#the bear feels safe to climb up on his head . sobs

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

@mieiri

Blue Lock art~💙

[blindmagdalena]

Night Terrors

1.6k homelander x reader. established relationship. pure comfort fic. remaster of this old prompt. very mild spoilers for s4 if you squint. mostly just wanted to self-soothe with some comfort/cuddle fic. gif credit.

It's been decades since Homelander last stepped foot in The Bad Room, but when he wakes from a nightmare of it in your shared bed, it's as if he never left.

Most of the nights you spend with Homelander are peaceful. 

Tonight is not most nights.

The scream that wakes you from a dead sleep is guttural, barely human. Homelander is sitting upright, frenzied and wild-eyed, the ocean blue of them obscured by crimson glow. You're not even sure that he sees you through it when he looks at you. He's panting like he just ran a marathon, and the comforter is ripped cleanly in half, the two sides strewn on either side of him. "John," you call softly, reaching out to touch his arm, but he jerks away from your hand like you've burned him. "Don't fucking touch me," he hisses, wrapping his arms around himself. Sometimes he is small during these fits, curled in on himself, begging you to make it stop. Not tonight. Tonight he is another self, spitting rage and violence through remembered agony. A cornered animal. "I'll fucking kill you!" "John," you say again, pleading. You know he isn't talking to you. He's speaking to the ghosts of his past. "You're in our bed. You're with me. I would never hurt you. I love you, John." His name is a double-edged sword. It cuts clean through to something at the core of him in a way that “Homelander” doesn’t. Each use of it acts like a shock to his irregulated system.

You keep your hands outstretched, but you don't touch him. You show him that you aren't holding anything. Not a pen, not a notepad, not a needle. You show that you don't mean him any harm. 

God knows he's suffered enough. With the sound of your voice, the red glow of his eyes gradually dims, flickers, and then finally it goes out entirely. He's still panting, hands moving slowly down his arms, his torso, checking himself for injury. Though his body bears no scars of the pain he’s endured, his mind knows exactly where each one of them would be. Bit by bit, you watch him come back to himself. He looks around the room, taking in the evidence of your truth. Framed photos, décor, the life you’ve built together. It isn't a concrete dungeon. It isn’t a lab. It isn’t an incinerator. It's home. "Fuck," he says quietly, hiccupping the word into his palm. He says it again, louder, screwing his glassy eyes shut. The third time he says it, it's nearly a sob. It’s agony to wait, but you don’t touch him before he’s ready. You fist the bedsheets, you don’t stop talking. I’m here. I’m right here. I love you. You’re safe. You’re not sure if it’s minutes or seconds before he reaches for you. All you know is you act immediately. You move swiftly up on your knees, climbing over the ruined blankets to take him into your arms, pulling his head to rest against your chest, bringing his ear close to the beat of your heart. You hush him while you work to unstick the words from your throat, unable to help the tears that well in your eyes.

The fear and misery in him is so palpable, you nearly feel as if it’s your own. He wraps his arms around you without hesitation, pulling you to sit sideways in his lap as he weeps against you. It's taken a long time to reach this point. He used to swallow it back like bile, adamant for the longest time that you not see this side of him, this aspect of himself that he thinks ugly, imperfect, broken. You fought for this. As you hold him through these bone-deep sobs, it shatters you that it's taken him this long for him to find someone who would. "You're safe," you whisper, battling to keep the tears from your voice. "You're home. You're with me. You're safe. I love you so, so much." He rocks back and forth, choking on his sobs. “I could feel it,” he tells you, the words barely escaping the clench of his teeth. “It hurt. Every second of it, and they just–they all just watched.”

You close your eyes, tears rolling down your cheeks and disappearing into the softness of his hair. You kiss the crown of his head again and again, combing your fingers through his hair where it’s damp with sweat and your own tears. “You’re safe now,” you whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat. It isn’t enough, but these words and touches are all you have to offer him against the torment of his childhood.

His grip on you tightens. It wouldn’t take much for him to snap you in half.

That scare you? He’d asked you once. How easily I could break you?”

No, you admitted. It makes me appreciate how hard you try not to. It takes time for his breathing to even out. His hold softens, but he doesn't relinquish you. For as terrible as the nightmares are, it's the shame he experiences in the aftermath that often requires the most care. 

You rub firm circles on his back with one hand while cradling the back of his head with the other, trailing butterfly kisses along his temple, his forehead, down to his cheek. Any part of him you can reach, you kiss, murmuring quiet assurances in between, as if to imbue him with each word. Eventually, the rocking stops. He's breathing more steadily now, arms encircled firmly around your waist. He gives a shaking sigh. "Sorry," he whispers, voice strained. That's a word in his vocabulary that rarely comes up, but when it does, it is always drenched in shame. He hates himself for this. "Don't," you whisper, carding your fingers through his hair. You sniff back your tears, letting out a breath. "I asked for this. I begged you for this," you emphasize, earnest. You cup his face, angling him to look up at you. "Let me do this for you. Please. You have nothing to be ashamed of." He stares at you with large, watery blue eyes. The whites are red, strained by the force of his grief, his durability tested only by his own power. In his gaze you see damage done to him that may never heal, but your words settle over invisible scars like a soothing balm. It’s that very look of vulnerability that has driven you to this depth of love. You know his violence, his viciousness, but so too do you know the fragile man it protects.

Most of all, the scared boy beneath it all.

His grip on you flexes, his jaw clenched. The nature of your insight into him is both a blessing and a curse to him. He cannot hide from you. You know his shame, and despite how deeply he needs your compassion, your understanding, it’s something he has to bleed for every time. He’s perpetually torn between his desperation to be your perfect hero, and his soul-deep yearning to be safely vulnerable. 

If you have to, you'll spend the rest of your life convincing him that he can have both.

Finally, his shoulders sag. "I love you," he says, quietly defeated by your warmth. "I'll never hurt you. Ever." You recognize the plea in his words. He's terrified that someday it will be too much. You’ll see what everyone else sees, and your love will be tainted–destroyed–by your inevitable fear of him. You hope one day that he’ll understand why that will never happen. Someday the depths of your love will soak in as deep as the misery of his past, and he’ll be able to forgive himself for the human way his god’s heart bleeds. "I know. I know that.” You kiss the top of his head, still rubbing his back, taking your hand away only to swipe the tears from your face. “I love you, too. Every part of you."

Even the parts you hate. Gingerly, he lifts you just enough to lay you back down on the bed. He wastes no time cuddling back in against you, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. The bedding is ruined, but he runs warm enough that you hardly notice the absence of cover while he’s holding you. Your legs tangle with his, bodies slotting together easily. He nuzzles as if he can worm his way closer than skin to skin. If you could, you’d open your ribcage to welcome him inside. He could eat your heart if it kept his beating another day.

"Will you... talk me to sleep?" He asks, threads of shame lingering in the request. The tension has drained away, leaving him vulnerable and exhausted. His blinks are slow, the curve of his lips mournful. "Of course," you whisper, smoothing your hand up and down his back. This isn’t the first time you’ve talked him back to sleep, and you doubt it’ll be the last. Sometimes you tell him the plot of a book as best you can recall, other times it's random anecdotes from your life. Sometimes it's complete nonsense. To him, it doesn't matter what you say. All that matters is that when he does finally drift back into sleep, it's your voice that safeguards him there. 

Gladly, he rests his head back down on your chest, closing his eyes with a rumbling sigh while your nails drag along his scalp. You cradle him there, savoring the warmth of him as it seeps into the marrow of your bones, the weight of him grounding you.

You tell him stories until sleep finds him. Even then, you continue to speak until your voice frays and you can no longer keep your eyes open. You speak and speak and speak hoping that somehow, in some small way, you can help make up for the years he spent with only his own voice for comfort.

[cece693]

Numb (Tony Stark x Gender Neutral! Reader)

Something that I had saved and forgot all about.

Summary: You didn't understand Tony's decision; he'd left you with a gaping hold in your heart. It was easy to feel anger and resentment, but was it really a surprise how things ended?

tags: slight comfort, post-endgame, Tony's dead, reader handles the loss, mourning, last words/message

You stood there, numb, as Tony's heart drifted farther down the lake, a small, fading dot on the horizon. The weight of what you had done pressed down on you, and without a word to anyone, you turned away, heading home. As you stepped into the house and climbed the stairs to your bedroom, everything appeared the same—yet it all felt different. The one piece that truly made this a home was now gone forever.

When Tony sacrificed himself, it was easy to be consumed by anger. How dare he leave you like this, sobbing and begging for him to return, all for the sake of Earth? After everything, after all the times they had wronged him, it was you—the one person who never turned their back on him—who was left behind. That anger still simmered beneath the surface, but now it had dulled into a numbness that spread through your entire being.

Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey had all tried to comfort you, offering words meant to soothe the unbearable loss. But their attempts only made it worse. They didn’t understand—they couldn’t. What they had lost was different from yours. Tony was your husband and he'd failed your wedding vows. Through sickness and health—the battle with Thanos had no place there.

All you wanted was to be alone, to sit with the emptiness that had taken root inside you, to feel it in its entirety without anyone trying to take it away. That emptiness, as hollow and painful as it was, felt like the last piece of Tony you had left.

Looking around, your vision blurred with unshed tears, taking in the sight of the room. It was a mess, but that was typical when living with Tony. The wardrobe door was flung open, shirts haphazardly hanging half in, half out. His favorite jacket was draped over a chair, and a pair of mismatched socks lay abandoned on the floor. It was like he had just stepped out for a moment, like he would walk back in any second with that roguish grin, asking if you’d seen his watch or where he left his keys.

Your eyes moved to the messy bed, and you couldn't help but collapse onto it. Bringing Tony's pillow to your nose, you inhaled deeply—taking in his familiar cologne and the faint scent of oil and metal that clung to everything he touched. As you lay there, your mind replaying happy memories, something caught your attention.

Hesitantly, you reached out and picked it up, your fingers trembling as you recognized the Stark tech design. With a deep breath, you activated it. A hologram flickered to life, and there he was—Tony, looking at you with that familiar blend of warmth and determination that only he could pull off.

"Hey, love." his voice was soft, almost soothing, but there was an undercurrent of sadness. "If you're seeing this, it means I'm gone. And I know you're angry, probably cursing my name right now. Believe me, I didn’t want to leave you. God, I wanted to stay more than anything."

He paused, as if searching for the right words. "But…you know me. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to save everyone. It’s who I am—who I've always been. I know that’s not an excuse, and it doesn’t make it hurt any less. But I need you to understand that I didn’t choose them over you. I chose all of us. I couldn't bear the thought of a world where you weren't safe."

Tony’s image flickered slightly, and you could see the pain in his eyes. "I hate that I hurt you. But you…you're stronger than you know. And I need you to keep going, to live your life, even without me in it. Because, in a way, I’m still here. I’m always with you."

He took a shaky breath, and his voice softened. "I love you. I’ve loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you, and I will love you until the end of time. Forever, remember? That’s what we promised. And I’m keeping that promise, even now."

As the hologram continued, you could hear the faint background noise—a gentle clinking of dishes, the hum of a movie soundtrack. Your heart ached as you recognized the scene: it was the last day you spent together. The day you cooked dinner side by side, the laughter you shared, and the quiet intimacy of watching a movie on the couch.

Now everything made sense. Tony’s extra affection, his words of love, and the lingering touches—they were all part of his farewell. It was as if he had known he wouldn’t have another chance to show you how much you meant to him. The realization hit you like a wave. How long had Tony known his fate? How long had he been preparing to say goodbye, knowing he had to make every moment count?

As the hologram began to flicker and lose its stability, Tony’s image took on a more solemn, resigned expression. His voice softened even further, as if he were speaking directly to your heart.

“I have to go now. But remember this—no matter where I am, my love for you will never fade. It’s with you always, even in the darkest moments. If there's an afterlife, I'll be waiting for you.” The hologram shimmered one last time, and with a final, loving glance, Tony’s image faded into the darkness. Clutching the device to your chest, the tears that you have been holding back finally spilled over.

[littlemissvenom0]

Part 2 — “Stay With Me”

(Reader's POV)

The days blurred after the kitchen. I didn't remember much, only bits and pieces: Robin rocking me back and forth until her arms shook. Eddie sobbing harder than I ever thought he could. Dustin clutching onto Eddie’s jacket, wailing broken apologies even though none of this was his fault. Steve standing frozen at the door, his face crumbling when he saw me flinch away from him.

After that, everything faded to grey.

Robin stayed with me after. She offered — more like insisted. Said it wasn’t safe to leave me alone, not after what happened. I didn’t argue.

The first night, she curled up behind me in bed, arms wrapped around my middle so gently it barely felt like a touch. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. The silence between us was enough. The kind of silence you only share with someone who's seen your ghosts and still refuses to run.

The second night, she helped me bathe. Not because I asked, but because I couldn't do it myself. Every time I looked at the water, I saw hands that weren't mine dragging me under. I was afraid I'd drown in six inches of bathwater, and honestly, it didn’t sound so bad.

Robin gave me privacy to undress. I stepped into the tub, my body aching, my mind screaming. By the time she came back in, I was already shaking — from cold or fear, I didn’t know anymore.

She tried so hard to act normal, talking about random things — her favorite movies, her newest obsession with Weird Al — but I could feel the way her voice cracked.

When she caught sight of my back, I knew. I heard her tiny intake of breath. Saw her reflection in the mirror — the way her hand flew to her mouth, the way her face drained of color like she might be sick.

“—I’ll be right back,” she choked, fleeing the room so fast it made the air shiver.

I sat there, dripping and broken, feeling like a monster no one could bear to look at.

Then I heard footsteps. Another shadow at the door.

I didn't have to turn around to know it was him. I felt him like a weight against my skin.

Steve.

He must’ve caught a glimpse of me in the mirror too, because I heard it: The shaky gasp he couldn’t hold back. The ragged whisper of my name like it burned his throat.

I curled in tighter, my arms crossing over my chest, trying to hide what he already saw.

I felt him sit down — the stall creaked under his weight — but I didn’t lift my head. Couldn’t.

He sat there for a long time. Long enough that the water started to go cold. Long enough that I started to shiver.

Finally, he spoke, voice hoarse.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. It cracked open something inside me, something I didn’t even realize was still whole enough to break. “I’m so sorry, baby. I didn’t— I didn’t know. I should’ve known. I should’ve listened.”

The words fell into the space between us like tiny stones, one after another, building a wall I didn’t have the strength to climb.

“I love you,” he said. A tiny, broken thing. Almost a question.

Still, I didn’t look up.

Instead, I said, so quietly I barely heard myself:

“I saw you.”

Steve shifted beside me. I heard the scrape of his jeans against the tile.

“I saw you... and Nancy. In the car.” The words stuck like knives in my throat, but I forced them out. “Vecna showed me. I was... I was floating, and I saw it. I saw her kiss you. You kissed back.”

The silence that followed was so thick it suffocated me.

Steve didn’t move. Didn’t deny it. Didn’t say anything at all.

“I think he thought it would break me,” I mumbled, my fingers tracing aimless shapes in the water. “Make me let go. Make me go to him. And for a second...” I swallowed hard. “For a second, I almost did.”

Tears blurred my vision again, not that it mattered. I barely felt them now.

“But then I heard them,” I whispered. “Robin. Eddie. Dustin. They were screaming for me. Crying for me. And I—I stayed. I stayed for them.”

I finally turned my head just enough to see him. He looked destroyed. Eyes glassy, mouth trembling, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white.

Still, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t tell me I was wrong. Didn’t tell me it wasn’t what it looked like.

He just stood up. Like the sight of me was too much.

And he left. He walked out without a single word.

I heard Robin’s voice outside the bathroom, sharp and angry. She must have heard everything.

“You should leave,” she said coldly. Her voice didn’t sound like Robin anymore. It sounded like steel.

I didn’t hear Steve’s reply. If he even had one.

But I heard the door slam a minute later. The sound echoed through the house like a gunshot.

I sat there until the water was ice cold. Until my skin went numb. Until I couldn’t tell if the tears on my face were real or just another hallucination.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew Robin came back. I felt her gentle hands lift me from the tub, wrap me in a towel, guide me back to bed. She tucked me in like I was made of glass.

She didn’t say anything. She just crawled into bed beside me again, wrapping her arms around me like before, grounding me with the steady beat of her heart against my back.

And for once, I didn’t feel like I was drowning alone.

But even in her arms, I kept my eyes open.

Because every time I closed them, I saw him.

Vecna.

Still waiting.

Still reaching.

Still there.

[cyborg-franky]

prompt: I’d like to ask for something with Ace and Sabo meeting again as adults (so Ace didn’t die at Marineford)

Sabo and Ace [NOT SHIP] SFW Ace didn’t die AU

Word Count: 737

----

Ace held his hat in place as he climbed out the window of the restaurant, the bone of a chicken leg hanging out his mouth as he grinned around it, leaping out the window and landing with a heavy thud of clunky boots on the other side. Dust kicked up and swirled around as he quickly got his bearings, looking down the tight alley between the buildings, picking his direction to run.

Taking off to the right, just as screams and yells poured from the open window he’d exited from. Ace laughed and ate the meat from the bone still clenched in his jaw, tossing it over his shoulder as he turned the corner, skidding and gripping the corner of the building to catapult himself around the bend.

And straight into a blond man in a ridiculous hat. Ace and the stranger let out a mixed collection of surprising sounds. Sabo winced and gripped the bare shoulders of the freckled man who’d almost sent him tumbling to the ground. Ace stared up at the well-dressed man.

Something in the back of his mind screamed at him not to run away, that he needed to be around the blond, there was such a surreal sense of familiarity when he looked over the confused face. The feeling of a bond that ran deeper and thicker than any bloodlines prickled through him, he couldn’t bring himself to move.

The gloved hands on his sun-kissed skin seemed comforting somehow, the worried look in Sabo’s eyes, the furrowed brow as he took a moment to collect his jumbled thoughts, all if it felt like home to Ace. Something from the past he’d tried to banish from his sad nights of reminiscing about times that had faded away.

Those memories that seemed like a faded sepia-stained polaroid, awaiting the day colour would be restored. Sabo sucked in a breath through his teeth as he saw Ace for the first time, taking in how he was dressed, the tattoo on his arm.

Sabo knew this man from the wanted poster that had triggered all his lost memories, he watched the man he was gripping. He could feel tears brimming in his eyes as his mouth hung open, words failing him as emotions all battled with one another to be felt first.

Ace cocked his head to one side, blinking as the stranger with the familiar presence gripped his shoulders tighter, the leather of Sabo’s gloves making a creak, one that matched his trembling voice as he blinked away tears “A-Ace?”

“You know me?”

Before Sabo could utter another word the shouting of Ace’s pursuers rang through the air, cutting the confused air like a knife to butter. Sabo moved his hands, reaching for Ace’s and pulling him along the street.

Sabo remembered this part of their childhood, he ran with Ace in tow, the memories of those days together as children bubbled to the surface. Their laughter, grins, and leaving Luffy in the dirt as they ran from their younger brother.

Ace felt it too, something about this moment, his hand in the other man’s. The way Sabo’s blue coat fluttered in the wind as they picked up the pace, kicking up dust and gravel in their wake as they escaped from the centre of the small town into the thick forest that cupped the town in a cosy nest, safe from the world.

“S-Sabo?” Ace’s voice didn’t feel like his own as the name fell from his lips, he was sure this man was his brother he just didn’t know how.

He almost stumbled over his feet before Sabo leapt over a bush, not even giving Ace a heads up. The flame user huffed as he tripped and tumbled over the shrubbery, laughing when he landed painfully on his ass. Sabo laughed loudly as he stopped running, turning to watch Ace sit there, chuckling to himself as tears ran down his freckled cheeks.

“Sabo!”

“Ace!”

Sabo smiled and offered Ace a hand just to have the pirate pull him forward, landing on his knees between Ace’s legs as arms wrapped around his body, Ace sobbing against him, years of guilt, sorrow, longing slipped from his shoulders, his heart ached as he struggled to catch his breath through his crying.

“S-Sabo. I… I’m..”

“I know, it’s okay.” Sabo ran his hand through Ace’s messy hair and smiled at his brother, his tears cascading down his face.

[nehime]

❝𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐀❞

summary : 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

tags: 𝐦𝐚𝐣𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 ; 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭

“Shh, (y/n) it’s okay, you’ll be fine”

Will you? 2 months, it’s been 2 months since you’ve been hearing this voice in the back of your mind. It’s like it’s haunting you. It’s like a gospel you have to repeat everyday. “Am i really fine? Without-“

Yes you are. You have to be. You have to be strong and healthy for the sake of-

Every night you cry yourself to sleep, looking at the empty side of your bed with teary eyes. Eyes red and swollen every morning.

“No no! You’re not right! You can’t leave me!”

2 months since you started crying nonstop, why? What- No, who is so important to you for crying every night, every morning? Hugging your pillow as if it was-

-Him

Nanami Kento. The love of your life that swore he’ll never leave you, never let you alone in this cruel world. You wanted to end it all. Is this what lovesick people felt? Is this what people who’s crazy in love feel after their love leaves them?

No he’s not a bad person, even if it was his last breath, his mind was only you, you, you and you. Even though he’s dying, all his worries are about you, you and you. You should stay alive for him. That’s what he said.

You were out here, no one knows where. You followed Nanami’s location. It’s past 4 in the middle of the night. Speeding your car up as you drove past the trees and buildings, looking over to the signal if you’re getting closer.

As you followed his location, it took you to an empty road. You parked the vehicle as you ran up the mountain, looking for any signs of him. You were in the middle of the woods, hearing bears growling, wolves howling. You’re scared to death, but you’re not dying until you find him.

It started to rain, storms were pouring heavily. You flinched when a huge tree fell down because of the storm. ‘No no no, stay strong, stay safe—for him!’ You repeated it like a mantra, your hair and clothes soaked in the rain as you kept on climbing up the mountain.

—

Boulder and blood.

Nanami leaned down to the ground, breathing heavily as blood seeped out from his abdomen. You ran to him, holding his head in your arms as you embraced him, tears rolling down your face along with the raindrops. His blood streamed down the puddle as he struggled to speak.

“Love, Lis—fuck—ten” He breathlessly mouthed, his hand resting on your chin as you shook your head in disbelief, not wanting to hear him.

“Don’t say anything! You’re not dying! Please!” You sobbed, as his touch lingered on your chin. You don’t want to let him go. Not like this. He promised you a happy life. Is the jujutsu world really this cruel? Do they have to take him away from you.

“We’ll m-meet…again i—breathe—i..promise. J-Just…stay alive…for me, please” He smiled as he kissed you, using up his last vitality before falling back. You catched his head right before it hit the boulder, not believing your mind as warm tears poured down your face. “No no! You’re not right! You can’t leave me!” You hugged him tightly, as if you were locking his soul within your heart as his blood stained your clothes.

It’s not love..if it hurts…it’s not love if his soul isn’t here. Isn’t here with you.

a/n: short angst cause i can’t write shit

[lacontroller1991]

Fluff/WhumpTOBER Day 17: RJ MacCready x F!Sole

Day 17: Only One Bed/No Where Else To Go Masterlist Warnings: 18+, Major Character Death, PTSD, Graphic Depictions of Gore, Forced to Relive Trauma, poor Mac can't get a break, language, blood, guts Word Count: 1.9k Author's Note: I really hope this one does well because I loved writing it and I hope you guys enjoy! This was a result of a poll I took back in September.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been running for. His heart pounds loudly in his ears as his feet slam on the pavement, lungs straining for a breath of air. But he can’t stop. He can’t stop running. Not when there are two deathclaws on his tail and a looming radstorm above. He needs to get somewhere safe, and fast.

“Mac! Over here!” He manages to hear your voice shout out against the echoing thunder. Spotting your frame going into a building, he takes a hard right onto the grass, begging his legs to just push him a little further until he can get somewhere where deathclaws can’t go. Though, he supposes that they can go into a building, or rather, crash into a building, but now is really not the time to be thinking of that when one swings out to him, tearing the tail end of his duster more than it already is.

Bursting through the doors, he slams them shut, shoving a nearby couch against the door just in time for the door to shake from the strength of a deathclaw slamming into it. “(Y/N)?” He calls out to you, pulling some bullets from his pockets and reloading the camber of his rifle, keeping it pointed toward the door. “(Y/N)?” She did go in here, right? MacCready takes another step back before the floor gives out underneath him, causing him to fall through the trapdoor and down a dark, cold slide. Shit, shit, shit, shit. 

The slide spits him out onto damp concrete, his butt sore from landing on it as he tries to get his bearings. “Well, about time you joined me.”

“What?”

“Mac, get up,” he feels your hands wrap around his bicep, hoisting him up as his awareness starts coming to him, the groaning of ghouls echoing around them. Oh no. Shaking his head, he takes a quick look at you and hates the look of fear that he instantly spots in your eyes. “Mac, we’re fucked.” Tilting his head, he takes a few steps forward, the grasp on his arm tightening. At the end of the platform is a steep drop off, and below them, hundreds of ghouls. His heart stops.

Visions of a metro station flooding his field of view as the noise of the ghouls amplify. This can’t be happening again. “Mac, come back to me.” Your voice snaps him out of his trance as his heart thumps against his ribcage, his vision tunneling. 

“Lucy?”

“No, it’s (Y/N). We need to get out of here.” He watches as you look around, trying to find an escape, only for a sob to wreck through your body when you find one, in a sea of ghouls. 

“There’s gotta be another way out,” it’s a foolish sense of hope, but he can’t, won’t, let this happen again. Climbing into the slide, he tries to wiggle his way up the dark tube only to slip back down. “It’s too steep to climb.”

“I know, I already tried it. What are we going to do?” This is the second time in his life where his smart mouth has nothing to say. Not answering you, MacCready peers back over the edge, trying to count how many ghouls there are, only to not like the number. 

“We don’t have enough bullets to take them.” The ghouls below them stretch their arms out, trying to reach for the two of them, but with no success. Turning to you, he strides over, taking your face in his hands and pressing his lips against yours, pouring all of his love out to you. He’s never kissed you like that before. “I’m sorry I got us into this mess again, Lucy.” He feels you pull away from him, tears of betrayal in your eyes.

“Robert, it’s me. (Y/N).” His blue eyes blink slowly and you can tell that he’s not here with you. He’s back in DC with Lucy and Duncan. A sharp slap lands across his face, cheek stinging as his head shakes, eyes blinking in confusion.

“(Y/N)? What happened?” He looks around, confusion and fear written on his face. “Where are we?”

“I don’t know. I just know that there’s at least a hundred ghouls beneath us and you can’t focus. I’m not saying that I’m blaming you, but Mac, I need you to concentrate. I need you here, with me.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Do you have any more grenades? Maybe we can try to clear some of them out and hightail it toward that exit.”

“I have one, the rest were used trying to get those deathclaws off our tails.” Mac thinks for a moment before taking the grenade in his hands, vomit threatening to rise in his throat. He knows what he has to do, what he should’ve done all those years ago. He should’ve sacrificed himself for Lucy and Duncan. Lucy should be alive and well, watching over their son. And he’d be damned if he’s not going to take the fall this time. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out whatever ammo he has left and hands it to you, tears welling in his eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What I should’ve done years ago. I’m not going to let another person I care about take the fall while I get out. I’ll throw the grenade toward the exit, hopefully it’ll clear out the ghouls blocking the door and while you escape I’ll keep their attention.”

“What the fuck? No, MacCready. I throw the grenade and cause a distraction and you get out of here,” he watches as you pull the katana from its holster on your back. “I’ll try to cut down as many as I can while you get out of here.”

“No way in hell.”

“Shut up, Mac. You have Duncan you need to take care of. Duncan needs his dad. He doesn’t need me.” You take the grenade from his hand but his grip on it tightens, lips turning down into a frown. 

“No. I can’t let you take the fall for me. I need to be the one to do this. I should’ve been the one who died, not Lucy. Just like now, I should be the one who dies, not you. I’ve only done bad in this world, you’re trying to change it for the better. I trust that you’ll take care of Duncan for me.” He takes a step toward the ledge but you pull him back, wrapping your arms around his body and pressing your lips against his, the salt from your tears mixing in with your combined saliva. “I love you, (Y/N). I’m so sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” with your weight, you manage to drop your body down and sweep his leg out from underneath him, causing him to fall on his back as you replace the grenade in his hands with his bullets.

“I love you, Robert MacCready, don’t forget me.” He watches in horror, scrambling to his feet to try and hold you back but again, he’s too slow.

Your body disappears from view as an explosion on the opposite end of the room goes off, but the thump of your body is all that he hears as he crawls to the edge. Somehow, you had managed to slide down the cliff and only cut your leg open, drawing the attention of the ghouls. The sound of their gargling and your sword slicing through the bodies rings in his ears. “FUCKING RUN ROBERT!”

The path toward the door starts thinning out as you draw the ghouls toward you. For a minute he sees his Lucy, eyes wide with fear, trying her hardest to put on a brave face for MacCready and Duncan, but he sees through it. Run, Bobby! Take Duncan and run! Lucy wouldn’t want him dying like she did. Lucy wouldn’t want Duncan to grow up without either of his parents. Gripping onto the stock of his rifle, he pushes himself onto his feet, before jumping over the edge and sliding down the platform, hitting the solid floor beneath him with a resounding crack against the back of his head. Reaching up to rub his head, his fingers come in contact with warm fluid, but it’s too dark to see what it is. He knows what it is. Fuck. 

In a daze, he manages to get up before a ghoul could land on him. Running toward the exit, the gun in his hands feels like the weight of Duncan when he was a baby. How did this happen again? A loud scream halts him in run, fear racing down to his very core.

“RUN ROBERT! RU-” the words fall short as a sickening crunch reverberates in his ears, the sound of your body spurting blood causes his stomach to do somersaults as he’s brought back to the metro station. Your screams of terror and fear meld into Lucy’s screams before ending with sounds of body parts splattering against the cold tile. Tears fall down his face as he wills his legs to push him forward. 

I’ve failed them. Both of them. He uses his gun to shoot the brains out of the nearest ghoul, jumping over the fallen body as he breaks for the exit. Almost there, almost there. 

Run, Bobby, take care of our son.

Don’t look back, Mac, get out of here.

The voices in his brain repeat as his lungs struggle for air. We love you, Robert.

==========

MacCready shoots out of the bed with a scream, chest heaving as he gulps in air. His body drips with sweat as his heart threatens to lurch out of his chest.  It’s been months since the event, and he hasn’t been able to sleep since. Not even with Duncan in his arms.

“Bobby?” A gravelly voice accompanies him, soft arms wrapping around his torso as a face presses into his back. “Another?”

“Yeah,” MacCready chokes, not daring to look down at your arm where multiple bite mark scars litter your supple flesh. “It’s like everytime I try to sleep, I just see us, back there. I just see you and Lucy dying each time.” He can feel your frown against his bare back before lips press softly against the skin. 

The truth of the matter is that you didn’t die. You’re a lot more handy with a katana than either of you had thought and you had made it through the horde of ghouls with only several tears at your skin. He counts it off as sheer luck, silently thanking whatever might be out there while you had played it off as watching one too many episodes of a tv show back in your day. “Bobby, we should really see Curie about this, I know PTSD has different forms and such, but maybe she has something to help you.” He knows that you’re probably right, given that you’ve had to go through this with your late spouse, but still, you had almost died, just like Lucy, and he was powerless to prevent it.

“Let’s try to go back to sleep, baby.” You manage to coax him to lay down, his body adjusting so that his head rests against your chest, your heart beating strong and steady in comparison with his own. MacCready doesn't do much but the moment you fall back into a slumber, he’s holding onto you just a little bit tighter.

-fin-

@unrepentantweirdo

[youunravelme]

congrats on 1k, my sweet!!!! you deserve this and so much more for your amazing talent and kindness🫶🏼

but listen… hear me out… what about a cutie little fic where mat confides in mama bear for the first time about how he feels like a shit dad because he has to leave so often because of work and has missed many little “firsts” that ella has had? maybe he brings up how ella really likes her more than him again, but now he’s not saying it in a light harded joking manner?

DANI. A WOMAN AFTER MY OWN HEART!

there were a few things you'd gathered and learned about mat over the time you'd know him. you knew how he took his coffee (black) or the fact that he has a big sweet tooth (who puts nutella on bagels anyway?).

the obvious things you'd learn was how he was an insanely good hockey player and knew it too.

you, however, weren't expecting the insecurity that was shallowly hidden among the cocky smirks and jokes. the vulnerability he only shared with you after you'd gotten together.

it'd come to a head when ella refused to be held by him on the way to the park, insisting on clinging to you. in the moment, you didn't see the way mat's face fell, the way his jaw clenched before he slapped on an unbothered face. you didn't even notice anything was wrong until ella went to bed and it was just the two of you sitting on the couch.

"does she hate me?" mat asked.

your head immediately turned to focus on him, where you say lines being drawn between his brows. there was a tension in his shoulders you ached to unwind. "what?"

"i mean, i know i joke about her loving you more, but what if that's true. what if my own flesh and blood doesn't love me? and it's my fault really, i'm never home during the season. what if i turn into an absentee dad who can't even remember what she likes or what she's allergic to? what if--"

you climbed into his lap, straddling his legs. on instinct, his hands came up to rest on your hips. from this position, you could see the worry marring his face, you wanted nothing more than to make it dissolve.

"that little girl adores you, mathew barzal. you're all she wants when you're not home."

"but she wants nothing to do with me when i am home."

"i was the same way, according to my mom," you said. "but i loved my dad, i just wanted to love him on my own terms."

mat grunted but let it go.

as much as he could at least.

days passed and he didn't bring it up again, but you were more conscientious of what you and ella did around him. but it didn't matter, ella didn't seem to give two shits that her dad was distraught, but you knew it was because she was two and mat was doing his best to hide his devastation.

it wasn't until a week after the conversation that things changed.

you heard a scream from the other room at what had to be 2am. your heart was pounding in your chest before you recognized the cries as ella's. mat's arm tightened around you before he too realized it was ella probably having a nightmare.

the screaming and crying got louder until the door to your shared bedroom opened. and there stood ella, mat's carbon copy, full on sobbing with her stuffed hippo pulled into her chest. you immediately got out of bed and walked over to her.

"it's okay, ella bean. i'm here, we're here, you're safe."

but as soon as you reached out to touch her, she shrieked and backed away. "no!" she screamed. "daddy! i need daddy!"

mat was out of bed in an instant, scooping his daughter up and shushing her cries into his bare chest. "you're okay, baby," he said. "daddy won't let anything happen to you, i promise." he pressed kisses into the side of her head while he made eye contact with you.

see? you mouthed. she loves you.

[box-architecture]

"I'll be back," Punz reassured him, pressing their lips to his forehead, and then his mouth. "I'm just going to do a little investigating."

Their kiss had lingered a little longer than it needed to, Dream fighting the urge to grip Punz's wrist and make them stay; no matter how he could try to play it off, Punz would know why. He didn’t want them to worry. He didn't need to be coddled. He wasn't some weak, simpering thing, unable to fend for himself. He was strong.

The room felt small and dark.

After a few moments of hesitation, he tucked himself into the corner of the strange living room, flicking the the Redstone lamp on and pulling a well-cushioned armchair with him to slump in. From the position he was in he could see everyone coming into the room, although only there were only three occupants total in the… house, he supposed it was. There was only two people he could expect to see through that door, and one was almost here.

The shuffling of paws announced Sam's arrival, as expected.

"Dream?" He poked his head into the room, before the rest of him followed. "I'm back."

"Welcome back." Dream gave a faint smile. Sam smiled back, though the dark circles under his eyes made it weak at best. "How was your walk?"

He didn't call them 'patrols,' even if he that's what they were. Sam didn't correct him, didn't even make a face, so they were both free to live in the lie. "It was good! No cracks in the walls, no signs of damage. Farm crops replanted and the water is flowing steady and clean."

"That's good." Dream mumbled. He tried not to stare too obviously at the way Sam's eyes were red-rimmed from tears. He stopped going into panic attacks, but the crying had simply become better hidden. Punz had forced Sam to cover his arms so he couldn’t chew on them, but Dream could spot the teeth marks on his wrist, puncturing the skin. "Come here."

Sam dithered for a moment, but Dream held out a hand and Sam came forward, taking it in his own.

"What's wrong, Sam?" Dream asked quietly.

"Nothing!" Sam said quickly. He put on a strained smile that fooled no one.

"Sammy." Dream put a hint pleading in his tone, and Sam crumbled, partially climbing into the armchair as he fell into Dream's arms.

"You're safe. That's what matters, you're safe." He spoke like he was trying to convince himself.

"Safe from what? What's out there, Sam?"

Sam shuddered, but did not reply. He buried his face into Dream's neck and curled around him like a desperate shield.

He debated for a moment, before sighing in resignation. "… If you don't tell me, I'm going to have to go find out for myself."

The air of the room shifted, becoming a live wire as Sam's body tensed on top of him.

"No, you can't go!" Sam panicked. "You can't!"

Dream pushed back a little, trying to stand. "But we-"

Instantly, he was shoved back down, strong paws pinning him to the seat in an almost painful grip as the claws set in. Sam loomed over him, tall and shadowy and altogether inhuman, and Dream could feel the pulse of the lava, and the long healed wounds that wracked his body with pain. It was too sudden, too much, his vision began to waver, and his mind might have slipped into the past and been lost had he not spied the horrible, horrible tears in Sam's eyes.

"No no no no." Sam trembled. "You can't go, it's not safe, you need to be safe, please."

"Sammy," Dream gasped out. "You're hurting me."

Sam stilled. His claws sheathed. The room was unbearably quiet, the loudest sound being Dreams uneven breaths.

-

And I don't have more writing I just think Sam should sob and apologize and loaf at Dreams feet and be very miserable because He Hurt His Dream until Dream gets his bearings and pets his hair.

And they end up cuddling on the floor while Sam tries to be The Most Gentle even while crying, and Dream shushes him and curls into him and feels in over his head. Because he doesn't know what's going on!!!!! (The Egg is back and Stronger and Sam is scared and trying to protect his Partners, one of whom is Also traumatized by the Egg)

And Sam isn't entirely stable right now, he's prone to panic attacks and crying and Dream can't help because Sam won't tell them why they're in the bunker, can't soothe him and promise to make it better, and being trapped like this scares him a little, takes a toll on him, and Punz is trying to find a way out.

-

They only get a moment before it overtakes them.

It had been a week long plan in the making: memorize Sam's schedule, make sure Dream was downstairs and unable to be implicated, so if Sam got angry- they couldn't take that chance, not now. Sam had been a mess since this entire thing started, tears and worry, but Punz wouldn't let any chance of anger be turned against Dream. Not again. Not ever.

So Punz hadn't told him anything; they were going to the top of Sam's renovated Stronghold, breaking through the layers of obsidian hidden beneath the furnishings to reach the dirt, and then the sky. There was something out there, they knew, something that Sam was afraid of, but Punz was confident that whatever was out there, it was something they could handle.

The sun is a bright, blinding red.

-

I realized I don't have the energy to write the rest but I'm shaking you because like. The Egg has fully taken over the server and there's Vines and they've been trying to get inside Sam's bunker but have been unable to until Punz breaks the obsidian and then it Immediately attacks him and tries to dig its way into his chest, and its holding him down and Punz is having a panic attack because They Had Trauma And This Is So Fucked

but Sam shows up and throws water on the vines and they Wither- because the water source that the bunker has been using is entirely holy water from the Prime Church that Sam has stolen and piped throughout the bunker. They've been drinking and holy water this entire time to prevent any chance of the Egg getting inside them through food or drink.

and Sam covers up the hole with Obsidian and checks Punz's shirt (it tore through their sweatshirt but hadn't managed to get any farther.) before half-loafing on Punz and purring to try and calm their panic.

theres many gears in my brain because like. Sam is making a Bad Decision by hiding his Partners in bunker without telling them what the problem is but he knew Dream would insist he could handle it just fine and Punz would have 30 internal meltdowns and Sam also has Trauma regarding having his entire mind being controlled so he's Making These Bad Decisions With Good Intentions

He Loves Them Very Much He Doesn't Want Them To Get Hurt Or To Have To Suffer

[meetmyothersouls]

Today I had to put my dog down. He was almost 17 years old and I'm so heartbroken right now.

Could I please request some comfort Timmy fic please?

I don't have an specific idea. Just anything, really. If you feel like it.

Thank you.

Anything for you <3 I hope this helps you feel a little bit better.

Comfort in Darkness

Warnings: darkness, being sad, crying, fluff

"Sneaking into my room again, y/n?" Timothee says, in the darkness of his cabin. His voice is playful in his usual flirty tone he uses with you. You sniffle once and it instantly chances. “Y/n? What’s wrong?” And he’s on his feet.

"I'm sorry, I just...I need you," you say in a small voice. He doesn't have a single light on in his one room cabin. Or the TV or even his phone. The total darkness is all encompassing, and you start to back up against the front door desperate for a surface to ground you. You gasp when your hand is pulled, and your body softly thuds against his. You can't see him, but you can feel him. You can smell him. His usual scent that you love so much: spearmint, Irish Spring bar soap and the faintest hint of cigarettes. Not overwhelming just enough for the scent of tobacco to make you feel at home. Your eyes close as your cheek rests against his chest. You don't even come up to his collar bones. You feel safe in the long, lanky arms that snake around your body and push you against him.

"Never apologize for needing me," Timothee whispers as his thumb rubs the skin on the back of your shoulder. "Ever." Your eyes adjust to the darkness, accompanied by the moonlight peeking through the curtains on the far wall of the cabin, backlighting Timothee's figure in an almost angelic way. You can see him now, but just barely. He tilts your chin up, and you see him lick his lips before he brings them down to meet yours. Timothee presses his lips against yours softly. A whisper of a kiss, as if testing your waters to make sure he doesn't push you too far. "Come sleep with me tonight," he says, now pulling you to a bed you can't quite see in the darkness.

"No, no. It's okay. I really shouldn't. I shouldn't have-"

"You walked all the way from your cabin, y/n. At least stay here with me for the night," Timothee says, almost pleading. Like he needs you just as much as you need him.

"Someone might see."

"It's just you and me in here, y/n."

"But in the morning. In the morning they might see."

"So let them. I'm not letting you walk back to your cabin tonight. It's late, there's bears and mountain lions out there." He's walked you to his bed and he's climbing in, scooting all the way over to the right side. He pulls what you know is a flannel sheet over him, but holds it open for you to crawl in next to him. The moon shines brighter through the window above his bed. You can make out every curl on his head now, and his sleepy eyes you love so much. He pats the mattress. "Please, baby? Don't go back. You came here for a reason, now let me help you sleep."

He had you at 'please' and 'baby' was just icing on the cake. You crawl in without another word and Timothee immediately pulls your body against his. You snake a leg in between his and his ankle pulls you in closer.

"You wanna tell me what's going on," Timothee asks after a few moments of silence and several soft kisses to your forehead.

"I just," you pull away from him lightly and he turns fully on his side so he's making eye contact with you in the darkness, giving you his full attention. His hand finds your hip and pulls you closer to him. You smile. He always wants you close. His hand stays there, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin. You swallow hard, attempting to say what your thoughts without crying, but you feel that lump in your throat and your eyes burning, begging you to let the tears fall. Your voice shakes as you try to speak again. "I've been having a hard time and-" you break off in a sob.

"Shh, shhh, baby, it's okay. It's okay I'm right here," Timothee whispers, pulling the rest of your body into him. "It's okay you tell me when you're ready, okay?" Your face rests comfortably in between his shoulder and his neck, and the scent you love so much is amplified in the soft crook of skin. You would live here if you could. You kiss the skin lightly, not able to hold back. You feel his jaw move into a smile above you. Timothee chuckles, "you know what neck kisses do to me, y/n, but I'm gonna hold back because you're sad." His voice is soft and playful and that alone brings a smile to your face. "How about you get some sleep, and if you're feeling up to it in the morning you can tell me what's going on?"

You kiss his neck again, and the groan you hear him hold back brings you joy. "That sounds good, Timmy, thank you."

Tags: @dayafied @soulofendlessbook @fashphotolife @scentedkittenperfection @weasleytwinscumslut @timotheel0ver @mxciscastleintheair @marvelmaniac2000 @lovelyrocker @divine-1 @love-poems-only @starberry-cake @inlovewithphantasy @alexagirlie @misswestfall @softhecreator @livresjaunes @timmymyluv @inannamoon @harrys-thick-thighs @s-we-e-t-t-ea @timolaurence @its-schmackin-dude @justagirlwhoneedshelp @kteezy997 @sufferingstarlight @xoxoloverb @tropicalrozmajzl @iloveneilperry @syirnge @patronsaintofthetwinks @roseboysareprettier @onlyenoughiamweird

[atlasscrumpit]

Miguel O'Hara x Kid Reader

(Could be a ship fic if you really want it to be? Not between the reader and Miguel lol) 

Miguel came over to where you were colouring in at the dining table.

"Sweetheart, I'm having someone over for dinner tonight. He knows about you and really wants to meet you, do you feel up to it?" He asked as you stopped colouring and looked at him.

"Only if I get extra dessert." You said making him chuckle and shake his head. He held out his hand and shook your smaller one.

"You've got a deal."

--

Miguel was doing his best to calm you down while you screamed and cried.

"Stop it!" You screamed as Miguel stopped, he knew getting frustrated wasn't the way to do it.

He backed away and breathed a little as you threw your hands around and cried.

Miguel knew you were overstimulated and panicking.

"Sweetheart, it's okay! Can you stop just for a moment and we'll do what we practiced okay?" Miguel said as you gripped your head and 

nodded.

"Okay, baby. Get into comfy clothes, climb into bed and I'll do the rest, okay?" He said as you sniffled and ripped off the uncomfortable clothes and go into a nighty.

You climbed into bed, clinging onto your bear as you sobbed.

Miguel came back with a small light projector, your headphones and a weighted blanket.

He set it all up for you and placed the headphones around your head as he turned off the lights and let the star light projector dance around your room.

He kissed your forehead knowing you weren't paying attention to anything but white noise and the stars.

Miguel slowly closed your door and sighed softly before hearing a knock at the door.

He quickly fixed his hair before opening the door.

"Peter! It's great to see you." Miguel said as Peter hugged him and patted his back.

"You too, no offence but you've got dad gut." He said as Miguel chuckled and rolled his eyes.

"So, where's Y/N?" Peter asked placing a bottle of wine down onto the table.

"We had a bit of a moment... So she's in her room settling down." Miguel said as Peter smiled and nodded.

"That's okay whenever she's ready, even if she doesn't want to I understand. How's it been going with her?" Peter asked as Miguel set the table with dinner.

"Good, it's taken a lot of therapy and work but she's finally realising that it's safe here and she's even calling me dad." Miguel said proudly as his friend smiled brightly.

They heard your door open and looked up to see you shuffling over to the table, still holding your bear.

"Can I have some dinner?" You whispered shyly as Peter smiled at you.

Miguel pulled out a chair for you and patted it.

"Here you go, baby." Miguel said before he grabbed a plate for you.

As the night went on Miguel watched you become even more relaxed around Peter, you'd even shown him your drawings.

"Can your daughter come over one day?" You asked as Peter chuckled.

"Of course! She would love to meet you, I think you guys would be best friends." He said making you laugh a little.

"Alright, it's getting late. Say goodbye and we'll get you into bed, okay?" Miguel said picking you up as you nodded and waved at Peter.

"Bye, Peter." You said before he said his goodbyes and left.

You yawned and rested your head against Miguel's shoulder.

"He's nice, I like him." You muttered making a Miguel chuckle softly.

"Time for bed, pumpkin."

[thefrcrimsonfcker]

Angst

Alucard sprinted at full speed. Why isnt he healing?! Why isnt he getting back up!? He slid down next to Anderson, lifting his almost limp torso in his arms "No no no no no Anderson! Wake up!" He shook him, begging He teared up, before quickly hunching over him, biting into his neck, I have to safe him.. But.. As they are both males.. It didnt work Alucard couldnt help but sob. His equal, someone he wanted to spend his life with, no matter how, even their fights was enough, he just loved to see his smile, hear his voice, feel the fabric of his jacket, feel their bodies pressed together when they fought, see the bloodlust in his eyes that drove him crazy… But now those eyes were covered in blood and dull, those normally shining glasses shattered, those garments torn and stained. Alucard hung his head low. He lost him. All of this was gone. He suddenly felt the gloved hands on his cheek, wiping away his crimson tears.

"Do not cry, Vampire" Anderson reefed him down and kissed him, Alucard could taste Andersons intoxicating blood in his mouth and on his lips. Alucard kissed back, before feeling Anderson's head slowly fall back

Why wont you heal, goddammit

version 2

As Anderson lay on his death bed, his once blonde hair now streaked with grey and his skin dulled by disease, Alucard sat by his side, holding his hand and trembling with emotion. Alucard couldn't bear the thought of losing him. When Anderson opened his eyes, his expression was pained, but he managed a weak smile. In response, Alucard squeezed his hand tightly. 'I can't live without you,' he whispered. Anderson's expression softened. 'Then let us go together, vampire,' he said. Alucard nodded, carefully climbing on top of him. Before they left this world, Anderson grabbed a box from the nightstand containing holy blades. One of them was so potent that not even demons could survive its strike. It would be a painless way for them to go, but it was also one of the only ways to kill Alucard. 'Are you sure, vampire?' Anderson asked, his voice wheezing slightly. Alucard nodded, and kissed him before feeling a sharp pain as the blade was driven into his chest and through his heart. Alucard had blood leak from his mouth, breaking the kiss, looking into his eyes one last time before he fell onto Anderson with a thump, and Anderson ran a hand through his hair. Anderson felt the numbness and fatigue taking over a few minutes after and new his time was about to come, he closed his eyes, praying to the lord before his hand slipped off Alucard. "..Till we meet again, vampire"

[mads-weasley]

Hold My Hand: Part Four

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Pilot!Wife!Reader

Masterlist

| Part One | Part Two | Part Three |

A/N: This is the final part of the series! Thank you for all the support I've gotten! I do not own any of these characters. Enjoy!

Summary: Finally safe on the carrier, (y/n) finally gets medical attention and comes to terms with what the future holds.

Warnings: mentions of injuries, death, major angst, some fluff (if you squint)

(y/n) - your name

(y/n/n) - your nickname

hen - your callsign

(Y/n) sighed in relief at the sight of the carrier. After seeing Hangman land safely, they made their approach, descending towards the craft. As they were almost there, the plane jolted forward slightly. Closing her eyes, (y/n) leaned her helmet back against the seat.

"Please don't tell me we lost an engine."

Rooster smirked, "Alright. I won't tell you that."

"Okay," she answered, bracing herself for the hard landing they were about to experience.

"Hold on, Hen. This is gonna be a rough one." Bradley warned.

Landing on the carrier itself wasn't bad. It was the net that caught them that made the landing terrible. The impact from the net sent (y/n) flying forward, smashing her leg against the RIO console. She let out a yelp at the contact, and Bradley was immediately shooting questions her way.

"(Y/n/n), what's wrong? Are you okay? Is it your le-"

"Yeah. It's my leg," she grunted, interrupting him.

"Alright. We're here now. I'm gonna get you help."

Once the plane came to a complete stop, the canopy opened, and all of the cheering flight crews surrounded the plane. Bradley quickly climbed down his ladder and up her's, ignoring everyone else.

Taking her helmet off, she groaned at the slightest movement of her leg. Now that the adrenaline had mostly worn off, she was starting to feel the full effects of her injury. Bradley leaned down and unfastened her seatbelt, kissing her forehead gently.

"Let's get you out of here." he whispered, helping (more like almost carrying) her down the ladder.

When she got on the ground, the flight crew made space for them to walk. Bradley bent down and gently picked her up. Walking to the infirmary, Every minuscule movement felt like a hot metal poker was digging into her leg. The pain had once again spread to her whole leg.

Noticing her pain-filled expression, Bradley looked down at her, whispering, "If it gets too much, it's okay to go to sleep, sweetheart. I've got you."

"mhm-kay'" she slurred, starting to drift off as the pain became too much for her to bear.

Rooster was grateful (y/n) had passed out because he could tell how much pain she was in. It broke him to see her face twisted up in such pain, so seeing her peaceful look calmed him slightly.

Arriving at the infirmary, he called out for a doctor, telling the receptionist all that had happened as he softly laid her on a gurney they had rolled out.

"We'll have to do some tests, and then we'll get back with you about a treatment plan, Lieutenant."

Nodding, Bradley gave her a soft kiss on her temple, rubbing her hair. "I'll see you when you wake up."

Because he couldn't go back with (y/n) to take x-rays, Rooster stayed in the small waiting room, still in his flight suit. He sat with his head in his hands, letting the day finally wash over him.

The mission, crash, (y/n)'s injury, the rescue, and their most recent brush with death filled his mind. The emotions that he had been holding back suddenly hit him full force. Tears sprang in his eyes, thinking about when he saw her go down and found her unconscious.

Not wanting anyone to see him upset, he quickly got up and moved to a nearby locker room, sitting on the bench. He had almost lost (y/n), the absolute love of his life, best friend, mother to his future children, and so much more in one instant. A small sob escaped his mouth at the thought. She was his world and if he ever lost her, he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Turning and wiping his tears covertly, he looked up to see Mav standing in the doorframe.

"Hey, kid. Doctors are looking for ya. Let me know if you need anything."

Thanking him, Bradley bolted up, practically running back to the waiting room where the doctor was. "Lieutenant Bradshaw, it seems your wife has a complete break in her right tibia, and it's our recommendation for (y/n) to undergo surgery."

"Did the scans say anything else? Is she okay other than the leg?" Bradley asked with furrowed brows.

"Just some scrapes and bruises, but otherwise, yes."

A weight felt like it had been lifted off his chest. "Okay. Go ahead with the surgery."

"Great. The surgery should take about an hour, and from there, she'll be moved to recovery, and then a room. We will call you when she gets moved into the room. Until then, you should go and take care of yourself. You've had an eventful day, too."

Nodding, he pulled out his phone, calling Maverick, asking him if he could bring him some food and a change of clothes. Bradley had already decided not to leave the infirmary in case they needed him. A few minutes later, Mav showed up with the desired items.

"How is she?" he asked, taking a seat next to Rooster.

He sighed. "She's got a broken leg that needs surgery, but other than that, she's okay."

"She's lucky." he started, "The way she went down, I didn't even see her chute."

Bradley took a bite out of his burger. "Me neither."

"How'd you find her?" Mav asked.

"Well, we both wandered in each other's direction, but I ended up-uh-finding her unconscious."

The conversation continued for a long time, and the more Bradley talked about it, the better he felt. Soon, the doctor walked into the waiting room, informing him that everything went great and she'd been moved to a room. Looking back at Mav who nodded, Bradley followed the doctor to her room.

(Y/n) was peacefully sleeping in the bed, her face slightly bruised, with her leg propped up on some pillows. A bulky black cast spanned from just below her knee to her toes. Chuckling, Bradley realized that she would complain about the color. The doctor's voice broke his trance.

"Let us know if either of you needs anything."

"Thank you."

Rooster glanced back at the man before taking a seat next to (y/n)'s bed, scooting it as close to her as it could. He took her hand, rubbing circles on her palm, softly talking to her in a hushed whisper, as if what he was saying was a secret between the two of them. He stayed like that for half an hour before his own exhaustion set in. Refusing to fall asleep, Bradley reluctantly got up and went to the lobby to make himself some coffee.

When he got back, the coffee cup slipped from his hand when he didn't see her sleeping figure in the bed. Heart dropping, he frantically called for her.

"(Y/n)?"

His worries were quelled when he heard the toilet flush and the bathroom door open, revealing his hobbling wife. Immediately, he rushed over to her, helping her back to bed.

"You shouldn't be out of bed, (y/n/n)."

Sinking back into the pillows, she sighed. "I just really had to pee."

Bradley chuckled. "How're you feeling?"

“Sore. Definitely sore. Everything hurts.” She glanced down at her leg, sighing. "And they gave me the worst color cast. Come on. Black? Really?"

Sighing, he rubbed her cheek lovingly. "I knew you'd say that. I'm going to go tell the doctor you're awake."

Leaving for a few minutes, he returned with the doctor in tow. "Lieutenant Bradshaw, how are you feeling."

Bradley took his place sitting on the bed beside her.

"Like I got shot down and crash-landed," she chuckled.

"Well, you should be able to be discharged within the hour." He looked to Bradley. "She needs to be on bed rest for a few days before getting back into her normal routine."

(Y/n)'s heart sank. "When can I fly again?"

"You'll need to wear a cast for 6 weeks and then the boot for another 3, and then you'll have three months of physical therapy. After that, you can fly."

You could hear a pin drop in the small room when Rooster's strained voice broke the silence. "So how long is the total recovery, doc?"

"6 months, give or take."

6 months. She was grounded for 6 months. (Y/n) stared straight ahead, his words replaying in her mind. She didn't even hear Bradley thank the doctor or notice him walk out of the room.

"Baby. (Y/n)," He tried, cupping her cheeks. "It's gonna be okay."

Tears filled her waterline as she whispered. "6 months, Brad. What am I going to do if I'm not flying."

"I'm gonna tell you what you're gonna do. You're still going to be working on base with us. You're still going to be a valuable asset to the team. You're still going to come home every day with me. And I'm gonna make sure you have everything you need to make a full recovery."

(Y/n) let out a sob, flinging herself in his arms, ignoring the soreness that seemed to seep into her bones. Bradley wrapped his arms around her, one rubbing her back as the other held her head to his chest.

"I love you, Rooster," she murmured into his shirt.

"And I love you, hen. Now let's go home."

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[theladyofbloodshed]

A Court of Tangled Flames - Chapter 26

Home. How could one little word mean so much? Each time that Nesta’s heart beat, it was a call to home. To the man she loved. To the place she’d chosen. Home.

She wanted to go home.

Rovena had seen her to a narrow room with walnut wood panelling it. The room was cosy with a bed warmer already tucked into the sheets despite the early hour of the day. A small chest of drawers was nestled into a corner and within it were several items of clean and neatly folded clothing. There were dresses, leggings, night gowns, new socks and gloves. This was a room for a new arrival who likely had nothing. But that wasn’t Nesta. She had everything waiting for her.

She curled onto the bed then tucked the blankets around her head like when Eris had first spirited her away to the Autumn Court and she’d struggled to get out of bed.

Rovena padded into the room softly then Nesta heard her set down another mug. A hand brushed against the mound that was her body beneath the quilt, but Azriel’s mother didn’t try to peel it away. Nesta was thankful for that.

For a long while, Nesta debated winnowing, but she knew it was foolish. Her winnowing was always done with the safety net of Eris following in case anything went wrong. She knew her limits and knew that she might only get as far as the Dawn Court if she was lucky – and would need to rest. The last thing Nesta wanted was to end up in a foreign place alone and weak, or even in the Middle again. Compared to Cassian as her mate, she’d take a kelpie drowning her though.

The thought of being near Eris and putting him in danger made her want to sob anew. Cassian wouldn’t accept her refusal. He’d continue to claim that Nesta was bewitched by Eris or held in the Autumn Court against her will. If he called the Blood Duel, there could be no happy ending. If Cassian died, the Night Court might declare war or at the very least, Nesta would never be permitted to see her sisters again. The other outcome didn’t bear thinking about. There could be no future without Eris.

Worse than Cassian, was Beron. A Blood Duel made her sick to her stomach but Beron finding out about that wretched bond added a new layer of horror to it.

Every inhale felt fluttery with the fear that was running rampant through her mind.

If anybody other than Nesta told Eris about the bond snapping, he’d be bereft. The thought of Cassian being the one to do it – to throw it at him in a rage to try and hurt him – made her sick to her stomach. She needed to see him.

With every passing year, Nesta had built her fortress a little higher, brick by brick. Many had tried to knock it down and force their way in. Eris had simply knocked on the door and waited. Or, that one time at Orla’s, he had climbed through the window, she supposed.

She just wanted to be home. She wanted her husband.

***

‘You cannot keep me from my mate.’

Varian sported a bloodied lip and Mor’s cheeks were blotted with colour when Rhys arrived. He was thankful that his mate was safe elsewhere in the city. His first reaction had been to get Feyre to the House of Wind out of reach of Cassian. He didn’t truly believe his brother would hurt Feyre, but they were two males on the edge and Rhys wasn’t about to roll the dice and expect luck not to curse them.

‘I can and I will.’

‘This is bullshit,’ Cassian spat.

He was all hot temper, usually, easily cooled with the right sort of leverage. Azriel had always been the more dangerous of the two. As quickly as Cassian’s storms came, they passed.

Mating bonds were complicated. There was no other way to describe them. Rhys had sorted through his own feelings alone, in private, and it was hell. Letting Feyre go to Tamlin felt like carving his own heart out – but he believed it was what she wanted, so he did it. He let her go to him.  

If only Cassian could see that Nesta wanted Eris. There was too much bad blood there, too much history with Nesta to let her slip away. It would ruin him. But he would ruin her.

Rhys stood firm, blocking the door. One small mercy was that Cassian couldn’t winnow. His only exit was through flight.  

‘This needs to stop.’

‘Fucking hell, Cass,’ Mor breathed, pushing back her tangled blonde hair. ‘I don’t even like Nesta and I know you’re only going to push her away if you chase her.’

Cassian’s chest rose and fell as he sucked in breaths. It was a testament to Varian’s skill that he still lived against a frenzied general of Illyria. Or maybe there was some sense still clinging onto Cassian’s mind.

Mor rested against the wall. She appeared exhausted from whatever magic she’d exerted keeping him there. She forced out a breath through pursed lips. ‘Just because there’s a bond now, it doesn’t change anything.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ He snarled.

At his tone, Mor flinched. Rhys took a step closer to his cousin, ready to shield her if need be. ‘I think what Mor means is that Nesta is married to Eris. The bond snapping into place doesn’t alter her marriage vows – or her heart, Cass.’

A fist hit the wall and Rhys heard the crunch of Cassian’s knuckles.

‘Eris doesn’t care about her. He only wanted her to get back at us.’

‘You would be better hitting your stone skull at the wall than your knuckle,’ said Amren. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the dent in the wall where his fist had met it. ‘Maybe you’d knock some sense into yourself.’

‘Or knock yourself out,’ Mor muttered.

‘She’s my mate,’ said Cassian, his voice cracking on the last word.

‘And what does that mean?’ Rhys demanded, tired of this. He wanted to be at Feyre’s side. Wanted to feel his son moving against her skin. Not here. Not butting heads with his stubborn brother. ‘What does it mean to be Nesta Archeron’s mate?’

Cassian swallowed. For a while he couldn’t find words then, ‘She should be here with me.’

Shaking his head, Rhys crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I was prepared to let my mate marry my enemy because I thought that would bring her happiness. I loved her enough to let her go.’

‘It’s Eris. You know what he’s like.’ His hazel eyes turned to Mor. ‘You know what he could be doing to her.’

Soft footsteps entered the room. Elain stayed near the doorway, her delicate hands wringing together. ‘Is there a way you could show them something in my mind?’

In response, Rhys gave a slow nod. This could be a catastrophe.

Elain had no mental shields really. It was like slicing through butter on a hot day. Where her elder sister’s mind had been a stronghold made of wrought iron, Elain’s mind was a meadow on a spring day full of wildflowers – open and unguarded. A memory pushed to the surface which Rhys pressed into the minds of everybody gathered.

Nesta sat in a chair with a large dog wedged in with her. A plate was held aloft to keep it from the dog and her other hand fussed the beast. Perched on the arm of the chair was Eris, with an arm scooped around Nesta. He leaned forwards to kiss her temple then pressed a cup to her lips so she could take a drink. It was the day that Azriel had took Elain to meet the healer of the Autumn Court, Rhys realised. Nesta appeared more relaxed than he’d ever seen her before as she leant closer to Eris. In five hundred years, he had never seen the heir to the Autumn Court so gentle. Eris always touched Nesta as though he couldn’t stop himself from stroking against her hair or resting a hand on her shoulder. And Nesta burrowed into every soft touch.

They were pulled out of the memory.

Elain’s face betrayed her fear, but she held firm. ‘I am sorry, Cassian. Nesta is not under an enchantment. I don’t think there could be any enchantment that would sway her feelings. Eris has only ever been good to her. He ensures her friends can visit. He’s found a way to save Feyre. He managed to arrange a meeting with me and her at the Winter Court celebration. He trains her magic. He hired a tutor to teach her about Prythian. She’s learning to ride a horse. She visits the army with him.’ Elain let out a breath. ‘I wish my sister remained close by, but we have to accept her happiness lies elsewhere.’

***

‘One night. One night. That’s what you said. It’s only one night. The longest night of the year and look what has happened,’ Eris ranted in Orla’s kitchen.

Niamh rolled her eyes. She’d been pulled back from Windhaven. ‘In fairness, it seems to have happened during breakfast so the night wasn’t the issue.’

Do not kill her, a voice in Eris’ mind said.

Orla shook her head. ‘That was not helpful, Niamh.’

‘Helpful? Fine. Tell them that unless the bond is broken, the high lady can die.’

Orla’s eyes went wide at her sister’s suggestion. Where one was soft and encouraged growth, the other preferred to stamp on it. ‘What a horrid thing to say, Niamh.’

‘I am horrid,’ she muttered, crossing her legs on the foot rest.  

‘We need contingency plans for every possible outcome.’ Eris hadn’t been able to sit down since he returned to the Autumn Court. He’d set fire to Orla’s lawn when he winnowed in. He was not in the habit of taking orders from Rhysand, but the high lord had told him to wait at the healer’s house and when he tracked down Nesta, she would be returned.

Niamh was ruthless. Orla was sensible. They’d dragged Ashur back from the Illyrian foothills too to help with planning. Although he’d been an excellent double over the years, Eris didn’t want to sacrifice Asher and place him in Cassian’s path either. His military strategy was useful to their planning.

For hours, they planned for every possible outcome of the next few weeks. Through it all, Niamh scoffed and scoffed at whatever she could find in the kitchen, but Eris could not eat a bite. He couldn’t sit, could barely breathe without his chest constricting with worry over Nesta. Where had their damn shadow singer taken her?

A Blood Duel seemed likely if the bastard was as frenzied as his high lord claimed. He didn’t want to fight. Either outcome caused harm to Nesta. Eris’ only hope with that avenue was that his father wouldn’t allow it because Cassian wasn’t high fae and didn’t have the same status in the Autumn Court.

‘What if you shared Nesta?’

‘Niamh,’ Orla warned.

Every single visit to the Night Court would be overshadowed by Cassian’s presence. What could Eris do? Ban her from visiting her family in case the bond became too difficult to refuse? Or send her there willingly with the knowledge that Cassian would always desire her?

‘It won’t come to war. The high lord won’t waste our blood against Illyrians.’ A crease had formed between Ashur’s brow. ‘Not for love. Maybe a showcase of Nesta’s powers again to your father is necessary, to remind him of her value.’

Eris’ jaw tensed. He knew Ashur spoke the truth. His father equated power with value – but he couldn’t trot Nesta out like a show pony to gain favour.

‘I’d rather she killed him and made me high lord,’ he muttered. Such words were treason, but he was amongst good company.

‘How are you so certain Nesta doesn’t want to be his mate?’

She wouldn’t. Eris knew his wife. She deserved so much more than a male who’d never put her first, who’d chose her sister over her. Again, a voice told him not to kill Niamh.

Orla had been quiet through most of it as she prepared different ointments using herbs from her garden. ‘I can mask the bond for Nesta. I’ve done it before for females who want it numbed so they cannot feel it.’

‘Why is nobody listening to me?’ Niamh asked with a mouthful of food.

‘Because you have terrible ideas,’ sniped Ashur.

‘We don’t know where Nesta is. What if she is contemplating accepting the bond – then what do we do? We need to consider that too because maybe then your father really will go to war to get Nesta back. I’m not dying on Illyrian soil.’

Ashur snorted. ‘Females aren’t permitted to fight so that’s unlikely to happen.’

In response, Niamh clicked her tongue. ‘Excuse me? Our lord and saviour, Eris Vanserra has already proposed in a council meeting that females should join the ranks of guards and soldiers because we are automatically cutting our potential by half, I will have you know.’

‘Enough of this.’ Eris stormed from the room with the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders. He continued out of the house, needing to feel the cold evening air on his skin before he erupted. His temper had never been an issue. Years with Beron had taught him to keep it leashed. But Eris had never had anything he cared so much about before. 

The smoke hounds had bolted out with him and proceeded to race around the garden, chasing after moths.

He took steadying breaths to ground himself back to his home.

The door opened, allowing a crack of light to seep out, as Orla came to stand by his side.

Without a word, she pulled her arms around him. Eris sank into her soft embrace. ‘I can’t imagine how this is for you.’

‘I need to know she’s safe.’

‘I know,’ she murmured. A long beat of silence followed, then she said, ‘Your father would have been better chopping out Niamh’s tongue rather than a finger.’

Mist soaked over the grass like a wave then the smoke hounds returned to Eris, their ears pricked up and hackles raised. He pulled an arm around Orla, to tuck her behind him.

Two winged figures appeared.

Behind one was his wife.

 Nesta.

She surged forwards and he raced to meet her. When their skin met, Eris lifted Nesta into his arms, cradling her to his body.

A rattled sob broke out of her chest.

‘Eris. Eris, I need to tell you something.’ She took in a shuddering breath. ‘Cassian is. He’s my-’

‘I know. I know. I already know.’

She let out a keening cry against his skin as Eris carried her back towards the house. The two males followed behind, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that Nesta was home. And he’d be damned if he was ever letting her step foot in the Night Court again without him.

‘Eris,’ came Rhysand’s voice.

He turned on the spot, cradling Nesta’s head with his hand.

‘You should go to your safe place. I’ve tried to talk sense into him, but I don’t know how long it will last.’

‘Get out of my court.’

Eris ushered Orla inside with him and the dogs remained on their heels. He didn’t care to wait to ensure Azriel and Rhysand had departed. In his mood, he might try to strike them with his magic.

A silence fell between Ashur and Niamh upon their entry to the lounge. Nesta was unable to peel her tear-stained face away from Eris – and if he was honest, he didn’t want her to. He needed her closeness.

‘Do you go to the cottage?’ Niamh asked.

Batten down the hatches and wait for the storm to blow over.

‘No. We go to the Forest House.’

A small gasp passed through Nesta’s lips. ‘If Cassian goes there-’

‘And we are not there, it will be far worse for us – and maybe him. My father is predictable. He cares only for power. I’d rather bet on him than an unstable Illyrian general.’ Eris pulled his coat from the hook and put it on his wife. ‘Better the devil we know than the devil we don’t.’ 

***

The moment they entered their rooms, Nesta tried to peel off her clothes and Eris’ but he wouldn’t have it. He kept his hands on her shoulders, holding her still.

‘You don’t need to do this.’

‘But I love you,’ she sniffed. ‘Please.’

Again, her fingers reached for him to try and open the buttons of his shirt, but Eris stopped her.

‘You don’t need to prove you love me by giving me your body, Nesta.’

She swallowed against the lump in her throat.

A feather-light kiss was pressed to her forehead. ‘Despite everything, how was the celebration?’

‘Fine. I spent most of the evening with Lucien.’

That brought a slight smile to his face then Eris laced his fingers with hers. It was odd to try and carve some normality after a day that was anything but normal. ‘I know you don’t celebrate, but I do have a Solstice gift for you.’

Eris led her through their bedroom and out onto the small balcony overlooking a thundering river wending through the forest.

He bent down towards a small, wooden cage then scooped up a ball of brown fur into his arms.

‘Astor caught the mother then was raiding the warren. I stopped him before he could eat this one.’ A small rabbit was tucked into the crook of Eris’ elbow. ‘I couldn’t shake the image of you as a child with a pet rabbit. He’s little so I’m not sure how long he will last, but it’s surely better to be in our care than to leave it to fend for itself in the woods.’

Nesta ran a finger along the soft fur between the rabbit’s eyes. ‘Won’t the dogs eat it?’

‘They can be trained not to touch him in the rooms. Would you like to hold him?’

Suddenly, Nesta was a little girl again sat on a wooden chair as a servant tucked an old blanket onto her lap then placed Snowdrop on top. One hand held the rabbit still, feeling its rapid heartbeat as it grew used to contact. The other hand moved in soothing strokes down his body.

‘A snow themed name for this brown rabbit?’

Nesta swallowed. ‘How can you be so calm? So normal?’

Eris crouched down in front of her. His arms went around Safera as the dog leaned forwards to sniff the rabbit. She didn’t try anything. Just watched the rabbit with her big, black eyes.

‘I loved you yesterday. I love you today. Nothing has changed.’

‘Everything has changed.’

‘Do you still love me?’

‘Yes,’ she breathed.

‘Then nothing has changed.’

'The bond.'

Eris brushed his thumb down her cheek. 'We don't need to talk about it today.'

The knock at the door had Nesta clutching the rabbit against her chest. Eris’ brow furrowed as he rose to his feet. It was surely a messenger alerting them that Cassian had kicked down the door to the Forest House and demanded a Blood Duel. Her heart felt like it was giving up.

She couldn’t hear the words that were exchanged. Nesta kept her eyes trained on Eris’ back, searching for any slight hints of tension or alteration to his posture. None came.

‘We are expected to join my father for dinner.’

At the first signs of her distress, Eris had gone to his knees before her. His expression was calm. ‘It’s alright,’ he said softly. ‘Everything will be alright. He enjoys a monthly dinner to instil a little fear.’ A long finger stroked the rabbit. It made her think of the little boy from his mother’s memory, clutching a dog to his chest, unwilling to see it hurt. ‘Snowflake or snowball or snowdrift. What have you decided?’

A quiet smile curved Nesta’s lips. ‘Cotton-tail.’

For a while longer, she sat with her frightened rabbit. The dogs kept casting furtive looks at it, but a strong note of disapproval from Eris had them flopping to the ground to sleep. While she continued stroking the bunny, Eris prepared her clothes for the evening. They played it safe in scorched umber and gold. Eris had even pinned up her hair while she remained rhythmically stroking Cotton-tail, too adrift to think of anything else.

Females were meant to be submissive in this court – and for once Nesta was thankful of that fact. It meant she could follow Eris a step behind. She wasn’t meant to speak unless somebody directly spoke to her. She could focus all of her efforts on keeping her face neutral rather than let the sinking horror settle.

Breakfast played over and over in her mind. How had it only been one day? When Azriel had returned for her, he’d brought the news that they had to make a stop at the Hewn City to meet Rhys because he’d return her to the Autumn Court. Nesta had refused. There was not a bone in her body that trusted her sister’s mate. The compromise had been that both would take her to Orla’s.

She stood when expected. Ate her tiny morsels of food like the dainty female she was. Kept her eyes trained in her lap rather than following the conversation.

Beron’s comments couldn’t hurt her. The worst had already happened that morning. When he spoke of Eris’ failures, her anger prickled. But her husband did not react. He played the doting son, desperate to win his father’s approval, never calling his criticisms harsh or unfair. Eris knew how to play the long game.

Once he had finished inspecting all of Eris’ imperfections, he moved onto each son in turn. It was excruciating. If this was how Beron treated his sons, she dreaded to think what he might have done if he had a daughter.

Not only were the Vanserras present for tonight’s torture, but many of Beron’s long-standing council members were. Despite the number gathered, conversation was dictated by Beron as if even they were afraid to speak freely in the presence of their high lord. These were the males who Eris did battle against every meeting with his words. These were the males who would stand in his way of ruling if a peaceful death did not meet the high lord.

When the talk shifted into politics, Eris rose. ‘It’s loathsome enough to listen to Lord Vode in a council meeting. To do so in my leisure time would be akin to masochism.’

The remark was met with a tittering of laughter from the males assembled. As Eris tucked his chair beneath the wooden table, Nesta knew to follow suit rather than expect a signal from him with so many eyes upon them.

‘With such a pretty wife, you’d be a fool to choose Lord Vode’s company.’

Another lord added, ‘If she were my wife, I’d be enjoying her company already.’

Eris gave a vicious smile, but kept his tone even. ‘And if your wife was mine, I’d make myself a widower, Lord Oswold.’

The silence that fell around the room reminded them all that Eris Vanserra was the first-born son of Beron. One day, he would be their high lord. His tongue was just as sharp as his father’s.

It was remarkable really that he wasn’t worse, Nesta thought. He could have been more vicious, more ruthless.

Despite her storms battering him, Eris had only ever been steady. He could dig his heels in and hold firm no matter what life threw at him. Centuries as Beron’s son had hardened him against every cruel word, every wound that had cut him had scarred, and Eris had become steady. He’d never needed to shout or rage. He had only ever been Nesta’s anchor.

A warm hand pressed against the small of her back to guide her from the dining room.

They had survived another meal because Eris had been her shield. His calm presence despite the upheaval that swarmed them had kept Nesta rooted.

‘If you haven’t managed to breed her yet, I’ll give her a turn, brother.’

Before Nesta had even registered what had happened, Phelan had fallen from his chair. He was on his knees, screaming in agony. Blood spurted from the jagged stump where his hand had been.

She hadn’t even seen the knife. Eris had moved so quickly. He’d been next to her one moment then looming over Phelan the next as his brother bled across the floor.

Raising her head in shock, Nesta risked a glance to Beron. His wife was pale, her lips pressed together until they’d turned white, but Beron had a fierce look of pride upon his expression.

‘I warned you that I would cut off your hands if you dared touch my wife. Your words are foul enough. Be thankful I leave you with one hand.’

Phelan wept on the ground, clutching the stump of his arm to his chest before the council of the Autumn Court. Nesta had to turn her face away before she was sick from the sight.

She felt Eris’ hand again on her back, giving a gentle push to encourage her feet to move.

‘Finally, my son begins to act like a high lord,’ came Beron’s voice as they began to exit the room.

A short whistle came then one of his dogs moved towards Phelan.

‘Close your eyes,’ came Eris’ urgent whisper as they walked.

It would have been better if Nesta had clamped her hands over her ears. Over Phelan’s sobs, Nesta could make out the crunch and slopping of the smoke hound eating the severed hand. She pressed her hand over her mouth as her stomach rolled. If it wasn’t for Eris’ firm hand pushing against her spine, Nesta might have stopped. But Eris had always ensured she kept going.

In a numb disbelief, Nesta was led to their rooms.

‘Don’t look at me until I’m clean,’ Eris murmured, voice hollow.

She couldn’t help herself. Her eyes were drawn to him the moment he had forbade it. Streaks of blood marred his face. His shirt was soaked crimson. Nesta didn’t miss the emptiness in his expression. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, but it wasn’t right. Eris wouldn’t want her near him with blood on his body.

In silence, she waited on the couch with Safera resting a head in her lap. For a long while, Eris remained in the bathroom without any taps sounding. He needed space. From her. From what he’d done to Phelan. From the court that forced him to be that person. She didn’t know. All she knew was that a pit had opened in her chest and threatened to devour her.  

He had cut off his brother’s hand. It was violent. But his court had to learn that his threats weren’t empty. Nesta didn’t feel differently towards Eris because of it. He did what he had to.  

The steadiness had all been an act for Nesta’s benefit. Her husband’s feelings were as tumultuous as her own but he hid it better. Eris was a riptide ready to drown any who came too close – as Phelan had discovered. A desperation to seek Eliška out surged inside of Nesta. His mother had to know that Eris only did it to protect Nesta; her son wasn’t lost. But it was too dangerous to move within the Forest House alone that night.

When Eris emerged from the bathroom, he gave a lack-lustre stroke to the dogs who flocked to him. Red rimmed his eyes.

She went to him at once.

His forehead pressed to hers as his hands cradled her face. She heard his wearied exhale.

‘I don’t want you to go,’ he choked.

‘I’m not going,’ she protested. ‘I’m never leaving here. Never leaving you.’

‘I’m not a good male, Nesta.’

Nesta forced Eris to look at her. His amber eyes were flecked with darker spots, but they were the same eyes she’d seen that day, staring back at his father with defiance.

‘You are the love of my life. Not even the Mother can prise us apart.’

@owllover123 @rarephloxes @fanboy7794 @sugardoll22 @kitkat-writes-stuff @this-is-rochelle @sv0430 @embersofwildfire

[lupically]

#FFF8EA | XIAO. 

genre | fluff

word count | 2233

warning | mention of falling off a moutain​

note | i just have some ideas for xiao...

"the yaksha is fond of you."

madame ping was no stranger to you. the kind old lady roaming around yujing terrace, often seen admiring flowers or brewing a cup of hot tea, was someone you come across every afternoon after school when you head to the censor to make a wish to rex lapis.

the conversation you two have had always been brief, mainly because you were always in a hurry to get to work. she never minded your urgency, blissfully talking about how fast-paced and active young people these days are, and simply being happy that you even stopped to let her hand you some glazed lilies from time to time.

interestingly, though, she stopped giving you glazed lilies after a while and began handing you some pretty qingxin instead.

you never questioned it. it was just flowers. you could live without being gifted only one kind of them for the rest of your life. but after today's incident—after the burning down of your school located just outside the city, as well as what madame ping told you with hearty laughter laced in her voice, you were starting to think the switch to qingxin meant something.

"the yaksha is fond of you."

you tightened your hands around the weak strap of your school bag, made out of bamboo after lots of trials and errors, and you tilted your head with increasingly furrowing brows.

"pardon me, the what is fond of me?"

"the yaksha, my dear."

you stared at her. the corner of your lips was quirking up in confused twitches, and she could see that you were fiddling uncomfortably on your spot because you truly have no idea what she was talking about. it was not because of the history of the yaksha that might have made you feel jittery and out of place, you simply had no idea!

madame ping smiled even harder at your innocent oblivion then. how could you have such ample knowledge of rex lapis and the adepti, but nothing about the yaksha? especially the one with his mark, a jade green glow surrounding you like fireflies, all over your aura?

maybe that was why xiao chose you.

or, at least, it was one of the reasons why he liked you.

it was because you knew nothing of him. you never think about him, you never talk about him, and you would never suspect the string of random good luck and trails of safe travels that have been following you around.

while it must be tearing him down on the inside; the fact that he wasn't being able to approach the one person who made his good deeds a choice rather than an order. it must be plaguing his mind and patience every day.

but, even then, your surprising lack of information about his identity does save him the pressure of being chased down by you.

it saves him the problem of being even further attached to you. it was already pressing on his breaking point when he went out of his way to watch over you, leaving trails of his magic over your mortal soul to keep you safe when he was busy. any further interaction would be disastrous.

logically, he knew he would fall for you, so he was doing preventive measures. he has to keep his chest sealed so his heart wouldn't jump toward you involuntarily; he has to keep his chest sealed so you couldn't see all the mess inside.

"oh, sweet child," madame ping cooed as she walked toward you. she whispered to herself, "you're being protected by an adeptus and you don't even know."

she brought up a qingxin from her pocket, the petals slightly wrinkled from the confined space. she tucked it carefully in the pocket of your shirt before patting the bloomed flower, almost as if she was reminiscing.

"this is his flower," she said.

you hummed, looking down at it. "this is his favorite flower?"

"i'm not sure about his favorite flower, but this is his flower," she replied casually.

you pursed your lips together. well, at least now you knew the qingxin did have something to do with the... yaksha... or whatever.

"madame ping... may i ask–"

"you can find him at qingyun peak," she cut you off calmly. "during the lantern festival. he is always there during the festival. it was for the quiet, he said, that old man."

you shut your mouth, surprised that she knew what you wanted to ask. "uh... qingyun peak... is kind of... a big place..."

"you will find him if he wants to see you," she said. "you can speak his name–xiao. he might not show himself to you, but if you have something to say, he's likely there to listen."

qingyun peak. the lantern festival. the yaksha.

right.

that was how you found yourself bearing the freezing night cold with just a thin shirt and a ragged fabric wrapped and tied around your torso, your hands hurting from grabbing sharp edges and rough rocks, and your anxiety increasing with every jump that not only would the almond tofu in your bag fall, but you would as well.

as opposed to watching xinyan play for the lantern festival, being warm and cozy from the warm city lights and the tasty street food, and maybe even letting go of a lantern yourself after making a wish, you were here. you were alone, climbing mountains for a chance.

all for a random boy madame ping told you about! someone who was supposedly fond of you—if this xiao guy was so fond of you, he would have shown himself the first three times you called his name at the bottom of the mountain!

"fond of me–what a joke," you said through gritted teeth as you hoisted yourself up on a small ledge. "i'm going to kick his ass so hard when i find him."

you let yourself pant for a minute, regaining your stamina as you groggily accessed the higher peaks above you. your eyes squinted in dismay, but something inside you—the curiosity for the truth, as well as the longing for a friend, also the anger for playful revenge—urged you to keep going.

"he better eats the almond tofu i made," you muttered to yourself as you moved closer to the mountain. "i even picked some flowers... for him."

jump after jump, you were close to making it to the second ledge when suddenly, a slime jumped and appeared above you. it looked surprised, mirroring your expression, and as it prepared itself to attack you after seeing your hands move, it stopped when it saw you fumble about in the air before you began to fall further away from itself.

you had let yourself go. out of surprise, and an instinct to grab a weapon, your hands moved away from the edge and you fell.

your mind raced as the wind hit your face, your falling body heavy against the current that desperately tried to take you up from the ledge you just climbed up from. you would surely die from the impact if you drop. even without dropping down to the bottom, you would still suffer from a painful death.

was there something to do? how did this happen, you were doing fine! what should you do, what could you do? you were falling already—what was there to do now? anything, something?

"i–archons–" you heaved with the cold air, your lungs squeezing inside you with fear as tears began to drip out of your eyes.

anything? anybody?

xiao?

"you can speak his name. he might not show himself to you, but if you have something to say, he's likely there to listen."

"xi–" your voice broke for a millisecond when you could see the green grass approaching quickly. you squeezed your eyes shut, and your voice was louder than you have ever allowed it to be.

you called his name, loud and clear.

the first thing you felt was a lightning strike. you opened your eyes at the electric feeling to find a flash of green. it was bright, close and bright, in a way that was blinding. but then the tail broke into gentle fragments as a pair of arms circled your body to catch you from the fall.

one arm went around your waist, the other hand securely tightened itself around the back of your neck to keep it from breaking from the impact of his fast landing.

xiao growled under his breath when his feet struck the ground in a heavy blow. he pushed your head to his shoulder, shielding your face away from the soil that bounced upward as a result.

quietness ensued after a moment of calm. you took the moment to access the situation—you were fine. someone, likely xiao, saved you from the fall. you were fine.

he dropped onto the ground, sitting on the cold grass with your body pressed close to his, when he heard that you began to sob from the accident.

despite feeling awkward and unsure, he kept quiet and let you vent out the post-accident fear so you could slowly bring in the relief that you were still alive. but his quietness was unwelcomed when you suddenly curled your fist and hit him across the shoulder.

"screw you! why didn't you just answer me when i–when i was at the bottom of the moun–mountain! screw you!"

you blamed him and you hit his shoulder repeatedly. your weak fist was nothing compared to the pain he has endured in the past, but your cries cut through him like glass in the most seamless pattern when he realized he was part of the reason why you had to go through that traumatic experience.

if he had just jumped down from the peak when he heard you the first time, this would not have happened.

xiao looked at the empty spot before him. his golden eyes glowed with a softness that has long fallen into the abyss, forever gone and forever abandoned. but he brought it back out now because he cares about you, and he is, ultimately, attached to you, and he loves you.

"you're right," he said, holding you close to him. "i'm sorry."

ever since you discreetly left the almond tofu on the roof of the wangshu inn, your shy figure hunched over in an apologizing manner because you were told that you were giving food to an important, albeit weird, guest, and your blissfully ignorant words of encouragement as you told him to go out and explore the world, to give it a chance so he could find people he would like.

ever since then, he has loved you, in fragile and discreet ways, in unwavering and patient ways, in protective and caring ways.

"i love you, i'm sorry."

you stopped sobbing almost immediately, and he was afraid he might have said the wrong thing.

wasn't it what he was supposed to do? verr told him to speak his mind once. just be truthful with his feelings and nothing could go wrong. was he not supposed to show his affection blatantly, as he would his complaints and opinions?

"that... that is going a little too fast for me, xiao," you joked. "let's settle with appreciating each other for now."

he heard you laugh, causing the weight of his heart to drop, like finding lights in a fog, like seeing the lanterns in the night sky and realizing that there are more people alive with you than you think.

"thank you, for saving me," you said kindly then, your fist long stopped hitting him and was now patting his shoulder.

"always."

“but burning my school down is not the best approach for... whatever it was you were trying to help me with.”

xiao blinked in confusion, then realization hit him. he almost forgot about that! he was, shockingly, dwelling in the prideful fact that because he literally destroyed the building, you would be free of school for the day, and therefore not having to face all the hardships inside the walls he could not venture past. he thought it was the best thing to do, second to beating up everyone, which he politely opposed to.

“i am not sorry about that,” he muttered. “it was what i thought was best.”

he could feel you grin in his embrace. your laughter reverberated in the air, making his magic glow around you both. it was like nothing he has felt before. he wanted to stay like this—in this position where you were engulfed by him, where he could surround you with himself instead of the fireflies of green he has left behind, where he was with you in a way it was entire, in a way he could feel your beating heart against his own.

you are pressing onto his breaking point.

you are going to open him up, see him whole, and renovate his insides to your will. you are going to take his heart from his chest, breaking through his ribcage made feeble from his sheer affection for you, and claim it as your own. you are going to make him love, like sharp knives, like soft breaths, like tragic past, like warm blood, you are going to make him love.

you are pressing onto his breaking point.

and xiao lets you.

because you will be worth the tragedy, you will be worth everything.

[maybe-its-britney-bitch]

Only You

-TASM!Peter Parker

- A relationship with Peter takes balance

-TW: Mentions of fire, burns, death, angst, fluff, mild NSFW

- Not edited

Reblogs and comments are super appreciate! Send requests!

You’re knee bounced anxiously as your lower lip cot caught between your teeth. It was hard to focus on what the news reporter had to say. You were honed in on the red and blue suit that would cut in and out of frame.

The apartment building was completely engulfed in flames and smoke. The red lights from the fire truck couldn’t wash out the fires orange that painted the scene. The horror struck bystanders gawked at the scene, doing their best to console those who were losing everything.

On any other day, you would be sharing your sympathy for them. But here and now you were focused on Spider-man climbing in and out of the building, bringing children down to the fireman’s reach, then rushing in to find the next. You heart was in your stomach, gripping the remote with fierceness.

This cycle of his rescue continued for the next serval minutes, your anxiety continuing to grow. When would it be the last time you saw him go in?

Then, suddenly, he didn’t come back out. The news reported commented,” All residents have been accounted for. Search and rescue has commenced.”

“N-no. No. Peter is still in there,” You began to panic. No one was going to check for the super hero. But he was just a boy. What if the heat got to him? Or the smoke inhalation? What if he got caught? You fell to your knees in front of the TV, now letting panic induced tears stream down your face.

“Please, no. My Pete,” You mumbled, anxiously awaiting a report of his safe exist from the building. Where was here?

At some point the panic was too much to bear, so you clocked out mentally, your body frozen on the ground. There was passing of time, but you would be hard pressed to give a time.

The next thing you could remember was someone calling your name. It was distant. But you could recognize that voice anywhere. He was here. Peter.

“Y/N, are you okay? Are you there?” You could here him more clearly now, you eyes adjusting back to reality. He was there. His hands held your cheeks, gently brushing them. His eyes were wild and bewildered. There was ash covering the majority of his face. A dark red burn sat on his collarbone, along with a few others across his body.

“Oh my god, Pete,” You said out of relief and horror. He was here, but he almost wasn’t. And he was barley holding on now. Without having to focus, you could hear the rasp of his breathing, a clear indication that his inside were just as bad off as his outsides. You internally cringed at the hot burning pain he would be in for the next day or two.

Your hands reached up, gripping around his wrists. The contact was enough to push you over the edge. You let out a sob, pushing his hands further into you, having the need to feel him, all-the-while not wanting to hurt him in his fragile state.

“I’m here my love. I’m sorry, I’m here,” He responded, placing your forehead to his.

“Pete, I didn’t know what to think, when you didn’t come out. They didn’t show you coming out!” You cried, trying to make sense while being flooded with emotions. You whispered,”I thought you were gone.”

You felt his grip tighten around to the back your neck, pulling you forward despite the clear pain Oit caused him. But you didn’t have it in you fight him off right now.

“No, never. I would never leave my lover behind,” He whispered right next your your ear, leaving a small kiss below it. His comment overwhelmed you, more tears falling.

“Sweetheart,” You started, “I can’t lose you. I can’t keep doing this.”

“What?” Peter sat up quickly looking frightened and yet again bewildered. “What are you talking about? What do you mean you can’t keep doing this? Like us? Or Spider-Man? Y/N please…”

Pete now held both your hands tightly in this lap as you bowed your head letting more tears fall. After a few seconds of silence Peter continued quietly, “I’ll give it up.”

This caused you to look up at him. His eyes were completely sincere, meaning very word he said.

“I couldn’t ask that of you. It’s who you are,” You shook your head, refusing his solution.

“No, you are. You are my home, my happy. I don’t want Spider-man if it means losing you. It’s not worth. Not even close,” Peter rambled, anxiously awaiting a response for you.

“I could never ask you to give up Spider-man. I just can’t bare the thought of being in a world with no Peter Parker. He’s more important to me that Spidey,” You responded, finally meeting Peter’s crazy eyes.

“Please don’t leave me. I can’t do it without you. Please my love,” Peter begged.

You heart clenched at this heart broken face, his expression completely defeated. And the fight was no longer putting up. You slid forward, completely disregarding injuries, laying flat on his chest. His arms where quick to pull you in and hold you impossibly close.

“I’m sorry, I’m not leaving” You amended, knowing you would never have the heart to truly let go of Peter Parker. Your sweet boy. He nodded quickly, taking in a deep breath trying to get his hands to stop shaking.

“Maybe a compromise? I just need assurance that you are okay,” You offered after a minute. He hurriedly nodded his head, agreeing to your plan.

“Baby let me help you with your burns. We need to wrap them,” You commented after giving Peter the proper time to compose himself. But there would be time later for cuddling, he needed medical attention.

Peter groaned in protest but eventually followed you to the bathroom. He sat on the closed toilet lid, completely striped for the suit, left in his boxers. You ran a wash cloth under the Luke warm faucet them began cleaning off his face. On each bump and bruise you’d leave a light kiss on his skin. After wiping away the ash and dirt, you began to put on a medical cream on the burns and then placed bandaids atop of that.

Some how the two of you ended up in the bed, cuddling gently. You continued to leave littered kisses on his face, neck, shoulder, back. You couldn’t really tell if you did it for yourself or him, but no one seemed to mind.

“I can’t lose you,” Pete mumbled after the silence had settled in the room.

“I know love, I know,” You mumbled back, one hand on his cheek, the other running through his hair.

“But I can’t keep watching you go into burning buildings and now knowing if you are going to come out,” You continued, still holding him close.

“I’d leave it behind if you asked me to,” He responded, full heartedly. And you didn’t doubt him. Pete couldn’t lie to you.

“I could never ask you to do that,” You said shaking your head at the idea. Peter placed a free hand on your chin, finger gently pulling out your bottom lip where it had been stuck between your teeth.

You looked up slowly, meeting his eyes. They held so much love and admiration that it was hard to keep the gaze held. So you didn’t. You leaned in slowly, letting your eyes shut slowly. You lips met his slowly, both needing.

His teeth grabbed your lower lip, pulling at it, leading a moan to fall from your mouth. Despite the pain he might have been in, Peter pulled you over to sit on his lap, pulling you flush to his skin. Your shirt went flying across the room in a matter of moments along with your bra.

You let Pete’s lips travel your skin, letting him leave hickeys and love marks all over your chest and neck. You help his body as close as you could get it. He slowly leaned you back, leaving you laying in the center of the bed, breathless and topless.

“May I?” Peter asked quietly referring to your shorts. Your heart swelled at the fact that even after all this time together he still asked for permission. Ever the gentleman.

He finished you quickly and with perfection. The two of you payed breathless in the messy sheets, holding each other as close as possible.

“I don’t know how we are going to fix this. But no matter what we are going to do it together,” Peter mumbled into your neck, “At the end of the day its you. You are all I’ll ever need. Only you can make my heart bloom.”