#was that him sobbing while in battle the entire time??

[marimeeko]

Correct me if I'm wrong, I only have seen a few of his panels for this chapter but....

Izuku is not crying anymore?

Like...the energy/tears that WERE streaming from his eyes ever since he got there, saw the carnage, and started fighting Shigaraki...

None of that's there anymore...

Not since.... he saw Katsuki.....

[satoruxx]

pairing: toji fushiguro x reader | 1.6k words summary: boyfriend!toji headcanons, fluff, soft!toji, grumpy x sunshine, he’s a simp but he’ll never admit it !! rheya's note: grumpy man being soft for the person he really loves? i’m here for it. mamaguro is literal proof that he can and will love !!

bf!toji who is silent with his care for you. he's not one to be open or dramatic about his feelings, but you bet he'll show them in actions. small, mundane things that could only be picked out under critical eyes—like quietly placing an extra mug of coffee next to you as you work, or being the one to walk closest to the street, fingers firmly clasped around your palm. if you point it out he'll just grunt, shaking his head with a quiet "keep walking" all while pretending to ignore your silly little grin.

bf!toji who isn't really the type to be big on words of affirmation, but huge on physical touch. you tell him you did well on a project at school or work and he just hums, giving you a little nod. he doesn't say anything else—doesn't really have to because the soft lingering pat on your head is enough to tell you that he's proud.

bf!toji who is an aggressive yet affectionate lover. if you're doing something and he's not receiving your attention he will come up behind you and put you in a headlock. he thinks it's an appropriate response considering how much he craves your attention and company—why on earth are you focused on something that isn't him anyway? so be prepared to have his heavy bicep playfully curling around your throat or slinging you over his shoulders at random times—it's his way of telling you he misses you. and if anything, he'll do it to hear you whine and attempt to shove him off.

bf!toji who will absolutely take your phone and change your lockscreen to pictures of him. every so often, you'll turn your phone on and see an entirely different picture—sometimes a picture of him at the gym, other times a picture of him blocking out his face—but it's always him.

bf!toji whose own lockscreen is always something that's related to you. he's sneaky with it, always stealing pictures of you when you're not looking. he's got a separate album with them—probably hidden behind a password because it's something only he should be allowed to see. but whether it's a snapshot of his hand intertwined with yours or a blurry image of you fast asleep in his bed, it's always you. because of course you’re the first thing he should be able to see when he turns his phone on.

bf!toji who, as cliché as it sounds, is exactly the type to go feral if someone's made you upset. and he's freakishly observant, noticing even a slight pinch of your nose or wobble in your lips—he's caught them all. whether you're just down or outright sobbing, he's there, standing in front of you with pure anger weighing heavy on his brows. and yet for all his rage he's nothing but gentle as he firmly takes your face in his calloused hands, muttering a strained "what the fuck happened?" as he forces you to make eye contact with him. his own eyes will dart over your features, searching for discomfort or any other emotion as you explain, barely holding back his own emotions because there's no reason on the fucking planet that you should be upset at all.

bf!toji who rarely says the words "i love you" not because he doesn't but because the words themselves don't hold all that much meaning to him. no he'd rather spend his time proving it to you than just saying it for the sake of saying it. but, sometimes if you pretend to be asleep long enough, you'll catch him quietly whisper the words into your hair, almost like he doesn't want anyone to hear it. don't even bother trying to call him out for it—he'll deny deny deny.

bf!toji whose eyes flutter when he lets you trace over his scars. not just the one cutting over his lips but the ones that litter his back and torso—battle remnants that he doesn't remember much of. he's always hated the look of them, indifferent to old memories of a much more chaotic time in his life. but when your gentle fingers graze over the raised skin he'll sigh, oddly quiet but yet so comfortable.

bf!toji who will drop everything if you need him. don't ever hesitate to ask him for things because you're scared of being a burden—he will yell at you (affectionately). you drank too much with your friends and can't get a ride? call him and he'll pick you up even if it's 4 am. you're feeling nervous about walking home from the convenience store even though it's only ten minutes away from home? stay put and he'll come get you so that you can walk back together. shut up about all that "it's an inconvenience for you" bullshit—he'll do it and that's that.

bf!toji who asks if you've eaten today, and when you answer with a sheepish smile he'll click his tongue, crossing his bulky arms over his chest and giving you a pointed glare. then he'll say "get your ass to the kitchen. c'mon, up." while hoisting you to your feet—most of the time he'll just pick you up and plop you on the counter himself.

bf!toji who wordlessly makes you something to eat, whether it's a quick snack put together with leftovers or an actual full meal. then he'll stand in front of you with the plate and demand you eat. even a slight word of protest and he's scowling, already holding up a spoonful while grumbling a low "don't wanna hear it. open up, kid."

bf!toji who hates when you fall asleep on the couch waiting for him to get home. his job doesn't allow for the comfort of a strict schedule, and he's told you this many times. but you're nothing if not stubborn, and he can only sigh heavily as he sees you dozing against the armrest when he pushes the door open late at night. he'll click his tongue quietly, hooking both arms under your back and knees to cradle you against his chest before walking to the bedroom. though some part of him is pleased, knowing that you seem to care about him enough to make sure he's coming home every night.

bf!toji who glares at anyone who even breathes in your direction the wrong way. some guy eyeing you while you're walking on the street? toji looks like he's ready to rip his head off. some "friend" of yours asking too many questions about why you're dating a man like him? well…if looks could kill.

bf!toji who pulls you into his lap when he kisses you, because he likes the way you fit into his space so perfectly. he won't ever admit how it makes him swoon when you giggle against his lips, instead choosing to tighten his grip on your hips and pull you closer to his chest.

bf!toji who enjoys watching you sit on the kitchen counter and swing your legs back and forth—finding it so unbelievably endearing that he ends up just standing in between your legs and burying his face into your neck. his lips will map chaste kisses across your skin, and he'll hide a wry smile as your quiet giggles wash over him.

bf!toji who will notice when you eye something at a store, whether it's a pretty piece of jewelry or a new sweater or whatever—he keeps note. and then weeks later, once you've forgotten all about it, he'll come home and drop a bag into your lap before shoving his hands into his pockets. when you open it and start gushing about how much you wanted it and how pleased you are, he'll huff and turn away, muttering a low "whatever, kid. 's not a big deal."

bf!toji who sees you upset about something, and loops his bicep around your neck and tucks you under his chin. to an outsider it doesn't look like the most comforting form of a hug, but it's toji, and he's secure and he's safe and he's all the comfort you need—a tight squeeze that grounds you in a way that you can't quite describe.

bf!toji who will never admit how interested he is in your gossip. his ideal way to destress after he comes home is to sit on the couch with you in his lap, your arms looped around his waist as you press yourself against his torso and tuck your head under his chin. and even though his eyes are trained on the tv, he has no clue what's going on—he's more focused on the drama you're spilling or whoever you're ranting about. and he makes it known too, occasionally asking "then what happened, baby?" and adding in a few sounds of disbelief. by the end of your rant, he'll be saying something along the lines of "what a fucking bitch," or "honestly he deserved that," and then asks for updates on the situation over the next few days.

bf!toji who silently watches you trace your fingers over the lines on his palms. you're blabbering about something, tucked against his chest as his other arm remains wrapped around you securely, but he's just focused on your hands. it scares him a little bit—the difference between you and him. his palms are calloused, rough with battle and death, while yours are soft, clean of the horrors he's determined to keep away from you. and a small part of him tells him he shouldn't taint you with all his faults, that you deserve someone more capable of loving than he is. but then he feels you brush your lips over his scarred fingers and he sucks in a breath, tightening his grip imperceptibly. even as he hides a half smile against your brow, he knows he isn't going anywhere.

[shaiyasstuff]

glass half full | xavier | drabble

“It was always going to be her, wasn’t it?”

Your voice slipped through the stillness of the apartment, soft but sharp enough to slice through the air between you. It lingered in the hallway like smoke, unshakable.

Xavier stilled.

One foot forward, one hand still holding the edge of the wall. He didn’t turn at first—just stood there, his back to you, silent in a way that felt louder than any answer.

When he finally faced you, his expression was unreadable. Of course it was. He always was.

He parted his lips to speak, but no words came. Just a subtle shift in his jaw—a clench, a twitch. Hesitation.

So you stepped closer. “That’s why you’ve been leaving so often lately,” you said, barely above a whisper.

Another step.

“Why you’re willing to throw yourself into danger without hesitation.”

Another.

“Because you still love her.”

Now, you stood right in front of him. Inches away. Just close enough to feel the way he tensed.

“Then what am I?” you asked.

Your voice was calm, but your eyes betrayed you. You could feel the tears brimming, but you held them back. You wouldn’t let them fall. Not yet.

Xavier didn’t speak. Not even a breath of denial. His gaze didn’t waver, but it didn’t soften either. Still clouds. Still distance.

You pressed again, a whisper cracking at the edge. “Why do you still keep me around, then?”

This time, he flinched.

It was the smallest movement—a flicker in those pale blue eyes.

But you saw it.

You always saw him, even when he tried so hard to be unseen.

You weren’t asking for him to change fate. You knew how cruelly and arbitrarily the universe worked. Knew that some ties were stitched into the soul long before choices ever mattered.

But still. It hurt.

Because you were here. With him.

The one who shared coffee with him at 6 a.m. The one who stitched him up, not from battle wounds, but from the quiet ones no one else saw.

Because you loved him first.

And she didn’t even know.

“…Tell me,” you breathed, and your voice trembled this time.

A final plea slipping through the cracks of you.

His hand lifted halfway, like he meant to reach for you—maybe your cheek, your hand, anything.

But it hung there, suspended in indecision.

Caught between instinct and guilt.

And that—that was what broke you.

Not the silence.

Not the truth.

But the almost.

“I haven’t said anything until now… because I loved you.”

Your voice broke on the last word, cracking like porcelain under too much weight.

It trembled in the quiet, echoing off the walls that had once known softer versions of the two of you.

“I kept hoping,” you whispered, breath catching on a sob, “that maybe… maybe you’d see it.”

Your hand curled into your palm.

“That she doesn’t want you.”

The truth sat heavy in the space between you, too brutal to deny, too cruel to change.

Because she didn’t.

The lady hunter he clung to in silence had already moved on—living out her days in sunlit contentment with your doctor friend, oblivious to the way Xavier watched her like she was a constellation he could never reach.

And you… you had been right here the entire time.

Waiting. Wanting.

Loving him in ways she never would.

His fists clenched at his sides, the knuckles paling as tension rippled through his frame. You had never seen him look smaller, despite the quiet strength he always carried.

“I know,” he said.

Barely audible.

But it landed like thunder.

You stared at him, stunned—not by the confession, but by the ache tucked behind those two simple words. Like he’d been carrying them for a long time. Like they were too heavy to hold, and too late to matter.

You wanted to scream. To ask then why?

Why let you drown in your silence while he chased after a ghost?

But you couldn’t.

Because there was grief in his voice too. Grief that didn’t belong to you.

And maybe that was the cruelest part of all.

He knew.

He chose it anyway.

“I see.”

It came out on a breath, a fragile exhale laced with quiet resignation. A sob followed, muffled as you bit it back, swallowing the rest of your heartbreak.

You stepped past him—slowly, deliberately—shoulder brushing his as you moved toward the door. Your voice barely rose above a whisper.

“I’ll come back for my things.”

That was all you could manage.

No accusations. No pleas.

Just an ending dressed in softness.

But before you reached the door, his hand shot out and caught your wrist.

“Y/N.”

Your name broke in his mouth—softer than you’d ever heard it. Almost reverent. Almost afraid.

You didn’t look back. Not yet.

You couldn’t trust yourself to.

Not when his grip was warm and trembling.

Not when it felt like he meant it, finally.

But meaning it now changed nothing.

His hand was firm around your wrist, but his voice wavered.

Like he was holding on not just to you, but to everything that might vanish the moment you took another step.

You stood there, your back to him, shoulders trembling.

He said your name again—quieter this time. “Y/N… please.”

Please.

The word sounded foreign on his tongue. As if he didn’t know how to ask for things he thought he’d already lost.

“I didn’t mean for it to be like this,” he said, and for once, his tone cracked through the calm. “I didn’t—”

He let go of your wrist like it burned him.

“I kept telling myself… it wasn’t fair to you. That I should pull away. But every time I tried—” His breath hitched. “You made it impossible.”

You turned to him then, tears clinging to your lashes.

His eyes were the color of sorrow, clouded and storm-wrung. “You were always here,” he murmured. “You stayed. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

You wanted him to say the words. To finally say what he truly felt.

But instead, all he gave you was this—

“I don’t know how to let you go.”

And somehow, that hurt more than if he had.

Because love was never the problem.

Choice was.

“That’s what they all say,” you whispered, voice thin and fraying.

Xavier stood frozen, breath shallow in his chest.

“That you didn’t mean for this to happen. That it just—got out of control.” Your voice began to rise, shaky and sharp. “There’s always a reason. A justification. A story that makes it hurt less—for you.”

The silence between you stretched, brittle and aching.

“She’s my friend, too.”

That part came softer. So soft he almost missed it.

But he didn’t. He heard it.

And it hit him harder than any accusation ever could.

You looked at him then—really looked at him.

Not like someone you loved.

Not like someone you were begging to stay.

You looked at him like someone you were done trying to understand.

“Do you know how stupid that makes me feel?” you asked, voice trembling at the edge of tears. “To be the one to see it? To sit across from both of you and smile like I didn’t feel the air thinning every time you looked at her?”

Xavier’s lips parted, but there was nothing behind them—no defense, no denial.

Just guilt. And grief.

And the realization that maybe the worst thing he ever did… was say nothing at all.

And still, you waited. Not for an apology.

Just for something real.

Something true.

“Say something…”

Your voice cracked—not out of anger, but desperation. A final plea, quiet and trembling, like a hand outstretched in the dark.

Xavier’s gaze flickered, faltered.

His mouth opened—closed—opened again.

But still, nothing came. Just silence.

Just the sound of rain starting to tap against the windows, soft and cruel.

He looked like he was unraveling from the inside out. Like the words were there, tangled somewhere deep in his throat, buried beneath everything he was too late to admit.

“I…” he finally breathed, barely audible. “I thought if I kept my distance, it would go away.”

He laughed, bitterly, at himself. “Not the feeling. Just… the choice. Like if I said nothing, I wasn’t choosing at all.”

His eyes met yours, raw and wrecked.

“But silence is a choice, isn’t it?”

And it was. The worst kind.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

He saw the answer in your eyes. In the way your shoulders dropped.

In the way hope quietly slipped out of the room, one breath at a time.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he whispered.

And maybe he didn’t. But he did.

He just didn’t love you enough not to.

“I have to see her,” you choked out between shallow breaths, the sobs rising faster than you could contain them. “Every day… at work.”

Your voice broke entirely then, cracking open like the rest of you. “She looks at me like nothing happened. Like I’m not falling apart every time she says your name.”

You wiped at your face with the back of your hand, but the tears kept falling, hot and relentless. “Do you know how cruel that feels?”

You laughed—a hollow, broken thing. “She doesn’t even know. She doesn’t even know what I’ve lost.”

Xavier took a half-step forward, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to hold you, to anchor you—but he didn’t move further.

Didn’t speak.

And that—again—was the problem.

“She gets to have everything,” you whispered. “She gets your loyalty, your heart, your silence… and she doesn’t even know.”

Your hands clenched at your sides, not in anger, but in helplessness.

“I loved you loudly, Xavier. I was here. I chose you. Every day. Every damn day.”

Your voice collapsed into a whisper.

“And you let me stand in the shadow of someone who wasn’t even looking.”

The door slammed behind you, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Rain tore through the sky in torrents, drenching you to the bone as you stumbled down the steps and out into the street.

You couldn’t feel the cold.

Couldn’t hear the storm over the sound of your own sobbing breath.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Not like this.

Your vision blurred—tears and rain indistinguishable. The world moved too fast, too loud, too bright.

You didn’t see the car. Not until it was too late.

The light turned red.

You stepped off the curb.

A horn blared.

Tires screamed.

“Y/N!”

His voice cut through everything.

You turned your head, just enough to see him.

Xavier, sprinting after you, drenched and terrified, hand reaching out like he could will time to stop.

But it didn’t.

The impact was thunderous. A sickening thud.

Your body hit the hood, then the pavement. Hard.

Time fractured. Sound vanished.

Rain fell. Somewhere, people screamed.

Xavier was already on his knees beside you.

“No, no, no—Y/N, stay with me,” he begged, his hands trembling as they hovered above your face, not knowing where to touch without causing more damage.

Your eyes fluttered, unfocused, lips parting with a breath he didn’t know if you could finish.

“Why did you…” you whispered, voice too faint, too broken.

And Xavier—he broke.

“I’m here,” he said. “I’m here, I’ve got you, just—just keep your eyes on me, please—don’t do this.”

But your blood was on his hands now.

And for the first time, silence wasn’t a choice.

It was all that was left.

masterlist

[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.

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Life, Death, and the Space in Between Part One (Agatha Harkness x Reader x Rio Vidal)

Summary: Bound together by power and fate, you and Rio are undeniably tied, but Agatha Harkness was something unexpected - yet in the end...

Words: 1664

Warnings: Canon deaths, AAA, uh... language, child birth kinda? Angsty? I dunno, there's things.

A/N: A retake and partial redo of AAA (in the sense of "what if"). This is gonna be a... four part series? I think?

-X-

Cries of pain echoed throughout the trees as Agatha stumbled towards the water, body finding purchase against the trunk of a tree as another contraction washed over her. Everything ached, but she didn’t care. All she had worked for was so close. She just needed a little more strength and her child would be tucked into her arms, a beacon of her love.

She hardly noticed the unnatural silence that befell the forest, the wind dying into nothing more than an occasional puff of air. All she could see was- feel, hear - was the sound of her own heartbeat.

Glancing up as another cramp hit, she caught sight of two familiar figures lingering near. The beating of her heart quickened, so overwhelmed at the prospect of you both being there to meet your son, but the identical expressions you wore sent her heart plummeting.

He is not mine, you conveyed to Rio regretfully, tears prickling the corner of your eyes.

Life and Death stood, watching critically over the mortal who’d stolen their hearts. While bound together forever in a way no one would ever understand or be capable of recreating, you had both found the tiny piece you were missing within Agatha. You’d found a middle ground.

Death took a step forward.

Life took two steps back.

“It cannot be,” Agatha breathed, inching away from the green witch as she neared.

You could feel Rio’s heart cracking, felt the anguish and guilt rushing over her.

“It must be,” she replied gently.

“You do this and I will hate you forever,” Agatha spat fearfully, glancing between you. “Both of you.”

A sob clawed its way up your throat, suffocating and vile. This was the hardest moment you’d ever been summoned to.

“Please let him live!” Agatha cried. “Please, my loves. Don’t take him from me.”

Pleas began falling like tears, and your entire being called out to you. Begged you to rush to her side. To heal your son.

Rio’s eyes drifted closed for a moment before a dark stare met Agatha. You could see the parts of Rio warring. Her nature and her love clashing together in a battle, both reaching out to Agatha before being yanked back.

“I can offer only time.”

She peered at you. Save him.

Your feet moved before you could fully comprehend what was happening. Your knees hit the dirt in front of Agatha, warm light shining from your hands as they touched her swollen belly.

Looking over your shoulder at Rio, you watched the veil that separated you from mortals swirl around her.

Tell him of me, she begged, tears streaming down her cheeks in rivets.

All the time, my love, you vowed.

Attention returning to Agatha, you smiled up at her faintly. “Let’s bring our boy into the world, shall we?”

-X-

Years passed. Years of joining your love to decide the fate of a life. Years of watching your little boy grow, watching him become sick, watching him grow frail and tired…

Watching your lover kill in hopes of distracting your other lover. Watching her use your son to do it but never allowing Rio too close. Watching Agatha grow colder. Meaner. Deadlier.

As life comes and goes, you were often pulled away from Nicholas, helping the other piece of your soul collect and distribute life and death as needed. But for the times you were with him, watching him blossom and shrink, you never let him forget about the woman who offered him time.

As you stepped through the trees, veil falling away into your human form, you watched the beautiful smile break across Nicky’s face before he was bounding into your arms, clinging to you like a lifeline.

“Mother! You are back!” he beamed up at you, his thin arms gripping you as tight as he could. It was devastating to see the sickness ravaging him, knowing you could do nothing to change it.

“Hello, my littlest love,” you cooed, carding your fingers through his long hair before peering over his head at Agatha. “And my tall love.”

“If you are here, will I see Mami tonight in my dreams?” Nicky whispered into your ear, shrieking happily as you lifted him, tossing him over your shoulder and holding him tightly as his little feet kicked.

“Maybe.”

Agatha rolled her eyes affectionately as you pressed a kiss to her cheek, Nicky thrown playfully over your shoulder and squealing as you swung him about. She was surprised to see you return so soon, and her heart thumped painfully as she thought to Rio.

As the afternoon progressed into night, Nicky regaled you with tales of their exploits. Your heart ached, knowing the reasons behind Agatha’s choices but refusing to discourage your son from telling his vivid stories. You were so… angry with Agatha, for doing this to him, but in another life, maybe you would’ve done the same.

After he was tucked onto a small pallet, blanket right around his frail form, you joined Agatha at the edge of the water. Staring out into the darkness, you spoke softly, “This has bid you some time but you know this cannot stop the inevitable, my love.”

Bristling, Agatha turned to walk away, unwilling to hear your truths, but a steady hand caught her.

“You need to hear me, Agatha. She has given all she can. She has fought the universe to keep him here; avoided her own son so that Death would not call him home yet. But we cannot keep him here. He is not meant to be here, yet we let him walk and talk and be here with you. And you still hate her for the time she has allowed me to give him. Without her, he never would have taken his first breath. You need to unbury your head from the sands and accept we cannot change fate anymore than we have.”

Eyes flaring purple with fury, Agatha shoved you but you did not waver. “You are essentially gods! Yet one child unravels the cosmos? Fate? He is my son and you want to let her take him from me!”

“He is our son,” you corrected sharply. “He is her son. As much as he is mine or yours. She made him as we did. She does not get to watch him grow as we did. Hold him. Love him. Because she wanted to grant you time with him and yet you spit in her face!”

Staring into the reddened face of your lover, you softened slightly. “She loves Nicholas. I love Nicholas. And we love you. Gods know we do not wish to hurt you. But he is sick. His body is tired. You know there is only one way.”

“If you cannot understand why I do what I must to keep him here, maybe you should leave,” Agatha whispered, eyes filling with anger and tears. “I will do whatever I can to save him.”

Bowing your head, you tugged her into a tight embrace, pressing your lips to the crown of her head as she cried silently against your chest. It was raw and painful and you knew this was the last time you would see her for a very long time.

By the time she wandered back to camp, you were gone.

-X-

The shadows of night surrounded you as you and Rio approached the campsite one night, hand in hand. Her eerie green torch illuminated the path, her true form hidden beneath a familiar guise.

“I don’t want to scare him,” she had mumbled, cheek resting against your shoulder as time ticked down.

The heavy fall winds dragged Nicholas from his slumber and he slowly sat upright, eyes landing upon the eerie light. His eyes brightened before dimming, realization crashing into his chest. He peered down, watching his body remain as he stood.

Rio gestured for him to kiss his mother and he obeyed, whispering, “I love you,” before meeting you and Rio at the forest edge.

She cupped his cheek sweetly, thumb soothing on his paling flesh. “It’s time, love.”

“I am afraid,” he admitted shyly, wide eyes flickering between you as if ashamed of the admittance.

Crouching down, both of your hands found his lithe shoulders and squeezed reassuringly, letting light and warmth pour from you. “We will be with you every step, darling. I swear it.”

He peered over at Agatha, eyes shimmering in the green light. “I do not fear dying, but I do not want Mama to be alone. She is going to be so lonely.”

Your chest seized painfully.

“Our sweet, wonderful boy,” you breathed, peeking up at your partner, who stared at Nicky adoringly. “I promise, we will not be far from her, even if she cannot see us. Even if she is angry. She is etched into our bones and we will not stray far.”

“I will miss her,” he murmured, “But I will see her again one day?”

“Yes, sweetheart, and someday, we shall be a family again. A complete family.” Looking at Rio, you smiled sadly and cupped her face with your free hand. “One day, we shall never be apart again.”

“A complete family,” Nicholas repeated with a smile, peering up at Rio. “With Mami this time.”

Carefully making your way to the bridge, shadows and light swirled around as you passed through the veil and Nicholas was brought into the embrace of his mother’s domain. You were not ignorant to the pain that would overtake Agatha when the sun rose above the horizon, so once Nicholas found the space crafted especially for him, you returned to the mortal plane and stood above the resting witch.

Stooping down, you patiently maneuvered Nicholas’ mortal body in Agatha’s arms, tucking his blanket tight around him before pressing a butterfly soft kiss to Agatha’s temple.

“I am sorry, my love,” you muttered, pecking her temple again before disappearing with the morning light, soul aching as her wails crested the treetops.

[sumiieon]

ノ Thinking about ; librarian MYDEI ⸝⸝ modern au ⸝⸝ wc: 583 ⸝⸝ not proofread ⸝⸝ sfw ⸝⸝ english is not my first language ⸝⸝ might be ooc ⸝⸝ this one's kind of cringy ngl ⸝⸝ messily written and rushed ⸝⸝ gn reader

⸝⸝ "If there's a chance in the next life, you should come visit my library" You bet. sob sob. ⸝⸝ You first stumbled upon him when you were trying to study for a test at college. I hc'd that Mydei as a librarian and in the modern au generally is much more composed than he ever is, composed as in even calmer and relaxed now that he's out of the entire strife heir duty in this life. Still fierce though! ⸝⸝ Mydei with reading glasses. I repeat, Mydei with reading glasses. Round ones or square ones, I feel like any looks good on him (unless I'm tripping). He definitely has to keep a portion of his hair tied up though. ⸝⸝ Secretly reads those cheesy sappy romance novels in the middle of his shift and then denies it when questioned by the rest of the Chyrsos Heir (Seriously, what do you call them in the modern au because I have not a single idea on what) ⸝⸝ This may sound cliché but imagine café dates with librarian Mydei. Bonus points if you choose to work as a waiter as a part time job in a cafe, imagine Mydei visiting you at work with the sole intent of seeing you (to which, again, he wouldn't admit to your face). Please I need crumbs of more modern au with amphoreus' cast. ⸝⸝ Not to mention, library dates of course! Where both you and Mydei are graced with each other's presence and the comforting silence in the library, as well as the warmth of the sunlight peeking into the library through the windows... Aside from Phainon third-wheeling the two of you, oftentimes unintentionally, yet he does not let the opportunity of teasing Mydei slide. ⸝⸝ Sounds extremely personal, but indulges in chess with you when you visit him in the library. Him being battle smart makes me think he'd do well with games that requires you to twist your brain around like chess and I have absolutely no idea why. ⸝⸝ If you go to the library to study, Mydei will definitely help you study! Even as small as accompanying you and listening you rant about how tiring your days have been ― "here, I'll help you. Less complaining and more work" /aff (he loves you don't worry) ⸝⸝ Another cliche thing, but since Mydei is physically adept in canon, I like to think that while he's a librarian (as in, 'librarians are typically nerds' type of stuff which might not always be true) he goes to the gym as well outside his shift, or at the very least exercises often. You can see the result of his discipline routine when he carries those heavy thick books alone with ease. ⸝⸝ I heard from somewhere (totally not my gut) that Mydei gets shy when he's teased. This made me think about a confession scenario with him. He appears confident and reserved at first, but as you probe more of him and this really important stuff he wants to tell you, he folds slowly. It may not seem like it and it's really easy to miss how the tip of his ears flush slowly and subtly the longer this takes than he intended. ⸝⸝ It's not his fault, the words he wanted to say are not coming out as easy as he hoped them to be! ⸝⸝ Your daily reminder that Mydeimos from Honkai : Star Rail is babygirl wife ethereal breathtaking gorgeous

© fleuriion ― please refrain from ; plagiarizing, ai usage, repost without credits ― positive interactions are always welcome!

[imagineweasley]

please play the audio while reading.

We'll be Alright.

harry x reader, after the battle.

word count: 1k

submit requests here! | masterlist

The sun broke over the horizon, casting blinding rays through the large window in the Great Hall and over the triumphant scene. There was so much movement, so much celebration going on, but you were frozen to your spot.

In the past hour, you had experienced the most agonizing pain in your heart that not even the Cruciatus curse could recreate when you saw him laying limp in Hagrid's arms. You had let out a cry that had torn every cell of your body apart, a cry that ripped out the hearts of everyone who could hear it.

Then, his resurrection, and then his defeat of Voldemort. The flash of light that had ended it all.

The students were in an uproar around you, jumping up and down, shooting celebratory sparks into the air, crying and holding each other, but you couldn't move.

You swayed on your feet and Hermione gripped you tight to hold you up. Your body was frozen, except for your eyes darting around the crowd. They were looking for one person, and one person only. You barely felt the grip on your arms as your breath quickened.

And suddenly, there it was. A mess of black hair, dusty from the rubble and dirt, pushing through the crowd, desperately moving in your direction. Hands were stretching towards him; everyone wanted to see a glimpse of him, to feel his heroic presence, the only thing on his mind was you.

Everything slowed down.

You could feel your heartbeat thudding against your ribcage and all the noise around you muffled. All you wanted to do was push through towards that black hair, towards the person trying to reach you, your limbs betrayed you. You could not feel anything in them and you could not move them.

A flash of green.

The sight of those all-too familiar green eyes, filled with tears of the desperation his body was moving with, broke your trance. You had no time to think before your body broke out of Hermione's hold and started pushing through the crowd. Upon seeing your face, the crowd parted for you. They knew who you were and who you were running to.

You were running to him. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the love of your life, your entire past, present, and future.

"HARRY!" His name exploded through your lips, and your vision was blurry with tears, but you kept your sight on the green.

"Please, please, I need to get to her, PLEASE!" Harry was swimming desperately through the crowd now, pleading with them because he, couldn't, wouldn't survive unless he got to you. His cries ripped out of his soul, and he felt as if it would tear it in two.

He was only a few feet away from you now. You couldn't wait those milliseconds it would take to reach him, and threw yourself through that last stretch of distance. He pushed through those last couple of feet, and you crashed into each other. He threw his arms around you, swallowing your entire being. Your hands flew around him and the force lifted your feet off the ground. He was sobbing into your neck and you were drenching his shoulder with your tears, which were running uncontrollably down your face. He cries were an agonizingly beautiful sound that was proof of the love that Dumbledore had spoken endlessly about. The love that keeps life alive.

The pang of loneliness the little boy felt in the cupboard at the Dursley's, the countless moments of fear he had felt over the past seven years, the terror that had filled him through the past couple of months when he was fulfilling his mission, all spilled out of him.

When he was away from you, he knew that at any moment, he could die before holding you one last time, without hearing your laugh again. When he heard your voice on that radio, he clung to every second that he could hear your voice. When he held onto that last memory with you at the Burrow, that one last tear-filled kiss you had shared, he felt glints of hope. With that kiss, you had poured your love into his soul, hoping it would protect him just like his mother's had.

When he had walked into that clearing, he did not have you by his side, and yet the only thought in his mind was that with this sacrifice, he would be able to save you. He walked in with his head held up high, surrounded by his family, your smile filling his mind's eye and melting his fear. With that, he met Death with open arms.

For the past few months, he had been surviving, not living, and he was finally sacrificing it with zero hesitation for you. He knew he was sacrificing the future you two had imagined in quiet, peaceful moments of escape, but at least you would have a future even if it was not with him.

The shackles around his wrists and ankles finally broke open, and he was reborn. He sank down to his knees, holding you as fiercely as he could, kissing your shoulder, your neck, your cheek, any surface of you he could find.

You sank down with him. You were gripping his shirt and any part of him that you could grab onto. Your lips found each other and he kissed you with all the energy of the ones he had been unable to give you since that moment in the Burrow. One hand held the back of your head to bring you closer, the other was wrapped around your waist so nothing could tear you away from him again. Your fingers tangled in his mess of hair and everything was gone. All the noise and all the chaos disappeared and nothing existed in this world except for you two.

Perhaps it was love like this that had held this broken world together.

Perhaps it was love like this that would heal it over and over again, for as long as that love still existed.

It had been a lifetime since he had been able to hold you like this, and finally, he could see it all: his fate, to hold you like this for the rest of this life and each one after.

We'll be alright.

--

author's note: i kept my thoughts until the end so it wouldn't interrupt the flow of the story. "fine line" is one of my favorite songs of all time. it rips my soul in two and puts it back together all in six minutes and eighteen seconds.

i hope you enjoyed this! it's the first time i've done something like this, and i absolutely loved it. i'll definitely be doing many more in the future.

[moomuzan]

pt. 2 | „sold.“ pt. 1 here

The weeks without you had been hell for Chuuya. Every moment was a reminder of the choice he had made—a choice that felt like ripping his own heart out and handing it to the enemy alongside you. But what choice did he have? They had made it clear: give you up, or they’d kill you both. And Chuuya, who’d always sworn to protect you, had chosen the one path he could see that might keep you alive, even if it cost him your trust, your love.

He told himself it was the right thing to do. He’d save you. He’d fix this. But those words rang hollow in the silence of his nights, where your face haunted him. The way you’d called out to him, voice cracking with betrayal, your eyes wide and pleading as the enemy dragged you away—it replayed in his mind like a broken record, tormenting him until he thought he might lose his mind.

He didn’t sleep. He didn’t let himself. The thought of resting while you suffered felt like a betrayal all its own. Every lead he chased that ended in a dead end, every door he kicked down only to find nothing—it all fed the gnawing fear that maybe he’d already failed you. Maybe they’d killed you, and he’d handed you over for nothing.

The guilt was unbearable. He tore through their ranks like a storm, his fury unmatched, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the shame. He hated himself. Hated the weakness that had forced him to make that decision. Hated the gnawing, unrelenting fear that you would never forgive him—not that he deserved forgiveness.

And when he finally found you, every shred of control he had crumbled.

The facility was dim and reeked of damp and rot. Chuuya had fought through waves of guards, his knuckles bloody, his hat lost somewhere in the chaos. His heart was pounding as he kicked in the final door, praying—desperate—that you’d still be there.

When he saw you, chained to the wall, your body slumped and your head bowed, the air left his lungs.

He breathed your name, his voice trembling as he stepped into the cell. You didn’t move, didn’t even look at him. For a moment, he thought he might be too late, and the thought shattered him. “No. No, no, no…” He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands shaking as he reached out to touch your face. “Hey. It’s me. I’m here. I’m here.”

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, but the look you gave him wasn’t relief. It was fear.

You flinched back, pressing yourself against the wall as far as the chains would allow. “No,” you rasped, your voice hoarse from disuse. “No. Don’t touch me. Don’t—”

The words broke him in ways he hadn’t thought possible. He drew his hands back as if burned, his throat tightening. “It’s me,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s Chuuya. I’m here to get you out. I—”

But you shook your head, tears welling in your hollow, sunken eyes. “You don’t get to pretend to care,” you said, your voice cracking. “You gave me to them, Chuuya. You—” Your voice broke entirely, and you turned your head away from him.

The sight of you—so broken, so unlike yourself—made his chest ache like someone had driven a blade straight through it. He knelt there, frozen, his heart shattering under the weight of your words. For a moment, he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

“I know,” he said finally, his voice raw and trembling. “I know I hurt you. I know I don’t deserve—” He swallowed hard, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t deserve for you to forgive me. But I couldn’t let them kill you. I couldn’t—” His voice broke, and he bowed his head, unable to meet your gaze.

For the first time in years, tears spilled from his eyes. Chuuya Nakahara, who’d faced countless battles without flinching, who’d stood tall in the face of danger, was breaking apart in front of you. His shoulders shook as he sobbed, his hands gripping the cold, dirty floor beneath him.

“I thought—” He choked on the words. “I thought if I gave them what they wanted, I’d have time to get you back. I thought—I thought I was saving you. But I… I…” He trailed off, unable to continue.

You stared at him, your heart warring with itself. For weeks, you’d dreamed of this moment, of him bursting through the door to rescue you. But now that he was here, all you could feel was the crushing weight of his betrayal.

“I hate you,” you whispered, though your voice trembled, and the tears sliding down your cheeks betrayed the truth.

Chuuya nodded, his head still bowed. “I’ll take that,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I’ll take your hate. I deserve it. But I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, hesitantly, you reached out. Your fingers brushed against his, trembling as much as his were. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you said, your voice soft but firm.

He looked up at you then, his crimson eyes shining with tears. “This time,” he said, his voice steady despite the raw emotion in it, “I’ll keep them. I swear.”

[luvrsrck]

first post! pre gaia battle angst cause i was listening to triassic love song by paris paloma and kept thinking about jason

⎯ ☆ ⎯

cw: fluffy smut, unprotected piv (use protection this is solely fictional!), sprinkle of angst

jason grace x reader (964 words!)

you frantically poked your boyfriend awake from his slumber.

"jason?"

"yeah sweetheart?" his voice was raspy from being woken up so late.

"do you think we’ll make it tomorrow?" your voice broke as your upper lip trembled. he rose up, turning on the lamp that sat on the bedside table.

he slowly leaned forward, like you were a deer in the middle of the road. when he cupped your face the dam broke. tears spilled as you looked up at him with pleading eyes.

"i just have this gut feeling that everything’s going to go wrong when we fight gaia" you hiccuped through sobs that broke his heart.

there was a second where no words were exchanged. it was just the two of you, jason stroking your cheeks with his thumbs in gentle, soothing motions.

he emphasized his breathing, taking deep breaths in and out until you followed him and your breathing evened out.

jason pulled you closer to him, away from your kneeling position and into him.

he kissed you so softly, like you were made of glass. there was no lust in it. just love and desperation.

you deepened the kiss, pulling him closer by his shirt and climbing into his lap. after pulling away, jason’s hands were still holding your face. you slowly took one of his hands off of your cheek and placed it under your shirt to squeeze your tit. he blushed.

"i need you. please."

his eyes widened.

"are you sure?"

a curt nodded confirmed it. he placed his other hand on your waist and ran his fingers over the warm skin.

you took it a step further, reaching under your shirt to pull it off entirely.

"you’re so beautiful…"

he laid you down and moved to leave wet kisses down your jaw and down to your neck. everything was so gentle and intimate.

you whined and tugged at his shirt, wanting it off. he complied and slid it off his body to reveal his muscles that you loved so much.

the tears were still falling, but your mind was more focused on your handsome boyfriend kissing and sucking at your neck.

he revelled in your soft whimpers as you pressed your thighs together. jason smirked against your neck and wedged his thigh in between your legs, gasping when you teasingly grinded against his hardon.

"kiss me again." you pleaded.

he wasted no time in pressing his lips to yours again, with more feverity this time. he kissed you like you were his last breath.

he then pulled away to kiss down your sternum all the way to your stomach, pulling your pajama pants and panties down in one go.

you impatiently kicked them somewhere across the room. jason pulled down his sweatpants, his dick aching to be inside you. if this was the last time he would ever feel you, he needed it to count.

you pulled away from the kiss to whine at him, glancing down to his pants that were still on. he got the hint and pulled them off, discarding them on the floor.

he rubbed his tip against your folds, until he deemed you wet enough to take him without prep. you were already stretched out to his size anyway.

you pulled him back into your chest to kiss him over and over again while he slowly pushed into you.

he paused for a minute to let you adjust, and when he thrusted in and out you felt like absolute heaven.

you hugged him close to you and locked your legs around his waist.

he wasn’t fucking you. no, this was different. he was making love to you.

you loved him so much. nothing could ever take jason grace from you.

he began to speed up his thrusts and you could feel how deep he was in you. your higher pitched whimpers and his groans were in tandem, you tracing the toned muscles on his back from years of training and fighting.

"do you know how lucky i am to be with you?" you choked out through moans.

you needed to have him as close to you as possible. he was putting his full body weight on your chest but you didn’t care. you needed him.

his thrusts were at a fast speed, but still not rough or hard. the tears of fear were gone now, all that were left were tears of pleasure falling from your eyes.

he could feel himself getting closer to filling you up. he grunted in your ear to warn you.

suddenly you pulled him in front of you and looked him directly in the eye.

"i love you so much jason. don’t you ever leave me."

you whispered before pulling him into a searing kiss to muffle your moans as the coil in your stomach snapped.

he fucking whimpered into your mouth, cumming inside of you with a gasp. the two of you were panting as he gently slid out.

you tackled him backwards onto the mattress, enveloping him into a hug, holding onto him as if he were gravity itself.

he chuckled raspily and wrapped his arm around your waist, placing a hand in your hair. after laying there holding you for a few minutes, he noticed your breathing had evened out and you were fast asleep in the crook of his neck: jason then hooked his hands under your thighs and gently hoisted you back under the covers.

his cum was dripping down your thigh but in your state you didn’t care. you needed to be as close to him as possible.

he slid himself under you and you subconsciously snuggled into his side, moving to lay your head on his chest.

he kissed your forehead before turning off the lamp and falling asleep himself.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

reblogs appreciated!!

[freyito]

ʜᴇᴀʀᴛʜ ʙᴇᴀᴛꜱ

✭ pairing(s): messmer x gn reader

★ 'hearth' /härTH/ ✱ used as a symbol of one's home.

✩ in which: messmer understands the meaning of home. or you had a bad day. (as is common in the lands between)

✧ a/n: messmerrrrrr i missss yewwww (writing this while i stare at my messmer statue)

🗒 cw: gn reader, tarnished reader, comfort, proofread

✎ wc: 1.3k

Comfort is a lost art on Messmer. Long gone are the days of being cradled in his mothers arms when he had a bad dream, or her soft words when he had a bad day. What he was left with now was an emptiness that he never could seem to fill, one that clawed its way through his heart. No matter how many times he had raised his spear, how many times he had repeated those words, over and over, nothing made home there.

Aside from now, at least. He could wallow as much as he wanted to, mourn what he wanted with his mother, and that wouldn’t change the fact that he had a Tarnished curled up on his chest, sobbing. You were the first Tarnished to not raise your weapon when faced with him, and in a moment of weakness, he was compelled to take you in. ‘Like a pet’ he rationalized in his head. He didn’t expect to get so attached, but within you, he saw something more. Stripped of your light, yet still standing. For once, to him, it was honorable. And so, here you were, head pressed against his chest, heaving softly as you tried to blink away the tears that welled in your eyes.

He is so very warm, akin to the warmest blanket you’ve known against the cold that had gradually seeped into your very bones. The cold that persisted within the Lands Between. It was a bitter feeling you were rather intimate with, the way your fingers stung no matter the padding of your armor, your bones weary and tired. You had grown so used to the abuse thrown your way, the way the world piled its own weight against you every step of the way. You were familiar with just how deep the world cut into you, and always prided yourself on just how much you could withstand. The scorn others cast upon you, the reminder that Tarnished were lesser, it was crammed into your head. And yet, you persevered. All you could do was wipe the blood, spit, and rain off your face and continue on.

But it wore you down. The Lands Between could not suffer sensitivity, and all you could ever do was keep walking forward. You could not rest, no, for it felt as if the entire world was against you. All you could do was kill, push forward, and kill again. It has inevitably taken its toll, as all things do. You could care less about the Grace of Marika now, wanting nothing more than to feel the warmth of something. Preferably your partner. And yet, even as you curled up against Messmer’s chest, his warmth does nothing to dull the biting cold that’s made its home within your very bones. You wanted nothing more than to be swaddled and coddled like a babe, sang to sleep, even. You wanted your cries to be heard, not pushed aside in favor of battle.

And Messmer knew that feeling all too well. To be shunned yet still borderline worshiped, somehow honored despite being such a wretched thing. And yet, he fell short. All he could do was simply breathe, too afraid to do anything with his hands or console you with his words. Despite how much he longed for the same treatment you crave so desperately at this moment, he had never thought of how he would go about it. And yet, he couldn’t just let you wallow alone, he wouldn’t let you suffer another minute, not alone, at least.

You take a deep shuddering breath, unable to quell the uncertainty and fear that ails you. Even the thought of resting was horrifying, all your body had known was strife and to take a break was as if you were asking yourself to die. The creeping dread intertwined with the pain spreading through your chest, which only made for a worse reaction.

Tentatively, Messmer’s fingers stroke through your hair, his nails scratching ever so lightly at your scalp. He is careful not to be too rough, quite aware of his size compared to yours. His other hand is placed firmly on the small of your back, shuffling beneath you, readjusting your body so your ear lay against his chest. His breathing is steady, chest rising and falling calmly as you whine. His heart beats against your ear, even, yet it stutters every now and then. Whether it’s his nerves or just how flustered he is to be so close to you, you are unsure. But it’s a gentle lullaby, something that stills your racing mind, yet doesn’t stop the tears that flow.

His serpents tense ever so slightly, unsure of what to do as is Messmer. Yet, they relax as your sobs slow, resting over your tired limbs. All Messmer can do is offer soft shushes, in the same way his mother had offered when he was a fussy babe. Yet, he feels as if he is lacking, missing something. All he wants is to quell your fears and calm you down, and yet he knows he cannot tell you that everything will be okay. He knows that is a lie. But he does not deny you the catharsis of bawling until your throat is raw. He can do more, he tells himself, but he freezes in his own fluster, unable to act on what he wishes to do. At least for the time being. He simply stares down at you as you sob helplessly against him.

What follows is a painful silence in the hollow chamber, wracked with your sniffles and heaves. Messmer shifts near uncomfortably beneath you, not because he is embarrassed, but simply because he doesn’t know what to do. Or if what he’s about to do would be seen as okay. He feels rather bold, yet anxious as his hands drift to your waist, pushing you up until your face is level with his. Close, so very close, is all he can think as he looks upon your crying face, wet, puffy, and vulnerable. You watch as his face softens quickly, his eyebrows furrowed in concern, his eye glossy, as if he, too, is feeling your pain.

He presses his lips to your cheekbone, just under your eye, a gentle kiss to ward away your fear. You can feel his entire body heat up by this simple act, and even in your blurred vision you can tell just how bright his cheeks burned. He had kissed you a million times before, and yet he could never dull the awkwardness or rush he felt. Yet, he presses another kiss to your cheek, and another. He continues to kiss away your tears, and in doing so, turns your harsh shuddering into light laughs. His kisses are ticklish, and while you were almost content to wallow in your misery, you couldn’t help but laugh. Which has Messmer beaming.

A warmth spreads through him that was just once kindling, now a blazing flame. One that is imperceptible to you, but means the world and more to Messmer. It quells the ever-burning flame within, the one he had learned to hate and yet wield as a weapon. Replaced by something that was just simply warm. Like a summers day, one that has long since faded from the Land of Shadow, yet akin nonetheless. He can’t put his finger on it. When he looks at you, however, that warmth grows hotter, and hotter, and then dulls into the comforting embrace of a blanket, or the fur of a kitten underneath his fingers. It is not like the love that he sought and begged for all these years, no, it is something different. He knows it is different. And as he looks upon your tear streaked face, still slightly red, but graced with a smile nonetheless, he himself cannot help but smile. A gentle look that he has not shared in ages.

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[wonubby]

Let Down - K. BAKUGO

CONTENT WARNING: angst, bakugo's death mention, hurt/comfort, established relationship, childhood lovers

ZEE SPEAKS: It's 5am, probably unedited and im spiralling; this is for my own sake. also i havent read/watched this scene, i've put it off so forgive me for any mistakes

WC: 926

"when i'm older, i'm going to grow wings!" katsuki pumped his tiny fist in the air, his voice filled with enthusiasm.

"woah, kacchan! you're so cool," the girl sitting next to him gasped, her sparkling eyes fixed on her friend.

"and i promise to make you my wife, y/n." with that, the boy took off, leaving the girl a blushing mess.

he lied.

katsuki bakugo was a fucking liar, and y/n would never forgive him.

now, at seventeen, he lay on the ground, his shell shattered, blood flowing out like that of a crushed insect. it was quiet for a while. not a single word uttered in the cold, dreadful atmosphere.

then, a wail shattered the silence—a sound so gut-wrenching it could break hearts.

everyone knew who it belonged to.

y/n. none other than bakugo's girlfriend and childhood friend. the pair had been inseparable since kindergarten, refusing to do anything if the other wasn't present. it was cute. everyone who had met the two joyous kids knew they had a bright future ahead of them—one that included getting married and having as many babies as possible.

but now, that future was gone.

it ended the moment his body hit the floor, a hole in his chest.

"get up." a harsh whisper filled the air, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps.

"i said, get up." the voice repeated, snappier this time, filled with nothing but rage. "you're not allowed to die, asshole. get up!"

she was screaming now, falling to her knees, shaking the lifeless body of her boyfriend.

best jeanist approached the girl, trying to pull her away from the boy’s unmoving form.

"y/n, stop. you need to stay calm. edgeshot is doing his best," he reasoned, only to be met with a cold, tear-filled glare.

"shut the fuck up."

the words stunned him. in all his years of knowing y/n, she had never been one to cuss.

"i'm not letting him get away with this. he's going to come back. he will—he has to. h-he—" a sob ripped through her chest. "he promised! he said he'd keep fighting, that if he fell, he'd grow wings."

"he's a fucking liar."

by now, she was full-on sobbing, clutching the lifeless body of the boy she had planned a future with.

a few minutes passed, and nothing changed.

y/n buried her face in his bloodied chest, her tears mixing with the crimson.

best jeanist tried to de-escalate the situation.

and bakugo... still dead.

by now, izuku had arrived at the scene. he let himself soak in the devastation for only a moment before surging toward shigaraki, fueled by a newfound rage.

that's when y/n realized what she had been doing. instead of helping and trying to defeat the villains, she'd been wallowing selfishly.

just like izuku, she got up, ready to head to the battle—until she heard it.

the quiet and gentle call of her name. it tugged at her heart. one she could recognize in a heartbeat. y/n thought she was hearing things. there was no way he could say anything—he had a hole in his chest for god's sake!

shaking off the feeling, she continued walking.

"y/n..." there it was again, still quiet but very real.

with a heavy heart, y/n slowly turned around, her eyes filling with tears almost immediately.

there he was—bakugo katsuki, alive.

the boy she swore to cherish with her entire being, alive.

his eyes were soft, full of remorse, as they locked onto hers.

"you asshole!" y/n screamed, her voice breaking with a mix of anger and relief. she stormed over to him, face flushed with fury.

standing before him, she planted her hands on his fully healed chest, lightly punching him with all the strength she could muster. her body shook with emotion, thrashing in his arms as he held her, trying to calm her down.

"i fucking hate you! how dare you just—die like that?!" she yelled, her anger almost drowning out the relief she felt. tears blurred her vision, but beneath all the rage, bakugo could feel her gratitude. her happiness that he was alive.

"i know, baby, i’m sorry," katsuki whispered, his voice cracking with guilt. he reached out and pulled her into his arms, wrapping them tightly around her.

the force of his embrace made her body tremble, but she didn’t pull away. she buried her face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

katsuki’s eyes shimmered with tears, though he kept them at bay, not wanting her to see him vulnerable. still, a single tear slipped down his cheek as he held her close, feeling the warmth of her body against his.

they sank to the ground, both of them trembling. y/n clung to him, her sobs echoing in the stillness, but now they were softer, like the release of everything she had been holding in.

"i was so scared," she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt. "i thought i lost you... i thought i’d never see you again."

"you won’t lose me, i swear," bakugo murmured, pressing his cheek to her head, his arms never loosening their grip. "i’m not going anywhere."

they sat there for a long time, the world around them fading into the background as they held onto each other. for once, there was peace, just the two of them, wrapped in the comfort of knowing they’d made it through the storm together. no words were needed. just the steady rhythm of their hearts beating in unison.

© 2025 wonubby— All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (21/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: the death of one of the characters, trauma, description of the battle and wounds, kissing, the angst, many things from Lady Royce's childhood presented in a different light ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

If your trust in me is dependent on your mood, it means that our marriage is a mere fiction without foundation, and I remain your slave.

Her words, despite trying to drown out his inner thoughts with wine, came back to him like a fly buzzing around his head. He was furious with her – no one had ever spoken to him like that before, not even his father or mother, let alone someone who was a stranger to him.

His inner envy and resentful, masculine pride assured him that he was doing the right thing by punishing her with the lack of his presence – he felt that his fears and words were completely justified, and she had become hysterical, as had often happened to women over the centuries.

He pressed his lips together, creating small, burning wounds around his nails with his thumb, picking at the cuticles around them as if he wanted to rip his skin down to the very flesh.

He preferred to think of how much she had enraged him rather than how he dreaded what was to come.

The Prince Regent could not be afraid – he was now the head of the entire Kingdom and could not hesitate, he repeated to himself, but his knee bounced in a nervous gesture anyway as he sat by the hearth, staring into the fire, unable to calm himself.

He hid his face in his hand, a quiet sigh on the verge of a groan left his throat at the thought that despite everything he would rather have her with him now.

She was able to reassure him: she knew exactly how to embrace him, stroke him, kiss him, what to say and when to say it.

An uncomfortable sting in his heart accompanied his conviction that her scent, her calm voice, her soft, gentle hands and her body in which he could hide was just what he needed.

He knew that after what she had said she had no intention of visiting him. He would have been willing to wait until dawn and let them both cool off, trying to reason with her again the next day, had it not been for the fact that he had no more time.

He was supposed to leave later that night, and she didn't know it.

Some part of him wanted to give in, to let go of his pride, his prejudices and go to her, to feel her once more, melting with her into one. He knew that although she certainly resented him, she would have allowed him to take her if he had been gentle: a condition of their momentary truce would have to be that he did not humiliate her, and their closeness would be an attempt at reconciliation, a proof of mutual tenderness and devotion.

But he knew that if he went to her, if he felt her, if he came inside her, his mask would crack: he would not be able to hide from her how terrified he was, or worse, he would burst out sobbing like a little boy.

He couldn't afford that, because then she would try to find out what had happened, and he would have to tell her.

So he could not go to her, which put him in a helpless position: he was not such a fool as to disregard the possibility that, after what was about to happen, she might never see him again.

Did she deserve for him to abandon her like this, without a word of explanation?

He thought for a long time, feeling the panic slowly rising within him, only to come up with an idea that seemed perfect after a while.

A letter.

He got up from his seat and took a piece of parchment, a quill and an inkwell from one of the wooden drawers, sitting down behind the wide oak table. He leaned over, dipped the tip of the quill into the ink and began to write, for the first time addressing words to someone in this way, without using official language or phrases.

Ñuha hāedar (my little sister), we part in anger and I sincerely regret it. Know that my intention was not to humiliate you or to undermine your loyalty to me, of which I have been certain for a long time. Perhaps I was unable, as is my custom, to find appropriate, more thoughtful words to describe my concerns, for which I ask your forgiveness. I set out to meet your father full of trepidation, hoping that you will also forgive me for not taking you with me, despite my promises. I cannot and do not want to risk your life. I have taken enough from you by force. Many things I have done to you in the past I now think of with shame. If I fall, bend the knee before your father and confess that I forced you to do everything. You have my blessing to do so. All I ask is that you keep in your heart the memory of me as your brother who truly loved you. I promise that wherever I find myself after death, I will be waiting for you there. Aōha lēkia (your big brother)

He swallowed hard, putting the quill down on the table top, feeling for some reason that his hands were shaking, his throat clenched, his heart pounding like mad, a burning sensation under his eyelids.

It was a farewell.

She said she could only see me and the child, but you were not with us.

She said she could only hear the sound of the water.

He closed his eye and leaned forward, feeling his whole body screaming for him to stay, for him not to do this.

What could Daemon do if he just didn't show up?

If he had mocked him and let him wait for something that would not come?

The whole of King's Landing would have found out that he hadn't attended the duel.

That their prince was a craven, a scared little boy, not a man.

He got up from his seat and rolled up the letter, tying it with a ribbon, then summoned his servant. The boy came in a moment later and bowed, clearly tired and half-conscious, surprised that he had expected his presence at such a late hour.

"Your Grace?"

"Prepare my armour. I'm setting off for patrol." He lied, extending a rolled-up piece of parchment towards him. "You will carry this to my wife in the morrow if I do not return."

The boy nodded, surprised, and left, leaving him alone with his thoughts. A moment later, he and the other man, whom he had apparently woken, walked into his chamber with all the parts of his armour.

He thought grimly, putting the chainmail on over his thick woollen tunic, that he had never worn it before – he had never taken part in knight's tournaments, considering it a childish matter that he did not care for.

However, when he felt its weight on his shoulders he regretted that he had never fought in it before.

Even moving his arm, not yet holding a sword in his hand, he felt that its weight would slow him down, that he would not be as skilful as he had been when sparring with Criston Cole.

The thought made him feel a cold sweat on his back.

He decided that all his hair should be tied back – his servants couldn't braid because they weren't women, so he didn't even try to ask them to do it, ordering them instead to simply tie it up with a black ribbon at the back of his head.

My wife would know how to do this, he thought regretfully, recalling in his memories her delicate fingers weaving strands of his hair together.

His armour was heavy, but it was the thought of him abandoning her in such a manner that weighed down on his heart.

When he looked at himself in the mirror, he thought he looked like a prince from the legends, a great knight who was going to bravely face another powerful man. Though he believed it would be just the opposite, he recognised that there was no pride in it, no glory – just that he was flying to meet death in the form of his uncle, ready to commit kinslaying again.

But he couldn't take a step back, even though some part of him wanted so badly to be a coward.

To his displeasure, the commotion he caused in the middle of the night aroused the interest of Criston Cole, who was on watch at the time.

"My Prince. Can it really not wait until morn? What will you see in the darkness of the night?" He asked him, and he pressed his lips together, furious that he expected him to make an explanation.

"I won't sleep until I'm sure there's no danger lurking in the sky. I'll be back soon. Prepare me a rested horse." He ordered, turning again to the young stable boy, who merely nodded and ran out of his quarters.

Cole looked at him with a look of worry on his face that annoyed him.

"I know what you think of me, how much you despise me because of what I have done. I deserve this punishment, your rejection. I promise that, as I have done so far, I will bear it with dignity. But let me stand by you now that war is at our doorstep."

He felt an unpleasant constriction in his throat, a sting in his heart testifying to the fact that his betrayal was in fact the cause of his immense pain and unhappiness, the grief of losing someone he had considered his comrade and companion.

You cannot help me with what is to come, he thought inside his head.

"If you wish to regain my favour, watch at my wife's chamber until my return. I leave her in your care." He said coldly and sidestepped him, not wanting him to see in the gaze of his healthy eye the thing that made his whole body quiver.

Fear.

Following his order, his mount was already waiting for him when he stepped out into the courtyard of Harrenhal – he strapped his sword and helmet to its saddle, then jumped onto its back and slammed his feet into its sides, making the horse move ahead in a gallop.

The night was chilly, teasing his cheeks unpleasantly – Vhagar's liege was not far away, but some part of him longed for this journey to last for hours.

To postpone as much as possible what he was about to face.

His dragoness sensed his trepidation immediately – she awoke and lifted her head high, leaning towards him as he jumped off his horse, hitting his body with a hot breath of steam. He pressed his forehead against her hard, scratchy scales, feeling that it was just him and her now.

No one else.

"Emi naejot gaomagon ziry, ñuha jorrāelagon raqiros. Dohaeragon nyke. (We have to do it, my dear friend. Help me.)" He whispered, but he knew that some part of her understood him – she squawked loudly, as if to let him know that she was ready.

The blood and fire of Old Valyria flowed through her veins again, just as it had in the days of her greatest battles.

He sighed heavily and moved towards the long ropes hanging down the sides of her great body, wondering how he was supposed to climb with such a weight on her back. He grabbed one and pulled, figuring he may have had enough strength in his arms to do so, when he heard the clatter of hooves in the distance.

He turned around, startled, sure that it was Cole who had moved after him, but froze, seeing her silhouette clearly in the moonlight.

She was breathing loudly through her mouth, her hair tied up in a braid, unruly strands stuck to her cheeks moist with sweat from exertion.

She only jumped off the back of her mare when she was right in front of him, and then she rushed at him, swinging her hand as if she wanted to slap him in the face – involuntarily he grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him, her body slamming into his with a loud clang of steel.

"You fucking bastard! How dare you leave me behind!" She shouted in his face in a breaking, childish voice, her doe eyes red from tears, her dark eyebrows arched in pain and grief.

He, however, simply stared at her, unable to believe that she was standing in front of him.

She followed him.

His wife.

He kissed her – fear and uncertainty had robbed him of the ability to speak, so he showed what he felt with this caress, aggressive and sticky, full of their tongues, saliva and teeth.

She moaned furiously into his mouth, but did not push him away – quite the opposite, they embraced each other tightly, devouring each other in this violent, loud act of union, her closeness, her scent, her fingers clenched in his hair tender and familiar.

His body's reaction was immediate, as if he had fallen into some kind of euphoria.

His erection was so hard that it caused him pain.

"My armour got unpleasantly tight. Right here." He breathed out into her throat, rubbing his hips against her stomach, feeling the discomfort between his thighs, trying to find any outlet for the tension that was building in his manhood.

He thought with his cock, as he didn't want to remind himself of what he was about to do.

She, however, pulled him down to the ground.

"Take me with you." She mumbled, stroking his jaw with her fingers.

For some reason, her words caused him pain.

He needed to hear it, needed her by his side, but he couldn't be that selfish.

He had forced her to do enough things.

He strangled her, pressed her face to the ground, forced her to tame the dragon even though she could have died, himself considering when and how he should get rid of her, using her for his pleasure in the end, giving her no security, no guarantee that he had in any way even considered marrying her.

Only now, in that moment, did he understand why all this time his mother had been looking at him this way.

He had made her his whore, even though he could, after all, have treated her with dignity from the very beginning.

Was this how a man of honour behaved?

"I want you to live, even if I'm gone. Daemon, if he succeeds in defeating me, will not kill you. You will tell him that I forced you to marry me." He whispered, wanting to behave as he should this time.

Like a good man, a good brother, a good husband.

He closed his eye as her thumb ran over his jawline, her warm hand cupping his cold cheek soothingly, making him feel safe.

"You promised me something then, under a starry sky, like the one spreading over our heads now. You said: tame a dragon, and your place will always be by my side. It was not to be my punishment, but my reward. So reward me, for my devotion, courage and faithfulness. Let me spend the night with you." She said softly.

He opened his eye, feeling his heart beat harder, as if his body was giving him a sign that it still wanted to live, and the blood still flowed through his veins.

Although he had felt dead a moment before, he now took a breath again, as if he had risen from the sea depths to the surface.

He kissed her as he had always dreamed of being kissed: the caresses he placed on her plump lips were sweet and moist, sticky with his desire and the feeling that burned in his heart like a living fire, giving him hope.

In that moment, although he was not aware of it, he gave vent to his grief and frustration, a thought that had been circling in his head for many months, but which he had not allowed to reach his consciousness because of his pride.

He could not bear the fact that he had not met her sooner – that Daemon had never taken her with him to the Red Keep.

He saw her through the eyes of his imagination as a little girl, as lost and bewildered as he was – alone in a strange place, among strange people and a strange culture, where fire and blood ruled. His nature, which made him love to show off his knowledge and rhetoric would have made him, though no doubt reluctantly, acquaint her with all the secrets their lineage, their history, their heritage held.

She would not have a dragon, and neither would he.

He would no longer be alone.

Perhaps she would have helped him then, that night, and climbed onto Vhagar's back with him.

Perhaps they would have set off towards the skies together, laughing and shouting with joy.

Perhaps she would have stood up for him and he would never have lost his left eye.

Perhaps he would have smiled more often, teasing her all the time.

Perhaps his first experience with a woman would not have been in a brothel with a whore in his mother's age, but her, just as inexperienced, beautiful in her innocence.

Perhaps she would have borne him a son or a daughter long ago, being his wife and closest companion.

He felt that he had been robbed of their years together, of the possibility of being a different person, of retaining something in himself that was pure, true, honest.

He was a shadow of himself, a sullen, tall figure in black, a stone lying at the foot of the Iron Throne.

"– hāedar (little sister) –" He breathed out into her mouth, this young girl whom he would kiss fervently in the dark corridors of the Red Keep, slowly discovering with her the secrets and nooks of her soft, warm body, her throbbing womanhood leaking under his fingers.

He craved what had been taken from them – he wanted to be a boy with two eyes again, to regain what he had lost.

He wanted Luke to be still alive.

He felt a heavy, burning, lonely tear gather under his eyelid at that thought, but she wiped it away with her thumb before it could run down, pressing her forehead against his.

"– lēkia (big brother) –" She hummed softly, causing a pleasant, warm feeling to ripple through his heart.

"– promise not to leave my side –" He muttered in a breaking voice.

She smiled at his words.

"– I promise –"

They embraced and cuddled into each other in a way that was delightfully innocent – although he passionately desired her, there was no lust in the gesture itself, but a need for simple closeness and comfort.

"– don't make Aegon's mistake – stay away until I give you the sign – do you understand? –" He whispered in her ear and she nodded.

"– yes –"

Her presence gave him strength and, although with difficulty, he managed to climb onto Vhagar's back. He turned behind himself, spotting her seated figure, Sheepstealer rose from the ground at her command.

"Sōvēs! (Fly!)" He called out, and a moment later, Vhagar's body shook as she lazily began to rise on her paws. She moved forward, making the ground around them tremble, and then took to the skies with difficulty.

He breathed loudly as he saw the silhouettes of Sheepstealer at his side and his wife sitting on his back – although he was still terrified, their presence was a comfort to him.

On the one hand, he felt remorse that he had been so weak as to expose her; on the other, he thought that perhaps, in fact, her presence would bring Daemon out of balance and give them a chance.

Or at least that was how he tried to console himself.

The journey from Harrenhal to Gods Eye was not a long one – he swallowed hard, noticing that his uncle had not yet appeared.

What if it was an ambush?

They both landed on a hill near the lake in the open space, so that he could see exactly what was going on around them. He looked to the side and noticed that his wife was staring at the sheet of water spreading out beside them.

He swallowed hard, looking at her uncertainly – some part of him that was still afraid he was going to die wanted to tell her that he loved her, but he only managed to open his mouth when he heard a screech in the skies.

They both lifted their heads up, terrified and anxious, as the powerful figure of Caraxes flew over their heads – he grabbed the ropes, ready to command Vhagar to breathe fire, Daemon, however, landed in front of them, his dragon's paws slamming into the ground, its head stopped just in front of Vhagar's muzzle.

Both dragons squawked loudly, but he wasn't sure if it was an expression of threat or greeting.

After all, they had flown together in the skies for many years.

"I thought you were a man, nephew, yet you hide behind my daughter's skirt like a coward." He exclaimed mockingly, pulling his helmet off his head.

He was exactly as he remembered him – his ironic grin, his narrow, shrewd gaze, the lightness and pride with which he spoke made him feel an unpleasant wave of humiliation flow along his spine.

"I named my hound after you, Father." He heard his wife's voice at his side and lifted his chin higher, feeling a sudden, pleasant shiver of satisfaction.

Daemon pressed his lips into a thin line, but did not look at her, as if afraid of what he might see.

"My wife longed to greet her father. Who am I to take that right away from her?" He hummed, feeling a sudden surge of confidence, realising they had the advantage over him.

Two dragons against one.

His uncle snorted and shook his head, looking up at the stars above their heads as if bored.

"You tell me. You took away her right to decide for herself when you abducted her to the Red Keep. Did you ask her opinion on the matter then too?" He sneered.

"That is no longer your concern." His wife said coldly, looking at Daemon in a way he had never seen before – her face was stony and cold, her forehead smooth, her eyebrows raised in disapproval and some kind of disgust, her hands clenched into fists.

Her father finally looked at her and it made him uneasy – he had the feeling that they had both forgotten his presence for a moment.

He swallowed hard and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, noticing what he had feared.

Her mask was slowly cracking, showing the pain, regret and disappointment that filled her whole heart.

"Where were you when this happened? How did you protect me that you have the audacity to mention it now?" She asked sternly, making him feel an unpleasant sting in his heart.

Where were you when this happened?

His hand clamped around her neck as if he wanted to strangle her, his fingers gripping her hair, pressing her face to the ground.

"I sent my men to deal with the matter. However, they did not find your husband, for he was with his whore at the time. These fools killed the boy." Daemon said dispassionately making his heart stop beating for a moment.

I sent my men to deal with the matter.

Daemon didn't send them in revenge for Luke.

He sent them in revenge for her.

His wife seemed as shocked as he was, as she simply looked at her father in disbelief, as if she could not find the right words to answer him.

"Then the matter was determined. I would have tried to intervene again by force, but Lysa kept me informed of what was happening. That you were succumbing to your tormentor and his manipulations. Therefore, you have put me in an impossible situation." He concluded.

Lysa.

Her servant had been spying for him.

He felt himself begin to boil with rage, feeling like a little boy who had been fooled again.

From the very beginning he thought he had gained the upper hand over him, and it was the complete opposite.

While Daemon knew everything about them, he had no information about what was happening in Dragonstone.

"My mother. Did you kill her?" Her voice full of anger and grief snapped him out of his reverie.

"I did." Her father replied without hesitation.

"Why? Haven't you taken enough of her?" She asked in pain.

"For months she had the woman who cared for you add poison to your milk. Measter, when he realised, informed your cousin and he informed me. When I arrived, you were already in a fever." He said annoyed, speaking louder and louder with every word.

When I was a child I often had trouble falling asleep.

My nanny would then bring me warm milk mixed with honey and ground grains brought from distant Essos.

He looked at her, feeling that the situation was beginning to get out of hand – he hadn't expected any discussion to occur or what their would hear – his wife's face twisted into a grimace, as if her father had slapped her across the face.

"I don't believe you." She muttered.

"She wanted to get rid of you. When I offered to take you to King's Landing, she refused. I had no choice but to kill the whore."

"You left me behind!" She whined, as if someone was forcing a blade into her body, Sheepstealers squawked loudly, feeling her pain.

"I will take you with me this time. But you must let me resolve the matter between me and my nephew. Do not interfere. Caraxes!" He called out, and his dragon squealed loudly, raising its head, ready to attack.

"NO!" He heard her shout, but neither of them listened to her anymore.

"Angōs, Vhagar! (Attack, Vhagar!)" He shouted in response, and the two great beasts collided with each other, sinking their fangs into each other's bodies. Vhagar jerked, biting a chunk of flesh from Caraxes stomach, but he was not indebted to her and drove his claws into her gut.

Both dragons squawked in pain and flapped their wings, trying to separate and lift themselves into the air. When Caraxes let her go, he pulled on the ropes and forced his dragoness to soar up and then down, opening her maw wide.

"DRAKARYS!" He and Daemon shouted at the same moment, and two long columns of fire struck each other in the air, lighting up the night sky around them. He turned on his saddle, trying to escape the hot flames, panting with exertion, seeing only the endlessly black sheet of water below him.

Was this what she had seen in her dream?

Caraxes shot upwards like a serpentine, folding his wings along his body, flying on them at tremendous speed – his voice stuck in his throat, and no command left his lips when he caught sight of Daemon's silhouette leaping off the back of his dragon, falling on top of him with the sword in his hand, gripped so as to thrust it into his head.

He knew he wouldn't be able to dodge, and even if he succeeded, Daemon would finish the job when Caraxes hit Vhagar.

His body froze, fear paralysed his limbs, disbelief and terror surged like lightning along his spine.

Then he heard a swish – his uncle seemed surprised, his mouth opened wide as the arrowhead slammed into his neck, the only place that was exposed. The impact changed the trajectory of his flight – he heard him draw in air loudly before he began to fall downwards.

He clenched his hands tightly on the ropes tied to his saddle as Caraxes slammed into Vhagar – his dragoness acted without his commands, immediately thrusting her fangs and claws into his flesh, tearing him apart.

He sighed as Sheepstealer and she flashed beneath him – his heart thumped hard in his chest as he saw Daemon's body fall into the water, and she jumped after him.

"– hāedar! –" He shouted in a breaking voice, not knowing what to do, how to help her, how to react to what she had just done.

Did she know how to swim?

He had never done that, and if he jumped in after her in full armour, they would both drown.

"Dohaerās, Vhagar! (Serve me, Vhagar!)" He howled, with all the strength he had in his arms pulling at the ropes, trying to direct Vhagar to the place over which the Sheepstealer was circling, squealing and wailing, the numb body of Caraxes fell down with his cry.

He thought he could try to drop her rope, but Vhagar's wings hovering over the surface of the water caused waves to form.

She won't be able to swim out, he thought in despair.

"FUCK!" He groaned and burst out crying as he soared higher, circling above the place, quickly unbuckling all the pieces of armour he was able to remove on his own, wanting to jump in after her.

Then Sheepstealer suddenly changed the course of his flight, folded his wings so that his silhouette formed a straight line, and hit the water with all his might, disappearing beneath its surface.

He was panting heavily, looking at the place where they both disappeared, hearing the sound of the wind all around him, panting all over with fear and terror, whooping with his tears.

"– gods, please – please, please, please, not her –"

He shuddered as Sheepstealer's silhouette suddenly emerged from the water with a mighty splash, her drenched silhouette lying helplessly between his fangs.

"– hāedar! –" He shouted, flying after them towards the shore where her dragon had finally landed.

He saw Sheepstealer gently open his maw, letting her body slide to the ground – he jumped off his saddle, sliding down the ropes, falling heavily to his knees. He thought he had probably just broken something, but he didn't care, immediately throwing himself towards her.

He turned her onto her back – she was all wet and pale, her eyes closed, her mouth wide open as if she wanted to take a breath, but was unable to.

"– hāedar – gods, what have you done –" He exhaled, grabbing her into his embrace, lifting her to sit so that he threw her head over his shoulder, slapping her back hard with his palm.

"– come on – come on, breathe, come back to me –" He mumbled, hitting harder – he let out a sigh of relief as she coughed and spat out the water that flowed into her lungs, catching a loud, raspy breath.

"– that's it – that's it – that's my girl –" He whispered, feeling her whole body tremble in his embrace – he snuggled her into him, but the steel of his armour was cold and she was drenched.

He grabbed her under the hips and lifted her with an effort, limping on one leg, feeling more and more clearly that he had probably twisted his ankle when he jumped off Vhagar.

He sat down with her next to Sheepstealer's stomach, the warmest part of any dragon's body – Sheepstealer settled in such a way that he enveloped their bodies on each side, clearly understanding what he wanted to do.

He heard her burst into sobs, and while part of him was furious that she had thrown herself after him, the other part of him was just happy that she was alive.

"– I didn't – I didn't want to hurt him – I-I just wanted him not to reach you – he – he grabbed my hand, and then he let me go – I wanted to save him, but he let me go – why, why did he do that? –" She mumbled in a breaking voice, breathing louder and louder, as if the mere memory of what had happened made her panic.

Because it wouldn't have changed anything anyway, he thought in the back of his head.

His body trembling all over after Luke disappeared inside Vhagar's maw with his loud, childish cry, his face pressed against the front of his saddle, his heart pounding like mad in terror, his throat and lungs compressed as if he were suffocating, tears of fear running down his face.

All I wanted was his eye, as atonement for mine.

I killed a man.

"– easy –" He whispered, pressing his nose into her wet hair, feeling the moisture from her clothes and skin slowly begin to evaporate under the heat.

He felt like he would literally boil in his armour under the temperature, but he knew he couldn't let her go now.

He was alone then, but he wasn't going to let the same thing happen to her.

Because of the fact that he understood how she felt, he knew what she needed.

"– if it wasn't for you, he would have killed me – you saw for yourself – it was a battle – I owe you my life, zaldrītsos –" He whispered, stroking her back, placing warm, gentle kisses on her face.

She covered her eyes with her hands, wailing and moaning, the pain that tore at her heart unbearable.

"– no – no, no, no, no –" She mumbled, and he pressed his lips together, knowing that this was exactly what it would be like for the next few weeks, maybe even months.

Denial, remorse, rage, grief, despair, pain, nightmares and panic.

Everything he was experiencing deep inside himself, she would be experiencing now and there was nothing he could do to ease her suffering.

He could only be.

"– tell me it's not true – that I didn't do it – that it's just a bad dream – please, lēkia, I need to hear it –" She pleaded like a small child in hysterics, her trembling hand gripping his cheek, asking him to look at her in this way.

He swallowed hard, finally pressing his forehead against hers, running the tip of his nose over the soft skin of her face.

"– I'll be by your side all the time – I won't leave you for a moment – I promise –"

"– GET OUT –" She shouted, pushing him away suddenly, enraged that he didn't comply with her request, wanting to get up.

"– hāedar –" He sighed, holding her tightly.

"– GET OUT – GET OUT – GET OUT –" She sobbed, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her hands, panting heavily, trying to move away from him, acting more like a wild animal than a human being.

"– I can't – you're all soaked – we need to keep you warm –" He explained calmly, feeling strangely in control, not experiencing any irritation or anger looking at her behaviour.

She was horrified by what she had done and was in shock, and he had to help her get through it now.

It's going to be worse once she calms down and locks herself deep inside her, he thought, struggling with her, holding her close.

"– I want to get back in the water – he's still there – maybe he's still alive –" She mumbled, completely absorbed in the chaos of her thoughts and despair, extending her hand towards the surface of the lake.

"– I can't let you do it, zaldrītsos – he's no longer suffering – he's with our ancestors in the heavens – my father is surely just now welcoming him with open arms –" He whispered, and she whined loudly at his words, leaning low, pressing her face against his thigh.

He held her close and stroked her body, her hair, her shoulders, her back, wanting her to feel that he was there for her even if she couldn't understand it now.

When he was going through it himself, all he wanted was for someone to embrace him, to stroke his head, to tell him that he was forgiven, that he wasn't a bad man, that it was an accident.

That's why he knew how important it was for her to understand that she had saved his life.

"– if it wasn't for you, his blade would have pierced my skull – I would have fallen into the water with him – we would have both be dead –" He said softly, hearing her breathing loudly, slowly calming down.

At one point there was complete silence and he knew that this was the moment – he grabbed her in his arms and instructed her to hold on to him tightly as he began to climb up onto Vhagar's back.

He knew that in such a state she would not be able to fly on Sheepstealer.

When they returned to Harrenhal, it was beginning to dawn – the sun was lazily rising over the horizon. His wife was breathing and that was the only sign that she was alive – her body sitting in front of him in the saddle was devoid of strength, her face turned to the side, her empty gaze staring into the distance.

Her thoughts were far away, with her father when she was still a small child.

When they landed, instead of riding a horse, he made his way from Vhagar's liege to the fortress on foot, despite the pain in his ankle. He was in no hurry – he held her in his arms, her hands thrown around his neck, her legs entwined at his back. She clung to him like a baby and he didn't want her to have to change position, to pull away from him, from his body, his closeness and warmth.

She was like a little child that had left her mother's womb anew, terrified of how cold and cruel the world around her was.

Criston Cole ran out to meet them, spotting them from the walls of the stronghold.

"Good gods, what has happened? Where have you been?" He asked.

He stopped, looking at him indifferently, feeling a painful throbbing in his leg, his hand stroking her back reassuringly.

"Daemon is dead."

[thegnomelord]

Alright since 28 is taken Ill do the next best thing 29! Graves and his shadows with M reader, who is a colonel.

I need the wholesome and maybe a bit of the spice ya know. Thank you for soing Shadow company content, i am so starved.

Once again good soup!

Here you go dude, I'm not the best when it comes to writing for a group of people so idk how this turned out :/. Play the game HERE

Prompt: Hug from behind

CW: NSFW, subbot Graves, domtop Mreader, Shadow company fluff, hug from behind, fluff, groping, handjob, cumming in pants.

Being a colonel in the Shadow company and Grave's right hand man, you had a lot of responsibilities. From running drills to stitching up wounds to writing reports and drafting contracts when your magpie of a commander sees a new person he wants to recruit; you expected to deal with a lot of shit, but never in your wildest dreams did you expect to become the Shadow Company's emotional support Colonel.

Colonel Care Bear — it was their nickname for you. You'd made the mistake of being annoyed at the name which, of course, made the little fuckers double down on it. Nothing you did made them stop, even Graves joining in their fun and calling you that instead of your name with a smug grin.

You're not even sure when or why it had started.

It wasn't like you were overly paternal, you just took care of your soldiers. In whatever ways they needed you; The first time you'd needed to give emotional support had been after Jenkins had lost his battle buddy. Jenkins was still relatively young compared to the other Shadows, a rising star that Graves had snatched up, but on the flight back to base he'd been no better than a scared kitten, desperately trying to hold in his sobs. You hadn't said a word when you had pulled him close to you, letting him cry his heart out into your shoulder.

None of the others said a word either, and you didn't bring it up after your plane had landed. You'd expected it to be a one off experience but oh — you were so wrong.

Like feral cats learning to trust a human, the Shadows started approaching you, carefully at first, standing just at the edge of your personal space nervous fingers toying with the hem of their shirts and eyes flickering between you and anything else, until you grew annoyed and pulled them close to you, letting them cry or talk or just sit with their head on your shoulder for as long as they needed; a lighthouse in a dark sea.

Then Williams, who'd had one too many bad missions, had come into your office without a word and plopped himself into your lap while you were busy doing paperwork.

You were surprised, but not too much, with how often you'd found yourself with a Shadow near you you figured something like this was bound to happen. Though you hadn't expected it to be this forward. "Bad day?" You asked.

Williams just grunted into your neck, slightly nodding his head.

You shifted to still be able to write with him in your lap. "Want me to talk?"

You felt his hair scratch your neck when he shook his head, a negative grunt leaving his throat.

"Got it." You said and went back to your work, a hand on William's hip to keep him stable.

Safe to say you weren't amused when Graves had walked in and cracked the biggest bloody smirk when he saw you like that. You were even less amused when he'd whipped out his phone and took a photo of it. And you were ready to piss in Grave's beer after that photo had circulated through the entire Shadow Company, leading to many more similar incidents of a Shadow crawling into your lap when you weren't busy.

It really wasn't their fault your embrace just felt so good and comfortable, your arms perfectly sized and muscled to put weight in your hugs, shoulders just broad enough to make them feel small and safe.

Graves knew this because when he'd needed to confiscate Smith's phone after he'd caught him taking pictures of your ass (not that he blamed him, you had a nice ass but they needed to have some professionalism) Graves had found their simp chat.

It took him days to finish reading all the messages. I mean there were hundreds of texts gushing just over you, calendrer times for when which Shadow could go bother you for attention, not to mention the countless pictures they'd taken of you, from mundane to more suggestive when you were in the communal showers (Graves would die before he admitted he'd needed to rub one out at some of the pictures).

Safe to say that when he gave Smith his phone back Graves was. . .curious. He'd never approached you for comfort like the Shadows did, mostly because he knew he couldn't keep his thoughts pure after just a few minutes in your presence, his throat going dry whenever he feels you pat his shoulder when you pass in the hall.

"Care Bear!" Graves calls when he finds you on your way to your room, using that name just so he can see the irritated twitch of your brow.

"Yes commander?" You ask in that same tone of voice you use when you know he's up to something.

"Oh come on, no need for that." Graves grins, "Ah just need you to do something for me," He says, because he wouldn't be your commander if he was straightforward. "Follow along." He motions with his hand like a dog as he passes you.

Like a dog you follow, so close you cast a partial shadow over him. He leads you to a more secluded hallway, stopping abruptly and hearing you stop too. But you're not close enough, so with an annoyed sigh he says "Come closer."

You raise an eyebrow but do as he says, taking a few short steps closer until your chest is almost touching his back. Without a word Graves suddenly grabs your arms and wraps them around his waist, leaning back on his heels until his back is flush with your chest and you're supporting his weight.

You stall for a few moments just trying to convince your head that yes, your commander is doing that. "Really?" You ask.

He tilts his head to meet your eyes, casually resting his head on your shoulder. "Something the matter Colonel Care bear?" He smirks, reminding you of a very content cat.

You give him a blank look before rolling your eyes, "Could have just said you wanted a hug." You huff and move your arms to really hug him, your hands resting comfortably on his hips, your arms caging him in, the heat of your body seeping into his, your chest rumbling as you mutter your annoyance at the damn nickname.

"What fun would that be?" He says, eyes closing.

And, Hell, Graves gets it now.

He could get addicted this. Your scent and cologne clogs his nose, the heat of your body chasing away the lingering chill of the base. You support his weight so easily it's like he's floating on a firm cloud, forgetting about ranks and war and everything for a few blissful seconds. His mind wanders; wonders what it would feel to have your strong arms pin him every day, what it'd be like to be pinned down, the current gentle pressure turned bruising and demanding, bending him in half and shit— he's hard.

And of course you notice, wouldn't be his right hand if you couldn't read him like a book. "I'm getting the impression," You note, your grip increasing just a bit to keep him still, your other hand skirting down. "That you wanted something more than just a hug." You growl and squeeze your hand, groping the bulge in his jeans.

"Shit—" Graves sucks in a breath, legs scrambling for purchase but you hold him still, his weight still on you. "—I wasn't thinking of nothing." He says quickly, the pressure of your hand on his clothed cock too good.

"Uh huh," You hum, keeping a careful eye on his facial expressions as you experimentally move your hand; Short slow brushes of your thumb against his cockhead earn you little whimpers, unable to hide them with his head still resting on your shoulder. Firm squeezes of his entire bulge has his skin turning a nice shade of pink, his ear hot beneath your tongue as you nibble on it. His thighs part as you bully your hand lower, the strong pressure of your fingers against his balls as your palm grinds into his cockhead making him moan, the stuttered attempts at explaining himself dying out as a visible damp spot grows in his jeans.

"Faster-" Graves growls, his hands grabbing purchase in your hair, yanking your head down into a rough kiss, "-mhh, faster, fuck, man-"

You smirk against his lips. "Ask me nicely." You say, purposely pulling your hand away from where he needs it the most, ignoring his disgruntled sounds. "You son of a bitch-" Graves snarls, breathing rapidly in an attempt to get his frazzled brain to work before swallowing his pride. "Please," He says it like the word hurts him.

"Please what commander?" You wonder, undoing his belt and slipping your hand into his jeans, "Please touch my cock? Please get me off? Please fuck me till I can't walk?" You throw suggestions, applying just enough pressure on his twitching cock to leave him dumbly nodding his head.

"Yes, yes, yes- oh fuck- shit yes-" Phill pants, eyes closing and weakly thrusting his hips into your hand with what leverage he has, seeking out the pleasure that comes with your calloused hand stroking his sensitive flesh. "Fuck- just, ahh-" He breathes in through clenched teeth, "-just please."

"Alright, alright," You hum, increasing your pace, the glide of skin on skin eased by the precum he's leaking, swallowing his little moans and rough grunts as you kiss him. You can tell he's nearing his end with how he begins twitching even more in your hold, hips pushing into your hand sporadically, fat tears prickling his eyes. "Come on then Commander, cum already."

He does almost as soon as you tell him to, his moan swallowed down by your lips as he cums in his pants, your thumb rubbing insistently on his tip to milk him of all he's got, strong arm keeping him close to you.

"You did good commander." You coo gently as you pull your hand out of his pants, and without waiting for a response you push your cum covered fingers into his open mouth. "Real good," You smirk when Phill immediately sucks on your fingers, his brain melted into mush and incapable of rousing his pride to feel ashamed of how he moans at the taste of his own spend. "Such a good boy," Your praise does something to him, has his cock making a valiant attempt to get hard all over again.

The air leaves his lungs when you suddenly push your hips against his ass, making him feel your own hard cock trapped in your pants. "I took care of you," You begin, pulling your fingers from his mouth. "Are you prepared to take care of me?"

[thekissofaphrodite]

Can you maybe do Clarisse x fem! Child of Hypnos?? I don’t think I’ve seen anything of that dynamic and I’d like to see how you would write it!

OKAY. IM ACTUALLY RLLY EXCITED ABT THIS SINCE JUST LIKE ANON SAID, I'VE NEVER SEEN A DYNAMIC LIKE IT BEFOREE.

Sweet Dreams

Clarisse La Rue X Daughter of Hypnos!Reader

Summary: A shared moment with clarrise with a flick of your finger.

Warnings: Hypnokinesis, people passing out and language

Author's note: Okay, I'm actually tired of some writers portraying a child of hypnos who likes to sleep... yeah, sure, their dad is the God of sleep, but that doesn't mean they just slump on their bed and snore away! They're also powerful! If you read the books !SPOILER ALERT! Hypnos literally knocked an entire city to sleep before the battle of Manhattan for Kronos. Why can't we portray his children like that? 🤨 No hate! Just speaking facts <33

CHILDREN OF HYPNOS DESERVES SOME RECOGNITION!! (coming from cabin 7)

——

You missed your girlfriend so much.

She was in archery and capture the flag today, but you two barely got enough time to run to each other before she was bombarded by tasks from Chiron.

You saw the way her eyes would soften from afar, giving you a discreet sympathetic look while she went on a rampage on her siblings ready to stab them into kebabs using her spear. But she knew you'd find a way to get to her, she always knew.

and you always do.

It wasn't long before every camper eventually dozed off after a fun sing-a-long around the campfire, singing their hearts out about their godly parent, minus a Demeter Girl complaining about getting a fern for her birthday instead of a car like all her friends.

So here you are, pulling your night robe closer as you impatiently wait for your father to caress Clarisse's siblings to sleep so you can have a moment with her.

But your father was taking way too long.

you have been hiding behind the cabin for hours, Listening to the unpleasant way the swords and spears of the Ares cabin got sharpened and big boisterous faces laughing at eachother. Clarisse was in her bunk, her arms crossed with a seemingly frowning expression. Every laughter made by her siblings made her more and more annoyed.

Every minute that passed made you more agitated until you finally snapped.

You stood behind the cabin and held your hands, focusing on the heartbeats and every breath that they exhaled, The sound around you became indistinct and fuzzy, the time seemed to slow down. A translucent light smoke seemed to snake inside the Cabin before it swirled around Clarisse' siblings, it took a few moments before their eyelids got heavy, their breathing ragged. And sure enough, there was a soft thud where their body fell.

It took you by surprise. It also snapped Clarisse out of her thoughts. Seeing her siblings who were talking lively minutes ago dozing off turned her off, She stood up alarmingly, ready to fend herself to any attacks of intruder.

When she saw you, her tense body softened, the beam on your face was a little unreadable, but she couldn't help but smile.

You ran and threw yourself into her arms, she caught you easily, carrying your weight like nothing.

"I did it, Clar!" You squealed, Clalrisse looked at you, confused.

"Did what, Baby?"

"My father finally blessed me! I get to use my powers, i can't believe this, did you see?!" You were babbling like a baby, words being thrown at her in hyperplaps, but she listened, never letting you go in her arms. She listened and remembered everything.

Like the time you were sobbing in her arms, after multiple failed attempts on praying to your father, it hurt her. She remembered when she used to devote herself to Ares, offering him big chunk of brisket and the freshest strawberries on her plate, just for him to answer her prayer, but it never worked, until finally he had enough of her, and gifted Clarisse a spear to shut her up.

But seeing you happy for finally being able to have powers, she felt something inside her change.

Clarisse tightened her arms around you, placing her nose to your hair, inhailing your scent.

"I'm proud of you" she pulled away and placed her hand against your cheek. She was slowly analyzing the color of your eyes, carefully studying each and every details your face had, then she slowly reached to your lips, the color was a mix of peach and pink, assuming it was from the lipgloss, but it looks so deliciously kissable right now.

Her hands reached the back of your head and before you know it, her lips were against yours, an arm wrapped around your waist while pulling you close.

"I love you, did you know that?" Clarisse whispered on your lips, "i doubt it" You laughed, falling over Clarisse' soft bunk bed as she kissed you once more.

An extra for you guys since i disappeared too long :>

——

There were soft groans and mumbles coming from Clarisse' siblings, it was already 3:46 am.

"What happened?" Asked Sherman while rubbing his temple.

Clarisse rolled her eyes at her brother, Sherman, glancing at their weapons leaned against their bunk.

"Nothing, i guess you two spent way too long gossiping that your eyes eventually took it themselves and took a rest" she said, Clarisse was trying not to grin at her siblings, knowing well that it was all her girlfriend's doing.

"Huh... what did you do when we're out then?" One of her brothers, Ellis asked.

"The usual, inspection and lights out"

"Really?" Both brothers said in unison.

"Yes, don't look at me like I'm lying, unless you want a spear up your ass" Clarisse snapped, rolling over and hugging her pillow to sleep.

Both brother looked at eachother and quietly snickered, i guess they'll keep hush about that peach and pink lipgloss smudge near clarisse' neck.

And they'll definitely tell the others tomorrow.

[calciumcryptid]

@floof-ghostie

You know, I wondered what KinnPorsche the Series looked like to my non-BL mutuals. Uh, the short answer is Toxic Gay Mafia Drama. The long answer is long but here is a list of things that happened.

The main protagonist pisses in a fish pond, and as a punishment he gets put into a mermaid costume.

An important character is introduced working out butt-ass naked. This is not the last time this happens.

Traumatized man gets shown porn for the first time.

There is a blow job inside of a helicopter.

There is a supporting character with an Australian accent. No, he is not the character who is noted for speaking English.

There is a sex scene involving bread that exists purely to advertise said bread company (no I am not joking).

Secretly-Mafia singer gets turned on by fan's shrine to him.

He only sees said shrine because he broke into fan's room.

A dude spends his last moments lighting up a cigarette.

The tertiary couple only happens because one of them forces the other into a non-consensual pet play dynamic because he doesn't want to be lonely while blacklisted by the mafia.

The tertiary couple's first time together happens because of a hedgehog (they are the best written part of the show).

During the climatic final battle, the protagonist's love interest gropes his dick and calls it his lucky gun.

During the same climatic final battle, the secretly-mafia singer murders an entire bar of people to protect the fan who is too busy playing video games to notice the attempt on his life.

During the same climatic final battle, the 'owner' confesses his love to the 'pet' while the 'pet' is punching the fuck out of him. The 'pet' is sobbing and wailing while punching him (the 'pet' also shot him).

Yes, this all happens during the same show.

[ Addition ] You all are right, how could I forget the Deutsche Bank voyeurism? I am such a fake fan.

This show is a mess, and I love it.

[justmeinadaze]

Gunslinger (Eddie X Y/N)

A/N: So yeah this was my idea for Sam in Warfare but I didn't want to write for him just because he is a real person. Plus, I thought with Eddie there's more meat in his history. Idk but lol yeah kind of same elements in what happened to Sam happens to Eddie but this is more about the PTSD aspect of the aftermath. While writing I was listening to music and "Gunslinger" by Avenged Sevenfold came on which felt perfect for the story and the title <3

Warnings: Husband/Solider Eddie & Fem Wife Y/N, SMUT, light dirty talk, p in v, praise (good girl), aftercare always, FLUFF, these two definitely love each other and are high school sweethearts.

ANGST *plays angsty drums with angsty sticks in an angsty room*

This does primarily focus on PTSD, not just for a solider who got hurt but the partner of someone who has to experience the effects of a husband with PTSD. His injuries are mentioned but not delved into too deeply, he does have flashbacks, trouble sleeping, overstimulation with sound, etc. Reader does get the brunt of these, mentions of him accidentally choking her (brief), him trying to protect her while disassociating.

She talks about how much it hurts her to see him in pain.

They do talk about a letter he wrote to her if anything ever happened to him and he does read it to her. You will feel that because I felt it and I wrote the thing lol

My trauma isn't from the military but I utilized what I've experienced myself as well as from experience talking to friends who served. If you feel like this may trigger you I understand! Im angsty, I write angsty stuff. and sometimes I delve into certain angsty themes because it not only helps me to write it out but I know you guys experience things like this as well. You're not alone.

Please if you can, donate to any fundraisers that help vets like the Wounded Warrior Project. I worked for the VA for a few months when the pandemic started. You'd be surprised how long they wait for care.

Word Count: 4401

"Never let it show The pain I've grown to know 'Cause with all these things we do It don't matter when I'm coming home to you."

“What would you like for breakfast?”, you ask as you display both boxes of cereal you know he likes. 

“You ask me that like I won’t be eating either of those as breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the occasional snack.”, Eddie teases, his grin growing when you laugh and toss both boxes into the basket. 

When he got back from serving overseas, things had been incredibly rough. 

Hell, even before he got back, it was hard. His COs had called to tell you he was wounded in battle but wouldn’t tell you anything more. You begged for a flight to him as soon as possible and you were thankful they were able to get you to your husband without much resistance. 

He was in surgery when you landed and by the time you got to the hospital, he was asleep in a bed next to another passed out solider. 

You sobbed as you took in all the bandages and cuts along his body. 

The military didn’t tell you much, just that a bomb went off and Eddie got caught in the middle. They said he was a hero, trying to warn and push away as many of the others he could. 

Of course he did because that was Eddie Munson. 

 One of his friends who survived, told you the entire story about being held down in a house and a bomb going off. Your husband saw it coming when no one else did and warned his unit to run. 

When the smoke cleared, he was the one bleeding and screaming.

They said the only time he stopped was when he talked about you. 

“We told him everything would be ok and to hang on so we could have a chance to embarrass him in front of you.”, the man chuckles lightly. “He told us to give you this letter and if he didn’t make it for us to look after you.”

You never opened that letter telling yourself he made it even though you knew the real reason was it would kill you to hear what your husband believed his last words would be to you. 

After a month, the military discharged him from being overseas but allowed him later on to work as a mechanic for the cars and tanks on the military base. Once you were in the states, he became a part of a rigorous physical therapy routine, that got him back on his feet in no time even though now he moved a bit slower than before. 

The PTSD triggers were always different, more so how he reacted to them. 

The more time at passed the more jittery he became. You assumed that was because the more he got comfortable the less his guard was up. That didn’t remove the fact that for the first few months, his head was always on a swivel, checking for threats that weren’t there. 

You allowed him as much space and time to process that he needed but that never erased the effect it had on you. The nightmares that had him screaming left bruises on your skin when he would jump up and hit accidently hit your body. The night terrors that had him sleep walking into the living room holding an imaginary weapon as he murmured commands and “yes, sirs” to his team that were currently asleep within their own homes. 

The doctors told you not to wake him but when Eddie began shouting about a threat in the house, you couldn’t help yourself when your palm touched his shoulder and he grabbed your wrist to spin you around, smacking your back to the ground with his hands around your throat. 

You managed to get him awake and he sobbed on the floor beside you as he apologized repeatedly. 

The ramp up to a break down was always the hardest, not just because of how he was with you but how he was with himself. He would glare into a void while you talked during dinner or were watching a movie together in the living room. 

“And my mom mentioned that house again down the street from her. I told her we’re fine where we are but…”, you trail off as he absently nods. “Eddie? Are you ok?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”, he snaps as he throws his fork down onto the table. 

“I…you just…seemed distant…”

“I heard you, Y/N. Your mom for a ten thousandth time brought up how you should move closer to her because she thinks she’s being subtle about the fact that she thinks I can’t fucking take care of you!”

“Edward Munson, that’s not what I said and neither did she.”

“Oh please! Your mom has never fucking liked me and now that I’m fucking crazy she thinks she can finally convince you to—”

“You’re not crazy—”

“DON’T INTERRUPT ME WHEN I’M FUCKING—” He sees you jump causing him to blink as if realizing where he was and who he was talking to. “Sweetheart, I’m…fuck…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“I know…I know, Eddie.”

Reaching for your arms, he guides you onto his lap and wraps his strong, muscular arms around you. 

“I’m sorry. I just…I’ve been in my own head these past few days, you know? I love you so much.”

His eyes follow the sway of your hips as you step forward and search for the next item on your list while he pushes the cart after you. 

The first time he met you in high school, he was mesmerized by those hips and never hid how sexy he thought you were. The more you both hung out the more he learned that your beautiful personality matched your gorgeous exterior and he knew fairly quickly that he would marry you one day. 

A year after you did tie the knot, he signed up for service and 6 months after was deployed. You tried to push away the pain of knowing he was leaving soon by having as much fun with him as possible. 

“Ok…are you sure about this?”

“No.”, he sighed playfully as he stared at himself into the mirror.

“Oh, come on, Munson, don’t be a baby!”, Steve shouts as he takes a sip from the bottle in his hand. 

“Fuck off, Harrington! Let’s see you cut off all your hair.” All your friends in the room laugh and Eddie exhales as he closes his eyes. “Ok, baby, do it.”

Everyone cheered after the first buzz of his hair was removed and by the time you were done, he had come to accept it, rising to his feet and raising his arms in victory as the younger kids in his friend group jumped up to give him a hug. 

That last night you were together was one of the hardest nights of your life, not just for you but for him. Eddie held you tightly in his embrace as his thumb continuously caressed your arm and his nose would occasionally inhale your smell, committing it to memory to take with him. 

“I don’t think we’ve slept alone in almost three years and before that you used to sneak into my trailer, remember?”, he smiles when you giggle. “I would hold you like this and kiss your skin… asking myself ‘Damn…what the fuck is this perfect angel doing with me?’”

“Eddie. Don’t talk about yourself like that.”, you lightly scold. “To me, you were perfect to. Except maybe the smoking…and the weed…and your sense of humor—”

“Ok, ok, calm down. Those are some of the TOP reasons you fell in love with me.” Rolling on to your back, your eyes take in his face before his lips gently press to yours. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you to, Eddie. Make sure to come back to me, ok? Don’t you dare leave me here to live my life without you.”

“I promise, pretty girl. I’ll do everything I can to come back to you.”

As you stop to stare at the cans in front of you, your husband comes around the cart and circles his arms around your waist from behind you. You can’t help but smile as you lean back against him and your arm circles his neck to run your fingers through the small bit of curls that had finally come through. 

“You are so fucking sexy when you stare at a can of peas.”

Your cackle makes him laugh as he hugs you tighter. 

“Thank you. I’ve been working on this new look called ‘domesticity’ and…”

Eddie chuckles harder as he lifts you off your feet and spins you around before dipping you so he could kiss your lips.

“I love you.”

“I love you to, freak.”

Another quick peck, another laugh. 

You enjoy these soft moments…why does chaos always seem to follow?

A loud bang echoes through the store, most likely a clerk dropping a box or someone knocking something heavy over. 

To Eddie though, it was like a bomb going off and without hesitation he shielded you with his body as he pushed you both to the ground. 

Your eyes assessed everything around you.

Your husband was crouching down on one knee with one arm secured around you and the other gripping the shelf in front of him with his head tucked down. 

“Eddie, baby—”

“Shhhh…shhhh…have to be quiet…”, he whispered, his eyes closed tight. “Can’t let them find us.”

“Sweetheart, everything’s ok—”

His large palm roughly clamped down on your mouth as he pulled you to his chest. 

“You have to be fucking quiet!”, he hisses. 

A stranger appears and places her palm delicately on his shoulder. 

“It’s ok, son. The threat is over. Can you confirm?”

With that command, his eyes snap open as he looks around him and even you can see he’s still on the battlefield mentally. 

“C-Confirmed. Hostiles no longer engaging. We need evac now.”

“For who, solider?”

“For…um…” 

You watch as he blinks, slowly taking in the situation as his chest heaves in panic. 

“For who, solider? I need to know who needs help.”, the woman repeats as her eyes comfortingly flick your way as she mouths the words it’s ok.

“Um…I think…my wife…I need to make sure she’s safe.”

“Ok, and if I may ask, when did your wife enlist?”

“She didn’t!”, Eddie snaps as if she just asked him a stupid question. 

“Ok, solider, then again if I may ask, how can I get her evac when she’s not there?”

You saw the momentary doubt flash through his irises before the softness returned and he looked down to realize how he was holding you. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m…I’m so sorry. Are you ok? Did I hurt you?”, he asks as he helps you to your feet.

“Thank you for what you just did.”, you say as you extend your hand out to the older woman who helps him off the ground. 

“Not a problem. My husband and I went to therapy for years and even now sometimes he still has to use what we learned to pull me out of the war.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”, Eddie murmurs as he uses both his hands to encapsulate and shake hers as well. 

“Not a problem at all. You have a beautiful wife who loves you very much.”

“Yeah…I’ve known her since we were kids. I carried her with me while I was there.”, he relayed without prompting as he pulled out his wallet and showed her the now wrinkled with time photo of you he always kept within. 

“Aw, look at you.”, she coos. “And you haven’t aged a day. I bet your kids look as gorgeous as their mother.”

“Oh, uh, no ma’am. No kids yet.”

“Hm.”, she nods knowingly as she shifts her gaze back to you. “Well, there’s still time. It’ll never be easy but definitely worth it should you decide to go down that route.”

#############

Eddie’s sigh filled the room before he firmly walked towards the tv in your bedroom to turn it off and placed himself in front of where you were on the mattress. 

“Everything alright?” Silently, he pushed a folded-up piece of paper in your hand. “What is this?”

“My letter I wrote to you. Before they moved us anywhere, I always wrote something to you just in case something happened to me.” Nodding, you smile in a thin line as you continue to hold it in your palm. “Read it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t, Eddie.”

“Fine. Then I can read it to you.”

“Edward—“, you growl as you start to try to stand but he pushes you back down and clings to your wrist. 

“I have it memorized. I read and reread it sometimes to make sure I was always conveying how I felt. I learned pretty quickly there weren’t enough words to fully express how much I love you.”

You jaw clenched as you tried to keep your emotions in check.

“Sweetheart, 

Tonight, they are sending us to a little town outside of hostile territory. I’m terrified but my Captain said nothing should go down. If it does and something happens to me, pretty girl, just know I love you with all my heart.” 

“Eddie…stop, ok? You don’t have to do this.”, you grumble as you try to get up again but his hand doesn’t budge. “Let me go, please.”

“From the moment I met you, baby, you changed my life. You never looked at me like I was trailer trash or ever once made me feel like a burden or a problem.”

As he spoke, you kept pulling trying to get free to no avail finally settling on punching and pushing at his chest. His voice never faltered as he continued. 

“You were (are) so beautiful with that tight leather skirt and Dio shirt that had me pushing Steve’s arm telling him ‘That’s the girl I’m gonna marry!’ During band practice, you would sit on my lap and run your fingers through my hair…I would lay my head on your chest and just smell your perfume. Whenever I think of home, that’s the first thing that comes to mind.

If you’re reading this, I’m probably gone…”

The fight in you stops and his hands cup your cheeks as you sob.

“…and I’m so sorry…so fucking sorry for breaking my promise. I said I’d come home to you but I want you to know I’m always with you, honey. In the music we listened to on our road trips to different places. In the wind when you sleep with the window open because you love the smell of the flowers outside. In my clothes I know you’ll wear because even now I bet you’re sleeping in my Hellfire t-shirt! 

I’ll even be there when you find someone new, maybe later down the line, and start a family.

That will be my only regret, pretty girl. Never having a family with you. I know you’ll be a wonderful mom. 

You were the perfect wife to a freak like me.”

Eddie tilts your forehead against his as he grabs your thighs and lifts you till your straddling his lap with your arms circling his neck. 

“Please know you’re always on my mind…even in those last moments…your face will be what I see. 

I love you,

Eddie.”

“I don’t like picturing you in pain…or thinking of my life without you. I hate that your mind takes you back there.”, you whimper as your thumb caresses his cheek. 

“I try to control it. Some days are a lot better than others.”

“I know, baby.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No, Eddie—”

“I wish I could fully explain it…how my brain SEES…everything when it’s happening…”

“Eddie—”

“There was that loud pop and I could swear I was back on the street but instead of me bleeding it was you.” Silence befalls you both as you let him continue. “It doesn’t make rational sense for you to be there but…it does…nothing is rational when gun fire and explosions are happening around you… That woman touched me but it felt just my captain when he lets us know he’s there…right behind. She was talking but all I heard was radio chatter…

It was loud, Y/N, and it gets so overwhelming…all your senses are overloaded… Which is kind of odd because when—when it happened, I couldn’t really hear anything. All I could do was feel the pain…”

“They, while you were in surgery, told me they distracted you by trying to talk about me.”

Eddie chuckled then as his chocolate eyes meet yours. 

“Yeah, I remember that. I think I told them I would be pissed if your tattoo was gone.”

Grinning, you carefully lifted up his shirt and tossed it aside as your fingers traced over your name in ink along his chest along with the quote from the song he performed for you at the school talent show. 

“Y/N Y/L/N Munson

When I see you smile, I can face the world.”

Because of his injury, part of the LD in world was lighter than the rest.

His eyes close as you tilt down and allow your lips to tenderly kiss along his skin down his scar that trailed along his side to his stomach. Falling flat against the bed, he happily sighs as he pets your head.

“I’m not afraid of you, baby. I know you’re trying and working hard with your doctor. I know you don’t mean to… Eddie, I know you would never consciously hurt me.”

His stomach deflates underneath your mouth while your fingers gradually reach up to unbuckle his belt and lower his pants with his boxers. Your palm rubs along his thighs as the pads of your fingers bump along the darker scars and indents of the numerous incisions the surgeons sewed into him to save his life. 

“And you’re still as handsome as ever…with your muscles, tattoos, and the cute little pudge on your stomach—“, you tease as you poke his tummy, making him laugh before tugging you to his side and rolling on top of you. 

“Ooooookay, jerk. That’s what happens when your wife is a good cook.”, he jokes back as he softly kisses your lips. “How about, um, we give you some pudge?”

“Hey, I eat my food to.”, you giggle, lightly punching his arm. 

“No, I meant like filling your belly with something more than food.” It takes you a while to catch on but when you do you can’t help but blink at him as your eyebrows furrow together. “I mean, we don’t have to have a baby right now. I know with everything going on—”

Your lips cut him off as your take hold of the back of his neck to bring him to you. After flipping him onto his back, he yanks off your oversized shirt you had worn to bed and promptly attaches to your nipple as you hug his head to your chest. 

“Fuck, baby.”, you moan, grinding your hips against his while his palms glides down your back. 

Your husband’s expert tongue swirled around the bud as he made out with your breast and your eyes rolled as his cock pressed deliciously against the cotton blocking your core. 

“Eddie, please.”

Pushing up into a sitting position, he kissed you feverishly as his fingers pulled at the waistband of your panties making him grunt in frustration before deciding to just tear them so he could slide them off you without you having to let him go. 

“I’ll buy you more. Shit—come here, baby.”

You bit your bottom lip to contain the giddy giggle as he spun you around till you were underneath him once more. His arm twists between you both and the two of you mewled as he ran his mushroom tip between your folds. 

“Eddie, please…I need you.”

“You need me, sweetheart?”, he panted out, kissing your cheek when you vigorously nod. “Say it again, honey.”

“I need you, Eddie. I need to feel you inside me.”

As he guides his length into your entrance, you feel his tongue run along your neck as he sucks a hickey into your skin and your pussy clenches around him. 

“Fuuuuck…that’s my good girl. Always takes my dick so well.”

He finds a steady pace allowing skin to smack against skin as your legs and arms hold him as close to you as possible. 

Sex was never dull with Eddie, granted you had no one to compare it to since he was your first but he was continuously careful with you, praising you and making you feel loved. When he came back home, it took a while for you both to even be intimate again and when you were he was bit rougher than he had been. 

It took him a few months to notice but when he did it killed him. 

“Are you ok? Why are you grabbing your…did I hurt you?”

“It’s…it’s ok, baby.”

Eddie glared into the void before powerwalking to the freezer and coming back with an ice pack that he placed between your legs. 

“Did I hurt you? Tell me the truth, Y/N.”

“You…you’ve been a bit more aggressive with me than you used to be…”

“Fuck—”

“Eddie, it’s ok—”

“It’s not ok! Listen, we’re going to come up with a safe word. That way you can get my attention and I can immediately stop. I wish you had said something…”

“I didn’t want to hurt you or make you feel bad.”

“No, sweetheart, you could never…just…promise me that you’ll be more open about…everything. I’m still kind of figuring it all out again…life, you know?”

It took some time but you finally found your rhythm again. He was able to walk that line of soft and firm while making your eyes roll till you came screaming his name. 

“Just like that, Eddie, fuck.”

You whimper with need, glancing beside you to notice his fist grip the sheets as he rolls his hips pushing his cock deeper into you till you practically feel him in your stomach. 

“Cum, baby.”, he grunts into your ear. “Mmph—M’not gonna last much longer. You feel too good. S-So fucking tight.”

Your nails softly trail up his neck to the back of his head making him shudder in pleasure as his pant warms your skin. 

“Cum inside me.”

Your head turns toward him as his eyes shoot open and his pace falters for a moment. 

“Are you…are you sure?”

“More than ever, Eddie, please. Cum for me. Cum WITH me.”

You feel his face scrunch as he whines and his arms slide between you and the mattress to hold you close as his release paints your walls. Never feeling this from him before your pussy fluttered around him and his hooded eyes watched as the coil snapped within you. 

His hips were still lazily thrusting, giving you all he had as you both tried desperately to catch your breaths. 

“Are you ok?”, he whispered as you exhaustedly nodded. “I’ve never cum inside you before. It…it felt like heaven. Everything about you is heaven.”

It took him a moment but it was then he realized that you were trying to hold back tears. 

“Hey, hey, hey. What…what’s wrong? Fuck, I was too rough again, wasn’t I? I told you to tell me!”

As he starts to push up off your body, your limbs promptly hold him still. 

“No, you weren’t…weren’t too rough. I’m sorry I just…I love you so much.”, you cry. “I know you worry about how…how all this affects me but, baby, I hate how it affects you.”

You don’t see it but his eyes close as he sighs and his heart breaks. 

He hates seeing you in pain. 

He saw it when your parents scolded you for dating “the town freak” or when you were let go from your job in town because they needed to downsize. He saw it in your eyes when he told you he signed up for service and when he finally had to let you go to get on the plane to fly to what would be his new home overseas. 

He heard it in your voice when you two would talk over the computer and it would crack when you told him how much you missed him. He read it in your writing when you would send letters begging him to stay safe and reminding him how much you loved him. 

Eddie felt it when his fingers twitched, feeling something sweaty in his palm before opening his eyes to realize he was in the hospital with you clinging to his hand by his side. When you watched every wince during his physical therapy and afterward helped him with his stretches so his muscles would reawaken. 

When he had his night terrors and his hands flew to your throat… a new regret he could never take back…

Silently, your husband made sure you were secure around him as he lifted you up and carried you to the bathroom, whispering soft comforts in your ear as he pet your hair and started a bath. 

Once the porcelain was full, he tapped your shoulder and you let him go as you climbed in before he did the same placing himself behind you. Calloused palms rub your arms and shoulders as he leaves gentle kisses along your skin. 

“On Monday, I’ll talk to my doctor about what happened and about some other recommendations he may have when it comes to those triggers. I also want to talk to Wayne…tell him he’s going to be a grandpa soon.” 

Eddie smiles when he hears you giggle. 

“Y/N…thank you…for everything you do. I know you didn’t sign up for all this but, Jesus, I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here. I love you so much to.”

Craning your neck, you kiss his lips as his arms pull you back against his chest. 

“I signed up a life with you, Eddie, and no matter what happens I’ll always be here for you…freak.”

You smile wide as he snorts out a laugh and playfully tickles your side. 

These were the moments you hung on to, the moments he was at peace and happy. Anything that follows, you’d handle together because he deserved that…to live his best life with his wife and future little family. 

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