be a special brand of crazy to be a goalie, and Leo’s sense of humor had always been a bit without regard for personal safety. “Would a popsicle make you feel better?”

He had also been getting splinters out of himself since he was old enough to hold tweezers, and here Logan was, at his grown age of 25, trembling like his name.

Logan snuck another peek and did a double-take when he saw Leo’s bitten-back smile. “Don’t make fun of me,” he complained, a little pale in the cheeks.

“I’m sorry, cher.” Leo shook his head, leveling his hand near Logan’s finger again. “Remind me how many fights you’ve been in?”

“You’re mean.”

“Forty-seven.”

“It’s different!”

“In three years,” Leo added.

“It’s not the same.” Logan’s voiced edged on a whine. “They’re not—inside me.”

Leo blinked up at him, sitting back on his heels. “I seem to remember you like it a whole lot when hockey players are inside you.”

The anxious pale of Logan’s face flushed red. “And see if you ever get to know that again,” he bit out.

Leo kept his opinions on that to himself. Something told him a firm, fact-based disagreement would not bode well for making Logan keep still while he worked. A tiny bead of blood welled up near the site of the wound; he smudged it away with a gentle pass of his paper towel. Logan’s flinch made his belly pang. “Sorry, love,” he murmured. “Almost there.”

“This is so embarrassing,” Logan muttered, eyes fixed in the opposite direction. The hair by his forehead and neck was damp with nervous sweat. Why he couldn’t reserve this fear for fighting two-ton behemoths on the ice, Leo would never understand.

“You’re doing great,” he offered helpfully.

Logan just scowled. “If you pull a needle out to help, I’ll scream.”

“Finn took this a lot better than you did.”

“Finn could get stabbed with a greatsword and say he’s fine—ow.”

Leo released Logan’s wrist at the first reflex-jerk and held the tweezers between them with a triumphant grin. “Got it!”

“—calisse de crisse—I fucking hope so!” Logan stuck his wounded fingertip into his mouth and squinted down between them. “Merde, that’s huge.”

Leo leveled him with a disbelieving look. “Want a bandaid?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“It’ll make me feel better.”

Logan stared at him for a few seconds, finger still in his mouth. “You just want to see me walking around with SpiderMan on my hand.”

Leo grinned. “Good doctors deserve compensation.”

“You made two million dollars last year,” Logan argued, already holding his hand out.

“Consider it overtime.” Leo shuffled through the small box he had dug from his mother’s linen closet just that morning, when Finn went jogging and decided walking barefoot on the dock was a great idea. He had, of course, immediately been stabbed in the foot by a nasty splinter. Logan had (of course) grabbed the exact same obviously-fraying spot five minutes ago while pushing himself to his feet.

He decided on a butterfly bandage, peeling the wax backing away while he held Logan’s finger still between the sides of his palms and placed the gauze down. The red looked nice against his sun-warm skin.

Leo looked up as he kissed the web-patterned top of Logan’s finger. “You were very brave.”

Unbearable softness narrowed into playful offense. “Your bedside manner needs work.”

[wolvesroampastelgalaxies]

Edit: All chapters up on AO3 & Tumblr

It's over now, the music of the night. My OCD is crazy and I have never completed a multi chapter fic. I truly have no desire to delve deeper into the fandom. This has cured my depression over it. Time to resume my NSFW content. Me and my own younger brother have been trying to reconcile and right before I wrote this we had a falling out. Maybe thats why I'm putting too much into it. Thank you all for the kudos, comments, re-blogs, and the new followers I gained. Bless.

As always,

:P

Second Star To The Right And Straight On Home ⭐️ (Part 2)

Dimmedelphia was rich in history, instrumental to the founding of the nation, a massive contemporary influence on modern culture, home to countless iconic monuments: and Timmy had just hurled all over one of its sidewalks.

    “Sorry,” he mumbles, feeling the queasiness subside, “it’s been a minute.”

    “Yeah, guess it’s harder to travel this way once you get older.” Peri says, looking away so he doesn’t throw up. 

  The human didn’t like the word ‘older,’ sure, it was true but instant relocation through supernatural means was hard on anyone. He doesn’t linger on the thought long when he notices the steps leading up to the brick apartment building before them. It should have been obvious they would not still be living in a fishbowl. This just seemed too normal for housing fairies. 

    “Mom and dad have been living as humans. Albeit not very well.” Peri rolls his eyes, “You should see them with the mail.” 

    Timmy reaches and pokes his crown out of place.  “You’re one to talk, maybe try working on your own disguise.” 

    “Stalling, are you?” Peri says with a quirk of his brow, righting his crown.

    “Totally stalling.” 

  The fairy can sympathize, it had been a total of 10 thousand years of time travel before he saw his parents again. He felt the same anxiety trying to avoid them. He had had all the time before then to prepare for the inevitable. Timmy has had maybe half an hour. But he won't let his brother face it alone.

    “Well, common!” He offers an encouraging smile, mounting the stairs.                                 

                         💫 💫 💫                                                                

    “Coming! Totally average human putting on average human pants to answer the human door!” 

  Peri cringes, hiding his face in one hand. He peeks through his fingers, watching as what must be a hundred different memories cloud Timmy’s usually bright, blue eyes. He places a slim hand on his shoulder, lightly squeezing him into focus. It had taken him a moment to gather courage before pressing the doorbell.

    “He - he sounds the same.” He says in disbelief. 

  Even Cosmo’s yelp of pain as he whacks himself in the head with the door is the perfect pitch he remembers. That’s why it’s so discombobulating to see his former godparent not look exactly as he remembers. Cosmo is definitely trying to look human, channeling an eccentric dad. Just like Peri however, the eyes haven’t changed, as dog, fish, or anything else and he’d know it was his fairy. 

  They aren’t yours anymore. 

  Timmy’s nerves bounce all throughout his body as they stare at each other. He chuckles somewhat manically.

    “Hey Cosmo-

    “TIMMY!” 

  He chokes on fairy dust and can’t manage to clear his throat of it with the death hold around his neck. But if he died this way then that'd be okay. He could easily push Cosmo off but instead hugs him back, feeling the now smaller fairy form. He and Peri had already admitted that more tears were to come so he lost little pride in feeling his eyes start to water. Cosmo does release him, but Timmy goes cross eyed with how close the green fairy is. Cosmo pushes and pulls at Timmy’s face, his already in a downpour. The iridescent wings go a million miles a minute creating a light buzzing noise.

    “Timmy! It’s really you!” He sobs. And as if he just notices his son, he cries harder. “Look Peri! It’s Timmy! And he knows my na-na- naaaame!”

    “I know dad, I’m the one that brought him here.” 

  Usually, he’s embarrassed by his father’s dramatic behavior, even if it is genuine, but now it’s becoming contagious. Peri is the only one to notice as a door opens and closes down the hall. He might be able to slip past suspicion by saying he’s wearing a costume, but there is no way to explain the 3 foot something, green guy with wings, having a meltdown in the doorway. 

  Alright, better move this inside.

  He probably saves Timmy some added wrinkles by shoving them in the apartment, dislodging his dad. Besides, he can finally get back to his normal self as well.

                               💫 💫 💫

  Wanda could have instantly whipped up a pie. The laborious task she took on was more on principle. She could practice being human and bake something with real food. They were going to have dinner with Hazel’s family tomorrow night once they got back from her father’s conference. She and her husband tried to put some distance between themselves and Mr. Wells. Their new god kid could handle a day without them. Unlike their last one, he needed constant supervision. Wanda had treated -

    “TIMMY!” 

  Cherry syrup coated her face, it oozed its way down to her blouse, a single cherry sticking to her nose. She really thought the 3rd time was the charm. Her dear, stupid, sweet husband’s yelp shocked her and now she has no issue with using her wand to poof away the mess. Wanda isn’t too surprised at the content of the exclamation. Cosmo had frequent bouts like this. She was able to keep it together, even if it hurt just as much. With Peri being back home now, it was glaringly obvious of the missing piece.

    “Cosmo, we talked about moving ‘crying over Timmy time’ to Tuesdays and it’s Sunday dear.” She calls from the kitchen, moving her way to the living room. 

    “I - I know, but he - he didn’t wait till Tuesday. He’s here nooow!” Cosmo wanted to stop crying, but it seemed so natural now that Timmy was back. He remembers he cried all the time back then. Mostly from fear at the situations they ended up in, but now he was crying over all the good times. He misses him every day. Sundays especially.

  Wanda had been married for centuries but there were things Cosmo said that still needed clarifying. It became crystal, no, there was no need to be crystal clear. Not when there was nothing in the way of her kid and her husband clinging to his arm.

  Oh no, no he’s not a kid. He’s- 

  Timmy did not have much time to recover from the last dusting before getting blasted with another. This time, a much gentler pair of hands cupped his cheeks to keep him still for the firing squad of kisses crossing his face. As suffocating as this was, he wanted to stay like this. The last time they had been this close was a sort of death. He wants a hello to replace the goodbye. What was years apart for the fairies had hit Timmy all in one day. 

    “Oh, look at you Sport!” Wanda coos, his old pet name sounding comforting. “You’ve almost grown into those teeth!”

  The human shook his head and managed to create some space between them, Cosmo about needing the jaws of life to remove.

    “‘Almost?’” His voice sounds in the midst of puberty. There is a forced, short laugh as he uses his work shirt to dry up his face for the umpteenth time today. The lipstick marks can stay for just a bit longer. 

  Wanda reaches for Cosmo’s hands, the glitter and tears making gemstones out of their eyes. 

    “You and Peri have grown into such handsome boys.” Wanda sniffles.

  Peri thinks he’d been forgotten at that moment. Now his parents had literal hearts floating around their heads as they looked at him and Timmy. 

    The latter, who apparently hadn’t noticed Peri’s transformation, manages to sound snarky. “I’m not sure if he’s grown, but he does look older.”

    “You know what? Mom might be right; your teeth still do look a bit too big.”

     Cosmo beams at his wife, “Aww, aren’t they adorable arguing? They learned from the best.”

   Their former god-kid, now with full use of his senses, took in the pastel, bubblegum interior. Most of the accent colors were pink and green. It was …. different from his bare minimum, bachelor box of an apartment. He obviously didn’t have a window to fairy world. Timmy looks out dumb struck, the clouds, glimmering buildings, and dazzling light create an avalanche of memories piling up in his mind.  

    Cosmo fly's over to his side, bracing his arm on Timmy’s shoulder. “Ahh, isn’t it pretty? Remember how many times you almost destroyed it?” He said dreamily, if it wasn’t Cosmo, it might have been taken as an accusation. 

    “I saved it just as many!”

  Wanda was about to quip that he saved it from his own destruction, but she stops herself. How did Timmy remember? They were there when Jorgan cast the spell all god-kids are cursed too. As painful as it was to think about, even now with him standing here, they had been there till the end. Cosmo and Wanda had seen that look countless times and they knew when Timmy was lost to them. 

    “Hey Kiddo,” she tentatively says, “How do you remember…well everything??”

  He had not considered that. What exactly caused this? The question compels him away from the view. 

    “I mean not everything. It - it’s been coming back in pieces.”

    A pinched, worrying expression shadows her face, “That’s not what I mean.”

Peri is shifting in place, wings humming in a nervous way as he bites at a nail. 

  Did not expect this. Well, yeah you did, I just didn’t want to answer for it. 

    “I was at work, and this bird. It - I don’t know how, but I thought of you guys. I went to my old room and then Poo- Peri was there. Then, I remembered, I guess.”

  All their gazes slide to the young fairy, hand caught in the cookie jar. 

      Even Cosmo starts to look tense, wringing his hands. “Per, what did you do?”

      He’s never been good under pressure. “OkaysoImighthaveusedDevtomakeawishthatTimmywouldrememberhisgod-parentsandbeapartoourfamilyforever.” 

  Peri has never seen his mother truly mad at him. Disappointed or upset, sure. But everything pink turns to a scarlet red. 

    “You asked your god-kid to make YOU a wish?!”

    “You have a god-kid?” Timmy blanches. 

  He raises his arms in self-defense, covering his head as he squirms under his mother's rage. 

    “Don’t be upset! I found a loophole! Like you said!” 

    “Oh Peri,” his father says, equally fearful of his wife, “that’s not a loophole. You broke the rules.”

    Peri pales, “No, no. Then, how did it work?” 

    “Do you realize that you could lose your magic!” Wanda’s words aren’t scolding, they evaporate him.

     “He’s got a point! If it wasn’t a loophole, then it shouldn’t have worked. And I obviously remember you guys.”

  The silence balances on a tightrope tension between them all. Fortunately, Timmy is an expert at avoiding responsibility and consequences. He’ll admit that maybe he hadn’t grown into his teeth, but it adds a boyish charm, and he’ll need to lay it on thick to distract Wanda. 

    “You said you had a god-kid?” He says with growing awe and a grin. 

    Peri catches what he’s throwing, though he’s not as practiced. “O-oh yeah. Yeah, I do! He’s a total nightmare. The worst really.” 

    Cosmo’s blissful idiocy is the final sale as he laughs, “Ha, oh no! Timmy was the worst god-kid we ever had! Probably the worst god-kid anyone could ever have!”

   Wanda knows exactly what the boys’ are up to, even if Cosmo doesn’t. Any anger dissipates watching Timmy’s face fall into devastation. It’s not like there’d be a resolution this very second anyway. Timmy flinches, expecting to be knocked on the head; instead, he feels Wanda’s warm palm on his cheek.”

    “It’s because you made for a much better son.”

  Timmy has no more tears to cry, his eyes just shine.

    “Of course, what did you think I meant?” 

  Oh, her dear, stupid, sweet husband. 

💫 💫💫                                                                                                                                                

   Magic is awesome. He really took it for granted as a kid, but as an adult he sees its true value. They don’t have to use a free trial on some streaming service, they can just watch Sleazy and Cheezy. Every. Single. Episode. All in a row. And they do. 

  There is no need to go to the store or wash dishes when you can conjure up spaghetti from thin air. Or fabric cleaner when you're busting at the seams from some nonsensical story your dad makes, and spill said spaghetti all over the couch. He didn’t even have to go out and buy a toothbrush! His little brother just waves his wand after teasing him on how he vomited. Timmy didn’t hold anything back about the use of his baby-rattle after that. They stay up most the night chattering like schoolgirls about Peri’s name change (it was babyish, but his god-parenting license said differently), reminiscing on past wishes and their (often horrible) outcomes, and on his first god-kid. Timmy could see why Dev would be difficult for Peri, having dismissive parents could make kids seem selfish and harsh: he would know. 

  Different as they are, fairies and humans alike need to sleep. Timmy passes out, stretched on the couch. If Peri could see himself curled under his brother’s arm, he’d deny it was actually him. Cosmo had no reservation clinging to Timmy’s leg. 

  Wanda was still awake, listening to the TV and how everyone of them had the unfortunate habit of snoring. She was deeply troubled about Peri’s ‘loophole.’ The wish he granted for Dev should not have worked. As a baby his magic had been powerful as any fairy infant but had also bent the rules. They were small discrepancies she and Cosmo had noticed: like when he was able to allow Timmy to cheat or enchant humans to do whatever his toddler heart desired. Peri’s wording of the wish was also concerning; to be a part of their family forever. Magic was fickle in its direction if not given clear instructions. It followed the true intentions of its user and forever could mean many things. She was certain that her younger son didn’t plan to lose his brother to old age. Of course, it would be Timmy Turner to upheaval the system and he had taught their little Poofiy very well on how to do it. 

  It did not matter at that moment watching her boys snuggled on the couch. Cosmo hardly stirred when she moved him up on the seat cushion and rested her head on his chest. Regardless of the implications of this wish or the events that would follow they’d face as they always did, with some magic and as a complete family.