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

[hisfavegirl]

Endless Battle Of Love- Modern!Jacaerys Velaryon x Female.

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3.

Word Count : 5.7k

Jacaerys Velaryon Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

Jace’s heart nearly stopped when he heard the sound of glass shattering upstairs. The noise sent ice through his veins. Everyone in the living room froze. Then realization struck.

"Shit," Aemond cursed, already pushing off the couch.

Jace didn’t wait. He was already sprinting up the stairs two at a time, his blood roaring in his ears.

The second he reached his bedroom door, he grabbed the handle and twisted—only to find it locked.

"No, no, no," he muttered, jiggling it harder.

Then he heard you.

Sobs. The sound of things crashing to the floor.

His pulse spiked. "Baby, open the door!" he called out, knocking rapidly. "Baby, it’s me! Open the door, love!"

No answer. Just the sound of more things breaking.

His chest tightened. Fuck this.

Stepping back, he slammed his foot into the door. Once. Twice. The third time, the lock snapped, and the door burst open.

The sight inside made his stomach drop.

You were standing in the middle of the room, barefoot, your whole body trembling violently. Tears streaked your face, your breathing erratic as you clutched your head with both hands. Around you, broken glass littered the floor—shattered picture frames, the remains of a lamp, a drinking glass—your feet were bleeding, red staining the white shards beneath you.

Jace's heart clenched. Oh, god…

But the moment you saw him, your entire expression changed. Your eyes widened, your face contorting with pure terror.

"No!" you shrieked, stumbling back. "Don’t come near me!"

Jace’s breath caught.

You weren’t looking at him.

You were looking at him.

Your past. Your tormentor. The monster who had hurt you.

Jace felt something inside him shatter.

"Love," he said gently, taking the tiniest step forward. "It’s me. It’s Jace."

But you weren’t hearing him.

Your whole body shook as you pressed yourself against the wall, as if trying to disappear into it. "Don’t touch me!" you sobbed. "Don’t fucking touch me!"

Jace lifted his hands, showing you his palms. "I won’t, I swear. I’m staying right here. Just breathe, sweetheart."

You shook your head violently, your whole body trembling. "No, no, no, you—You hurt me! You always hurt me!"

Jace’s heart cracked open. His throat burned as he swallowed the lump forming there. "I would never hurt you, baby. Not now, not ever."

Your breathing only grew more ragged. You clutched your head tighter, pressing your hands to your ears. "Stop—stop, please!"

Jace’s chest ached. He’d seen you break before, seen you cry. But this—this was different.

This was you drowning in the past.

"You're not there anymore," he whispered. "He’s gone, baby. He’s dead. He can’t hurt you anymore."

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears slipping down your cheeks. "No—he’s here—he’s right here!"

Jace exhaled slowly, steadying himself.

"Listen to my voice, love. Just listen to me." His tone was soft, firm, unwavering.

Your body swayed slightly, your knees weak. The blood from your feet trailed onto the floor, red against white.

"You’re safe," Jace murmured. "No one is going to hurt you ever again. Not while I’m breathing."

Your breath hitched.

Jace saw it—the way his words reached you, tugging at the edge of your panic.

"Look at me, sweetheart," he whispered. "It’s Jace. The idiot who makes you coffee every morning, even though I suck at it. The guy who still can’t believe he gets to wake up next to you."

A sharp sob tore from your lips.

Jace stepped forward, slow, careful. "I love you," he murmured. "I love you so fucking much, baby."

Your whole body trembled. Your nails dug into your arms as your breath stuttered.

Then—finally—your glassy eyes flickered to his.

Recognition bloomed in your expression. Jace watched as the fear started to recede, the fog clearing just enough for you to see him.

The moment it did, your legs gave out.

Jace moved instantly, crossing the room in two quick steps and catching you before you hit the floor. You collapsed against him, your fingers fisting into his shirt as if you were afraid he’d disappear.

"J-Jace," you choked out. "I—I can’t—I can’t—"

"Shhh," he hushed you, pulling you close, one hand cradling the back of your head. "I got you. I’ve got you, love. You’re safe."

Your whole body shook violently as you sobbed into his chest. Jace held you tighter, whispering soft reassurances against your hair.

"I’m here," he murmured. "I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere."

You clung to him, as if he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely and Jace? He would hold you as long as it took.

Jace didn’t move.

He didn’t say a word as the others stormed into the room.

Aemond was the first to step inside, his eye scanning the destruction—the broken glass, the overturned furniture, the blood staining the floor. His jaw tightened.

Aegon whistled low, dragging a hand down his face. "Shit."

But it was Alicent and Rhaenyra who reacted first. The moment their eyes landed on you, trembling and clinging to Jace like your life depended on it, they moved.

"Give her to us," Rhaenyra said softly, kneeling beside Jace. "We’ll take care of her."

Jace hesitated. His arms around you tightened slightly, like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

Alicent crouched in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Jace," she murmured, her voice gentle yet firm. "Let us help."

Jace swallowed. He looked down at you—you were barely conscious, your body weak, your breath still uneven.

Slowly, carefully, he loosened his hold. Rhaenyra and Alicent moved instantly, supporting you between them as they guided you to the bathroom.

Jace stayed where he was, frozen. Aemond and Aegon exchanged a glance, but neither of them spoke.

Jace clenched his fists.

He hated this.

Hated that no matter how many people he killed, no matter how many times he swore to protect you, he still couldn’t stop the ghosts of your past from creeping in and tearing you apart.

His jaw tightened as he stared at the blood smeared across the floor. Your blood.

A sharp exhale left his lips.

"Fuck!" he suddenly snapped, slamming his fist against the nearest wall.

Aemond sighed, stepping closer. "Losing your temper won’t fix this."

Jace turned, his eyes blazing. "I should’ve—" He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. "I should’ve been there. I should’ve stopped this before it got this bad."

"You can’t fight something that’s in her mind, Jace," Aemond said evenly. "You can kill every bastard who hurt her, but you can’t erase what they did."

Jace’s fists clenched even tighter.

"Then what the fuck am I supposed to do?" His voice cracked slightly. "Just sit here and watch her suffer?"

Aegon sighed, running a hand through his hair. "No, you stay by her side and remind her that she’s not alone."

Jace exhaled harshly, his chest still rising and falling with barely contained frustration.

"I should’ve stopped this," he muttered again.

Aemond shook his head. "And yet, she’s alive, she’s safe, and she has you." His voice dropped slightly. "That’s what matters."

Jace said nothing. He just stared at the doorway where you had disappeared, his heart still pounding, his body still tense. Because no matter what Aemond said, no matter what logic told him. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

Jace sat beside you, his fingers brushing against your cheek with the lightest touch, as if afraid you would shatter beneath his hand. Your face was peaceful now, the turmoil from earlier momentarily washed away by exhaustion. But he knew the nightmares would come again. They always did.

His chest ached. He should be here when you woke up. He should be the first thing you saw when the panic came rushing back. But instead, he had to leave.

Aemond and Aegon stood by the doorway, waiting.

"We have to go," Aemond reminded him, his voice low.

Jace didn’t move. His jaw clenched as he looked at you, curled beneath the blankets, so small compared to the chaos that surrounded you.

"She just fell asleep," he murmured, voice tight. "I should stay."

"We don’t have time for this," Aegon muttered, rubbing his face. "You know what happens if we wait too long."

Jace did know.

He knew this wouldn’t stop unless they ended it themselves. He knew that every second wasted meant another threat, another risk.

But leaving you now?

It felt wrong.

"She needs you to finish this, Jace." Aemond’s voice was calmer than Aegon’s, more level. "If we do this right, she won’t ever have to wake up to another nightmare again."

Jace exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

"If something happens while I’m gone—"

"Nothing will happen," Aemond cut in firmly. "She’s safe here. Rhaenyra and Alicent won’t let anything happen to her."

Jace’s grip on the sheets tightened. He turned back toward you, hesitating for another long moment. Then, finally, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I’ll be back before you wake up," he whispered against your skin. But even as he said it, he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in his gut. Because he wasn’t sure if that was a promise he could keep.

Jace sat in the passenger seat, his grip tight around his phone, his leg bouncing with restless energy. His eyes flickered between the screen and the club in front of them, a neon-lit building pulsing with music and sin.

Aegon leaned against the hood of the car, rolling his shoulders. "You're gonna break that damn phone if you keep squeezing it like that."

Jace shot him a sharp look but said nothing. The group chat was quiet—too quiet. His mother hadn't texted him back since he left, and the silence was driving him insane.

Aemond, standing beside the car with his arms crossed, exhaled slowly. "Focus, Jace. We get in, we find out who sent those videos, and we end this."

"You don’t understand," Jace muttered under his breath. His hands were shaking. "She had a panic attack earlier. I wasn’t even there when she—"

"She’s safe," Aemond cut in. "Rhaenyra and Alicent are with her. You being distracted helps no one."

Jace clenched his jaw. He knew Aemond was right. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

Aegon checked the time. "Alright, we've wasted enough time. Hellfire’s people are inside, probably thinking they own the place." He smirked darkly. "Let’s show them what happens when they fuck with the wrong family."

One of Aemond’s men approached the car, speaking in a low voice. "We’ve counted at least twenty men inside. Some armed, some just muscle. There's a VIP lounge in the back. That’s where their leader should be."

Jace inhaled sharply. "Good. The sooner we do this, the sooner I can get back."

Aemond nodded. "We move now. No warnings. No survivors."

Jace tucked his phone into his pocket, took a deep breath, and pushed everything else aside.

For now, all that mattered was making sure no one ever had the chance to hurt you again.

The pounding bass of the club’s music was drowned out by the sound of chaos—gunfire, screams, and the shattering of glass as Jace, Aemond, Aegon, and their men stormed inside. Patrons ducked for cover, some scrambling toward the exits, while others froze in shock.

Jace moved with purpose, his eyes scanning the room. The club was lavish—red neon lights reflecting off expensive chandeliers, VIP booths lined with velvet curtains, and a long bar where terrified bartenders crouched behind the counter. But he didn’t care about any of that. He was looking for one person. The bastard responsible for the hell you’d been put through.

"Where the fuck is he?" Jace growled, grabbing the nearest man—a thug with a scar running down his cheek. He yanked him forward and pressed a gun to his temple. "Where’s your boss?"

The man smirked, blood dripping from his lip. "Not here."

Jace’s grip tightened. "Wrong answer." He slammed the man’s head against the table, sending bottles and glasses crashing to the floor.

Aemond, who had been dealing with another group, stepped over bodies and sighed. "This was a fucking waste of time."

Aegon, standing near the bar, took a shot of whiskey before kicking over a chair in frustration. "Either they knew we were coming, or this was a goddamn distraction."

Jace clenched his jaw, his patience running thin. He turned to another man—a lower-level enforcer, trembling as he held up his hands.

"You," Jace hissed, grabbing him by the collar. "Talk."

The man swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the bodies on the floor. "I—I don’t know anything! He doesn’t tell us shit!"

Jace scoffed. "Bullshit." He cocked his gun and aimed it at the man’s kneecap. "Last chance."

"Okay, okay!" The man stammered. "I swear, I don’t know where he is, but I heard something—something about a shipment. A warehouse near the docks."

Aemond’s gaze sharpened. "When?"

"Tonight!" the man sputtered. "That’s all I know, I swear!"

Jace exchanged a look with Aemond and Aegon. If this was true, then they still had a chance.

Aegon ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. "Then we head to the docks."

Jace turned back to the man, his expression cold. "You’re lucky I don’t have time to deal with you." Then, without hesitation, he pulled the trigger—shooting the man in the leg before dropping him to the floor with a scream.

Aemond arched a brow. "That was merciful."

"I'm in a hurry," Jace muttered, already walking toward the exit. He pulled out his phone, still no messages from his mother. His gut twisted.

Aegon slapped a hand on his back. "Relax, lover boy. She’s safe."

Jace didn’t respond. He wouldn’t relax. Not until he was sure and not until the people who did this were dead.

Your head pounded as you slowly opened your eyes, the dim light in the room making your vision blur. Everything felt hazy—like you were stuck in a dream, or rather, a nightmare. Your breaths were shaky as you looked around, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you.

The room was unfamiliar at first, but then you recognized the scent—Jace’s, not the one you had been in earlier. You must have been moved while you were sleeping. But something felt off. The air was too quiet.

Then the door creaked open.

Your breath hitched as a tall figure stepped inside. It took you a second to process who it was. Cregan.

You blinked, surprised. “Cregan?” Your voice was hoarse, but you managed a small, confused smile. “Jace isn’t here… he—”

Before you could finish, Cregan didn’t stop walking. He moved toward you with steady steps, his expression unreadable. Then, in a swift motion, he grabbed your wrist.

Your eyes widened. “Cregan, what are you—?”

Without a word, he lifted you with ease, throwing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

Panic surged through you. “Cregan, put me down!” You thrashed, kicking against his chest, hitting his back with your fists, but he didn’t budge. He held you tightly, moving toward the door with a terrifying sense of purpose.

Your breath came faster now, your heart hammering against your ribs. “What the hell are you doing?!”

He didn’t answer.

As soon as he carried you out of the bedroom, your body stiffened at the sight before you.

The house was a mess. The living room was completely trashed—tables overturned, broken glass scattered across the floor, and the sharp scent of blood in the air. But worst of all, your stomach twisted at the sight of two familiar figures.

Alicent and Rhaenyra.

They were tied to chairs in the middle of the room, their hands bound behind them, their mouths gagged.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened when she saw you, and Alicent made a muffled sound against the cloth in her mouth, thrashing against her restraints.

Your entire body locked up.

“Cregan, what the fuck is this?!” Your voice cracked as you struggled harder.

His grip tightened around you. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

Terror crawled up your spine. Where the hell was Jace?

And what had you just walked into?

Cregan dropped you onto your feet with little care, his grip loosening just enough for you to take a few shaky steps backward. You knew you had to run. It didn’t matter how much your body ached, how the cuts on your feet burned with every movement—you couldn’t just stand there.

As soon as he turned to open the car door, you took your chance.

You bolted.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you sprinted toward the nearest exit. The cold night air stung your lungs, and each step sent a sharp pain through your body. You bit your lip to keep from crying out, forcing yourself to move faster.

But you weren’t fast enough.

A sharp yank on your hair sent you stumbling back, a scream escaping your lips as your balance faltered. Cregan’s fingers tangled in your locks, pulling hard enough to make your scalp burn.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” His voice was low, dangerous.

You winced, tears forming in your eyes as you tried to pry his hand off. “Cregan—please! What did I do? Why are you doing this?”

Your voice broke as you choked on a sob, confusion and terror overwhelming you.

But Cregan didn’t answer. He simply yanked you toward the car, his grip like iron.

“Let me go!” you screamed, thrashing in his hold.

“Shut up.” His voice was cold, devoid of any warmth. “You’re coming with me. No more running, no more games. You’re mine now.”

Panic surged through you. This wasn’t the Cregan you knew—this was someone else, someone cruel and unrecognizable.

With a final shove, he threw you into the backseat of his car. The door slammed shut behind you before you could react. Your fingers trembled as you tried to open the door, but the locks clicked before you could even reach for the handle.

Cregan slid into the driver’s seat, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. “If you behave, this won’t be so bad.”

You shook your head, pressing yourself against the door. “Please, Cregan, don’t do this. I don’t understand—”

He ignored you.

With a single press of his foot against the gas pedal, the car sped away from Jace’s house, taking you further and further away from everything you knew.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt truly helpless.

Jace, Aemond, and Aegon pulled up to the house, their tires screeching against the pavement. The plan had been to stop here quickly before heading to the port, but something immediately felt wrong.

The house was dark. Too dark.

Jace's grip tightened around the steering wheel. "Where is everyone?" he muttered under his breath.

Aemond had already stepped out, his gaze sharp as he scanned the property. "Something's off."

Aegon scoffed. "No shit." He reached for his gun. "Let's go."

They moved in quickly, pushing open the front door.

The second they stepped inside, their blood ran cold.

The living room was wrecked—furniture overturned, shattered glass across the floor, and, worst of all, their mother bound to the chairs in the center of the room.

"Mother!" Jace was the first to move, sprinting toward Rhaenyra and untying her hands with shaking fingers. "What happened?"

Rhaenyra gasped, her hands stiff and cold as she gripped Jace’s arms. Her voice was weak, but the fury in her eyes burned. "They took her."

Aemond had already untied Alicent, who exhaled sharply, rubbing her wrists. "It was Cregan." Her voice trembled slightly.

Jace’s vision blurred with rage. "Cregan?" The name came out like venom. "What the fuck do you mean Cregan took her?!"

"He took her." Her voice was unsteady, filled with barely controlled rage. "He took her, Jace." The words sent ice down his spine. His ears rang. His stomach twisted violently.

You were gone.

Jace stumbled back, his breath coming out in short gasps. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "No—no, no, no—"

Aegon swore under his breath, pulling out his phone to call Helaena. "We need to track him, now."

Aemond was already pulling out his gun, his knuckles white around the grip. "Where was he taking her?" His voice was eerily calm, but the storm in his eye said otherwise.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, steadying herself. "I don’t know, but he said something about ‘finally taking what’s his.’"

Jace’s vision blurred with rage. "He is not taking her anywhere."

Alicent grabbed Aemond’s sleeve, forcing him to look at her. "He’s dangerous. He planned this. This wasn’t just some random act, Aemond—he knew exactly when to strike."

"Then we’re going to make him regret it," Aegon muttered darkly.

Jace turned away from them, his fingers digging into his hair as he struggled to breathe. "I should’ve stayed. I shouldn’t have left her alone."

Aemond stepped in front of him, gripping his shoulder tightly. "None of us should’ve left her alone. But we’re getting her back."

Jace swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus. "Where the fuck is Helaena? She needs to track them, now."

Aegon’s phone rang. The moment he answered, Helaena’s urgent voice came through. "I found them."

Silence.

"They’re headed to the docks."

Jace’s blood turned to fire. His entire body burned with a rage unlike anything he had ever felt before. "Then let’s fucking move."

Your entire body trembled as Cregan held you against him, his arms tightening in a way that made you feel trapped, suffocated. This wasn’t like Jace’s embrace—warm, protective, safe. No, this was possessive, controlling, wrong.

You struggled against him, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. "Please—please, let me go." Your voice cracked as tears streamed down your face, your hands weakly pushing against his chest.

Cregan only laughed, low and dark, his grip never loosening. "You’re still so soft," he mused, almost in admiration. "So delicate. You think begging will make me stop? You should know better by now."

Your stomach twisted violently when he leaned in, pressing his lips against the sensitive skin of your neck. Your body recoiled instantly, a sob ripping through your throat as you tried to shove him away. But he was stronger—he always had been.

"Stop—please!" Your voice rose in desperation.

He exhaled against your skin, his lips ghosting over your ear. "I should’ve taken you back that day," he murmured, his fingers digging into your waist. "Back when we had lunch together. Do you remember that? If I had, none of this mess would’ve happened."

Your breath hitched as the weight of his words settled in. You remembered that lunch—the first time you had seen him before everything had fallen apart. The way he had looked at you, the way he had smiled so easily as if he wasn’t the same man who had destroyed you.

"Jace won’t find you," he continued, pulling away just enough to look into your tear-filled eyes. "He’s too busy searching at the docks while we’re at the airport. By the time he realizes, it’ll be too late."

Panic surged through you, your heart hammering against your ribs. "No…" you whispered, shaking your head violently. "No, he’ll come for me. He always comes for me."

Cregan chuckled, tilting his head. "You’re so sure of him, aren’t you?" His fingers brushed against your cheek, making you flinch. "It’s almost sweet. But love won’t save you this time."

You barely registered his next words as he turned to the pilot. "Take off."

The engines roared to life. The plane began to move. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Jace…

He didn’t know.

He didn’t know you were here.

You were running out of time.

Your body went rigid as Cregan tightened the restraints around your wrists, securing you to the plush leather seat of the private jet. You struggled against them, your breaths coming out in short, panicked gasps.

"Cregan, please," you whispered, your voice breaking as tears welled up in your eyes. "You don’t have to do this. Let me go, please—"

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head, watching you with something almost like amusement. Then, slowly, he reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with terrifying gentleness.

"Shh," he murmured. "You’ll only make yourself more upset."

You flinched at the contact, trying to turn your face away, but his grip was firm. A low chuckle left his lips before he finally pulled back, reaching for the laptop resting on the table beside him.

Your stomach dropped the second you saw the screen.

No—no, no, no.

"You know, I always thought you were beautiful," Cregan said casually, as if he weren’t about to destroy you all over again. He clicked on a file, and suddenly, your worst nightmare played out before your eyes. "But these videos?” He exhaled, shaking his head. "They really show just how perfect you are."

Your throat closed up, bile rising as the familiar, horrifying video flickered across the screen. Images of you—of what had been done to you. You couldn't breathe. Couldn’t think.

"No…" you choked out, your entire body trembling. "Turn it off—please, turn it off!"

Cregan just watched you, his lips curling into a smirk. "Why? You’re so mesmerizing like this."

Your vision blurred with tears as you thrashed against the restraints, but it was useless.

Then, suddenly, he leaned in, his warm breath fanning against your tear-streaked cheek.

"Don’t cry, princess," he murmured before pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your skin. "You’re mine now."

Your body went completely still.

For a moment, you thought you had misheard him.

But then Cregan chuckled softly, his fingers tracing down your trembling arm as he leaned in closer. "What do you think, princess?" he whispered against your ear. "Should we recreate it together?”

A broken sob tore from your throat. Your entire body started shaking, your breaths coming out in ragged gasps. "No… no, please…" you begged, yanking against the restraints until your wrists burned. "Cregan, please—don’t do this."

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. There was something dark in his eyes, something terrifyingly unreadable. "Don’t look at me like that," he mused, his hand cupping your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "I’m not the bad guy here."

"Then let me go!" you cried, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. "If you care about me at all, please—"

Cregan exhaled heavily, like he was tired of the conversation already. "You don’t understand, do you?" he murmured, brushing his thumb across your lower lip. "I’m the only one who can protect you now."

"Protect me?!" you spat, your voice raw. "You’re doing the same thing they did!"

His grip tightened, and for the first time, his smirk vanished. "I’m nothing like them," he said coldly. "I won’t hurt you—not unless you make me."

Your stomach twisted in fear, but before you could say anything, he pressed a finger to your lips. "Shh… relax, princess." His smirk returned, and his hand slid to the laptop again. "Let’s enjoy the show together."

The screen flickered as the video continued playing, filling the cabin with the sounds of your past agony and you? You could only sob, trapped in your worst nightmare all over again.

Your body had given up.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, but you didn’t fight anymore. You didn’t pull against the restraints, didn’t scream, didn’t beg. You just sat there, shaking, eyes locked on the screen as Cregan forced your face toward it.

"There you go…" he murmured, his grip on your jaw tightening. "That’s better. No more fighting, no more crying—just accept it, princess."

Your lips trembled as you watched the video. Watched yourself being held down, a bottle forced to your lips as you choked, your eyes wide with terror.

You remembered that night.

You remembered how they laughed. How they told you it was your fault, how they whispered disgusting things in your ear. You remembered the way your body stopped listening to you after they made you drink. How you felt like you were floating outside of yourself, unable to move, unable to fight.

You thought you had buried these memories.

But now, Cregan was digging them up.

"It’s hard to watch, isn’t it?" His breath was hot against your cheek, his voice sickeningly sweet. "But I think you need to see it. Need to remember what happened to you."

A strangled sob escaped your throat.

"Stop…" you whispered, your voice hoarse. "Please, Cregan… I don’t want to see this…"

"Oh, but I do," he countered, his lips ghosting over the tear-stained skin of your temple. "Because every time I see this, I realize how much they didn’t deserve you. They treated you like trash. They didn’t see how precious you are."

His hand slid down to your throat, thumb pressing lightly against your pulse.

"But don’t worry, princess," he whispered, his tone almost��� affectionate. "I’ll take care of you now. I’ll make sure no one ever touches you like this again."

Your stomach twisted in horror.

"You’re doing the same thing they did," you choked out. "You’re hurting me, Cregan."

His expression darkened.

"No," he said sharply. "I’m saving you."

Your breath hitched when he suddenly grabbed your chin again, forcing you to look at him. His gaze was intense, possessive, something twisted lurking beneath the surface.

"Jace can’t protect you. Aemond and Aegon? They don’t understand you like I do." His thumb traced your lower lip, his eyes filled with something that made your skin crawl. "Only I can keep you safe."

Another sob wracked through your body.

"Please…" Your voice was barely above a whisper. "Please don’t do this…"

For a moment, just a moment, you thought you saw hesitation in his expression.

But then he smirked.

"Don’t worry, princess," he murmured, brushing his lips against your forehead. "Soon, you’ll see that this is what’s best for you."

Jace's fury was unlike anything Aemond or Aegon had ever seen before.

He stormed across the empty docks, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His breaths came out in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to contain the storm inside him.

"Where the fuck is she?!" Jace roared, his voice echoing across the deserted pier. His eyes darted around wildly, searching for anything—anything—that would tell him where they had taken you.

Nothing.

No tire marks. No signs of a struggle. No traces of you ever being here.

It was a setup.

"Fuck!" Jace punched the side of a shipping container, the force rattling the metal. His hand ached, but he didn’t care. Pain was nothing compared to the agony twisting in his chest.

"Calm the fuck down, Jace—" Aegon started, but Jace whirled around, his expression wild.

"Don’t tell me to calm down!" he snapped. "She’s gone! They took her right from under us, and I—" His voice broke, and he clenched his jaw, shaking his head. "I should’ve been there. I should’ve protected her."

Aemond, who had been silent until now, exhaled sharply. "They wanted to distract us. Make us think she was here while they took her somewhere else." His mismatched eyes burned with barely restrained anger. "And we fell for it."

Jace ran a trembling hand through his hair, trying to steady himself, trying to think. "We need to find her. Now."

"No shit," Aegon muttered. "But how? We don’t have a fucking lead anymore."

Just then, Aemond's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his brows furrowing as he read the message. Then his entire body stiffened.

"What?" Jace demanded. "What is it?!"

Aemond lifted his gaze, his expression unreadable. "Helaena just tracked the last signal from her phone."

Jace's heart nearly stopped. "Where?!"

Aemond met his frantic stare. "The airport."

Jace ran.

His legs burned, his chest ached, but he ran. As if by some miracle, if he just moved fast enough, he could reach you. Could tear you away from the monster who had taken you. Could stop that jet from leaving the ground.

But he was too late.

The private jet had already ascended, its wheels no longer touching the earth. The roar of its engines filled his ears, drowning out everything else. He skidded to a stop at the edge of the tarmac, his breath ragged, sweat dripping down his temple.

And he watched.

He watched as the plane carrying you away climbed higher and higher, until it was just a dark speck in the sky. Until it disappeared completely.

His knees hit the ground.

A strangled, guttural sound tore from his throat as he clenched his fists against the concrete. Aemond and Aegon weren’t far behind him, both breathing heavily from the sprint, but neither of them said anything.

There was nothing to say.

Jace's hands trembled as he pressed them into the cold pavement, his vision blurring. "I lost her," he choked out. "I lost her."

Aemond’s jaw tightened. "We’re going to find her."

"How?" Jace snapped, his voice raw with desperation. "How the fuck are we supposed to find her now?! He could be taking her anywhere!"

"We’ll track the jet," Aegon said, rubbing a hand down his face. "We have contacts, resources. He won’t get far."

"You don’t get it," Jace growled, pushing himself back onto his feet. His entire body was shaking—whether from exhaustion, rage, or sheer helplessness, he didn’t know. "He planned this. Every step. He was always one step ahead of us. And now she’s alone with him."

Alone with Cregan.

Jace’s stomach twisted violently. He wanted to tear his own skin off, wanted to scream, wanted to rip apart anything in his path.

Aemond grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to meet his gaze. "Get a fucking grip," he snapped. "Losing your shit isn’t going to bring her back. We need to move. Now."

Jace clenched his jaw so tightly it hurt.

But Aemond was right.

Breaking down wouldn’t save you.

He took a shuddering breath, then nodded. "Fine." His voice was hoarse. "We track the jet."

Aegon had already pulled out his phone, his expression grim. "I’m on it."

Jace turned back toward the sky, staring at the empty space where your plane had vanished.

Hold on, he thought desperately. I’m coming for you.

Tears streamed down your face as Cregan pulled you onto his lap. Your body trembled, not just from fear but from the unbearable weight of watching those cursed videos over and over again. You had lost count of how many he had forced you to watch—how many times you had been made to relive your own suffering.

The screen flickered, playing yet another clip. Your own voice—weak, broken, desperate—filled the cabin of the jet. A choked sob escaped your lips. You wanted to look away, to shut your eyes, to block out the nightmare unfolding before you, but Cregan’s grip was firm, keeping you facing forward.

Then, his lips brushed against your neck.

Your body went rigid.

His hands moved to your waist, his touch eerily mirroring the movements of the men in the video. He was recreating it. Reenacting what had been done to you before.

A violent shudder wracked through you. "Please..." you whimpered, voice barely above a whisper. "Please don’t do this."

Cregan hummed against your skin, as if considering your words. His fingers dug into your waist, holding you still. "You don’t need to be scared," he murmured, his tone almost gentle. "You’re mine now."

Your breath hitched. "I’m not yours."*

His grip tightened. "No?" He chuckled darkly, pressing a kiss just below your ear. "I think you are."

You squeezed your eyes shut. "Jace will find me," you whispered, more to convince yourself than to warn him. "He won’t stop until he does."*

Cregan’s entire body tensed at the mention of Jace. His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching against your skin. Then, with a slow exhale, he forced a smirk. "Jace is too late."

You shook your head, struggling against him. "He’ll come for me," you repeated, your voice firmer this time. "He won’t stop."*

Cregan let out a slow, amused breath. "Then we’ll make sure he never finds you."*

Your stomach dropped.

The plane continued soaring through the sky, farther and farther from home.

Your body stiffened as Cregan pressed closer, his lips trailing down your neck despite your desperate pleas. His grip on your waist was firm, holding you in place as if he were afraid you would vanish if he let go.

"Please, Cregan," your voice was barely above a whisper, shaking with fear. "Don’t do this."

He exhaled against your skin, his breath warm, sending a shiver down your spine. "You keep begging," he murmured, his fingers tracing slow circles along your side. "But I told you already—you belong to me now."

Your stomach twisted in dread, but you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to stay strong. "Jace will find me," you whispered. "He won’t stop until he does."

Cregan froze for a fraction of a second before a dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. "Jace?" He pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, his smirk full of mockery. "You really think he’ll get to you in time?"

Your lips parted, but before you could respond, the plane suddenly dipped.

The change in altitude made your stomach lurch, and your ears popped as the jet began descending.

Cregan smiled.

"Looks like we’ve arrived," he said smoothly, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Welcome to your new home."

Your breath hitched.

"Where are we?" you asked, barely able to get the words out.

Cregan’s smile widened as he brushed his thumb over your cheek, as if savoring your fear. "Somewhere Jace will never find you."

Your heart pounded violently against your ribcage. You wanted to fight, to scream, but you knew it wouldn’t help. Not yet. You had to think. You had to survive.

The jet touched down with a soft thud.

Cregan unbuckled both of your seatbelts and stood up, gripping your wrist before you could even think of running. "Come on, sweetheart," he murmured, dragging you toward the door. "Let’s go home."

You swallowed hard, the word home sounding more like a prison sentence than a promise.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

[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.

[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.

[onebadassunicorn]

Love Lies

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pining, serious angst

word count: 1.7k

Taglist: @motheroffae @tele86

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!

********

Chapter 1

The candlelight flickered in the dimly lit dining room, casting long shadows across the untouched plates of food. The meal had long since gone cold, the rich aroma that once filled the air now replaced by an eerie silence. In front of you sat a bouquet of flowers—once vibrant, now wilted, their petals curling inward as if mimicking the ache in your chest. Your fingers trembled as you traced the edge of your plate, your appetite lost hours ago. The clock on the wall ticked on, each passing second carving another wound into your already bleeding heart.

Azriel was late.

Again.

The door creaked open, and you lifted your head, your throat tight with the weight of disappointment. He stepped inside, shadows trailing him, exhaustion etched into his features.

But not from battle.

Not from some deadly mission.

No—he had spent the day with her.

He hadn’t even remembered.

“Where were you?” your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but he heard the accusation laced within it.

Azriel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Elain needed me.”

The words struck you like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs. Elain needed me. As if your own needs, your own pain, were nothing in comparison. As if your shared history, your bond, the life you had built together, paled in the face of her quiet sorrow.

“Our anniversary,” you whispered, the brokenness in your voice cracking through the space between you. “You missed our anniversary.”

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. "I—I'm sorry. I forgot—"

"You forgot." The words tasted like ash in your mouth, and tears burned at the corners of your eyes.

"You forgot the day we became mates. You forgot the promise we made to each other, Azriel. While you were out playing hero for Elain, I was sitting here waiting for you, hoping—praying—that you’d show me I still mattered."

Azriel’s jaw tightened. “That’s not fair. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Not fair?” you repeated, incredulous. “How is it not fair? I am your mate, Azriel. And yet, every time I reach for you, you’re already gone. You don’t even see me anymore.”

His expression darkened. “Elain needs me,” he said, as if that justified everything. “She’s been through so much. Her life was turned upside down, and I am the only one who understands what she’s going through.”

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “And what about me?” you demanded, your voice trembling. “What happens when I need someone? When I need you?”

Azriel's gaze hardened, something ice-cold settling into his features. “Quit being selfish. You’re strong,” he said simply, as if that excused his absence, his neglect. “You didn’t have your entire world shattered the way she did.”

The words knocked the air from your lungs.

He truly believed that.

That your pain was somehow less.

That you were somehow less deserving of his care, his love, simply because you weren’t the one drowning in sorrow.

“That’s bullshit,” you spat, the sting of rejection burning like acid. “I may not have had my entire world turned upside down, but I am losing you, Azriel. I am watching you slip away from me, and you don’t even care.”

He exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re being childish.”

Childish.

Selfish.

Ridiculous.

The words cut deep, deeper than any wound you had ever sustained in battle.

You were his mate.

His equal.

And yet, in this moment, he made you feel like nothing more than an afterthought.

Tears blurred your vision, your chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. “Do you even love me anymore?” The question escaped before you could stop it, raw and aching.

Azriel’s entire body tensed.

But he didn’t answer.

And that was answer enough.

A sob tore from your throat, and still—still—he didn’t reach for you. He didn’t try to comfort you. He simply shook his head, rubbing his temples. “I’m too tired for this,” he muttered. “You need to be more understanding. More sensitive to what Elain is going through.”

And then he turned his back on you.

Turned his back and walked away.

You stood there, watching as he climbed the stairs, as he disappeared into your shared bedroom, as the door clicked shut behind him. Leaving you alone in the dimly lit room, with nothing but your shattered heart and the cold remains of a dinner meant for two.

You couldn’t stay.

You couldn’t be in this house, in this space that no longer felt like home.

So you grabbed your coat and walked out into the streets of Velaris, your feet carrying you aimlessly, your breath coming in shaky gasps. The city was quiet, the Sidra’s gentle flow the only sound that met your ears as you finally sank onto the riverbank.

The night stretched on, and you sat there, knees drawn to your chest, staring out at the dark waters.

Wondering when everything had changed.

Wondering why you were losing him. Wondering if you had already lost him completely.

The first light of dawn crept over the horizon, golden hues spilling across the sky. Exhaustion pulled at your limbs, but it was nothing compared to the weight in your heart. With a heavy sigh, you forced yourself to your feet and made your way back to the house.

Only to find it empty.

Azriel was already gone.

Your hands trembled as you noticed the small note left on the table. A single piece of parchment, his familiar scrawl hastily written across it.

Elain needed me this morning. I’ll see you tonight. We can talk then.

No mention of your absence.

For a moment, you just stared at the note, the words blurring as tears welled up in your eyes.

He hadn't even noticed you hadn't come home last night.

He hadn't even asked.

He’d just… left.

To take care of her.

Again.

No acknowledgment that he had left you alone on your anniversary.

No apology.

Just Elain needed me.

He hadn’t cared that you were gone, hadn’t cared enough to come looking for you.

He hadn’t even stayed to make things right before running off to her.

A choked sound escaped you, and the note slipped from your fingers, floating to the ground like the last fragile piece of your breaking heart.

And as you collapsed to your knees, sobs wracking your body, you realized— You were losing him.

And he didn’t even care.

Azriel, your mate, had become a stranger.

*****

Later that night, shadows stretched across the walls as you folded the last of your clothes into your worn travel bag. Your hands trembled, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you, but still, you continued. Every piece of clothing, every small possession you tucked away felt like another piece of your heart being ripped from your chest.

This had once been home—these walls, this space, him.

But now, it was nothing more than a house filled with memories that had been tainted by neglect, by loneliness, by her.

The front door creaked open, and your breath hitched.

You didn’t turn around, didn’t look up as heavy footsteps echoed behind you.

You could feel his presence—his shadows curling around him, brushing against you in what had once been a comforting embrace.

Now, they felt foreign.

Cold.

A whisper of what used to be.

Azriel’s voice broke through the silence, laced with confusion. “What are you doing?”

You didn’t answer right away, didn’t trust your voice to hold steady. You simply reached for another garment, placing it into your bag as another tear slipped down your cheek.

“Where are you going?” His voice was sharper now, laced more with irritation rather than concern.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, forcing the words out even though they shattered you further. “I can’t stay here anymore.”

Silence.

A thick, suffocating silence.

Azriel scoffed, stepping closer. “You’re being ridiculous.”

You flinched but kept packing.

“You’re still mad about the anniversary? Is that what this is about?” He exhaled sharply, his frustration dripping from every word. “You need to get over it. There will be other anniversaries, other things to celebrate. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Not that big of a deal.

Your breath came out shaky, more tears falling freely now.

You clenched the fabric in your hands, holding onto it as if it could somehow hold you together.

But it couldn’t.

Nothing could anymore.

“This is about more than just the anniversary,” you whispered, voice breaking. “This is about us. About how you don’t see me anymore. About how I am always second to her.”

Azriel let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “This again?” he muttered. “Would you PLEASE stop being selfish! You know what Elain has been through. You should be more understanding.”

Your heart clenched at his words, at the way he dismissed your pain so easily.

As if you were the problem.

As if you were the one hurting him, when in reality, you were the one left bleeding.

But you didn’t argue.

You didn’t scream or beg.

You didn’t try to make him see you—because he had already made his choice.

And it wasn’t you.

You simply cried as you packed, silent sobs wracking your body, your shoulders trembling under the weight of it all.

And Azriel… Azriel just stood there, watching as you broke apart right in front of him.

And he did nothing.

When you finished, you grabbed your bag and turned toward the door, wiping at your tear-streaked face. You looked at him one last time, hoping—praying—that something in his expression would change.

That he would finally realize what he was losing.

That he would stop you.

But he only sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This is so childish,” he muttered. “You’ll regret this in the morning.”

You let out a shaky breath, your heart crumbling in your chest.

He didn’t get it.

He never would.

Without another word, you turned and walked out the front door.

And he didn’t stop you.

He didn’t follow.

He didn’t even care.

The moment the door shut behind you, a sob tore from your throat, one that had been clawing at your chest for weeks—months.

You had lost him.

You had already lost him, long before you made the choice to walk away.

And he hadn’t even tried to hold on.

Chapter 2

[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.”

[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.

[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?"

[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.

[bones4thecats]

Hi, I would like to request Goku, Bardock, and Gohan play fighting with their child/children if that’s ok?

The Saiyans Play-Fighting w/ their Kids

Characters: Son Goku, Bardock, and Son Gohan Requester: @crispy-qw A/N: I drank an entire bottle of water writing this. I'm pretty sure I mentally sobbed writing all this fluff... ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Pure tear-jerking fluff ⚠️

Disclaimer: The timeline in Bardock's part is diverse from the canon

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Son Goku ══════════════════════════════╝

🍜 When you found out you were pregnant, Goku was very happy. Ever since he heard stories from ChiChi about how her father raised her when they were younger, he just wanted that bond with someone

🍜 It was at the time your oldest boy, Gohan, was born that Goku's nerves all calmed down. While he was nervous that someone would come down and harm his family, these nerves just got pushed away in favor of spending time with you and his boy

🍜 Goku is an amazing father, no doubt. And this is always proven when he would play fight with his two boys. Gohan would normally spend his time reading and learning while Goten, your second, would want to train with his dad and Uncle Piccolo

🍜 That day in particular, you had come home from a check-up with Bulma, who was making sure your third-baby, an unnamed girl, was doing well in your womb. You had just closed your door when you heard the sound of cheers coming from your backyard

🍜 Walking outside once again, you saw your husband and two sons messing around. They certainly weren't using their full strength as they messed around. Goku would mainly wrestle them in the air as they tried escaping his grasp, testing their physical strength

🍜 You smiled as the boys played around. It was always nice to see the three of them bond, especially since in nine weeks you would be delivering the second girl of the family. They needed to get their manliness out sooner rather than later

🍜 While you would normally sit down and watch them play, you needed to get some sleep, spending over an hour around Vegeta, Bulma, and Trunks could get exhausting for a woman after all... especially when Vegeta was being held down because he was sick

🍜 As you closed the backdoor behind you, you could hear the three boys laughing together along with a crash of them landing on the ground. This was the family you always dreamed of having. Thank Kami you got it

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Bardock ═══════════════════════════════╝

🛡️ Bardock and you always knew you wanted children, but as you were both warriors, this had to be held back for a while. And when you guys finally settled down, you had your two boys, Raditz and Kakarot

🛡️ Raditz was far more into being a warrior than Kakarot, as he would be out wrestling with other Saiyans while your younger would train by himself, only being joined by a select few of other Saiyans he considered to be friends

🛡️ Due to the power your husband sensed in them, he began to train his sons very diligently. Almost always helping them outside while you would mainly stayed inside and would handle more medical-related topics, almost always being called away to treat some Saiyan warriors who's pride went to their head

🛡️ You were called away the same day that Kakarot and Raditz were home from training with the army. Bardock had been with them due to an injury that came to his legs during a battle, leaving him to be home-ridden for a few days

🛡️ When you finally arrived home from handling almost fourteen whole teams of warrior's injuries, you could hear laughing and smashes coming from behind your home, leading you to laying your supplies down and walking out to find your family of boys training together

🛡️ Well, training isn't the best word. They were more tackling and wrestling one another. And it was so cute for you to watch after seeing so many grizzly injuries on your people from fights planets away

🛡️ Bardock eventually excused himself from his sons, telling them to keep up their skills. He then turned from his bickering children to his wife, whom stood there as her tail swayed gently in adoration at their actions together

"Welcome home, Y/N."

"It's good to see you bonding with the boys, Bardock."

"I know. I'm enjoying this time with them."

"You better. I did not spend so much time helping create them for you to not like them." You said.

"Don't worry, I don't just like them. I love them, they're the best sons a Saiyan could ask for."

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Son Gohan ═════════════════════════════╝

📚 Because Gohan's job took up a lot of his time, he couldn't always be around as much as he wanted to be. But whenever he did have free time, he would grab you from behind and cuddle with you, relaxing and talking about whatever's been going on in your personal lives

📚 But, after you gave birth to your daughter, Pan, Gohan had been trying to be around her more. It was difficult, but he did succeed at bonding with her most of the time

📚 You could not be more happy than to watch her bond with both her father and the man he considered to be a part of your family, that being your Namekian-ally, Piccolo

📚 Just watching as Piccolo trained her was nice, but seeing your husband take some time off to help with his daughter's development was just better in your opinion. Witnessing the closeness that your family had, no matter is blood relation was involved, was beyond wondrous

📚 One lovely day, your mother-in-law, ChiChi, had wanted to spend some time with you, to which you agreed and called up Piccolo, asking if he could babysit Pan while you left and Gohan was working. The Namekian agreed and said he'd arrive shortly, allowing you to get ready and leave

📚 You spent around two hours with your in-laws before you left, missing your daughter and husband dearly. Stepping in the backyard, you were shocked to see Gohan in his old uniform, trying to teach Pan how to throw a punch gently. He always said he hated fighting while you were together, but he did love his daughter, so maybe his love for her surpassed that

📚 Walking up and sitting beside Piccolo as he watched the two human-Saiyan hybrids, you asked how long they had been doing this and what he did to get Gohan out of his office

"Just Pan's baby-eyes did the trick. They've been doing this for around 20 minutes, Gohan's been teaching her simple fighting moves. Kicking, punching, even slapping... don't know why the last one though."

"Eh, you never know." You giggled.

📚 Piccolo smiled as Gohan tried teaching Pan to fly, resulting in her falling on her butt and him panicking and looking for any kind of wound on her body. You sometimes wonder if you married a hypochondriac

[folkloresthings]

BECAUSE I LIKED A BOY / CL16.

in which the world’s favourite pop princess becomes tangled in the life of a certain formula one driver, flipping her entire world upside down.

( charles leclerc x singer!au )

track one: lonesome. track two: fast times. track three: nonsense. track four: opposite. track five: how many things. track six: bad for business.

✩⡱ warnings: cursing

despite being the one to have sent the message, you could only stare at the screen of your phone as it rang, charles’ name lighting up, a picture you’d taken of him filling the screen. just before it could ring off, you pressed the green button and held it to your ear. neither of you spoke for a moment, just soft breathing against the speaker.

“hi,” you whispered, breath held in your chest, wondering if he was really there. you didn’t even know if you wanted to speak to him. hell, you didn’t know how you were feeling — only that you were falling madly in love one minute, and heartbroken the next.

“hello, ma cherie,” charles’ unmistakable accent filled your senses, allowing that breath you were holding to be let out. even now, he was using that silly pet name that made you smile. frankly, the love you felt for him hadn’t really gone away, despite what he’d done. you’d only wished it had never happened, and life could go on.

“lewis came to see me. he explained what happened, but i want to hear it from you.” trying your best to keep your voice steady, your knuckles grip at the bedsheets under you. you could hear him sigh on the other side, a long breath.

“i— didn’t mean for any of this to happen. fuck. i was drunk, too drunk to realise what she was trying to do. i probably should have shut her down sooner, but i wasn’t thinking,” he told you quietly. his voice caught, and you knew then he was crying. half of your heart yearned to comfort him, the other to shake him firmly. “i went looking for you after, but lily told me you’d left. so i tried to catch up, but she kept fucking following me. i had to get security to do something about it.”

you swallowed hard, a hundred daggers lining your throat. what were you supposed to say? if you listened to your heart, you would forgive him in an instant. you’d book a flight to wherever he was racing that weekend and let him bundle you up in his arms, take you to bed and make you forget it all. but you’d been throat a lot. you had to be smart, strong — more than just a lovesick girl.

“i’ve been let down so many times, charles. and i was so blind, i didn’t think you would do it too,” you were both crying, his soft sniffles filling your speaker. “i can’t just… pretend this never happened.”

“you shouldn’t have to. but — i can’t lose you, y/n. shit, you’re the first good thing i’ve had in a long time.”

you choked on a sob, praying he hadn’t heard it. he was sweet, so awfully and cruelly sweet, and it wasn’t at all fair. despite his recent mistakes, he scored five stars every time.

“maybe we rushed into this,” you pondered, and you could practically hear him shaking his head. “i shouldn’t have let you think my heart was ready for all of this. after austin i… i should have waited a little while.”

“y/n…”

“maybe we just need a little time. to figure ourselves out.”

he sighed, knowing he shouldn’t battle you on this. no matter how he wanted to beg you on his knees and make everything better again. “three months.”

“what?” you replied.

“it’s three months until the grand prix final, the last race, and until your finished touring. i’ll leave you alone until then, but i’ll set aside a paddock pass for you there. if you want to trust me then, come. please.” his offer feels terribly gallant, respectful of your feelings, that it brings a smile onto your face.

“alright. three months.”

INSTAGRAM.

liked by niallhoran, lewishamilton, and 900,231 others

yourusername if i’m just writing happy songs, will anybody sing along?

view all 438,927 comments

joeyking who’s lady and who’s the tramp

⤷ yourusername i think we both know the answer to that

user tbh i preferred charles with charlotte than her

⤷ user no i’ve been waiting for someone to agree w me

landonorris setting the last picture as your contact pic rn

user team y/n or team charles take ur vote

⤷ user is this all you people have to talk about? shes her own person and was famous for years before she got involved with him

user tours almost over 🥲

⤷ yourusername 3 months 🥲🥲🥲

INSTAGRAM.

liked by yourusername, lovebotyn, and 12,332 others

ynnews the singular tour is almost over!!!! it’s been such a good few months, we’ve seen y/n go through so much but we’ve also watched her grow 🥺 so very proud of her. fingers crossed for new music & another tour soon!

view all 5,271 comments

user i wasn’t able to go to any of the shows but i have LOVED watching all of the videos of her performing

user the fact taylor, madison, maisie, gracie and olivia all flew to europe just to perform with her when she was in a bad place 😭

yourusername BABY 🫶🤍 this is so so sweet. but it’s you guys that have made this tour, coming out every night and singing along to every word. i love you all more than anything in this world.

⤷ user MOM I LOVE YOU

TWITTER.

INSTAGRAM.

liked by beyoncé, gigihadid, and 828,991 others

yourusername guys 🥺 we won all four nominated categories i could cry. but seriously, thank you all so much for your continued support and love. there’s so many people i could thank, but i won’t get round to them all. you know who you are. thank you ❤️

view all 682,927 comments

taylorswift there’s no one more deserving 🫶

adele 👑👑👑

user GRAMMY WINNER Y/N

harrystyles congrats love!!

user she made it 🥺🥺🥺

lewishamilton my girl !! roscoe says well done 🤍

honeymoon baby girl i’m so proud

user the universe giving her back what she deserves 🙌🙌🙌

IMESSAGE.

tagged: @leclercloml @vroomleclerc @gaviypedrisbride @ncentic @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ferrariloverr @baw-sixteen @rechtrecht @incoherenciass

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Always In My Heart✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

A/N: I lost my best fur baby today. October would’ve been 3 years since I adopted him. From a stray on the streets to a spoiled house cat. He battled so much. From FIV+ to broken teeth to diabetes and then to cancer. He was the best kitty ever and was my very own first cat, so he was extra special. I wrote a little one-shot to try to express how hard this loss is for me and to try to cope. I miss you, little Biscuit. Mama loves you 🥹 This is for everyone who’s ever felt the loss of losing a beloved pet.

Summary: Losing a pet is never easy, but you’re not alone because Joel is right there with you, keeping you afloat.

Word Count: 1.2k

Tags: Grief, love, soft Joel, losing a pet, angst with comfort, no use y/n, no outbreak au

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Drip. Drip. Drip.

   The misty rain pelts on your drenched skin, and you’re cold. You’re so very cold. You can feel the chill burrowing down to your shaking, fragile bones like they may break at any moment. 

   Thunder booms through the gloomy sky, lightning flashes in the far distance, and you swear you can hear the faint cry of a lost soul deep in the woods. Can almost hear your favorite meowing coming from the covered grave in front of you…

   The grey clouds completely cover the sun, the pattering rain seems to mourn just like the cold tears that stain your cheeks. You feel lost, broken, just like your heart is. Completely shattered.

   The crunching noise of the shovel meeting the earth is almost too much for you to handle. This is too much. On your knees, fingers curling in the hollow dirt, your jeans ruined from the muddy ground. And you can’t look up, can barely open your swollen eyes as you mourn the loss of your favorite cat who had made you so very happy. 

   He was your entire world.

   You miss him so much. The feel of his long, soft fur. He felt like velvet, smelled like a warm summer’s day, and you miss the way he’d curl up on your shoulder at night, purring with affection and love. You miss his little meows, the ones that would echo down the long hallway. It always was your favorite thing to wake up to.

   But now he’s gone. Faded into the afterlife when the cancer became too much. He was a fighter, the strongest fighter you’ve ever known. But now he’s just a precious memory. 

   And it hurts. God, it hurts.

   Your tears blur your vision, your face buried in your dirt covered palms, fighting the bitter sting of losing your best fur baby. You only had him a few short years. It wasn’t enough time. And now he’s gone…

   The sobs escape your lips, and you’re now a blundering mess on the ground, asking God to just give you one more day. One more day of long cuddles and top of the head kisses. And his slow blinks. The ones he’d give you every single time you told him how much you loved him. 

   You just want him back, but life isn’t fair, and pets don’t get to stay nearly as long as you’d like. Life is cruel, and you wouldn’t wish this awful pain on your worst enemy.

   You shrink against your drenched raincoat, not even caring that your hair is tangled and dripping down your back. You don’t much care for anything right now; all you can feel is the large hole that’s gaping in your broken heart.

   The rain continues to pelt down on your shoulders, your body shaking like you’re stranded in the middle of the Arctic Ocean. The frigid waters are dragging you under, and they’re about to swallow you whole.

   Just when you think the dark depths will win, strong arms encircle your back and envelop you into a warmness that soothes the screaming voices in your head. 

   “Hey. Easy now, sweetheart. Easy.” His thick, deep drawl shrouds you in comfort while big teardrops fall against his dark green flannel. He cradles the back of your head with one hand, the other gently drawing soothing circles down the middle of your back.

   “I… I didn’t get enough time, Joel. It wasn’t enough. I should’ve done more. He could’ve had more days. I didn’t…”

   “Shhhh. S’alright, babygirl. You did more than enough. You gave him the best life he could’ve had. Do you know how lucky he was to find you? You were the best cat mama I’ve ever seen. You loved him so much, and he loved you very much,” he coos, pulling you closer to where you can smell his woodsy cologne and a hint of tobacco wafting off his tongue. 

   He feels like home. He is home.

   “You really think so?” you sputter out, tears breaking over your lash line and falling onto his soft button-up shirt.

   “Look at me,” he says gently, his hand cupping your chin and tilting your face up to look into his soft brown eyes. Eyes that make more tears spill over the edge. He catches them, wiping them off with the pads of his thumbs and softly traces them down your cheeks until you feel warmth flood your insides. “You’re such a brave girl, my love. So very brave. And you were nothin’ but loving with that cat. Even made me fall in love with him, sweetheart.”

   You giggle, your breath shaky and eyes misty. Even when you’re sad, Joel Miller can make the rainy days turn to blue skies. “He loved you, Joel. He followed you everywhere you went in the house. Especially in the mornings when you made your coffee.”

   He laughs and shakes his head, his brown eyes a little teary from the memories. “Yeah, he sure did. And I’m gonna miss him a lot.”

   “Me too,” you squeak out quietly, gripping onto him like he’s your lifeline. 

   He leans forward and traces his plush lips against your forehead, leaving you breathless with the semblance of comfort he leaves on your skin. He’s like a blanket of warmth, and he’s just saturated you in love.

   When he pulls back to look at you, he pushes a wet strand of hair behind the shell of your ear and lingers there on your cheek, sparks radiating through his touch. “I love you, sweet girl. And I know this hurts. It hurts like hell, but you’re so strong and brave. You’ll get through this. It’s gonna take time, but I’m right here to help you through it. You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart. Maybe not today, maybe not next week, but you will be. And I’ll be here through it all with you.”

   A tear slips from the corner of your eye, and then you’re crashing into him, throwing your arms around his broad back as you sniffle into the soft material. “Thank you, Joel. For being here for me. For helping me lay him to rest in our backyard, for loving him as much as you love me.”

   His fingertips brush your skin, and then your head tilts back automatically, knowing what that touch means. He leans in and places a soft, lingering kiss on your lips, the kind you want to melt in, one that tastes like honey and longing and pure comfort. When he breaks the kiss, he places another on the top of your head and pulls you flush to his chest, strong arms enveloping you once more. And it feels like peace, a place you can rest and bring life back inside your worn body.

   Joel brings you to life time and time again. And this time is no different. 

   “‘Course, sweet girl. I’ve got ya, always. I love you,” he whispers, blanketing you in love that only Joel can make you feel. 

   Suddenly, you know you’ll be okay. It might hurt for a bit, but Joel will always be here. Even on your worst days, he keeps showing you that he’ll never leave you struggling. He’ll be here for it all, loving you till the end.

[cntloup]

You're both unhinged and self-sabotaging... idiots😒

Everything was going perfectly. Even though for him, managing a relationship was very difficult, also challenging for both of you. Due to his job, his past, also yours... you had your own demons too. But after some time of battling your inner demons and trying so hard to be better for each other, you could say it was perfect... Or so you thought.

Doubt started creeping through the crevices of your mind, dribbling droplets of poison bit by bit.

He started coming back home late, sometimes drunk... never too much, but you always noticed.

You started finding bits and pieces of what your poisoned mind thought as evidence... evidence of what? No... it couldn't be.

There were occasionally pieces of paper with someone's number on it in his pockets when you were to empty them before doing laundry.

There were strands of long hair on his clothes, different colors each day.

It all messed with your mind to the point of madness.

You started to pull away from him more and more every day.

And it seemed as though he didn't care at all.

What you didn't know was that he was doing the same.

It was all too much for him, so new... this newfound feeling burning in his heart, seething more day by day, overwhelming him to the point of wanting to entirely sever the ties between you.

And he thought he doesn't deserve it. All the love you give him, doting on him all the time. He felt like you're wasting your pure heart on a broken man who can't give anything back, pouring all your heart into this blackhole.

-----

"What’s wrong?" he asks, noticing your lingering gaze on his clothes.

"What’s this, Simon?... I- I keep finding these on your clothes..." you respond, voice almost shaking as you're on the verge of tears.

"We were sparring with the rookies. That's probably where they came from." he says, pausing for a moment, "What? You thought-"

"What about the numbers? Huh? The numbers in your pocket?" you cut him off, a cutting edge to your tone as you glare at him with rage... and fear... fear of what you might find out.

"What? They probably slipped them in my pocket when I was in the shower... fuckin' perverts... I was gonna throw them out... I forgot... What are you trying to say?" he says, voice rising with each sentence to match your angry tone.

You continue staring at him with millions of emotions coursing through you all at the same time.

Until you suddenly break down, wailing as you collapse on the ground and he's utterly dumbfounded as he stands there, not knowing what to do... or what even happened to cause such a reaction.

He takes you in his arms, still not sure about the whole situation.

"What’s wrong, love? Please talk to me!" he says while holding you and rubbing your back to somewhat soothe you.

"Simon! I- I don't know what's wrong with me... I'm sorry..." you choke out through violent sobs.

"Why did you come back so late? Not just tonight... Why did you start to act so distant all of a sudden?" you ask, gazing at him through glossy eyes as countless tears stream down your face.

"I'm sorry... I... I'm not used to this..." he utters in a quiet voice, head hanging down.

"It was going great! What happened to us?!" you ask as you cling to his chest while still uncontrollable sobs escape you.

"I think this is new for us both." he says, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer.

"Yeah..." you hum, holding on to him tightly, not planning to let go any time soon. And he will hold you back through all of it.

"We'll work through it, right?" you ask hesitantly, "We will, love... I promise." he says, finally putting your mind at ease.

[champagnefountains]

So...Alastor went missing for a while after the extermination right? Would you be open to a story where the reader is taking care of Al after he gets back? Maybe still a little mad at him for vanishing, more worried about him being hurt...just the fall out that comes from not knowing if he was alive or not? Your first Lucifer story was wonderful!! You really have a solid foundation for this and I'm excited to see more from you!!

Aw, thank you so much! I'm really, really glad you enjoyed the Lucifer story! And omg, I love this idea...I live for angst so here's some more~!

ALASTOR - H.H.

A/N: They probably were able to rebuild the entire hotel in less than a day, but just to make it more dramatic, I made Alastor's disappearance two days long. Also, I'm not exactly too happy with the pacing here...so I apologise in advance ;-;

Word count: 2.8k+ words (I need to control myself...also unedited, sorta). Genre/other tags: Angst with good ending. OOC Alastor (I think?...sorry...). Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of blood. Talk about loss/death.

After the cancellation of this year’s extermination and Hell's victory against Heaven’s forces, Charlie and the team had spent the next couple of days repairing the damages caused. The team’s morale was as high as ever as they busied themselves reconstructing and making significant renovations to the hotel, their spirits brightening at the prospect of the potential influx of evil-doers to their establishment. There was no doubt that the hotel’s popularity had boomed, as there wasn’t a single soul in Hell that didn’t know about their contribution towards the annual culling. 

However, there was one thing that had been plaguing your mind since the end of the bloodshed: Alastor's whereabouts. Everyone, including yourself, knew that the Radio-Demon was more than capable of looking after himself, considering his high-regarded reputation in all the Nine Circles. However, it’s been two days since the battle and there wasn’t a single trace of him anywhere. And as his significant other, it bothered you to no end. And it wasn’t like you could call him either – Alastor strictly refused to use a mobile phone or any electronic device, no matter how much you pried. He didn’t even make any attempts to reach out to you, whether it be from your own portable radio that he gifted you, or even a small note or letter. Absolutely nothing.

Currently, the hotel has just completed its final transformation with big thanks to Lucifer and Charlie's magical powers and sorcery. With your distress multiplying with every passing second, you couldn't bring yourself to be as excited as the others. You silently excused yourself from the group by the main entrance, wandering off to the furthest side of the building and turning the corner. With a trembling sigh, you leaned against the wall, covering your mouth with your hands as a sob wracks through your body.

You hadn't felt as anxious as you were, in so, so long. It must've been the build up from the months-long preparations made to fend off Heaven to now, that had you overwhelmed. Yes, there was no doubt that Alastor was powerful, but he fought Adam head on – the very first man – which you were able to only catch minor glimpses of in the midst of battle. And that was probably the last time you saw him.

You didn't want to think about the possibility of loss. Because there's no way, right? ...Right? The others were also quick to reassure you plenty of times, sensing your growing unease with each passing day. But it did little to nothing to help ease your nerves. Preoccupied in your own despair, you failed to sense an approaching figure among the shadows.

"'Cher? What are you doing, hiding all the way down here?" A static-like voice called out, causing you to stiffen, "you should be celebrating with the others! You wouldn't want to miss out on such an exciting time!" Eyes widening, you swiftly pivoted yourself to face them. Low and behold, the source of your worries stood before you, all in one piece, smiling down at you with his usual Cheshire-like grin.

"...Alastor?" You weakly called out. Your wavering tone caused the Overlord to raise a brow, mild confusion taking over him. "Yes, my dear?" He asks with a tilt of his head. But it wasn't until he took a closer look at your distressed features that his expression softened a faction. "Darling, you're upset...why are you crying?"

Despite your immense relief, you couldn't help but send him a baffled look. "Wha-Why am I crying? Are you serious, Al?" You spat back incredulously. "You've been gone for two days! Two days! And I didn't know where or-or how you were! Can’t you even imagine how I must've felt when I couldn't find you after the fight?” Alastor only blinked at your sudden outburst. “And you don't even think to tell any of us where you've gone off to! I thought...I-I thought..." Your voice died down as a sob threatened to leave your throat. "I-I thought you were gone."

"Oh, dear, don't be silly," Alastor softly chuckles, fixing his monocle, "it'll take more than those pesky, little angels to get rid of me!" His lanky legs strided towards you, his head shaking in mild amusement. He stops just before you, leaning forward to pat your head reassuringly. Sniffling, you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around his waist, burying your head into his chest. It gave you the reassurance you wanted and needed – it was proof that he was here with you, physically. However, the action unexpectedly causes Alastor to stiffen. You furrow your brows, lifting your head to send him a questioning look.

"...Al? Are you okay?" You worriedly ask, slowly unwrapping yourself to inspect him. Usually, Alastor didn't mind whether you initiated physical contact and vice versa, especially considering that you had been together for a while now. You then glanced behind him and your surroundings in caution – there didn't seem to be anyone watching either, knowing that he wasn't as fond of PDA. 

As you pan your eyes towards his face, you were surprised to see a tensed expression. "N-Nothing to worry about, darling," he says through a forced smile, waving his hand dismissively before sharply pivoting himself the other direction. "Now, shall we go join the others now? They're probably wondering where we've both gone!" Nonchalant, he begins walking off with his hands crossed behind his back. That was...strange. Something was clearly wrong, you think to yourself.

"Al, wait!" You jog towards him, passing and stopping him in his tracks. "Is...is there something wrong?" You worriedly ask. "I just...I feel like you're not telling me something. I-If I made you uncomfortable, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to–"

You felt your words die in your throat as a noticeably large, wet patch began to form against his dress shirt. You let out a startled gasp. "Wha–you're‐you're bleeding!" You cry in panic, hands raising and twitching in front of you with uncertainty. His expression darkening, Alastor stubbornly shook his head, gently pushing you aside by the shoulder, "Like I said, it's nothing to worry about. It's not but a small scratch! I'll be fine, dear–"

"No, you're not fine!" You interjected, eyes blurring in tears and wavering. Your hands shook as you gawked at the growing stain on his shirt. At that, you didn't miss the way Alastor's lips twitched in presumed pain, as small beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. Gritting your teeth, you reach out to grab his wrist, preparing to pull him towards the hotel's entrance. "Come on, Al. W-We need to get you cleaned up–" A firm squeeze in your hand stopped you in your tracks as you turned back to face him, distressed.

"[Name]. I said I'll be fine," he sternly says, his voice contorting in static. Despite the sinister grin he displayed, it left you unfazed. You pinched your brows and balled your fists in frustration, staring at him in disbelief. "...What the hell is wrong with you?" You hiss at the deer-demon, "You're clearly not fine–you wouldn't be fucking bleeding right now if you were fine!"

Alastor clicked his tongue, "Darling, you're exaggerating too much, don’t you think? You don't need to fret—"

"Shut up! I-I don't give a damn who you think you are! Strong Overlord or not, I'm worried, okay?! I-I'll always be worried about you!" Angry tears began pouring from your eyes. "I was scared for my life when I didn't hear from you the past few days! I didn't know what happened to you–if you were okay or even alive! I-I couldn't even get a single blink of sleep last night, so don't fucking tell me to not worry!" Alastor's egotistical and prideful personality was not news to you and everyone else – you knew how stubborn he could be, and now was no exception. It was absolutely infuriating.

Alastor's grim expression eased at your growing distress, his stomach twisting uncomfortably as he watched you messily wipe your face. You took a brief moment to compose yourself, your breaths shaky and uneven. "Look, just–I don't want to argue right now, okay?" You hiccup, "i-if you don't want the other's seeing you like this, just...I-I don't know, teleport us inside the hotel somewhere. Just anything, so I can stitch you up properly."

Begrudgingly, Alastor manifested his microphone from thin air. He didn't have any room to argue with you here. He then softly taps the ground with the bottom of the stand twice, casting a group of black shadows from the ground. They surrounded you both in a circular-like motion, completely filling your sights with a black void. There was a brief gust of wind and it didn't take long until they dissipated, the both of you now standing in what was assumed to be your new shared room in the hotel – it was nearly identical to your previous one before the reconstruction, save for the new wallpaper.  

"Remove your shirt. I'll get the kit," you immediately order as you point at the bed, gesturing for him to sit. You then disappear into the bathroom for a brief moment, grabbing the small first-aid kit under the sink before returning to the bedroom. Alastor had already sat himself down the edge of the bed, his dirty button-up and coat neatly folded on the floor, and his chest bare. You grimaced as you eyed the massive, fresh gash across his scarred chest, that was somewhat tended to with poor stitching.

You let out a disapproving sigh. "I expected your patching to be a little better than this,” you comment as you set the kit beside him, taking out some gauze and alcohol. Alastor rolls his eyes. "It's not everyday you get struck by an angelic weapon, dear," he shoots back sarcastically. There was a small stagger in your movement, your jaw clenching as a deep frown settled on your lips. So it was because of Adam that he's in this state, you sourly think. You try to not let the thought affect you too much as you begin disinfecting his wound.

While you were fixing him up, the both of you remained in complete silence. You actively chose to ignore his piercing gaze in the meantime, which practically burned through your skull as you maintained your focus solely on his wound. Your earlier frustrations didn't seem to simmer down either, deciding to keep quiet to prevent another one-sided shouting battle. As much as you loved Alastor, his lack of understanding towards your concerns vexed you to no end. Because, hypothetically speaking, what if he had actually died during his fight against Adam? If his body went missing, you were never going to find the closure you needed and were probably gonna go on with your life not knowing of his whereabouts. Your life would've been completely miserable with the constant grieving. And like Alastor smartly said, it wasn’t everyday that he’d be fighting a divine opponent, so definitive defeat wouldn’t be completely off of the table despite being quite powerful himself. 

The mere thought brought fresh tears to your eyes, which you were quick to blink away. ‘No…there’s no point dwelling in the past and what-if’s,’ you reprimand yourself. Alastor’s here, after all. That's the only thing that matters right now. But regardless, you still remained upset.

After a while and now satisfied with your craft, you neatly applied a bandage around his chest and waist. "...Don't put too much pressure on it for a while," you quietly advised as you began packing the equipment away. You continued to ignore his gaze, knowing that you'd lose your composure if you were to look at him. Without sparing him a glance, you lazily chucked the kit by the bedside table and made your way towards the door. Shortly after, you left the room without another word.

You found yourself aimlessly walking on the balcony facing the bar, near the main entrance. There, you saw Charlie walking up the stairs adjacent from you, who was quick to catch your approaching form. "[Name], there you are! I was just looking for you!" She cheerily says, skipping towards you with excited steps. "Everything looks so, so amazing, can you believe it?! Oh, oh! We all saw Alastor, by the way! I told you he was going to be fine–erm, [Name]?" The Princess forced her banter to a halt upon spotting your swollen, red eyes.

"Hey, hey, what happened?" She softly asks, coming forth to rub your back. You open your mouth to speak but consciously stop to think your answer through. You knew not to speak a word of Alastor’s state at the moment, knowing it would desecrate his persona. So you decide to keep it short and vague. 

"Alastor and I...we, uhm…had a small fight," you briefly explain with a tight-lipped smile. Charlie’s eyes softened in understanding. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did...do you wanna talk about it?” She kindly offers, holding your hand. You shake your head, “It’s alright, Princess. I’ll be okay in due time.” You didn’t want to dampen the overall mood and atmosphere, after all the hard work and sweat shed for this very moment. “Well, I mean, if you’re sure…” she hesitantly replies, giving you another quick look-over. “Say, how about we get you cleaned up a little and we head down and join the others? It’ll help clear your mind a little bit, yeah?”  

Bless her heart, you think with a small smile. With a nod, Charlie dragged you to the nearby restroom, where you splashed your face with water and did minor touch-ups to look somewhat decent. Shortly after, you joined the others by the main lounge, who all cheered and welcomed you with open arms. All the while, your mind automatically wandered to Alastor, who you knew was dwelling somewhere within the hotel. 

After a couple hours of celebration, you all decided to retire for the night, exhausted from the day's work. Charlie had sent you off with a small hug, wishing you luck as you slowly made your way back to your room. You felt your heart thump loudly against your ears as you spotted your room number in the distance, which only intensified as you reached for the knob and opened the door.

With a deep breath, you entered the room and to your surprise, you found Alastor where you had left him. However this time, he was already in his night-wear and was comfortably sitting upright and against the bed frame, legs under the covers and reading some book. He made no effort to acknowledge your presence as he hummed a random, sweet tune, licking a finger to flick a page of the novel he was supposedly engrossed in. You didn't know what would've irked you more – the fact that he wasn't addressing you right now or alternatively, if he were to go on about his day in his usual chirpy-self, and not bring up what had happened. Reciprocating his behaviour, you wordlessly went to the bathroom to do your usual night routine and changed into a comfortable set of pyjamas. When you were done, you beelined towards your side of the bed, stiffly slipping under the covers with your back facing him and pulling the covers close to your face. 

The tension was dripping as the room filled with an uncomfortable silence. You unconsciously found yourself pacing your own breaths, as if you were worried that you were breathing a sound wave too loud. You also didn't move a single inch from your spot, remaining stagnant like a statue. It remained that way for a short while, unable to find a single blink of sleep or tiredness, just as you did the past couple days.

“Darling, I know you’re awake…” Alastor says, finally breaking the silence as he shuts his book with a soft thud, placing it by the bedside table. There was a brief pause, as if he was waiting for you to say something, but you didn’t. You listen intently in silent anticipation as you dug yourself further into your pillow.

“I…I wanted to apologise for my behaviour earlier. It wasn’t in my intentions to upset you,” he continues, “I didn’t mean to carelessly dismiss your concerns the way I did. I understand that you’re merely worried for me. After all, if had it been you in my place instead, I would’ve acted the same way, if not more. And I’m sorry for troubling you these past few days. It was due to my carelessness that made you disregard your own health and caused you so much distress. With that, I want to express my utmost gratitude to you for looking after me despite it all. I…I hope you can forgive me, darling.” 

It was simple and straight to the point. And yet, his words struck a chord with you, causing a new onset of tears to flow and dampen the bed sheets. Alastor wasn’t one to easily admit his faults and apologise the way he did, so his words had so much of an impact on you. Though you had your own few questions to ask him, you suppose that this was enough for the time being as you didn’t want another day to go by, remaining in conflict with each other. You turn yourself to face him, sitting up and tearfully looking up at him. Silent, Alastor looked back down at you in a hopeful manner, his usual grin on his face. “O-Of course, I forgive you,” you quietly replied as you carefully hugged his side, “I-I just…I want you to look after yourself better. I-I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself if I had lost you then.” 

Huffing in relief, he softly snickers into your hair, running one of his claws through its strands. “Like I said, you won’t lose me, my dear. I’ll even wreak havoc across all of Hell to get back to you,” he cheesily coos as he nuzzles his nose into your neck. You wetly chuckle at his remark, leaning into him closer. “That’s quite a huge commitment to make, Al. You promise you gonna keep your word for it?” you jokingly reply, playfully poking at his chest. Grin widening, Alastor boops your nose with a single digit, “that’s a guarantee, darling.”