#he has my whole heart I can’t imagine how painful this has been for him

[decembermoonskz]

chan’s bubble messages :(

[fairyysoup]

easy living

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x fem!reader

summary: You ran into Eric on accident. Now you're facing the end of the world together. How do you get to know someone when you can't make a sound?

tags: smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, piv sex, silent fucking, angst, hurt/comfort, survival, discussions of trauma, slight suicidal ideation by reader, words of affirmation as a love language, stay silent or die (obviously), strangers to lovers, apocalyptic, the cheesiest ending bc it's me writing, billie holiday lyrics bc it's also me writing

a/n: here it is, the silent fucking fic i promised y'all a year ago when this movie was announced. it was supposed to be like 1-2k words of plain smut but then I got too into the theory of what one does when you can't show affection through words and I genuinely discovered a tidbit of trauma I didn't know I had while writing it so I will be talking to a therapist about it, and also I'm literally out here baring my soul lol.

i also want to thank @bigtiddythanos @raraeavesmoriendi and @maximoffwxnda for supporting me throughout this writing process <3 this fic literally would not have been finished or published without y'all

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The rain has ended. Morose, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering when you’ll get something close to free reign with your voice again. 

Of course the world had to end while you were at fucking Whole Foods.

You’ll miss certain things. Things you always took for granted, that you never even considered made a lot of noise until now. Typing on the computer. Making stir fry. Microwaving a burrito at 3am. Lighting a match, washing your face. Taking a shower.

And other things, too, that are more obvious, like singing while making cookies. Slurping the bottom of a milkshake. You’ll never be able to have a pet bird. You’ll never be able to see another concert again, and damn it if you didn’t really want those Glastonbury tickets a month ago. But it all just seems trivial, now. You don’t see why you shouldn’t just lay here on the couch forever. 

On the other side of the coffee table there’s a gentle shuffling. Eric rouses as quietly as he can; at the very least, your apartment creates a hospitable enough environment that he isn’t startled awake. It’s so silent in the apartment that you can hear the slight shift in his intake of breath, the rustle of the pillow as he turns his head to look at you. 

You want to look at him, but you fear that you’ll end up wanting to talk. So, you say nothing. You do nothing. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling and you wonder whether it would be better to get on one of the boats headed out into the water, or to move inland, away from people, away from sound. There has to be somewhere far enough away from the city that the… creatures won’t go, right?

Eric waves his hand in your periphery, so that you have no choice but to acknowledge that you know he’s awake. You have no choice but to turn your head and look into the depths of his eyes, and feel all the pain of the last 48 hours return to you. You’d been able to talk last night, just enough, in time with the rain and the thunder– enough to learn that he has family across the world. 

You can’t imagine knowing that somewhere, across an ocean and half a world away, your parents may or may not be dead. No way to contact them, no way to know what’s become of them. You can’t even begin to fathom the fear that he’s feeling, as much as you’re despairing. 

Eric’s big eyes tell you everything. Sadness and fear, and trying to grasp at the smallest hint of normalcy he can get. He blinks at you, and mouths, You okay?

No, you’re definitely not okay. Things are not okay. Things are broken and can’t be fixed. Things will never be the same again. He knows that, as much as you know that. But you nod anyway, even though you feel your heart beat a little bit slower than usual, like it wants to just go ahead and give up already. Tears prick at your eyes, and you have to close them before you let on that you’re lying.

Eric knows you’re lying, of course. How could anyone be okay, in this kind of situation? But he waits until you open your eyes, and then he mouths, Coffee?

You let out a small sigh of relief, and a smile that’s indescribably warm crosses your face. Even though he can’t make a sound, he knows exactly what to say.

You don’t have a coffee maker that doesn’t also make a ton of noise. But through some kind of witchcraft, Eric quietly empties two k-cups into a glass measuring cup and boils a soup pot full of water on the stove, and suddenly you have hot coffee in front of you. 

On a notepad left on the counter, you write, Wish I had some tea for you. 

Eric’s lips turn up at the edges, and he takes the pen from you. You’re able to doctor your coffee for about one second before he slides the notepad back to you.

Bloody American.

Your ensuing huff of a laugh is enough to make him turn pink around the ears, and he turns to place the dirty measuring cup into the sink. He reaches for the faucet, but then thinks better of it. You’ll have to figure out how to wash the dishes later.

You both drink your coffee in silence on the couch. You never considered yourself uncomfortable with silence; you’ve lived alone, you’ve gone for weeks without uttering a word before. But it’s so difficult to be sitting next to someone– someone you feel you could really get to like– and not be able to say a word. To make a sound, laugh or cry or snort or grunt. 

You’ll never be able to know what Eric’s laugh sounds like, or listen to his favorite song with him, or watch some stupid rerun of Friends with him while ignoring your responsibilities. He’s right there next to you, he’s risked his life to save you once already, and yet he’s so far away. You’ll never get to know him in all the ways you want to. Will you ever really know him at all?

He’d created a diversion when one of the fucking things had you trapped in a corner, between a dumpster and a brick wall. He chucked a rock at a car and set off an alarm, and then ran with you down an alleyway, his arm wrapped tight around your waist. Eric looked so sad, following you like a lost puppy. He was fucking drenched, too, so you know he’d probably been through one hell of a morning. And then the rain started, and the creatures were confused and… well, you weren’t just gonna leave him, scared and alone.

You, too, were scared and alone.

Eric’s hand appears to brush away a tear that had begun to fall down your cheek, betraying your internal monologue. You look to him with puffy eyes, and he pulls his hand away, suddenly unsure of whether you’re okay with such an intimate gesture. 

Your coffee cup meets the table with a quiet tap. You’re slow to move, but you scoot towards him, his arm still outstretched towards you, his eyes wide. Eric has the prettiest eyes in the world, you think. You want to tell him so.

But you’re a little too choked up to form words, anyways. Your forehead meets Eric’s shoulder, and his arm comes around you before you can huff the first silent sob that brims up. He coos softly into your hair, so softly that you can barely hear it, but it conveys enough. It does enough. 

The world is fucked. Your life is fucked. You have tunnel vision and you can only see things getting worse from here on; the only good thing you know anymore is holding you and caressing your head so gently that it pushes your tears out for you. 

You’ll never get to see a movie in a theater, and smell the stale popcorn again. You’ll never drive down the highway with the wind in your hair. You’ll never ride a roller coaster or sing karaoke. You’ll never go to a club and have a drunken heart to heart with a stranger in a bathroom.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” You whisper, so faintly that it’s barely above a breath, your lips pressed to the shell of his ear. “To try to exist in a world where you have to pretend like you don’t exist?”

Eric pauses, holding you to him. You can see the wheels turning in his head, while he tries to figure out what to say. Then he turns his face to put his lips against your ear, the same way you’d done to him. 

“I think it’s worth it to try to survive.” His breath tickles your skin when he whispers, “So survive with me, yeah?”

You nod solemnly, your tears threatening to rise up again. “I can’t stand not talking to you.” It’s so hard to keep your voice from cracking, from rising above the merest hint of a whisper, directly to him and no one or nothing else. 

Eric takes it in stride. “You are talking to me.” He pulls back and bats his eyelashes, and you think, he oughta fucking know what that does to me. 

“Not like this,” you breathe to him, because that’s really what it is– it’s a breath. A sigh. A gust of air and nothing else, barely anything that registers on your vocal chords. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. His hand, tightening on the middle of your back, holding you there. “I want to talk– I want to get to know you.” 

“Well, this isn’t so bad, is it?” Eric turns his head. His forehead nudges yours at the temple, and you swear you see a flash of a smile on his face. “What do you want to know?” 

His forefinger traces up and down, up and down, a gentle pattern that keeps you grounded. You bite your lip, trying to keep from letting the sounds come out too loud. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Easy Living. Billie Holiday.” 

“You’re kidding.” You’re blushing, hot in the cheeks. You’re imagining it; slow dancing in the kitchen with him while oldies plays on the radio. You didn’t think such an innocent question would send you spiraling like this, but it hurts worse to know that it will probably never happen.

“Absolutely not.” 

“Somehow… I can’t picture you listening to jazz.” 

“Picture it all you want,” he whispers. Eric swallows, and continues, “My granddad used to have these records, and we used to play them on Christmas. But when– when he died, the records went missing. I couldn’t find the song until a couple years ago,” he explains, and his voice cracks just slightly into a murmur. 

You both freeze. You wait for the sound of creatures coming down the hallway, busting down the walls… nothing happens. You let out a breath, and you pull his face closer to yours. His eyes flick over your face, and you put your lips against his ear. 

“You have to be so quiet. Can you do that for me?” Eric nods in your hands. “I wish we could do anything but this. I wish that we could have met in better circumstances. I wish… I wish I had known you before all of this. I think we would have had a lot of fun. But if this is the only way I can get to know you, and hear your voice now, I’ll take it.” You’re nodding as well now, like you’re trying to convince yourself of it. “I’m telling you this because I don’t know how long we have. Together, I mean. And I don’t want to waste it passing notes. Okay?” 

“Okay.” He sounds clipped. His hand fidgets on your back, and you pull away to find him misty-eyed, his brows turned up. He fishes for words that don’t come, and then he nods. “Okay.” 

Neither of you move. The atmosphere around you feels heavy, like it��s pressing in on all sides. Eric’s hand slides up your back and to your face, and you remember that you’re still holding his. You’re near sitting in his lap with how close you’ve become, and the realization of that feels like a punch to the gut.

You think you should pull away. You don’t. 

Eric’s thumb traces a gentle arc across your bottom lip. It’s so featherlight it’s barely there– his eyes are honed in on your mouth, clearly lost in thought. You’d let him stay there as long as he wants, but you want every minute you can get. “Eric–”

He closes the gap and kisses you. The way you’d said his name– or not said it, rather, you sort of mouthed it against his thumb– had done the job you wanted it to. It feels like this was the obvious conclusion to the system you’d worked out, the close proximity and your shared fears. He’s scared, he said as much last night. You’re scared, you said so just now. 

Nowhere to go, nothing else to do except be right here, living. Alive, together. Kissing Eric, and him pulling you close by the waist, so that you do swing your leg and seat yourself in his lap. And as much as you love talking, and it breaks your heart that you can’t jabber at him, there are some things you just can’t put into words. Like the way that his hand on the back of your neck lights you up inside, or that you can’t think of anything other than all the areas where his skin is touching yours, and how you suddenly wish there was way more of them.

It’s stupid how much you like him already, really. You can feel your nonexistent friends clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, saying, “One day? That’s all it takes? You find some guy at the end of the world and you fall in love in 24 hours?” And they’d be right– maybe it’s not love. Not yet, anyways. But you could see it easily becoming that. And that fact scares you even more.

Your hands find Eric’s chest and the frantic beating of his heart tells you nearly the same thing. You break the kiss, trying to quietly catch your breath without gasping like you’re half-drowning. It’s harder than you expected. 

“Been wanting to do that all morning,” Eric whispers. And just like that you’re falling again, faster this time, like he’s just melted your wings right off and sent you plummeting.

You struggle to keep from gasping aloud when he kisses your jaw, just beneath your ear. It’s the lightest touch but you swear it burns, sears your skin. 

Your hands find the back of the couch, twitchy fingers digging in to keep you steady. Your mouth finds his again, his tongue tasting of coffee, and Eric kisses you a bit harder now, a bit sloppier. 

Breaking away, you open your eyes to find his wide, starstruck, his mouth hanging open like he’s been shocked beyond belief. You didn’t honestly intend for this to happen– you wanted to talk. But somehow this seems better, more appropriate. 

How do you get your feelings across when talking isn’t really an option? When innocent attraction becomes… whatever this is? 

You press a single finger to his plush lips, signaling exactly what you mean without a word. Quiet. 

Eric purses his lips, kisses your finger without breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown out so far that the barest hint of golden brown surrounds them, glinting in the sunlight from the window. 

You lean forward, until your mouth touches his ear. “Your eyes are so fucking pretty, Eric,” you whisper to him, and your teeth latch onto his earlobe to tug gently. You can’t help it– you grind your hips down into his lap, without even thinking of doing it. “You’re so pretty.”

Eric whimpers. It’s a soft sound, hollow in the back of his throat, but it’s still too loud for the world that you’re in. You clamp your hand down over his mouth, and his breath comes out sharp and hot over your knuckles as he tries to regain composure.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask him, whispering gently in his ear. Against you, he shakes his head no. “Want me to keep going?” Eric nods his head yes. 

He’s shaking under you, his fingertips digging into your lower back like he can’t hold onto you hard enough. At the thought, your pulse pounds, blood positively humming through your veins. 

You nuzzle his cheek, and give him the sweetest kiss you can while your hand is still clamped over his mouth insistently. “You have to be. Fucking. Silent. Do you understand?” He nods. “We can’t make a sound. Okay?” 

Eric nods again, and keeps nodding until you let him go. If the rain was still pouring like earlier, you could tell him how much you want him, too. How you don’t want to be mean, you just don’t want to get hurt. This is a bad idea, all things considered. But Eric slides his hand down and cups your ass to lift you up a bit, and the words bad and idea suddenly fucking vanish from your vocabulary.

You stand long enough to kick off your sweats, your day old panties going down with them. You hadn’t dressed to be sexy yesterday, you dressed to get groceries. You don’t necessarily want Eric to see your faded cotton underwear with the stretched out elastic and multiple frayed holes. You don’t think it would add to your sex appeal right now. 

He doesn’t notice the lack of a strip tease– he’s already taking you by the hips, not even waiting for you to shuck your t-shirt. He pulls until you’re stood in front of him, and then hooks your leg over his shoulder. 

So. Eric doesn’t need to be asked to go down on you, he just does. The gentleman. His hands are firm on your ass as he nuzzles into the patch of hair between your legs, and the precarious balancing act makes you snatch onto the back of the couch again. 

His tongue glides through the folds of your pussy slowly, methodically. You aren’t sure if he wants to take his time, or if he’s going slow so that he doesn’t make too much noise when doing it, but he latches onto your clit and sucks agonizingly softly, like he knows he should do it harder but won’t risk making you moan. 

It’s so gentle, and it builds. Pretty soon, you’re having a tough time keeping your whimpers in, even when he’s basically just teasing you, flicking his tongue over your clit with even the barest pressure. Your head has fallen back on your shoulders, your hand now clasped over your own mouth to stifle your sighs. 

Then, Eric’s hand glides up to splay across your lower back, and he sucks long and hard at your clit, and your hand squeezes murderously at the back of the couch while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue. 

Knees buckling, you collapse into Eric’s lap. He has a doe-eyed look on his face that’s way too innocent after what he just did to you. With panting breath and shaking hands, you cup his rosy cheeks in your palms, shaking your head in disbelief. 

Eric’s brows tilt in worry, like he did something wrong. He opens his mouth, but you put your fingers against his lips to silence him, and lean forward to breathe, “You’re too sweet for me, Eric.” 

He traces his fingers lightly up your spine, and turns his head. “Maybe one day I won’t have to be sweet. Maybe then I can really fuck you.” 

The sound of his whispering voice in your ear makes you shiver, your lust reaching a boiling point. The idea of him really fucking you– that this isn’t even him as normal, that he’s having to hold so much back– makes you burn hot all at once. That this isn’t something he’s planning on doing once. That there’s a ‘one day’ that he sees in the future with you in it. 

With a nod, your breath catches in your throat. You find your way to his mouth again, kissing him desperately. You can taste yourself lingering on his lips, and your hips rock forward against his again. 

Eric inhales sharply, stifling his own moan. You guess you have to take it just as slowly as he did, ease him into it. You work your hand beneath his unbuttoned fly and palm him, keeping your touch gentle against his hot skin. He shakes, his hands laid out against your spine, his eyes sparkling when he looks up at you. 

You push your forehead against his as you sink onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his size. His breath stutters as he tries to keep quiet, small puffs of air spilling out and meeting your electrified skin. You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking your hips just barely, settling into his lap. 

This is more intimate than you can ever remember being with anyone, but right now it just feels right. Maybe it could be cathartic to fuck like a couple of animals in the face of doom, but Eric pulls your body flush against his, one strong forearm around your waist, and his nose nudges yours, and you think this is better. This is what you both need. Closeness. Sweetness. 

There isn’t a lot of movement– you can’t risk it. You and Eric seem to be in agreement on that, because as soon as you start trying to move in earnest, he just pulls you back to him, his arm around your waist and his hand petting the back of your head. 

Eric rocks his hips up into yours slowly, deeply, and it’s the depth of it and the slow sensuality that keeps you floating. Your clit catches on the patch of hair at the base of his cock each time you roll your hips with him, and you have to kiss him to keep from keening aloud. He doesn’t seem to mind it. 

You know he’s close when he tucks his face against your neck, his arm tightening around you. “Feels so fucking good,” comes his whine in your ear, and you gently shush him, your hand resting on the back of his head to keep him muffled against your shoulder. You want so badly to look at his face when he cums, but there’s that pesky issue of staying alive, and that hinges on whether or not he can keep quiet when he does. 

To his credit, he bites your shoulder and only whimpers a little bit. It’s just a squeak, but really, he could have been much louder about it, and then you would have both been in trouble. Imagine having to run for your life with your pants down. 

Ever the gentleman, he keeps you there even after he’s spent and sensitive, his hand clamped down on your thigh to prevent you from moving. His thumb finds your clit, and he lifts his head to watch you, his hooded eyes trained on your face as he brings you to the edge and over it again. He watches the way your brows tilt up, the way you struggle to keep your own eyes open, and the silent moan that threatens to break past your parted lips.

Eric claps his hand down over your mouth before it can. Your eyes fly open, your cunt clenches down around him, and he bares his teeth as you cum hard. It’s cyclical, comes in waves as he continues to stroke you through it, as he keeps his hand clamped down on your mouth to keep you quiet. 

To keep you quiet. 

Feverish and exhausted, you come down with your chest against his, Eric’s head flopped back onto the backrest of the couch. Your knees fucking hurt and you have yet to get off of him, and you sort of dread the moment when you have to. But this means your mouth is positioned right next to Eric’s ear, and you’re nothing if not a talker.

“Eric?” you whisper, and he turns his head just enough to let you know he heard you. “I’m glad that I met you when I did. Even if it’s terrible timing, I’m glad we met.”

A sweet, tired smile flits across Eric’s beautiful face. He nudges his nose against your temple. “I’m glad, too.” 

You shift off of him, and he squeezes your thigh just at the same time as he scrunches his face. He’s such a trooper about it, you kiss his cheek as you go, leaning over to grab a pair of earphones from the coffee table. 

You hand one ear bud to him, watching as confusion crosses his face. He watches you type on your phone as he tucks the bud into his ear, and you the other. 

On low volume, you listen to the soft piano and saxophone intro to an old jazz standard. Eric grins, his hand finding your cheek before he pulls you in for a kiss. 

And then, Billie Holiday’s voice plays for only you two to hear. 

Living for you is easy living, It’s easy to live when you’re in love And I’m so in love, There’s nothing in life but you.

[ponderingmoonlight]

I love your writing, you are very talented. Can I request a story about Sanemi? The story goes like this: “On the day when all the hunters are fighting Muzan, Sanemi's wife went into labor (could you put his wife giving birth to triplets?). I love you darling.

Sanemi's wife giving birth during the Infinity Castle Battle

Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: You were so sure your husband will guide you through the delivery of your triplets until the fight between Muzan and the demon slayer corps - including Sanemi. Will you make it all on your own? And will your husband return to your side in time?

Warnings: this is pure drama and I cried a little while writing lol, never gave birth to a child so sorry if this is trash, big angst but fluff in the end, ENJOY 🤍

The night air is thick with tension, each breath you take carrying the weight of what is happening just beyond the horizon. You can feel it in your bones, a concerning anxiety that creeps up your spine and settles in your racing heart. Tonight is the night, the one you dreaded for so long—the final battle against Muzan Kibutsuji, the king of demons.

But for you, the darkness that threatens to consume the world is nothing against the raging in your own body. It was a risk all along and you knew it since Shinobu delivered the news to you. Getting pregnant at such times, carrying for a child in the middle of an endless battle? And to top it all off…With triplets?

“We’re gonna figure this out. Together. After all, I’ll rip off the head of anyone who gets too close to you!”

“You really don’t need to do that, Sanemi.”

The warm words of your husband linger in your mind while you stare at the dark ceiling. Oh, how much he cared for you this whole pregnancy, slaughtering demons in record time only to return to his wife a couple hours later. He did what he could, always stayed by your side and made sure everything went fine.

Until he had to leave. The contractions started early that evening, subtle at first, but now they come in waves that steal your breath and make you clutch at the sheets of the futon beneath you.

"Sanemi..." you whisper his name into the empty room, knowing he isn’t there to hear it.

Your husband is out there, fighting with everything he has, determined to bring an end to the nightmare that claimed so many lives already. He promised you that he’ll return, that he’ll come back to you and the children you carry.

“I’m here with you, Lady Shinazugawa. Breathe with me.”

But those promises feel fragile in the face of such overwhelming danger. Your midwife grabs your hand gently, her warm eyes desperately trying to comfort you.

Another contraction hits, this one stronger than the last. You bite down on your lip to stifle a cry, not wanting to alarm the Kakushi who are stationed outside the door. They are truly kind, offering their assistance constantly, but you sent them away with a forced smile and a shake of your head. You want to do this alone with your midwife, to bring your children into the world in the quiet peace of your home rather than in the chaos of battle.

But peace is a passing thing tonight.

You close your eyes and focus on your breathing, the way Sanemi had taught you during those brief, stolen moments of calm, like the midwife has shown him multiple times. He has always been so strong, so determined, and it is that strength you hold onto now. You imagine him beside you, his hand clasping yours, his voice a soothing balm against the pain.

“You can do it, darling. Just think about your breathing, concentrate on my voice. Let’s do this together.”

But as the hours wear on and the contractions grow closer together, you know you can’t do this without him. The pain is becoming unbearable, and your body betrays you, muscles tensing and convulsing as the babies make their way into the world.

A knock at the door breaks through your fog of pain, and a Kakushi enters, his face pale with concern.

“Lady Shinazugawa, please, let us help you. We’ve sent for Lady Kocho’s Tsugoko - she’ll be here soon.”

“I’m truly sorry Lady Shinazugawa, but a doctor is unavoidable at this rate”, the midwife adds while wiping away your blood that covers her hands entirely.

You want to protest, to insist that you can handle this on your own, but the words die on your lips as another contraction takes hold. The Kakushi rushes to your other side, his hands trembling as he helps you lie back against the futon together with your midwife.

“Just breathe,” the midwife murmurs, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“You’re doing so well. They’ll be here soon.”

You nod, biting back the tears that threaten to spill over. You never felt so alone, so vulnerable, and yet you know you have to be strong—for your children and for your husband who risks his life in battle at this very moment for you.

Time seems to stretch and contract in strange ways, and you lose track of how long you labor, each contraction blurring into the next. The room is spinning, the pain almost too much to bear. Just before your eyes threaten to flutter shut, the door bursts open and reveals Aoi.  

She immediately takes charge, her hands steady as she examines you.

“You’re doing wonderfully. It won’t be long now” she says with unusual gentle voice.

You can only nod, too exhausted to speak. The pain is relentless, a constant wave crashing over you, but there is a flicker of hope now, a sense that the end might be in sight.

“Sanemi…” you whisper again, your heart aching for him.

You want him here so bad, want him to see the birth of your children, to hold them and know that they are safe.

But as another contraction grips you, you know that wish is impossible. Sanemi is out there, fighting for his life, and you have to trust that he will return to you as soon as everything’s over.

“Hold on. The first baby is almost here. Just one more push”, Aoi’s voice cuts through the haze.

You gather every ounce of strength you have left, every bit of resolution you can collect, and with a cry that echoes through the room, you push.

And push.

And push.

The sound of a newborn’s wail fills the air, and for a moment, everything else fades away. Aoi holds up the tiny, squirming form, her eyes shining with pride.

“It’s a boy,” she announces with a warm smile and tears glistening in her eyes.

“Shinobu-san will be so proud of you.”

Tears spill over your cheeks as she places the baby in your arms. He’s so small, so perfect, with a shock of dark hair and eyes that blink up at you, unfocused but curious. You hold him close, your heart swelling with love.

But there is no time to linger. The next contraction hits you with full force, and you know the second baby is on the way. Aoi takes the firstborn from your arms, handing him to the Kakushi who remained by your side, and then she was there again, guiding you through the next birth.

The second child comes more quickly, and soon you are holding another tiny life in your arms - a girl this time, with her father’s fierce eyes and a shock of white hair that makes you laugh through your tears. You and your husband always wondered about how your children will look like.

“You really want them to have my hair? Hell no, I don’t want my kids to look like they’re 80 right from the start.”

And still, there is one more.

By the time the third baby arrives, you are beyond exhaustion, barely able to keep your eyes open. But you force yourself to stay awake, to see your third child. Another boy with a face so like Sanemi’s that it takes your breath away.

You hold all three of them close, your heart so full it feels like it might burst. They are perfect, each one of them, and despite the pain and the fear, you know it had all been worth it.

But even as you hold your children, a part of you remains stuck to the battlefield, to the man who risks everything to protect you and them. You pray that he’ll return, that he’ll survive this night and comes home to you.

Hours passed in a blur of exhaustion and overwhelming love. The Kakushi and midwife tend to the babies, cleaning them and wrapping them in soft blankets while Aoi ensured that you were stable until she was forced to leave as well. Everything seems peaceful – too peaceful.

But as the first light of dawn creeps through the windows, a new tension fills the air. The Kakushi who remained by your side was called away as well, his face pale as he listened to hurried whispers at the door. Your heart clenches with fear, knowing that whatever news arrived can’t be good at all.

“Do you…”, you begin, your voice trembling with worry as you try to talk to your stressed midwife.

But before she can answer, the door slams open and your heart leaps into your throat.

There he stands, his haori torn and bloodied, his eyes wild as they search the room. Can it really be him? Is it really possible that he…returned? In the matter of second, your tired eyes fill with tears, take in his sight. It really is him. He really made his way back to you.

“Sanemi!” you cry, relief flooding through you.

In an instant, he is at your side, his hands reaching for you as if to reassure himself that you are really there.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”, his rough voice mutters, strained with worry.

“I’m fine. I-…I’m fine,” you breathe out, your eyes overflowing with tears while taking in the sight of him.

He looks exhausted, battered from the battle, but he’s alive.

Your husband is alive.

“I’m fine, Sanemi. And so are they.”

His eyes follow yours to the three tiny bundles in your arms, and for a moment, he simply stares as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then, slowly, he reaches out, his hand trembling as he touches the soft cheek of the nearest baby.

“They’re… ours?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You nod, smiling through your tears.

“Two boys and a girl. They’re perfect, Sanemi.”

His breath hitches and you catch a glimpse at the glimmer of tears in his eyes when he gently takes the baby from your arms, cradling him as if he is the most precious thing in the world.

“They’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

“Just like their mum.”

You watch as he carefully holds each of your children, his eyes softening with a tenderness you’ve rarely seen. This is a side of Sanemi that few ever caught, a side that is all yours.

“They’re strong,” you add, your voice soft as you watched him with your daughter.

“Just like their father.”

He shakes his head, a rough laugh escaping him.

“No, they’re strong like their mother.”

You reach out, taking his hand in yours, needing to feel the solid warmth of him, to know that he’s really here.

“You came back to us,” you whisper, the fear that had gripped you all night finally releasing its hold.

He looks at you with his intense but somehow empty gaze.

“Hell, yeah, I promised you I would, didn’t I?”

You nod, a smile breaking through the tears.

“Yes, you did.”

Sanemi leans down, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead, then to each of the babies’ heads, his expression softening with each touch.

“I’ll always come back to you,” he vows, his voice a low, fierce whisper.

“No matter what fucking demon wants to kill me. But it’s over now, darling. It’s finally over.”

You believe him, with every fiber of your being. The battle is over, and you all survived. Your family is whole, and that is all that mattered.

“What about the others, are they alright-“

“No. Let’s talk about that another time. Right now, I just want to stay here like this for a while”, he interrupts you.

As the first rays of sunlight stream into the room, you lean into Sanemi’s embrace, your heart full to bursting with love for the man who chose you as his wife back then.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @vrystalius @sanemifucker @blunderland

[nixiefics]

Posses

Pairing: Robb Stark X Silent!Sister Reader

Warnings: Smut, posessive Robb, p in v sex, oral (female receiving), rough sex

Robb Stark winces as you carefully manipulate his leg, guiding his hip back into place with practiced hands. The sharp intake of breath that escapes him when the bone finally clicks into its rightful position tells you just how much pain he’s been enduring. You’ve been a Silent Sister in training for only a short time, but already you’ve seen more suffering than you ever imagined possible. Yet, this man, the Young Wolf, is different. His pain seems to ripple through you as if it were your own.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice strained but genuine. His blue eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you forget the vow of silence you took upon entering your order. You nod in acknowledgment, your fingers still lingering on his hip, feeling the heat of his body through the thin linen of his undergarment.

Days pass, and you tend to Robb’s injuries with unwavering diligence. His recovery is slow, but each day he grows stronger. You watch as he interacts with his men, see the respect and loyalty they have for him. He’s not just their King; he’s their friend, their brother. It’s a bond forged in the fires of battle and tempered by the fairness and justice he shows them.

Grey Wind, his direwolf, is never far from his side. The massive wolf seems to sense your importance to Robb, often watching you with intelligent, piercing eyes. When you approach, Grey Wind’s posture is relaxed, but the unspoken warning is clear: you are under his protection as well.

But it’s not just his men and his direwolf who are drawn to him. You feel an undeniable pull towards Robb Stark. His kindness, his honour, his unwavering dedication to his family and his cause – all of it captivates you. You’ve seen men broken by war, their spirits shattered as surely as their bodies, but Robb remains whole. More than whole, he seems to grow stronger with each passing day, his determination like a beacon in the dark.

One evening, as you’re tending to another soldier’s wounds, you feel his eyes on you. Robb watches from across the camp, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with something you can’t quite name. Jealousy? The thought lingers as you stitch up the gash on the soldier’s arm, your hands steady despite the intensity of Robb’s gaze. Grey Wind is by his side, growling softly, mirroring Robb’s protective feelings.

Later, as you change the dressing on Robb’s hip, he grabs your wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. “You spend too much time with the others,” he says, his voice low and edged with frustration. “I need you with me.”

You look up, startled by the intensity in his eyes. You try to pull away, but his hold tightens. “I don’t want you tending to them,” he says, his voice rough. “I want you by my side. Always.”

You nod, your heart pounding. His possessiveness is startling, but also oddly reassuring. It means he cares, that he values you more than you realized. From that moment on, you are always at his side, tending to his needs, ensuring his recovery. Grey Wind often lies nearby, his presence a constant reminder of Robb’s vigilance even when he cannot be with you.

The other men notice, their eyes following you with curiosity and a hint of envy. Robb’s attention and possessiveness are clear to all, and it changes the dynamic in the camp. No longer just a healer, you are now the woman who has captured the heart of the Young Wolf.

One day, you’re tending to a minor injury on a young soldier when Robb storms into the tent. His face is a mask of barely controlled anger. “Leave us,” he commands the soldier, who scrambles to his feet and exits hastily.

Robb strides over to you, his eyes blazing. “I told you, I don’t want you with them,” he growls, grabbing your hand and pulling you close. “You’re mine.”

You can feel the heat of his breath on your face, the intensity of his emotions crashing over you like a wave. His jealousy is raw, visceral, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You’ve never seen him like this, so consumed by his need for you. Grey Wind stands at his side, his eyes fixed on you, a silent enforcer of Robb’s wishes.

“I can’t stand seeing you with them,” he admits, his voice a harsh whisper. “It tears me apart. You’re the only one who understands me, who makes me feel whole. I need you, only you.”

You reach up, placing a gentle hand on his cheek, feeling the tension in his jaw. You nod, your silent promise to be by his side always. His grip on you softens, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. Grey Wind nudges your leg gently, as if to seal the promise.

In the weeks that follow, Robb’s possessiveness only grows. He keeps you close, his eyes always on you, ensuring that no one else can claim your attention. It’s a fierce, consuming need that drives him, a reflection of the depth of his feelings for you. Grey Wind is never far, his protective presence a constant reminder of the bond you share with Robb.

One night, as you sit by the fire, he pulls you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “You’re mine,” he whispers into your ear, his voice a low growl. “No one else’s. Remember that.”

You nod, your heart swelling with a mixture of love and something darker, more primal. Robb Stark may be the Young Wolf, a fearsome leader and a brilliant strategist, but to you, he is simply Robb – the man who would fight the world to keep you by his side. And as you look into his eyes, you know that you would do the same for him.

One afternoon, you are out gathering herbs when a group of soldiers approaches you. They’re friendly, asking for your help with minor ailments. Before you can respond, Grey Wind appears from the trees, teeth bared, a low growl rumbling from his throat. The soldiers step back, fear evident in their eyes.

You pat his head gently in warning, but the direwolf’s eyes remain fixed on the men until they retreat. When you return to camp, Robb is waiting, his eyes dark with concern and jealousy.

“Were they bothering you?” he asks, his voice tight.

You shake your head, but Robb pulls you into his arms, holding you close. “I don’t want you going out alone anymore,” he says. “Grey Wind will accompany you, or I will.”

You nod, understanding the depth of his worry. His possessiveness is more than just jealousy; it’s a need to protect you, to keep you safe in a world that is anything but. You feel his love in every fierce look, every protective gesture, every time Grey Wind’s eyes follow you like a shadow.

As Robb’s recovery progresses, your bond deepens. He confides in you, shares his fears, his hopes, his dreams. You listen, your silence a balm to his troubled soul. And in those quiet moments, you realize that you’ve found something rare and precious in the midst of war.

Robb’s men see the change in their lord, the lightness in his step, the hope in his eyes. They see the way he looks at you, the way Grey Wind shadows your every move, and they understand. The Young Wolf has found his heart, and it beats for you.

One night, as you sit by the fire, Robb’s arms around you and Grey Wind at your feet, he whispers, “You’re mine, and I am yours. Always.”

You smile, knowing that no matter what the future holds, you will face it together. Robb Stark may be the Young Wolf, a fearsome leader and a brilliant strategist, but to you, he is simply Robb – the man who captured your heart with his honour, his kindness, and his unwavering love. And in his eyes, you see the same love reflected back at you, a bond that no war, no enemy, can ever break.

"You should rest, My King," you say softly. "Let us retire for the evening."

Your words leave him stunned for a moment. You have taken a vow of silence, yet here you are, speaking to him. The surprise in his eyes quickly melts into something deeper, a mixture of relief and gratitude. Robb nods, allowing you to help him up, your hands steadying him as he leans on you for support. Grey Wind shadows your every step, his amber eyes watching protectively.

As you guide Robb towards his tent, the camp around you starts to quiet down. The fires burn low, casting flickering shadows that dance in the night. You can feel the weight of Robb’s gaze on you, the unspoken questions simmering just beneath the surface.

Inside the tent, the atmosphere is warm and intimate. You help Robb ease down onto his furs, his eyes never leaving yours. He reaches for your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. “Why now?” he asks softly, his voice tinged with curiosity and concern. “Why break your vow of silence?”

You take a deep breath, kneeling beside him. “Because I need you to understand,” you begin, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “My silence was a shield, a way to distance myself from the pain and suffering I witnessed. But with you, it’s different. I can’t remain silent any longer. Not when my heart speaks so loudly.”

Robb’s eyes soften, his hand squeezing yours gently. “What are you saying?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m saying that I want to leave the Silent Sisters,” you declare, your resolve hardening. “But I will only do so if you share my commitment, if you promise that our bond is as strong as I believe it to be.”

Robb’s eyes widen, his surprise evident. He pulls you closer, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You would give up your vows for me?” he asks, his voice filled with awe.

You nod, your heart pounding. “Yes. But only if you promise to be with me, to share this life with me. I cannot leave my order for uncertainty. I need your commitment, Robb.”

Robb’s expression transforms into one of determination. “I promise,” he says firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. “You have my word. I will stand by you, always. You are not just my healer, but my heart. I need you by my side.”

A sense of relief washes over you, and you lean into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace. Grey Wind huffs and trots to settle just outside the entrance to the tent, a silent sentinel watching over you both. For the first time in a long while, you feel a sense of peace and belonging.

Robb cups your face in his hands, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You’ve given me more than just my health,” he whispers. “You’ve given me hope, a future I didn’t dare dream of. I promise you, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, to make you happy.”

Tears of relief and joy well in your eyes as you nod. “And I promise to stand by you, to support you in every way I can,” you vow, your voice filled with emotion.

Robb leans in, his forehead resting against yours. “We will face whatever comes together,” he murmurs. “From this day forward, we are bound by more than just duty. We are bound by love.”

Robb leans in, his forehead resting against yours. “We will face whatever comes together,” he murmurs. “From this day forward, we are bound by more than just duty. We are bound by love.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with promise and certainty. You feel the heat of his breath, the nearness of his lips, and it sends a shiver down your spine. The world around you fades away until there is only Robb—his eyes, his touch, his unwavering gaze that holds you captive.

Slowly, he tilts his head, his lips brushing against yours in a whisper of a touch. The sensation is electric, a spark that ignites something deep within you. His hands cup your face gently, his thumbs caressing your cheeks with a tenderness that belies the intensity of his emotions.

Then, without warning, the kiss deepens. His lips press against yours with a fervour that takes your breath away. It’s as if he’s pouring all his love, all his passion, into this single moment, and you respond in kind, matching his intensity. Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft, dark strands as you pull him closer.

The kiss is searing, consuming. It feels like the world is burning around you, but all you can focus on is the sensation of his lips on yours, the taste of him, the way his body presses against yours with a desperate need. Every brush of his lips, every flick of his tongue, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, leaving you breathless and yearning for more.

Robb’s hands slide down to your waist, pulling you even closer until there is no space between you. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest, mirroring the wild rhythm of your own. His lips leave yours only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, igniting a trail of fire in their wake.

You gasp, your head falling back as he finds the sensitive spot just below your ear, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sends a jolt of pure pleasure through you. “Robb,” you whisper, your voice trembling with desire. He responds with a low growl, his hands gripping your hips possessively as he brings his lips back to yours in another fevered kiss.

Time loses all meaning as you lose yourself in him, in the heat of his kiss, the strength of his embrace. The world outside the tent, the war, the uncertainty of the future—all of it fades away until there is only this moment, this man, and the love that binds you together.

Robb’s hands slide down to your waist, pulling you even closer until there is no space between you. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest, mirroring the wild rhythm of your own. His lips leave yours only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, igniting a trail of fire in their wake.

You gasp, your head falling back as he finds the sensitive spot just below your ear, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sends a jolt of pure pleasure through you. “Robb,” you whisper, your voice trembling with desire. He responds with a low growl, his hands gripping your hips possessively as he brings his lips back to yours in another fevered kiss.

Time loses all meaning as you lose yourself in him, in the heat of his kiss, the strength of his embrace. The world outside the tent, the war, the uncertainty of the future—all of it fades away until there is only this moment, this man, and the love that binds you together.

You're vaguely aware of his fingers at the laces of your dress, tugging impatiently at them. Soon, it seems, he loses all patience and you gasp as he violently rips at the seams of your dress, pushing it over your shoulders and hips with a growl. "On the bed."

You crawl to the middle of the bed of furs, your heart pounding with anticipation as Robb stands before you with a hungry gaze. His possessive nature has always been clear, but now it's different - now, it's thrilling and exciting.

He sheds his own layers first, causing you swallow thickly as his chest is exposed; thick thighs built for fighting but that make you think they might be good for other pleasures as well. And then he is completely bare and you feel your core clench at the sight of his cock. Thicker than it was long, with veins running all along it; the thought of running your tongue over those veins makes your mouth water.

"Gods, you're glorious." you whisper, resisting the urge to chew at your nails.

Robb's calloused hands trace the curves of your body, sending shivers down your spine. His touch is confident and passionate, and you can't help but feel desired under his gaze. His lips find yours, and he kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with a fervour that leaves you breathless.

As he breaks the kiss, his mouth moves to your neck, nibbling and licking the sensitive skin. You moan softly, your fingers tangling in his hair as he continues his assault on your senses. His hands slip under your shift, caressing your breasts with calloused hands. You arch your back, pressing yourself into his touch, wanting more.

Robb takes the hint, his fingers deftly removing your shift and freeing your body to his gaze. His mouth finds your nipples, and he sucks and nips at them, his stubble adding an extra layer of sensation. You gasp, your head falling back as he worships your body.

His hands trail down your body, fingers find your clit, and he begins to rub slow circles, making you moan and writhe beneath him. His other hand joins the first as well, his fingers sliding into your wet pussy. You are more than ready for him.

His head dips between your legs, and his tongue finds your clit. He licks and sucks, his fingers still inside you, curled to hit that perfect spot. You moan louder, your hips bucking as he brings you closer and closer to the edge.

Just as you're about to cum, he stops. You look at him, confused, but he just smirks at you. Robb pulls himself to his knees, positioning himself between your legs. He rubs the head of his cock against your clit, making you moan loudly again. He teases you like this for a moment before slowly sliding inside you.

He fills you up, stretching you in the most delicious way. He starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep at first. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you.

Robb's pace quickens, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. You can feel yourself getting close again, and you urge him on. "Harder, Robb, harder," you gasp. He complies, his cock slamming into you, making the bed shake.

You feel yourself on the brink, and then you're cumming, your orgasm ripping through you like a tidal wave. Robb keeps thrusting, drawing out your pleasure until he finally follows you over the edge, filling you up with his cum.

He collapses on top of you, his breathing heavy and ragged. You wrap your arms around him, feeling closer to him than ever before. Robb's possessiveness has always been a part of him, but now, it's something else - it's a sign of his love and devotion to you.

As you lay there, basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking, you know that this is just the beginning of your journey together. And you can't wait to see where it takes you.

[always-just-red]

A/N: Poured my soul into this a couple weeks ago, am dedicating it to everyone who's similarly torn between Sylus and their original LI- especially my fellow Rafayel girlies! This is not going to help! It's going to make it worse!! 🥰

Unspoken

Sylus x Reader 🩸 (implied Rafayel x reader)

Summary: You could fix all of this if Sylus would just resonate with you. Why won't he resonate with you?

Genre: Angst, so much angst, brace yourselves

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, injury detail, blood, swearing, possibly not lore-accurate (I've taken some creative liberties with Sylus' healing abilities and MC's resonance for the sake of maximum angst, because I like to suffer!)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist |

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Like the first, warm prickle of sunlight when you step out of a cold shadow.”

“Hmm?”

“That is what you said to him, right?”

Sylus’s eyes are closed, his head leant back against the wall and his whole body heavy with tiredness. He doesn’t move as he asks you the question. Doesn’t fix you with that suffocating, crimson gaze— like he usually does— and you almost miss it. There’s a pain to his tone, accentuating the gravel of his voice, and a part of you thinks it isn’t all for the injuries you’ve set about tending to.

If he was looking at you, you would see it, wouldn’t you? That flicker of melancholy that sometimes liked to betray the rest of him. Maybe that’s why he keeps his eyes closed.

You deliberate his words, trying to ignore the way he tenses as you press gauze to a wound on his stomach. They did feel familiar: a simile dancing at edge of your consciousness, just barely out of reach. It was hard to pursue the past with the present wetting your fingertips, fresh, hot, and red.

One clue: That is what you said to him, right? Him. Him? Who was—

Ah.

Suddenly the words are your own, at the tip of your tongue, because you're saying them in a memory. You were with Rafayel in his studio, reunited and safely returned from the N109 Zone. He had been holding you close, telling you he’d missed you and that he’d been waiting forever; he was so, so bored. You’d smiled fondly. Laced your fingers through his and resonated: wanting to lose yourself in his power, wanting to forget there was any other kind of warmth. He had sighed softly. The sensation was usually buried beneath blood and battle; you’d forgotten how intimate it was.

Then he’d asked you what it felt like.  

“You heard that?” you say to Sylus.

He hums a little. “Not directly.”

“Sylus.”

His name evokes a faint interest, or perhaps it’s the way you said it: chiding, stern— like you were just getting started. His right eye opens, regarding you warily. “Mmm?”

“We’ve talked about this.”

“You’ve lectured me, sweetie.” He leans back again, eyes closed. “There is a difference.”

You resist the urge to wring his neck, especially when it’s bared as invitingly as it is now. It feels calculated. Deliberate. You can almost imagine him lying there, anticipating the fatal vice of your hands. It was what he always seemed to want: to drag you into sin with him.

“I wouldn’t have to lecture you if you actually listened to me,” you reason, releasing a breath. “You can’t keep spying on me, Sy.”

He hums again: this time sceptically. “Can’t I? But you say such pretty things to him, kitten. It’s like watching a melodramatic film. I’d hate to miss it.”

“You’re jealous.”

“Maybe,” he admits with a half-hearted chuckle. “Then again, maybe not.”

You don’t know what to say, so you pretend it’s because you’re busy. Sylus’s hastily rolled up shirt has slipped downwards, catching the edge of his wound, and you lift it delicately, your fingers skirting over skin. His jaw clenches. His hands fist. His mouth is a tight line and you’re not sure what it’s holding onto more carefully: a short hiss of pain or the rest of his confession.

There are always things he isn’t telling you, but he comes closer to it at times like this, when you could do anything to him— cut his throat, collect on so many bounties— and instead you’re just… nice.

It’s the reason he doesn’t call when he’s slumped somewhere after a shootout, his Evol exhausted and his strength draining from half a dozen wounds he can’t quite heal yet. It’s the reason he lay here for who knows how many hours before you found him, rolling his eyes as you rushed to his side, because Luke and Kieran couldn’t keep their mouths shut.

You want to shout at him— want to scold him for being so goddamn stupid— but you don’t. Here you are instead, humouring him and playing nurse, when a simple resonance would suffice. He’d tried to force it before, but now, when you had thrust your hand into his and willed him to take? He’d snatched his hand back. Insisted on bearing his pain ‘the old-fashioned way’.

He was so fucking stubborn.

“What does it feel like with me?”

Sylus’s voice is gentle but his eyes are sharp— cutting into you like a blade striving for bone. It’s an unintentional violence, a jarring: I know what you’re thinking, but I’d rather hear you say it. Kindred spirits; he sees your mind and your heart and then looks at you like it isn’t a weapon. Like you should be grateful for the knife at your throat because you can trust the hand that’s holding it.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffs, “if you can conjure up a metaphor for your little artist, you can do the same for me.”

Something is stoked in you, and though you bite your tongue, your careful fingers slip for a moment, pressing into the tender skin at the edge of his wound. Sylus grimaces— hisses— though you could swear there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

You’d sinned, hadn’t you? “You really wanna know?”

He nods, his eyes on you again. It’s your hand on the knife, and he trusts you implicitly.  

“It’s like… the ocean, I guess.”

“Inspired.”

“Shut up—” you flick his forehead— “just listen, ok? It was overwhelming at first. Zayne, Xavier, Raf… They’re all so powerful. But you? It felt like you could drown me. Like you wanted to drown me.”

Sylus is quiet. You’re running an antiseptic wipe over the smaller scrapes on his stomach, but he doesn’t flinch.

“It was consuming,” you carry on as you work. “Frightening. There was so much of it- so much you- filling my lungs, trying to take my breath away. The entire time I could feel how fathomless it was. I knew if I stopped fighting it I would sink, and that I would never, ever stop.”

You can remember it vividly, especially when you’re as close to him as you are now. Though there’s no more dark energy, twisting around you, dragging you closer, you can still feel its grasp. You can see it, too, when you look up at him: hunger, burning red.

It isn’t a command anymore; it’s a longing.

And you both know you can’t give him what he wants.

“But then I did stop fighting,” you continue, because you can at least answer his question. “And I could still breathe. I was still… myself.” You place a hand on his knee. “It doesn’t scare me anymore, Sy. It’s vast and intimidating, but it’s… exciting, too.”

You smile and give his knee a playful squeeze. “I wanna see how deep it goes.”

He’s stoic for another moment, an apathetic gaze dropping to your hand before lifting to your lips. Then he’s smiling too, leaning closer: “I want to show you how deep it—”

“Don’t ruin it.” You push him back to the wall.

He laughs, running a hand through his white hair, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s a place in his mind where he’s closing the distance again, and he doesn’t care if you know it. You feel the heat in your cheeks betraying you, so you focus back on the man’s injuries: the gash on his stomach has already bled through your bandages. It’ll need stitches.

You sigh, starting to peel back your previous work.

“Does it hurt?” Sylus asks. “Now that you’ve… stopped fighting?”  

You glance up, and he’s examining his hand like it’s a gun he hasn’t yet fired and so can't know the power of. He flexes his fingers, pale in the light. “A little,” you admit, thinking of Zayne’s ice and Rafayel’s fire. Resonating was always a trust exercise: it could kill you, could burn, and you had to be willing to let it. “But I can handle it.”  

Used bandages tossed aside, Sylus’s wound looks as dire as when you’d first lifted his shirt to find it. You lean back, lips pursed in bleak assessment; somewhere at the back of your mind, Zayne is insisting this is a job for a real doctor.

“That bad, huh?”

You huff in answer, exhausted. You shoot Sylus a look of defeat before gingerly offering your hand.

His eyes flit between it and you, and you have to give another nod of encouragement before he surrenders. He holds his breath— it’s slow— his forefinger gliding tentatively up your wrist, spelling a silent question, before tracing a circle in your palm. He closes his eyes. His long fingers spread yours and he’s claiming your hand with something between reverence and sin.

His touch trespasses delicately. His Evol doesn’t.

You bite back a gasp as power surges through you, dark and devouring. Your eyes snap shut and your hand tightens around his, not knowing if it’ll ground you or drag you deeper, not caring so long as there’s something in all this everything to hold onto. This could kill you— you would let this kill you, but it won’t. Your nails are leaving crescents in his skin and you know, you know, the world will burn long before you do.

This is different than the others. Better than the others.

Suddenly your hand is empty and the darkness is not a promise but a place where you’re alone. Your eyes flutter open, searching for an anchor. Your head is swimming.

“Are you alright?” Sylus is looking at you, his hand on your shoulder, steadying you, and it takes everything in your power not to grasp it again.

So empty. So alone. “I’m fine,” you manage, but your voice is shaking.

“Tch.”

He’s not a man who wastes his time, and he knows better than to push that particular lie. Rejuvenated, he sits up, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders— reacquainting himself with the strength of his body. He’s imposing again. Looming over you, again. His wounds have all healed, and you watch as the stains of his blood lift and disintegrate, like embers on a breeze.

His hand moves to massage his neck, and he yawns as he lazily tips his head from side to side. “Enjoying the show, sweetie?”

You don’t really hear him. He chuckles, pulling his shirt back down before waving a hand in front of your face; you catch it in a heartbeat. “Stop it.”

“There you are.” 

He twists his wrist free, but then your fingers are around his hand, turning it over so you can get a better look. Your thumb traces thoughtfully over the marks you’d made. “Aren’t you going to heal—”

“No,” he smirks.

He wants you to ask him why, so there’s no way in hell you’re going to. You both have your secrets: some worn on the sleeve and others, clutched a little closer to the chest. What does it feel like with me? You turn the question over in your mind as you tidy up wet gauze and bandages. You had told him the truth, just not all of it.

Like how you don’t lose yourself in him, but feel more yourself than you ever have.

Like how every time it gets easier, but so much harder to stop.

“So,” you mutter, distracting yourself, “are you happy with your metaphor?”

Sylus mulls it over as he studies you, a faint glow in his right eye. There are also things he wants to say, but he’s thinking of you and the artist, locked in a wistful embrace in a cluttered studio, so he keeps them to himself. His gaze tells you what he doesn’t: that he will bear it with a smile, for you, and that he will hold onto it long after it makes his hands bleed.

“It was a trifle trite, perhaps. Though… sweet,” he purrs. “Who knew a kitten could be so eloquent?”

“Fuck you.”

“Mmm.” He grins as he looks at your marks on his skin. “That’s better.”

[fieldofdaisiies]

Broken Crown

pairing: Eris Vanserra x reader | type: angsty | words: 3,3k words | warnings: topics like pregnancy and kidnapping someone while pregnant are discussed as well as bad family relationships; based on this request

“Share your worries with me, my love.” Your hand tenderly caresses his arm, feeling his tense muscles beneath the tips of your fingers. “You shouldn’t carry the burden of them all alone.”

Eris‘ shoulders rise and fall with a deep inhale, and slowly he turns his head to you. There is a small, sad smile on his lips. His eyes close, and you can see the pain, the worry, etched upon his face.

His hand lifts and comes to rest on the barely-there bump of your belly. “I worry about you, my love,” he says, his voice nothing more than a whisper. “This,” —he flexes his fingers, before softly pressing down just the tiniest bit— “put you in more danger than you can ever imagine.”

Your hand folds over his. “I know that it could get dangerous.” You sit up in bed and Eris‘ hand falls to your thigh. “But only if Beron finds out. We will be careful, we have been careful for so long. He won’t know.”

Eris wants to believe you. He desperately does, but it is so damn hard. You are his mate and in your womb you carry his child. There is nothing but worry in his mind, his whole body in a constant state of fear for you two.

“And even if he found out, I could always run and escape and you would protect me.” You lean into him and rest your head on his shoulder. “Don‘t worry so much, my mate, and rather enjoys these fleeting moments we can share.” Turning your head a little, you kiss his arm. “We only have this time together, please, try to make the best of it.”

Eris sighs, but silently agrees and lies down in bed with you, his arm curled around you, his other hand once again resting on your belly, thumb stroking idly over your belly. Your shirt has risen a bit, and Eris used the chance to place his palm right on top of your skin, his warmth the most soothing thing to exist in this world.

“I can’t wait for Beron to be gone and for us to be able to love each other openly.” He turns his face to you and kisses your brow. “And I cannot wait to watch our little babe grow up. I know they will be as beautiful as their mother.”

“And their father,” you chime in and a small grin appears on your lips. Your mate chuckles and it makes his chest vibrate beneath you. 

He holds you for the rest of the night, always close, always tight. You know he doesn’t sleep. No for a single moment. Eris often finds it hard to fall asleep, or to sleep through or to feel enough at ease to entertain the thought of sleep.

In your early face of seeing each other he has slept well, telling you you brought him enough comfort to do so. It all changed when the mating bond snapped, and especially when you got pregnant. He hasn’t had a moment of rest since then, you think. And that hurts you, and you also feel guilty.

————————

The moment Eris leaves your secret meeting place in the morning, he covers her scent. Beron can’t be able to detect anything. To make sure you are safe, he also strengthens the shield he has put over you, covering both your pregnancy and any kind of small ounce of Eris‘ scent that should cling to you.

He smooths a hand over his long hair and i hales deeply, worry and uncertainty making his chest feel a little too tight. 

With a heavy heart, he returns to the First House, not able to meet his father’s gaze while they eat dinner in silence.

“Where have you been all night?” Beron asks and in the corner of his eye, Eris‘ notices how his mother‘s posture stuffs, her fingers curling tightly around her fork.

“Out.” Eris is tight, and quick. Maybe a tang too quick. 

Beron drops his fork with a snarl. “I have noticed as much. But where exactly have you been.”

Eris swallows thickly, the piece of meat he has just eaten almost getting stuck in his throat. Taking a gulp of water, he clears his throat. “I checked on the war camp—”

“Which one?”

“Thundercliff.”

Beron dips his chin to his chest and forks a piece of potatoes, chewing it with his mouth half open. “What did you want there?”

“See if everything was alright.”

“You slept there?”

Eris nods. “I did.”

Beron says nothing, only turns his attention back to his plate.

For the rest of the dinner, his father doesn’t talk to him anymore, or care about him, too focused on his food to even deign his son another glance.

Or so Eris thinks…

—————————

Two days have passed and Eris is sitting on needles. His fingers nervously drum an unsteady rhythm on his knee, his chest rising and falling with deep intakes of air.

You are always on time. You have not once been late in all the time you have known each other. Where the hell are you now?

His heartbeat picks up, the organ now hammering against his ribs. Eris feels how dread coils within him.

Where could you be?

Of course worry kicks in immediately, a myriad of thoughts bubbling up about something awful having happened to you. Maybe you were caught, maybe some medical issues, maybe Beron—

He won’t allow his thoughts to go there. There probably is a good explanation for why you are late. Maybe you got held up, maybe you weren’t feeling too, maybe you simply forgot.

Eris lets himself fall back onto the bed, groaning loudly. His heart is still racing, his skin clammy with cold sweat, fear and panic curling around his heart like a vice. 

He could go looking for you, but worries that would only get you into more danger. He can’t go home to you — no one knows about your relationship. If the heir to the Autumn Court would suddenly show up at your home, word would spread quickly and this would end fataö for you. He can’t risk it.

All he can do is wait. And hope. Hope that you will arrive shortly and that you are unharmed.

It is what he does — waiting, while being plagued by thoughts and ideas of all the terrible things that could have happened to you.

He needs to find you, his father and the people who gossip about you two be damned. 

Eris waits a moment longer, really making sure you are not arriving and by the time he gives up, the sun has already set behind the horizon, the Autumn Court now bathed in endless darkness.

Eris heads back home with a heavy heart, always on the look-out to catch sight of you, a trace or some hint of your whereabouts.

He needs to get his hound, give them your trace, and then let them help him find you. 

In moments like these, he wishes he wouldn’t have had to glamour the bond. He could simply tug at it and be led to you — but he can’t. Not with the magic he used to cover any small hint of it.

It would make things so much easier, but Eris knows that life isn’t easy for him, and has never been. That is not how it is supposed to be, his life was never meant to be simple — his fate was doomed the moment he was born.

Breathing heavily and with his heart hurting painfully,, Eris eventually returns to the Forest House after waiting for hours. If he doesn’t hear from you until the morning, he will go look, no matter the consequences.

The door falls shut behind him with a loud thump. It doesn’t startle him, he is too wrapped up in his worries to even notice. 

But one person in the Forest House does definitely notice.

“Eris!” Beron’s low voice hollows through the empty, cold corridors and it sends a shiver down the heir‘s spine — Beton is enraged, Eris can hear that in his voice.

His eyes close and he doesn’t want to move forward, already having an inkling of what might expect him and he could never accept it. 

If something happened to you, he would forever blame himself. And if you…the Mother forbid — he isn’t able to finish his thought. But without you in his life, he wouldn’t want to live on. He couldn’t do so. His heart would be in pieces, nothing but bloody, broken shards.

“Father,” he says and bows his head low, after the whole way to the end of the corridor where Beron‘s office is situated, has become a blur.

Slowly, the High Lord lifts his gaze from the table and a viscous grin splits his dry lips.

“Such a pretty little thing you have found yourself,” he drawls. “But she is nothing more than pretty and unfortunately lower fae.” 

Eris fingers curl towards his palms while his whole body feels like caving in, his heart cracking open.

“Nothing more than a piece of trash — in other words, scum. And I won‘t allow my sons to fool around with that kind of fae, hasn’t the thing with Lucien taught you anything?”

“What did you do?” Eris shouts and panic rolls through him.

“I took care of her so you wouldn’t have to bother with her any longer.”

He didn’t kill her, that is for sure, Eris still feels the bond. But Beron touched her, hurt her and he will pay for that. 

“You hurt her!” Eris spits, a fury coats his insides, making him see red.

“I am not such a cruel beast, since she finds herself with a…child I didn’t touch her. Mostly. And I assume it's yours?” Beron raises a brow, but gives Eris no chance to say anything as the answer is clear as water anyway. “Matters will take care of themselves though and neither of them will be a problem for you in the future — not the slut, nor the little bastard..” A sadistic smile replaces the former expression on his face.

Eris would kill him straightaway, but he needs Beton to tell him where you are. He can’t find you otherwise and you would…

“Where is she?” Eris dashes to Beron’s desk, his hands slamming down on the wooden surfaces. “You will tell me where she is! I demand it!”

Eris once again tugs at the bond but gets no answer. Nothing but cool silence from your side. You are surely hidden somewhere by Beron’s magic, somewhere where Eris will never be able to find you without Beron telling him. It could take days, weeks, months and that is too long. Too dangerous.

“Tell me!” he shouts again when Beton says nothing.

Beron tips his head back and roars with laughter. Once calm again, he says, “You demand it? As much as I remember I am the High Lord and your nothing more than a little—”

“I invoke the Blood Duel.” He is driven by fury and fear — a lethal combination.

The temperature in the room drops at least ten degrees and outside thunder strikes. Never in the history of the Autumn Court has ever a son invoked a Blood Duel against their father, and certainly not against the High Lord. This is about to change now.

“You are a fool, Eris Vanserra, think about the consequences.”

“I invoked the Blood Duel — you and me, a battle to death.” Eris straightens his posture, staring down at his father who is still sitting at his desk, now stiff as a pole. Eris is sure a flicker of hesitation and maybe also fear passes over his father‘s face, knowing what his son is capable of.

Slowly, a smirk spreads over Beron’s face and he reaches his hand out. “I accept.”

—————

The sun has barely risen, only merely peeking forward from behind thick clouds in the sky, bathing the Autumn Court forest in a soft yellowish glow.

Eris takes the last sip from his small flask when a knock sounds on his door. He places the small bottle down, and smoothes his hands down his jacket and his breeches.

“Lord Eris, it’s time,” a sentry calls.

“Coming!” the heir answers. His hand grasps his knife, the one made by Nesta Archeron, tightly and then he sets out.

Everything is going to change today if he is leaving this duel as its victor. The whole fate of the Autumn Court lies in his hands now. Beron has to fall, Eris has to win. When it is over he will find you, save you and proclaim you as his mate in front of all the Autumn Court. He will be the High Lord and you his High Lady.

The moment he steps outside, and the cool morning air greets him, he can hear hollowing and cheering — not for him, but for his father who is probably already strutting around the place where the duel will take place like a proud peacock.

Eris feels a knot tightening in his stomach, his heart almost pounding out if his chest. It is not the wish of becoming High Lord that drives him forward, but the fear about what happened to you and your whereabouts. He doesn’t care about anything else, he only needs to find you. And having to kill his own father…not an easy task, but one that needs to be taken earlier or later anyway. One he is willing to take for you.

Blood is thicker than water, is the saying. But you are his mate, and nothing is stronger than that.

Eris feels his throat tightening with anxiety, but drawing in a few deep inhales, he manages to calm himself a little and then moves into the glade, the open space for the duel, around which many Autumn Court citizens are already gathered.

“Father!” he greets, and can see the colour visibly drain from Beron‘s face when the High Lord turns to him. Beron had most definitely thought Eris would put his tail between his legs and would not show up.

But Eris Vanserra is no coward. And he will win this today. For you and the future of this court.

And so he mounts his horse, lance in one hand, shield in the other, and enters into a duel of life and death. And that against his own father.

Beron lands the first strike, but other than a small gash, his attack doesn’t do much harm. Very much to the High Lord’s surprise, Eris thinks, because he knows exactly that Beron dipped his lance in faebane, playing unfairly. 

He can’t see his father’s face behind the bronze helmet but he knows confusion is etched upon his face. 

Eris was smarter, he took the antidote against faebane before entering into this duel, already knowing his father’s foul tricks.

Beron lands the second strike as well. But then it is Eris' turn. He lands the third, the fourth and the fifth and when lifts his lance a sixth time, Beron slides off his horse, slumping to the ground. 

Eris dismounts his own horse, stalking towards where his father is lying on the ground, not lifeless but something close to this state. Eris stares down at him and slowly Beron’s eyes open in disgust.

“I take this as you give in?” Eris points the tip of his sword that he has pulled out from the leather strap around his waist at his father. He can’t take a risk now.

“You should be dead by now.” His lips part in a snarl.

“Well, as you can see, I am not.” Eris knows that the crowd gathered around them is holding its breath. This is a monumental event — a duel that decides over the future of this court and who the next High Lord will be.

The answer is simple: Eris. He won the duel. Beron lost.

“But…” Blood starts to spill from Beron’s mouth when he begins to shake his head. “The—”

“The faeban?” Eris raises a brow. “I knew you wouldn’t play fair, father. I took the antidote just in case.” Now Eris is the one grinning. He quickly tips his head at two warriors, signaling them to pick up his father. They follow his order, probably having already noticed the shift in power.

“I won’t do you the honour of making this quick. You deserve to rot in the dungeons for all you've done to me, to mother and my brothers.” Eris sheaths his sword with a loud rasps. Then he steps into his father, now held up by two warriors, and presses his forehead against his father’s. “And now, as your High Lord, I demand you tell me where my mate is!”

—————

“Darling!” Carefully, Eris lifts you into his arms and cradles you tightly. Your body immediately reacts to him, and you feel yourself relaxing. All is good now, and you are safe.

Your mate is here, and all is good although you notice a shift in power.

Eris‘ heart is hammering so rapidly, you can feel it through his body. He is out of breath, and crying and holds onto you as if his own life depends on it.

This is the moment where you realise that your life means more to him than his own and a sob parts your lips, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“You found me,” you cry, and brush your palm up his chest, resting it on his shoulder. “You came to find me.”

“You are my mate, my love, I would always find you.” He leans in, resting his forehead against yours. “I would cross the seven seas for you, climb every mountain and fight every imaginable beast. You are my mate I would conquer Hel itself for you.”

His lips brush yours in a light kiss, and tears start to spill from your eyes. You blink rapidly, when you notice light at the end of the endless and dark corridor and there is also—

Cheering and barking, loud chatter and laughter fill the air around you when you step outside the place you have been trapped in.

You don’t understand, but Eris is quick to offer an explanation that would pull the rug from under your feet if you were standing. It leaves you speechless, your mouth wide open in surprise, but it is pride and utter love that outrules all the other emotions.

“I am the new High Lord of this court, and from now on a better time will begin. I will rule with understanding and respect for my loyal subjects, alongside my High Lady and wife.” 

He kisses your brow and then grins at the cheering mass of people gathered, their joy tangible in the air. And so is Eris — his heart, your hand resting atop his chest, beating steadily and happily within his chest.

His High Lady!

——————

The first thing after his first official announcement as High Lord is that Eris summons six healers to check on you. You are trying to tell him that one is enough, but Eris doesn’t want to hear any of it.

He stays while they check on you and the baby, always observing them with an eagle’s gaze until the relief comes and you are told that both you and the babe are fine and no damage has been done to either of you.

“It’s all going to be good now,” Etis mumbles, leaning his head against yours that is resting on his shoulder.

“High Lord and Lady.” You beam, and turn your head making Eris lift his own. You lock eyes with him and then kiss him. “I love you, my High Lord.“

“I love you more, my High Lady.”

tags: @sunshinebingo @tarataraaaa  @brekkershadowsinger @azriels-mate123 @mandziaaa  @cosmic-whispers @mali22 @elsie-bells @imma-too-many-fandoms @kuraikei @ginnyweasley06  @bubnix  @powerfulpantera @secret-third-thing

[mochatsin]

WHEN MC COMES HOME INJURED

There are a lot of issues that you can come across as a human in Devildom and sometimes, the brothers aren’t really prepared for the worst case scenarios. One day they find you at home injured from other demons, how will they respond to this?

TW: Implied Bullying, Violence, Torture, Injury

sometimes I wonder if MC is a bit desensitized to violence (but not to a level where they’re no longer bothered by it). Think about it, the brothers have war-level fights all the time in the house. Plus MC lives in a realm full of devils.

------------

Lucifer  

His patience has never been so tested, all he can think about right now is going straight home. He heard that there was a  commotion that happened in one of your classes, so everyone was excused to leave early.

He never heard any of the details, and he would’ve asked the teachers or anyone in your class but it was better to hear from you instead. The wellbeing of the exchange student is his responsibility after all.

Lucifer was about to knock on your door but he heard a sniffle coming from your room which made him start panicking. “MC? Pardon me, but I’m coming over.” 

He found you by the bed, clutching your arm that’s poorly bandaged. Seeing the tears in your eyes broke his heart as he ran to your side. 

You told him that things got bad during your potions class. You don’t know how it went wrong when you followed the instructions correctly, but the cauldron exploded and gave you a bad burn. The teacher even scolded you in front of the class despite being in pain, making you an example of a foolish student before dismissing everyone.

Lucifer knows you’re not one to make clumsy mistakes like this, yet he keeps quiet to himself about that. His focus for now is to treat your wounds properly. But boy, he could feel his blood boil through his veins. How dare they make a fool out of you?! 

He promised to find something human-friendly for your skin as he applied a spell to numb the pain before going back to RAD. 

On his way, he overheard two students snickering to each other. Lucifer recognized them from your class. 

“Who knew adding fire newt tongues would’ve made it that explosive?” “You should’ve seen the look on their face when the teacher got mad. I knew the teacher hated them but it was hilarious when they looked like they were gonna cry!”

Lucifer had this sinister smile on his face as he walked up to the students. “Meet me in my office. We need to have a little talk.” 

It takes him an hour before he can come back to you with a healing salve. Gently applying it to your skin, you were astonished at how it was instantly restored!

Before you can comment about your amazement, Lucifer brings you in for a tight hug. “I’m so sorry… I’ll make sure you won’t get hurt like this again. I promise.” He tries to act calm but with how his hands held you so firmly, you can feel that he really was worried.

You could say that Lucifer keeps to his word when you find the demons, even your teacher, hung up by their legs in the potions classroom. They were beaten beyond recognition, you can’t even tell if they were still alive because the brothers lured you away from the scene before you could inspect them further. 

The whole school got the message, to never mess with the Morningstar’s human. The punishments are beyond what they could imagine, it’s not worth the few moments of satisfaction from making you cry.

Those people were dragged away by Barbatos to the castle’s dungeon, never to be seen again. Diavolo had to make arrangements for a replacement, and Lucifer ensured that you have at least one brother for every class to watch over you. 

He was strict and a bit more overprotective to you than usual, so it took a lot of time for you to reassure him that you’ll be fine.

Mammon 

To lesser demons, it’s a wonder how his denial with his problematic gambling and theft still made him think that he’s amazing and great. 

The stacks of reports about Mammon in the student council room can break records. He would ask Grimm that he would refuse to pay back, steal things he considers valuable, and his money-making schemes have caused lots of problems for other students. 

Despite the punishments from Lucifer, some demons think that it’s not enough. They want to hit him where it hurts. 

Mammon has been waiting for you, spamming your D.D.D. with several messages. You both planned to spend the night watching a movie together once you get home, but you’ve been running late and he’s getting impatient. 

When he hears the main door open, he rushes with the intention of complaining about what took you so long, until he finds you limping your way inside. 

“HEY MC I– huh… MC? What’s up with you? HEY!” As soon as he realizes that there’s more injuries on you, he instantly carries you to the bathroom and treats your wounds as best as he can.

He doesn’t speak, but he can’t hide the trembling of his fingers when he applies gauze pads and disinfectants on your wounds. 

You tried to explain what happened to him to the best of your abilities. You were cornered by some demons you didn’t even know on your way back home and they picked a fight. When you described what they looked like, Mammon instantly knew who they were.

“How about you rest first in the room while I go handle something yeah? Maybe report this to Lucifer” He lied of course. As if he’s going to waste a single second not hunting down these bastards. He lets one of his brothers tend to your wounds, he has other matters to attend to.

Mammon would send those demons a message, saying that he’s ready to repay them if they meet up. He was ready to give them back 10 times the pain they gave you. Break their legs for making you limp, even. 

You wake up in your bed to find him asleep next to you, holding your body close. The small tear stains on his cheeks made you pout and… well, you don’t tell him about the red stains left on his hands.

He walks you back to your classroom only for you to find it trashed. Broken chairs and desks, holes in the black board and the walls, and the demons from yesterday looking so bruised and wounded that they could barely shrink back in fear when they saw you and Mammon together. 

Lucifer would’ve punished Mammon for wrecking school property until you explained to him what happened. Given the nature of these circumstances, he didn’t tie up his brother from the roof like usual, but made him clean up the classroom he trashed.

Even with his goofiness around you, that incident was a reminder for the school that he’s still the second most powerful brother and the wisest thing is to never touch Greed’s treasure. 

Levi

Levi noticed that you haven’t been yourself lately when you come home. You’re always too tired to watch his shows and when you do, he finds one thing odd. 

When the anime he was watching showed a scene about bullying, you would flinch or turn away. You were never like this before and now Levi is suspicious. What has been happening in RAD when he’s not there?

Lucifer called him in to catch up on his classes since he’s been slacking off due to his games. He stayed a bit behind and when he finally finished, all he could think of was finally getting his hands back to his controller but then he stopped when he saw you in one of the empty classrooms. 

You were being cornered by a large demon, probably the size of Beel, who taunted you. About how you’re nothing but a weakling without the brothers, and calling them here would just prove his point. 

He was raising his fists to land another blow so you used your arms to protect yourself, but it never came. Instead, you find Levi kneeling down next to you with a sad look on his face.

He was in his full demon form, his tail holding onto the demon’s fist and won’t let go. “MC… why didn’t you tell me? Or at least any of us?” He seemed hurt because he didn’t know you’ve been in so much pain, especially when he saw the bruises on your skin as he tugged your sleeves down. 

He wrapped his jacket around you and wiped away your tears, trying to calm you down. Though it’s hard when Levi’s tail now has a death grip on the wrist of the demon who’s now screaming in pain and begging to be let go. 

“Shut up!” He hissed, his fangs bared out when he turned to the larger demon. 

Levi snaps his fingers and the demon disappears. The demon finds himself in the depths of the deep sea, struggling to breathe and swim up. He was spared from the agonizing suffocation by the sharp teeth of Lotan who swallowed him. 

He shifts back to his regular form and waits until you’re okay to be held. He tries to be gentle with you given the amount of bruises you’ve gotten. Since he’s not good at magic, maybe one of the angels can do something about this.

He doesn’t leave your side while Simeon tends to your bruises, all while he calls Lucifer to inform him of what happened.

“You’re my player two, we’re supposed to help each other out you know? That’s how the game works. S-so rely on me more MC!” 

He didn’t want to let you watch some anime that has bullying in the story, out of fear that it might remind you of what happened. The last thing he wants is to accidentally make you upset. 

Levi started attending school more, waiting for you outside your classroom every dismissal. You’d spot him gaming on his phone and if you’d ask why won’t he go straight back to the house, he’d just stutter way beyond comprehension. 

His cute flustered look as he struggles with the slightest physical contact, no one would guess that he’s the reason for the disappearance of the biggest bully in your class. It’s all game over when you mess with the Grand Admiral after all.

Satan 

Despite being just a new exchange student in a realm with little to no knowledge, you still somehow make it through the academic year and even get better marks than half of the demon brothers who lived for centuries. 

Some demons in class find it infuriating to see a lowly human do better. ‘Maybe they’ve just cheated.’ ‘Perhaps they use spells to see the answers’ ‘the wizard knows some sorcery, maybe this one does too’ ‘how wicked.’

Those were rumors you hear when you enter a classroom before a lecture. You try to not let it bother you because they’re not true. It’s from the combined effort of your hard work and the brother’s teaching you from scratch. 

Satan has been waiting for you in the house since you told him that your lesson from today was a bit difficult to understand, so you both set up a small study session for when you get home. But it’s been about an hour ever since your last message. 

No amount of reading has calmed his nerves since you’re not one to be late for no reason. It’s been raining really hard so he thought that maybe you’re stuck in this weather, but the lack of messages is still concerning. 

When he heard the door open, he closed his book with the intent of questioning why you were late, but he saw how soaked you were from head to toe. 

He grabs your arm to help clean you up, but you hissed and yanked it away. He looked at you confusingly before he noticed the puddle of rain water was mixed with something… red. 

Without haste, he sits you down in the living room and rushes to get the first aid kit. He’s thankful for learning about first aid, but never did he think that he would have to use it on you like this. 

He focused first on calming you down, placing soft kisses on your head every time you’d whimper. It worried him a lot, but he didn’t want to ask you about your tears until he’s sure you’re okay. 

It took half an hour, and a whole lot of pain relievers until you’re okay. Satan went to grab your things left at the door, only to see a lot of your books and homework torn to bits. Connecting two and two together, he knew what happened. 

When you slept, there was only one thing racing in his thoughts. To hunt. He’s heard of the rumors about you, and he’s had enough of staying passive about it. 

He practically interrogates every student he comes across until he gets his answers. When he finally has a name, he would turn each stone in the realm until he finds them. 

The moment he does, the demons are facing the most agonizing cat and mouse chase of their lives. Satan would follow suit behind their tails, and each time they ran across him they would shed more blood and tears. 

He would’ve killed them on the spot with one snap of a finger, but that’s too easy. He wanted them to feel the fear, let it consume their soul until they go insane and give up. Only then did he grant them the release from this torture by burning them in green fire that not even the storm can put out, until there’s only ash. 

He comes home, covered in blood and ash. He smiles as he places a kiss on your head when he finds you still asleep. After that, Satan offered to help you get some spare books and do something about your ruined homework. 

He became much more aggressive afterwards, no longer tolerating any ill intent directed towards you. Mutter something under your breath, he’ll make sure it’s your last. That’s how they’ll pay the price. 

Asmo

Asmo has so many admirers that are not limited to adoring fans online, but even famous celebrities that had the luck of working with him in magazine gigs and product commercials.

To him it doesn’t matter what kind of attention he gets, whether it's healthy or parasocial, he’ll bask in all of it as long as he’s the object of their affections. 

He wouldn’t normally care when his brothers would get crowded with his fans who wanted them to deliver their love letters and gifts, despite all of his brother’s complaints or protests. However, you’re the exception. 

Asmo doesn’t really hide how he feels about you. He would post your pictures with him on Devilgram or brag about you online. It did harbor some jealousy, but there are some that dealt with this worse than others. 

‘It’s unbearable to see him with such a lowly human!’ a demoness thought as she found a new post from asmo’s page with you in the background. Her nails could crack through her phone at the sheer rage and she plans to do something about these feelings.

Asmo has been calling you nonstop since you two were supposed to meet up at the house to go to a salon together, after your shift ends of course. However, you’re running late and the salon would close in half an hour. 

He was by his room when he heard your door open and closed. Asmo had the full intent to be extra whiny about your tardiness when he went to your room and opened the door. 

He was in the middle of complaining but trailed off when he saw you clenching your cheek and turned away quickly from his gaze. You were trying to make him leave, saying that you’ll change first, but he’s not buying it. “Let me see, please?” 

He moved your hands away from your face and gasped at the claw marks that ran across your cheeks. It hurts him to see that you try to hide the face he finds so adoring, so pretty. And he wants to find out who dared to ruin it.

He sits you on his lap while he applies any sort of healing skin that can restore it. He’s not going to allow a single scar caused by some low blood demon to rest on your face. He looks at you with a pout on his lips as he asks “... who was it?” 

You can’t help it, so you explain that the demoness that was also in the magazine cover with him the other week, stopped by your work and slapped you across the cheek. About how a human should not have her place next to the Avatar of Lust. 

For a quick second, he was wrath and you felt it. But he gave you a smile and held you close “you know that’s not true right darling?” and whispered sweet words to you.

Asmo spent the next few hours asking Levi and Solomon for help. The demoness instantly lost thousands of followers online, each and every scandal anonymously  exposed for the whole realm to see. He was hell bent on ruining her life with all the power he has as an influencer and a demon.

You never see the demoness again, you just know that she lost every connection and supporters she had overnight. If you ask Asmo about it, he’ll just shrug and smile “It’s just how it works honey. But don’t worry about that thing, why don’t we go to the spa like we should’ve done a few days ago? I booked a new appointment for us” 

Only Asmo, and maybe Solomon, knows the truth. So if you see a pink toad at the side of the road, pay no attention to it. 

Beel

Beel has been regarded as the star athlete when it comes to Fangol. Other than his towering height and unbelievable strength, it’s a product of all his hard work and training. He’s been doing more every time you promised to watch his games. 

He treats you like your lucky charm, and every time you’re there he would always do so well in his games. The other team doesn’t like that, they’re tired of the constant loss. Maybe if they do something about Beel’s lucky charm, he would be demotivated to play.

They’re demons after all, so cheating is not exempted in their nature. They’re willing to do what it takes to get Beel down to his knees, even if it means they’ll get their hands dirty.

There’s two days before the big game and Beel wanted to get a family-sized snack as usual from the fridge to calm his nerves. That’s when he found you rummaging through the freezer. 

Maybe you were trying to get some hellfire ice cream, so he thought. Until he saw that you pressed an ice pack against your head. “MC? Are you okay?” He walks in to check on you. 

He gasped when he saw that you looked a bit roughed up. There’s a bruise slowly forming on the corner of your lip, and some dried blood from the side of your temple. 

He knows that this was no accident when he found more bruises by your arm. Since he got a bunch of those during Fangol, he knows how to treat them. You’re no player though. After putting two and two together? He’s starting to get an idea what might’ve happened.

You did eventually open up about why you were hurt. You were going home and felt someone throw a Fangol ball to your head. You recognized that they were from the opposing team of the upcoming match and they continued to use you as target practice as you ran all the way back to the house. 

Beel was holding onto a bowl of cold water with a damp towel to treat you and as soon as you finished your story, the bowl was nothing but shards on his palm. 

His deathly aura must’ve alerted the whole house, especially Belphie who suddenly woke up from a nap as he came running towards the kitchen only to find his twin already in demon form. 

You’ve never seen him this angry that was outside food (or Belphie) and you tried to calm Beel down, but he left you in Belphie’s care while he walked out of the house. There was no way he was going to let this pass, not when you’ve already gotten hurt.

It doesn’t take Beel a long while to find the opposing team, especially when they always wear those ridiculous jersey jackets. Despite their large sizes that almost compare to him, they’re nothing but flies to Beelzebub himself. 

“Heard you had a bit of target practice earlier… I wanted to go easy on you, so if you drop out of the game and never show yourself again I'll spare you.” 

One of them scoffed and tried to throw a punch at his face. Let’s just say… never aim so close to his jaw. That player was no longer capable of holding a Fangol ball anymore, and the whole team got the message. 

You received a notification online that the upcoming Fangol game has been canceled, as the team captain is suddenly incapable of playing anymore. 

Beel comes home with a smile on his face while he has takeout of your favorite food. Mammon would comment about how it’s a miracle that he didn’t eat it on the way home, and all Beel said “It’s okay, I already grabbed a bite somewhere else.”

Belphie 

If demons would cower under the sights of Lucifer, the exact opposite can be said about the youngest. Not everyone can find the demon who does nothing but sleep to be intimidating, despite his status and power. 

Belphie doesn’t really care about trivial things about that. As if the demon who was willing to go against the royal prince himself was actually going to get bothered by mere rumors, even though it was all true.

He wouldn’t mind being called ‘a heavy weight’ when it comes to doing work, since he’d rather exert the least amount of effort if that’s what it takes for him to sleep faster. Sometimes he would forget important meetings because of his 8-hour naps. 

Today was one of those days where Belphie overslept while you were waiting for him in the library to do work together. He woke up and realized that he was almost an hour late so he was rushing towards the door but surprisingly bumped into you. 

“MC! I’m really sorry I didn’t mean to make you wait so long…” He was a bit panicked because you looked upset, though you told him that you’re fine and tried to walk back to your room. 

He grabs your arm and you wince, pulling it away from him. He looks at you confusingly, before he notices a slight cut on your cheek and how your clothes look a bit dirtier than usual. So he gets worried and asks what happened to you. 

You explained that while waiting in the library, you overheard some demons talking so badly about Belphie and calling him names. You confronted them, trying to defend his name, and the demons gave you a certain lesson for trying to sermon them. 

Belphie whines and pulls you in for a hug, trying to provide any sort of comfort he can give. “You didn’t have to do that for me MC… but thank you. Go get some rest, you deserve it more than I do.” 

His touch with you is so gentle when he makes little circles on your back as he hugs you. He lets you rest on his chest, feeling calm and safe in his arms. But Belphie was far from that. 

He could feel himself close to popping a vein, the only thing stopping him from shifting into his demon form was because he was holding you. When he puts you down on your bed as you sleep, he stares at you for a while before whispering “... I’ll repay you for your kindness, MC” 

The demons were laughing as they left the library, talking about the human they just picked on earlier. Too busy in their own merry to notice the pair of eyes that’s been following them.

Such carelessness would be their demise when they ended up getting thrown down the alley by the very demon they’ve been speaking ill of. Belphie stares down at them with no mercy in his eyes, despite the blood and screams. Unlike his twin, he was not as merciful. 

“I can tolerate the nasty things about me… but if you hurt my MC, then you deserve eternal sleep.” 

He comes home and immediately after dealing with the trash and starts walking back to your room. He’s glad to see that one of the brothers must’ve healed your wounds since your skin has been restored. 

‘... if they really see the best in me, maybe I should put in more effort.’ he thought to himself, hugging you close as he drifts off to sleep. You wake up only to find that, surprisingly, Belphie has done all the work for the both of you.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Love and War III

Summary: Trapped within the Illyrian War Camp, Reader must decide the best course of action to get home, even if it means trying to seduce the enemy

Content Warnings: Mentions of Past Abuse, Descriptions of Scars/Blood, Canon Typical Violence; NSFW (a little bit of SMUT, just a tease 😈) at the end.

Previous Chapter/Masterlist

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I can’t sleep.

It’s not because my enemy sleeps with his back to me, inches away, only a couple of furs and pelts between us, though it certainly doesn’t help. All night, staring at the tent wall, the strange patterns etched into the dark leather, the images of my parents, my brother, my people, flash behind my eyes every time I close them. I can hear Tamlin calling me a traitor; hear my parents final, dying screams. They are gone and the male that killed them sleeps inches from me. 

My dagger is next to my boots near the edge of the bed. Several times over the last couple of hours I’ve debated on crawling for it, imagining the heavy feel of it in my palm before I drive it between Rhysand’s shoulder blades and pierce his heart. I have never killed anything but game before, it’s the specifics and all their complications that stop me. What if I miss and he wakes up? What if I manage it but can’t get past the ward, condemning me to the mercy of his entire camp? And worse yet, what if it is not enough for Tamlin to take me back?

I chew my lower lip as I roll over onto my back. I know he would do just about anything to have Rhysand’s head delivered to him on a platter, or at the very least, those great wings to keep as a trophy. But killing a warlord doesn’t remove the threat of his camp, shy of slaughtering every last male, women, and child here, there would always be a chance of retaliation. A new lord would take his place if there was so much as a single survivor, and the bloodshed would start all over again, even if it took a few decades to get to that point.

No, my people deserve peace, to not have to look over their shoulder every day expecting an ambush. I would not live to see any children I might have, grown and subject to the cruelty of this war band. I would not birth anything into a world where my pain could be their own. So killing him is out of the question, at least for now. 

So what can I bring in lew of that? Camp movements? Numbers? Do I try to steal some horses or resort to outright sabotage so that someone else is always to blame when things go wrong? 

My head hurts from all the questions. 

My chest hurts from all the things I know I might have to do. My mother would be ashamed of me. And yet, I hear my father’s voice, telling me to stop being so useless and do something. He tells me I am selfish for hesitating, stupid for not seeing the opportunities in front of me.

I roll over onto my side so I can get another look at the male who claims to be my mate, the male who ruined my life. He’d brought me more food than I’d seen in years last night, had stumbled through the most awkward conversation of my life before offering the whole bed to myself if I was uncomfortable having him near by. An insane notion really, the bed was big enough for us to sleep in without being in arm’s length of each other. Even then, he’d wrapped his wings around himself and slept on the opposite edge, never once rolling any closer, even in sleep. It was an awkward kindness, but a kindness I had not prepared to face. I had spent the better part of the evening with him wondering how I’d deter him from trying to sleep with me, since he’d been so casual with touching me earlier in the day, but it had never come up. Maybe today it would, but for now, he had not entirely made himself as bad as I remembered him to be.

Again, it is my father’s voice in my head, “He’s a male, there’s a clear way to get him to reveal his secrets.” 

He is a dangerously attractive male. I have to admit I’m surprised he has not taken after many of the other warlords and formed a harem of captive brides. Between his power and his looks, he could have had dozens of wives already, yet this tent is void of any feminine objects to imply he’s anything other than single. He would not be hard to seduce, he is already so eager to have me nearby.

I roll over onto my stomach, trying not to huff my annoyance. It is not as if I’m some blushing virgin, I wouldn’t be giving anything over to him that I hadn’t already offered, in secret, to other males. He’d be the most attractive male I’d ever bedded, at that. I shouldn’t need that much convincing, or alcohol, to tumble into the sheets with him. Especially if it means he lets his guard down and tells me something useful. Especially if the distraction keeps him from thinking about asking me to take his mark again. What need for it would there truly be if I’d already surrendered myself to him?

Yet, my stomach rolls at the mere thought of it. Those hands had shed my peoples’, my parents’, blood! In a matter of minutes, those hands had stolen the only security and safety I had ever known, and I haven’t felt a shred of it since, and I was going to let them touch me?

A shiver runs down my spine. No, there has to be another way to get information out of him without trying to seduce him.

I lay there, mind spinning, as soft gray light starts to filter in through the small gap underneath the tent. Rhysand will have to leave me alone in here eventually, I will just have to wait for the right opportunity to start snooping through his stuff and then maybe a better plan will come to me. Perhaps something in one of those stacks of untouched chests in the corner will reveal a weakness I can exploit, some hidden secret I can use to my advantage. I have to hope they hold something, I have little options otherwise.

With that plan in place, I finally close my eyes, and try to let sleep fill the void. No amount of worrying will make him up and leave this early in the morning, there is little else I can do at this moment other than sleep. But it’s not even a full minute after I close my eyes that the tent flap is tossed open, the stiff leather slapping so hard against the wall Rhysand springs up with a dagger in hand, wings flaring behind him, so large they nearly span the expanse of the tent.

“We have a…” I feel eyes on me, over Rhysand’s shoulder, as I sit up, “situation.”

Rhysand lowers the dagger to his side, hand shaking, knuckles white from how hard he’s gripping it. Strange, did he often expect to be attacked in his own tent?

“Ready the men,” he orders and the intruders withdraw before I can get a good look at them.

He smooths a hand through his hair, loose now from the knot it had been tied on, the braided strands drifting over his sharp cheekbones. His wings droop until they’re dusting the floor, like a giant leather cape. “You’ll stay in here,” he says, voice still thick with sleep. Dark circles rim his eyes and I can’t help but wonder if I was the only one drowning in my thoughts last night.

I nod, biting down on my cheek to keep the grin pulling at my lips away. Perhaps the Mother is looking out for me after all! This is just the opportunity I need! “You…” I need to play it safe, sounding too submissive too early might get suspicious. I don’t want him to think I’ve so readily accepted this arrangement, but I don’t want him thinking I’m going to try and run off either. I let the words come out slowly, like I’m unsure to say them. “You don’t want me to come with you, like you said yesterday?”

He rubs a hand over his face as he goes to a chest at the edge of the bed and starts pulling out his fighting leathers. “Not yet, not until you’ve taken my mark and I can guarantee it’ll protect you.”

Shit! I need him to stop thinking so much about that stupid mark.

He peels off his shirt, the early morning light coming through the open door illuminating the swirl of dark ink tattooed across his bare chest. I’d been too panicked about our sleeping arrangements to get a good look at him when he’d changed last night, or else I also would have seen the scar across his side, the four lines like claw marks across his bronze skin. There are other, smaller marks, a burn on his hip, a jagged slash across his collarbone, but none are so pronounced as the claw marks. 

My hand goes instinctively to my own side. I know those claw marks. I know how they scar, because I have the same ones on my side. “Stupid, useless girl!” I know them, because like the voice that keeps ringing in my ears, they came from my father.

I don’t know if that’s a sign of what I need to do, as if, even in death my father’s will is still forcing itself on my life, or some cruel twist, like the matching stars on the back of our hands.

“Are you all right?” Rhysand asks.

By the time I’m able to focus on him again, he’s already laced up his leathers and sheathed that massive sword between his wings. I give myself a little shake, let my hand fall back down into my lap. “Yeah.”

Like last night, he looks like he might say more, but then thinks better of it as he tightens a belt of knives around his waist. “Stay here, you’ll be safe. I’ll be back soon.” And then he’s gone. 

I stare out the empty door long after his large form is no longer visible, sunlight slowly creeping further and further into the tent’s cave-like darkness. No guards. I eventually crawl out from under the mountain of pelts, the lack of heat obvious as a draft of icy wind blows through the open door. I wrap one around my shoulders as I pad, barefoot, over the rug covered floor to the door. The encampment around me still slumbers, no drum beats to be heard this early. Some of the other tents nearby have their doors open, I glimpse a body or two still sleeping in their own fur covered beds. No guards. No horses. Beyond the camp, the mountain walls of this secluded haven are dusted with early morning mist, the path the men had taken out invisible from this angle.

I do not want to trek through those mountains on foot and see just how well the shield holds up, not yet anyway. Holding the fur a little tighter around my shoulders, I turn back to the tent and decide the best place to start snooping is here. The outside world can wait a few more minutes. 

I go to the chest at the end of the bed first. It’s full of more fighting leathers, some worn and battle scarred, some shiny and new; an old pair of boots, some mismatched socks, another cloak and two, pitted daggers, the wyvern carving in the handle worn down from years and years of use. Nothing interesting or useful. I close the lid and head to the table to assess the piles of random collections Rhysand has made. It’s a lot of books on strategy and star-charting, I flip through a couple of them, looking for things written in the margins or scraps of paper tucked within the worn pages, but there is nothing but dust. 

“Come on,” I whisper to myself as I move to the next stack. There’s a book of poetry and things written in Illyrian I can’t read, the only thing in the margins of the old paper is some random swirls and markings that match the tattoos on his chest. If I have to learn Illyrian just to find useful information, I am going to be here for years, and there’s no way I’d make it that long without being forced to take Rhysand’s mark.

The remaining scattered items on the table are trinkets and gloves and a couple scarves with stains that look suspiciously like blood. Not a map or log book among them. Does he not keep records of his fighting men? Does he not chart supply lines and keep tabs on his merchants? 

I rub my temples as I go to the stack of dust covered chests in the corner. This might make it obvious that I was snooping, considering the dust is thick enough to be drawn in, but if he asks, I can lie and say I was looking for extra clothes, considering I’m still wearing the clothes I came in. 

The top chest is filled to the brim with swords and knives, a couple of bows and arrows, and a wicked looking mace. All well polished and cared for, the blades carefully wrapped as not to be damaged in transit. I pull a knife out to examine it, the ruby in the top casting rays of light over the tent walls. It’s an expensive weapon… if I start collecting enough things, could I find a place to barter them and bring the money back to Tam? Mother knows we could use the extra cash for supplies!

I put the blade back. If I start stashing things now, I’ll have nowhere to hide them and nowhere to take them until I can be sure that I can get out of these mountains, but it is comforting to feel like I have options here. The more things I can bring back, the better my chances at appeasing Tamlin are.

I’ve just closed the lid when someone clears their throat behind me and I all but throw the pelt around my shoulders at them in surprise.

“Snooping are we?” Laughs a feminine voice.

I keep a hand pressed to my racing heart, even as I inch over to where I’d left my hunting dagger. “Mother’s tits!”

In the doorway, stands a blonde female, her hair braided and tossed over one, bare shoulder. The strapless red top she wears, made of lace, baring just a strip of midriff and a swirl of ink, disappearing over the hem of a flowing skirt stitched in gold thread, must be expensive. I’ve never seen anything like it in our markets; I’d never dare touch it even if we had. I hate the spike of envy that bubbles up in my chest. I’ve never particularly cared about such things, not when the comparison wasn’t so in my face every moment. How was it fair? These people took so much from us, and yet they faced no punishment, it was starting to feel like they’d been rewarded for it even.

“Don’t worry, I’d snoop too,” she says as she steps in, holding a tray of something steaming that smells divine. “I’m Mor, by the way.”

“Hi,” I’m not totally beyond pleasantries, even if I do feel like biting the next stranger to come marching into my life as if they have free reign. “I’m Y/N.”

“My cousin says you’re his mate, is that true?” She sets the tray down then sits and puts her feet up on the corner of the table, sprinkling mud everywhere. 

“I don’t know,” I admit. I don’t want it to be true, but this is a chance to do something for my people, and I’ll play that part best I can, but it would feel fake if I just suddenly pretended to believe it after my comments on the way here. Better to play it safe.

Mor pats an empty seat next to her in invitation, or perhaps demand, there is a regality to her that doesn’t make me feel I have room to tell her no. I am used to people moving me wherever they see fit, my feet start moving as directed before I can decide that I actually want to. “Show me this scar of yours.”

I sit and offer my hand. Hers are soft as she inspects the eight point scar atop my hand, not a callus to be felt. Definitely some form of royalty. 

“How did you get this?” She asks, turning my hand this way and that to get a better look, as if I’m a piece of meat at the market in need of inspecting. 

I bite my cheek to keep from yanking my hand out of her grip. “I was young and stupid, and my father had sent me out to hunt as a punishment, I stumbled into the Middle, and came across the Weaver. When I tried to escape, she threw a hot poker at me, the end was shaped like a star, I guess. She basically branded me.”

“You fought the Weaver?” A mythical monster, no one really knows where she came from, all we know is she lives in the Middle, in a place where other monsters hunt, in a cottage dripping in dark magic known to lewer in weary travelers, as I had been.

“Fought? Goddess no! Played a very terrifying game of cat and mouse, yes.”

“I’m sure your father was proud of such an accomplishment,” she says as she finally releases my hand and pushes a tray of steaming buns, meats and cheeses, and what looks like tea my way. 

My hand drifts over my scarred side subconsciously, and I do not miss the way her blue eyes track the movement, even as I blurt, “Yeah the beating I got when I got home was a little shorter than usual.”

She drops her legs off the table so she can turn and look at me fully and I wince as I realize my mistake. “My father is like that too,” Mor confesses with startling gentleness.

I’m even more surprised when she reaches out to take my hand, not to inspect this time but to comfort me over our shared past. My chest tightens; a lump forming in my throat. My father was not the worst male in the Grasslands by any means, he kept us all fed and alive, and sheltered for the most part, but he was never kind. 

Mor gives my hand a squeeze. “You are safe here, Y/N. I promise. Rhys won’t give you any trouble.”

I’m supposed to hate her. She is a part of this warband, she answers to Rhysand, she bears his mark--a swirl of stars across her right arm--she is my enemy. I aim to steal all her secrets and use them against her, to take from her all the luxuries my people were never afforded, a life we were never blessed to live. We have nothing! They had everything because they took it. And I wanted to take it from them, from her. So why, when I looked into her eyes did I suddenly feel so godsdamned guilty?

When I don’t say anything, Mor pushes my plate towards me again. “Eat. You’re thin as a board. Then maybe later, I can show you around camp? I’m sure my cousin will give you his tour or whatever, but it’s never the same without a girls’ perspective, right?”

I snag the tea, hoping the heat will burn away the lump still lodged in my throat. Why is she being so nice to me? These people are not supposed to be nice! They’re supposed to be cruel! They’re supposed to be evil, ruthless monsters! 

“That sounds like fun,” I say, the words as bitter as acid. I am a terrible person. She is genuine and kind and going out of her way to be nice to me and I intend to manipulate all of that.

Mor grins as she walks back to the door. “Holler if you need anything, ok? My tent is just down the way.”

“Thanks,” I say as I reach for a warm, sticky bun. It’s so sweet and gooey in the center and I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything so good in my life, yet, when I swallow, it might as well be sand. What have I gotten myself into? What kind of monster am I if I do this?

I set the bun back down on the tray and put my head in my hands. If I do this, am I just as bad as Rhysand?

------

Rhysand doesn’t come back until nightfall. Mor had come by hours ago with a tray for dinner, and had stayed for over an hour, talking about a lot of nothing, just to keep me company. I found out that she’s married to someone named Cassian, though she confessed after a bit of wine that Rhysand had orchestrated the union to get her away from her father, and that neither of them cared for each other in that way. It served the both of them to have the title, and while they shared a tent, there was little more than friendship between them. She’s very talkative, even with the smallest bit of wine, not that I minded, after several hours alone with my thoughts, it was nice to have something else to think about other than how I might sell my soul to get out of here. By the time she’d left and I’d made myself comfortable in the massive bed, I could only faintly make out the sounds of hoofbeats in the distance.

I’d be a liar if I said my heart rate doesn’t spike at the sound.

It isn’t like I was still snooping through his stuff--truth be told I’d forgotten there was still stuff to look through--but I sit up in a panic all the same, trying to figure out where I need to be to look the most innocent. Had I left anything out of place? 

I’m about to jump out of bed and double check the locks on the chests when Rhysand stalks back into the tent, completely covered in blood.

I can’t do anything other than stare, unsure if the blood dripping from his hair and down his face is from the gash across his temple or the gore that looks like it had been hurled at the left side of his head, chunks of something clinging to his ear.

There’s a small area behind the bed with a basin of water and some clean towels and he goes right to it, tearing off the leather gauntlets at his wrists and then his very damaged chest piece. Both make a heavy thwack as they hit the rug, a puddle forming beneath them. 

“Are-are you ok?” There are too many questions in my head, this one slips out first as I twist to look at him over the headboard of the bed. 

He winces as he pokes at the cut on his temple, “Fine,” is all I get before he cups water in his hands and does his best to clean the gore off his face. He’s making a mess. I’m tempted to crawl out of bed and throw a towel on the floor to spare the rug from damage, but the shadows that drift from his skin make me think better of it. 

Powers aren’t rare, especially among warlords, most of the fae need them to survive this barbaric society we live in, but I’ve never met anyone with such an obvious manifestation of them. Shadows trail off his shoulders, over his wings, twining around his powerful thighs. I can almost taste the darkness that leaks from him, even with the space between us. It is palpable and tangible and tied to his anger. A button I don’t want to push in any way. I sink a little lower into the mattress, using the headboard as a shield, just in case. 

“What happened?” I ask softly. 

He yanks a towel off the little drying rack next to the basin so hard it snaps like a whip and I flinch a little involuntarily. “We got ambushed.” He wets the towel and starts running it over his hair. When he unties the braids in the back, clumps of gore fall to the floor. “My sentinels spotted some enemy scouts this morning, when we followed them back, they led us right into a trap.”

Please don’t be Tamlin. Please don’t be Tamlin. “Did you find out who it was?”

“I have my suspicions,” he tosses the ruined towel on a floor and reaches for another to wipe off his arms and chest. “But none of them were marked.”

Not typically my brother’s style, but I can’t be totally sure. My anxiety sits like a weight in my stomach. “Any casualties?” 

“None of mine,” he growls. “Just some scrapes. Even unprepared, my men are lethal.”

Not as reassuring as I assume he thinks it is.

“We brought a few survivors back, I’ll know who sent them by morning at the latest.”

If I can get a good look at them, I can know for sure they’re not Tam’s men… “What will you do with them?”

He starts untying the laces of his pants and I hurriedly turn away, a blush creeping up my cheeks. I know he thinks we’re mates, but Cauldron have a little decency!

“Azriel will get the information I need out of them,” he says and I hear the sound of his boots and pants hitting the floor. “And then I will make an example out of them.”

It’s suddenly colder in here than it was a moment ago. I grab a pelt and pull it up to my chin as I draw my knees up to my chest.

There’s a beat, the only sound the scraping of a towel over his skin, and then I’m suddenly very aware of his presence at my back, his shadow looming over me. I sink a little deeper into the mattress, heart in my throat.

“This bothers you?” He asks quietly.

I’m glad there’s a thick layer of wood between us, it means I still have time to reach for my knife. “I-” Mother’s Tits what am I supposed to say?! It’s not like it matters, and maybe I could spin it to fit the narrative I need him to see in me, but the words escape me. No one has ever asked me what I think of the senseless violence that has plagued us since Hybern destroyed the world. Regardless of our boundary lines and markings, we all kill and maim each other to survive; we bleed and die and force others to do the same all for the slightest chance that we might escape that fate one more day. And I hate it! I’ve always hated it. I clung to my parents’ stories of better worlds because I’d wanted so desperately to be in one. 

“I don’t like violence,” I whisper. The first unaltered truth I’ve given him; the only unaltered truth I’ll give him.

He leans against the headboard, the wood groaning beneath his weight. “I don’t either,��� Rhysand confesses.

I almost laugh. Death Incarnate hates violence? But when I tilt my head back to look at him, I see the weight of that burden in his eyes. He places his forehead atop his hands, sighing heavily and it’s like I can feel that weight in my chest. 

“I didn’t…” another breath, “I will do what is necessary for my people, no matter what it costs me, but… but it is heavy.”

I know the burden of leading a people is heavy, I have watched it tear Tam apart for decades. My brother had been kind once, had loved and laughed and had stayed up for hours teaching me how to play the fiddle when we were kids. Becoming the leader of our people had taken all those good and kind things and hardened them. The brother I had grown up with and the one I now answered to wouldn’t recognize each other. I hated myself for it, but the empathetic part of me can’t help but wonder if Rhysand had been like that too? Had he been kind and happy before he took over this position? Had becoming a lord stripped him of the things that had made him loveable and turned him into the monster that I knew?

Would being here turn me into a monster I didn’t recognize?

“It must be hard, to carry it alone,” I say slowly, weighing each word like it could be my last. This is a very vulnerable and volatile position to be in. I’m still very aware of the power that drifts off, his still bare, skin. I cannot upset it. But, can I find something useful here?

I’m playing with fire and I can feel it.

“I am used to it,” he replies.

Another beat and then he softly adds, “It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

His response simultaneously makes my heart ache and my mind spin. I hadn’t found anything of use in this tent, despite the hours I’d spent searching, and maybe that was a sign. Maybe there was nothing in this tent, because the information was all contained to one thing: The male standing behind me. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a coincidence that this morning I had been wondering if I should try and seduce him. My assessment about it being easy to do was already confirmed with this conversation, he was vulnerable, now more than ever, all it would take was a push in the right direction…

I push myself back up onto my knees and turn so I can face him. He looks small here, the wet strands of his hair clinging to his face. 

His violet eyes watch my every move like a snake tracking a mouse. 

There’s still a headboard between us. Still time to change my mind. Still time to keep my soul intact. What kind of person am I if I do this? 

I swallow the lump in my throat as I tentatively reach out to take his hand. At least there is no more blood on them. Touching him doesn’t immediately make fire rain down from the heavens so maybe that’s a sign the world won’t totally end if I do this. This male took everything from me, and yet, under his own admission, he’d damn his soul for his people. If a monster could do that, couldn’t I do it for the sake of my people?

“How can I help you?” I ask softly. I hope it sounds convincing, that the shakiness in my voice sounds like a lack of confidence and not because I’m trying not to throw up. This was not the plan this morning! But I’ve gotten nowhere all day and suddenly there’s an opening before me and I have to try and take it, don’t I? It might be my only chance, especially if there is fighting on the horizon. If I can distract him, or figure out who Tam needs to join forces with to finally be rid of Rhysand once and for all, I have to take it. 

His violet eyes widen as they settle on the placement of my hand on top of his, as if he hadn’t thought it possible that I would willingly comfort him. 

Am I doing this too fast?

“If… if this thing between us is real, I want to be useful. I want to be a good mate.” Kill me. Please, put me out of my misery, what in the Seven Hells am I doing?! “Please, show me how I can be a good mate?”

My parents are rolling in their graves.

He moves faster than most fae should be able to, hand sliding out from under mine to reach out and thread into my hair, pulling my body flush against the headboard as his lips meet mine. Cauldron, for a male who looked so awful seconds ago, his lips are sinfully soft. It takes a second for me to even register what I’m doing, and by the time that my brain catches up, he’s sliding his tongue past my teeth and I’m letting him, lips parting, head tilting to give him more access. Having the headboard still between us is both an uncomfortable angle to be at and a relief, because at least I have a little time to accept the fact that I just told Death he could bed me if that would make him feel better.

Tamlin can never find out this is how I saved our people. 

But this is for my people. I can play with fire for them.

There are worse ways to do it, I suppose. He’s certainly not a bad kisser. 

Hell, he’s actually a really, really good kisser, if I let myself stop thinking for two seconds and just relax, I might actually enjoy it.

He pulls away by a mere fraction, forehead resting on mine, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “Distract me?” He asks, voice so low and husky I think he might actually be begging.

I hate to admit it, but I do get a thrill of seeing such a powerful male so desperate in my hands. Of course, I can’t let him know that. “Show me?”

It’s all the prompting he needs to release me long enough to climb into bed. I’d forgotten he was already undressed until he was pulling the blanket off and climbing on top of me, all warm skin and damp hair and more desperate kisses. Large hands slide under my sweater, exploring every inch of me as he continues to kiss me like a man starved.

My reservations begin to slip with each new brush of his callused hands over my skin, trailing higher and higher. It’s been awhile since I’ve taken anyone to bed, even longer since I’d had the time to let anybody explore my body so meticulously. It’s good. My eyes drifting shut, body arching into his touch. I don’t know which of us comes up for air first, or which pulls the other back for more. As easy as it is to end up in this position, I’m surprised how readily I want it, him. Something tugs at the skin beneath my breastbone, like there’s a thread being yanked on, warmth flaring down that little spot, hotter and hotter with each passing second. I don’t have enough time to consider what that is, what it means, before his lips trail down to my neck, teeth scraping my tender flesh.

I instinctively drag a hand through his hair as he nips and bites at my throat, surely leaving marks. If I ever had any intention to push him away, I lose it as his large hand kneads my breast, slender fingers moving to tweak my nipple. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter as a moan slips out of me. 

Aren’t I supposed to be distracting him?

Before I can ask, he’s yanking my worn sweater over my head and tossing it over his shoulder. Those intense violet eyes run over me,  a grin stretching across his handsome features as he gives my breast another squeeze, but the teasing stops when he spots the scar across my abdomen. Or maybe the fact that you can count my ribs. Maybe both. His hands drift lower, methodically, not teasing but studying, like he might crack open my rib cage and dissect whatever is beneath my skin. 

“Who did this to you?” He growls, hand trailing over the scar.

My whole body trembles under his touch, mind reeling as I try to make sense of the sudden shift in tone. I don’t want to talk about this. Not with him. I’d already admitted too much to Mor earlier. We need to get back to the distraction. “Hunting accident,” I lie.

His hand remains over the scar, “Don’t lie.”

This is too intense, I’m too vulnerable in this position, I’ve lost all my power. My head spins, trying to think of something clever, trying to get myself back on track. Why did I think I could do this? Seduction is not my skill set. Outright anything is beyond me. I move behind the scenes, quietly with my head down, I am not anyone’s first line of defense. I’m not even sure I’m the last line of defense.

My heart’s pounding in my chest and I know he can feel it beneath his hand, because his face softens. His free hand comes to brush my cheek, pushing a few wild strands of hair from my face. Now I’m really shaking. This is far, far too intimate. 

“You’re my mate,” he says gently. “I will kill anyone who hurts you.”

I don’t want that kind of power looming over me the rest of my life. I swallow the lump in my throat. “You wanted a distraction. This-”

The tent flap bursts open without warning, a flurry of shadows rushing in. Rhysand barely has time to grab a blanket to cover the both of us before a male steps out of those shadows.

“Azriel!” Rhysand snarls. “This better be fucking important!”

The male stands at the edge of the bed, fighting leathers splattered in blood, his dark hair falling over a set of deep hazel eyes. He spins a bloody dagger between hands scarred beyond repair. “They’ve talked.”

Shit.

Rhysand is still leaning over me, body and wings shielding me from Azriel’s view. “And?”

Hazel eyes flick to me before returning to his lord. “Amarantha.”

I don’t know if I should sigh with relief or not. Tamlin is still safe. My people are still safe. But having Amarantha knocking at the door while I’m trapped inside here is not on my to do list. My whole life we’ve avoided her and Hybern’s forces by not making too big a fuss. If they want some of our territory, we push into another lord’s to make sure there’s space for us without any direct confrontation with her. We keep our heads down. We don’t make deals or bargain with the other more tolerable lord’s for aid. We stay within our own borders and we stay out of her way. But the Illyrians? They pick fights with her. They apparently have no qualms with torturing her men. 

“I’ll be right there,” Rhysand says in dismissal and his shadowy companion disappears as quickly as he came. 

“I have to deal with this,” he sighs, leaning back on his knees.

I’m relieved, I really am. I tried to do this way too quickly. I am relieved.

So why do I feel a knot in my stomach?

Rhysand leans in long enough to press a kiss to my forehead, the move tender and gentle, and nothing like the male that had entered this tent covered in blood just moments ago. It makes my head hurt. I know the kind of male he is. I know the monster that lies behind this pretty package. So why is he pretending to be anything else? Why act like this with me? What game is he playing?

“Maybe we can finish this later?” There’s a hint of teasing there, but it feels more like an apology.

I want a later. I want to feel those full lips on my skin again.

I absolutely don’t want a later. This whole thing is a mistake.

“Yeah,” I saw anyway.

He’s dressed and gone before I can ask myself why I agreed to it again. I put my head in my hands, palms pressed into my eyes. What am I doing here? And why is it starting to feel more complicated than it should be?

---------------------------------

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As always, let me know if you want to be added to the list :) Thx to everyone who has liked, commented or reblogged you're all angels <3

[sleepyhutcherson]

futturman comforting you headcannons

masterlist | requested by @futturmansgf (babe im sorry this is so late xx hope you enjoy!)

pairing: josh futturman x gn!reader

tags: comfort, fluff, angst, established relationship, best friends to lovers but it’s not really mentioned, mention of family issues (nothing specific stated), use of y/n.

author’s note: finally getting back to focusing on my requests! this is so rushed and not my best work for sure but i still hope it’s enjoyable <3 also not edited so excuse any mistakes!

First off, I 100% believe Josh is the type of boyfriend to tell you to call him whenever you need him—and he empathises how it could be three in the morning and if you call him he will pick up!

He’ll probably be up gaming, playing either Biotic Wars or something.

It doesn’t matter how into his game he is, the moment he sees your contact appear on his screen, he puts his controller down, mumbling a quick “hold on” to whoever he’s playing with before muting his mic.

“Hey, Y/N,” he’ll say through the line, his voice gentle. The moment he hears you sniffle and the sadness in your tone, his heart breaks. “Is everything okay, love?” He asks out of concern.

He picks up your call, you didn’t often call him this late so this must’ve been important. “Hey, Y/N, is everything okay?” He asks through the line, his voice gentle. He hears you sniffle and he can tell something is wrong (also because it’s not everyday that you call him this late.)

He listens to you explain what occurred, and before you can get too in detail he asks you if he can come over.

He listens to a brief explanation of what happened, you want to say more but you’re so overwhelmed with everything, and you’re partially scared you’re bothering him.

Josh knows you through and through, he has since you two were really young. So, he can sense you’re struggling and that you clearly want to say more so he doesn’t hesitate to ask you what he wants to, immediately blurting it out once you’re done speaking.

“What?” You ask, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“Can I come over?” He repeats, his tone gentle. You don’t know why but it surprises you—it surprises you that someone is willing to drive late at night just to hear you ramble about your problems.

You’re quite, no answer leaving your lips so quickly Josh says, “you—I don’t have to, er, if you—you don’t want me to but…” he trails off.

Truth is, he wants to hold you. He wants to be there for you physically if he can. If you’ll allow him to.

If you want, he’ll listen to you over the phone of course but he prefers to be there with you.

“Josh, it’s three in the morning…” you respond. This is not you saying no, though, you’re just still unsure if he wants to actually come over.

You hear him let out a soft chuckle. “I know, Y/N/N, but I really don’t mind. You clearly need someone right now.”

You agree and both of you hang up, Josh not even bothering to tell his friends (who were still on the game) bye, simply leaving the game.

Yes, Josh Futturman is the type of boyfriend to drive down to your house even if it’s three in the morning.

He doesn’t show up empty handed either, probably stops at some ‘open 24 hours’ shop to grab you some of your favourite snacks.

The moment you open the door, he moves forward to hug you. You were still crying, a little less but he could see your teary eyes and your stained cheeks.

With that, you both get cosy on the sofa in your living room, Josh patting his lap for you to lay your head so he can play with your hair while you tell him about your issues.

He listens the whole time, he doesn’t talk until your done.

He honestly can’t imagine what you’re going through, how your family has the capability to treat you like that. It pains him that you’re being treated so poorly by them.

He plants soft kisses on your head whenever you start crying, wiping your tears away.

When you’re done, he cups your face in his hands, gently wiping your tears away with his thumb. He looks into his eyes, his own glossy with probably tears. “I’m so sorry, love,” he frowns. He hates seeing you like this. He especially hates that your family’s causing this. “I know you’re struggling, I know I can’t take your pain away but I want you to know that you’re, like, the most important person to me. It might not mean much but I love you and I’m sorry your family hasn’t shown you that love but you are loved by me, okay?”

He always knows what to say in these situations.

He knows how to make you feel loved even in moments like these.

He peppers kisses over you face, even your tear stained cheeks, whispering “I love you”’s between each kiss.

Lastly, he’ll land at your lips, kissing you so softly and lovingly. He takes a moment between the kiss to tell you how perfect you are which makes you smile softly.

Your snacks that he brought over go ignored for now, Josh holding you in his arms until you fall asleep, finally at ease.

[artificialbreezy]

Omg dad Noah is the cutest but could you imagine him being so much more protective of his pregnant partner

i feel like Noah is just protective of the ones he loves period but when he sees the little plus sign on that stick it’s like something changes in him. he takes you EVERYWHERE. your midwife will be on the tour with you because god forbid anything happen to you. you guys find out when he’s on tour, your standing in a random hotel bathroom in New York and your pacing bc you’re so worried it’s gonna fuck up his career but Noah is anxiously waiting bc he wants his to be positive so bad. he hasn’t told you but he’s been thinking about this for months now. he hears the timer go off and looks at you and says “you wanna check it or do you want me too?” and you just kinda shrug and he checks it and his eyes immediately water and your stomach drops straight to your ass because you think he’s gonna leave and he looks at you with the happiest eyes and biggest smile, “baby, we’re gonna be parents!” and you’re like “wait. you’re not mad?” and he’s like “oh my god no. i’m so excited. we’re gonna have a little us running around before we know it.” and he’s immediately making plans for you to move in so he can watch you because he refuses to leave you alone. he’s gotta keep an eye on you. he makes sure you take your prenatal every morning, if you want any sort of take out he’s on his way to get it, when you show any sign of pain or discomfort he’s immediately asking “what’s wrong? do we need to go to the hospital? how can i help? baby why don’t you sit down?” and you’re like “noah i’m fine it’s okay, im growing a whole ass human inside my stomach. my guts have moved to make room for your baby-“ he’d interrupt you so fast, “our baby.” and you’d just smile and sit down like he said so he’d calm down. now he can’t keep his eyes on you 100% of the time. like when he’s on stage. but he’s also worried about the loudness of the venue being too much for your little ole body to handle now that your 7 months pregnant, so he makes you sit in the back with Davis. he’ll run back to the room during song breaks to check on you. he’s totally missed his cue a couple times because he got caught up feeling his baby kick. when he got back to the stage, he’d announce “sorry guys my girlfriend’s here and our baby was kicking like crazy and she never lets me feel her kick so i HAD too”. If noah has an interview he’s texting you the whole time and he’s making Jolly, Folio, and Nick keep their EYE on you. and he knows you wouldn’t tell him if something was up because he’s busy so he’s message the band group chat asking for the opinions on how you are and it’s always. she just has lunch or she’s sitting on the couch. it brings him ease knowing his family is keeping you safe when he can’t. bro and when you go into labor? he is your voice, your advocate. you guys talked so much about your birth plan (he wrote it all down so it would go according to plan) and when the hospital (if the hospital) is being picky he shuts it down FAST. “we are doing this the way she wants. no ands, ifs, or buts about it. the only reason we’re stepping outside of this plan is if it’s life or death”. he definitely would talk you through the pushing, he’d hold your hand, kiss your forehead. it broke his heart seeing you crying because of the pain but he knew you’d be okay. when he heard the cries of his little baby, the man wouldn’t be able to hold back his tears. he’d look at you, tears streaming down his face, “you did it mama.”

i got so carried away with this omfg

[ashleyfilm]

Seeing Clearly - Chapter 6. The Nightmare

Please leave comments, I'd love to know your thoughts. And if you feel inclined to reblog, that would be so nice.

Chapter Warnings: cursing, SMUT, angst *im sorry* - Minors - DNI

Characters: Jackson!Joel Miller x F!Reader Plus Size. F!OC was recommended to me since there's a lot of description of her but I'm writing her as You (Reader) so hopefully you can still imagine yourself. Black hair, glasses, tattoos, big body, wears dark clothes, won't stop talking. Joel is tv show Jackson Joel.

Story Summary: Joel just saved your life, begrudgingly. He doesn't know exactly why but he brings you back to Jackson and you ingratiate yourself into his very small circle and his life. This takes place after season 1 of TLOU and season 2 doesn't exist in my brain because no.

Chapter Summary: The Nightmares that have plagued you come back and Joel helps you through it, but getting closer isn't easy. 1.2K

Thank you to @saradika-graphics for the book line divider. :)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6. The Nightmare

By some miracle, you haven’t had any of your nightmares since you arrived in Jackson two weeks ago. That is until early this morning when, in your sleep, you toss and turn and yell until you’re woken up by Joel’s large hands on your shoulders and his warm breath in your face. “Hey, hey, shhh, you’re okay. It was a nightmare, you’re okay. Look at me.” You realize your cheeks are wet, how long have you been crying? “Joel?” Your voice is scratchy, how long have you been yelling? “Darlin’, you didn’t wake up for me. It took almost ten minutes of me shaking you to wake you up,” Joel says, quietly as he can but you hear so much pain in his voice. “I’m sorry,” you say, “Raiders, I was caught for, for...two years, a little while before I came here. The nightmares, I haven’t had one since I got here, I thought maybe I wouldn’t. I’m so sorry.” Joel is kneeling next to your bed, hands loosening around you, and you see he’s in his pajamas and his hair is all messy from sleep. He sits back a bit, and you see he’s visibly angry, “Nothin’ to be sorry about. That’s never gonna happen to you again, I promise you that.” Still trying to catch your breath you say, “You can’t promise that, Joel.” He sits up again, closer to you. “You are here now, look at me,” and you do, its blurry without your glasses but he’s so close you can see into his eyes, “You’re here now and I’m not going to let anything hurt you like that ever again.” You try to nod but he continues, “Oh, god, you’re shaking so much. What can I do?” After a moment of silence you ask, “Will, will you hold me?” and before you can finish your question, he climbs up beside you, puts his arms around you and has your cheek resting over his heart that’s beating wildly. As his heart calms, so do you and you fall back asleep.

When you wake, you’re disoriented. You’re asleep on your side but you feel a large, warm presence behind you, and a large arm draped over you. For a moment, you freeze in terror and Joel, who was already awake feels the shift, grabbing you gentle but firm to turn you so you face him. He says your name over and over, looking into your eyes and you finally breathe. Then he can finally breathe, and he lays his forehead against yours hovering over you, his eyes closed. Before you can think, you reach up to cup his cheek and he leans into it, snuggling your palm. And you think you’ve never felt this safe in your whole life. You’re so close. It would only take a slight movement of your neck, and your lips would touch. And then they do. His lips are so soft and so warm and your lips slot so perfectly with his. He doesn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, licking at your bottom lip with his tongue, begging to be let in. You gladly welcome him, and he licks into your mouth, exploring you, tasting you. He tastes like mint and a hint of late-night coffee. Without thought, both your bodies start to move with each other and a moan escapes your lips only to be swallowed by Joel’s ravenous mouth against yours. You feel his hardness on your thigh, rubbing up against you. You start to run your fingers through his beautiful hair. It’s so soft.

Suddenly, there’s a slam of a door, “Joel?” Tommy yells from downstairs and Joel jerks away from you. Wild-eyed, dark and full of desire, lips pink and swollen from kissing. He stands up off the bed and you’re still trying to catch your breath, laid out on the bed in front of him, looking open and wanting. You can feel the slick pooling at the entrance between your legs. “It’s Tommy, I gotta,” he starts. “I know, it’s okay.” You smile shyly at him; he doesn’t smile back. And then he’s gone. You lay your head back on the pillow and sigh. Smiling ear to ear but also nervous about what almost happened. Does he want you as much as you want him? Fuck, you hope so. After what you’ve been through, you deserve to have something you want, right?  You roll over to find the pillow Joel was laying on and inhale his scent.

A bit later, and fully dressed, you make your way downstairs to see Joel standing in the living room and Ellie in a chair looking utterly pissed off and you wonder what the hell you just walked into. Ellie stands looking at you sadly, then stares at Joel and stalks off for her garage. Once she’s gone Joel starts speaking, not really looking at you, not in the eyes at least. “They’ve got a place ready for you, above the bakery. It’s ready today. S’what Tommy came to tell me.” It’s like a punch to your gut. You knew this was going to happen, but you didn’t think it’d be this fast. You almost thought that maybe it wouldn’t ever happen. It was going well here with you and Joel and Ellie. Right? God, you’re stupid, they’re each other’s family. You’re just a new person in town and they were just doing you a favor. It wasn’t your bedroom, it wasn’t your wolf mug, Ellie wasn’t your daughter, and Joel wasn’t yours. Your eyes brim with tears and you ask quietly, “What about this morning, Joel,” He cuts you off, his voice low, “Was a mistake, won’t happen again, this’ll be better for you.” You feel like he slapped you and stand to run upstairs so he doesn’t see you cry, again.

Tommy comes to help you with the two small boxes of things to take to the new place. He looks from you to Joel and neither of you will look at each other or him. Joel puts one more thing in the box Tommy is carrying as Ellie emerges to give you a hug before you start walking off the front porch. The hug starts off awkward until it turns into the most amazing hug you’ve had in decades. “You have to come visit me, I’m above the bakery, we’ll eat so much bread.” Ellie smiles, laying her head on your shoulder, Joel walks off into the house. “I’m so angry at him, he’s being a stupid asshole and a coward,” Ellie says, and Tommy looks back into the house seemingly trying to piece together what’s going on. “It’s okay, Ellie. I’ll see you, promise.”

After Tommy leaves you at your new apartment, you sit and stare at the floor, it’s a cute place, perfect for just you. A small kitchen, a breakfast nook by the front window, one bedroom and a pretty bathroom with a tub and a shower. And it smells amazing, but you can’t enjoy it. You feel cold being away from him, your lips feel lost without his. You don’t feel safe anymore. What had you done? What did you do to make him push you away so hard. He wouldn’t even look at you. And for the first time, since he saved you, you wish he hadn’t. Because this loneliness was worse than all the other times. This hurt more than you thought it could. And now you have to start over, alone, again.

Taglist: @somedayheaven @elegantduckturtle

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[enchantedflameandflower]

Gavin Magary x reader part 3!

Summary: When you started working at the lumber mill, you couldn't help but instantly fall in lust with the strong, quiet insanely attractive younger brother. But you're determined to keep it professional, until one work trip suddenly changes it all.

Notes: Thank you to @kus-babygirl for encouraging me to post and with writing the extra descriptions of Karl’s gorgeous eyes for this chapter!

@shirley-girly @jynx15 @everchar-of-the-shire @scraftsku35 @deathlesun @billybutcherxyou

co-written with CheshireCatSmile

Warnings: none for this chapter but there will be smut, and tons of it!

Karl Urban Masterlist

part 2

Part 3

Gavin expertly turns the wheel into the spin, keeping his foot on the brake and he brings the truck to a hard stop sideways at the pull off for the trailhead.

“Fuck,” he exclaims under his breath, pulling up on the e-break and immediately turning to you. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" He slides his large hand over your shoulder, warm and firm, as if he has to physically check you’re still there, you’re still whole.

Your heart is racing and you take a deep breath. “Y-yes…” you finally manage. His hand rubs at your shoulder and your not sure he even realizes he’s doing it but it immediately calms you. “Yes I’m okay, thank you. Good thing you’re so good with the wheel. Are you okay?”

Gavin’s face is pale and ashen, the fear in his eyes more than evident, the stress clear in his expression. "Yeah,” he breathes, fully looking over you and squeezing your shoulder once more. “Yeah. I'm fine. Let's hope the axle is okay, too. At least we know my brakes are good." He lets out a huff as he finally sits back and takes his seat belt off. "I don't know what I would've done if you'd been injured," he says softly looking away but you can see the real concern mixed with some deeper emotion in his dark eyes before he turns.

You know something serious had happened last year and his brother and sister-in-law had almost been killed but you didn’t know many details beyond the rumors. You can’t imagine what that must’ve done to him. “Hey, I’m good, Gavin,” you lean forward to catch his gaze. “Promise.” You give him another soft smile and reach down to grab and squeeze his hand. “Do you need to check the axle before we start?”

"Yeah, I'd better, just to be on the safe side. You can unload a few things while I check if you don't mind. Leave the heavy stuff for me." He gives your shoulder another rub and gets out of the truck going around to the front.

“Of course.” You're surprised by how much the temperature has dropped when you get out and you grab your warm raincoat and bundle up before you start working, taking the things you’ll need out of the back of his truck and setting them aside.

His more playful mood seems to have waned now but you still can’t help enjoying watching him while he moves, checking for damage. You know how much all of his work means to him. And you don’t mind if his mood is heavier for awhile. You know what that’s like, and you’re happy to just be with him.

After he checks under the truck, he moves it to a better spot further off the road then he comes around to the rear, brushing his hands off and takes out his heavier, larger pack, putting it on and adjusting the weight. "As far as I can tell everything checks out." He looks down at you and smiles softly reaching out to brush some stray locks of hair back from your face. "I’m really glad you're okay."

You mean to tell him again that you’re perfectly good but you get completely lost in his eyes. There’s a pain there, something buried deep that you can’t help but feel in your own heart and your breath catches. And you can’t look away. From a distance, his eyes could be mistaken for brown, but up close, they’re really a mixture of deep ambers and greens, changing with which way the light is shining, the same as the colors of the deep forests around you.

Gavin holds your gaze, searching for a long moment then shakes his head the tiniest bit as though trying to order his thoughts, and sighs softly. "C'mon, trailblazer...we'd better get a move on," he finally relaxes again, back to his light teasing. "We should try to make the most of this light." He picks up a couple pouches and clips them to his pack, then adjusts your pack so the weight is distributed evenly. When his knuckles brush against your shoulders you have to physically hold back a pleased shiver. He doesn’t seem to notice to your relief, and he starts up the trail with you.

It’s a good hike. Not too hard but enough to get your blood pumping again and lots of fresh air. Your legs might be a little sore in the morning though, you think, after all the office work you’ve been doing. “Do we need many notes on the cut site, or more just doing a visual check?” you ask him.

"I think a little of both. A visual's always good for me but some of these people are more into the finer details when they're making an investment. I can get a feel for things to make a pitch but it would be nice to have your notes to back me up. Your attention to detail was one of the things that impressed Jack and me." He stops for a moment to rest and tighten a strap on his pack.

“Thank you,” you murmur and you know you’re blushing again. “That sounds like a good plan.” We have to hike a little further before we get to where the cut site will start and you pause to pull your notebook out of the pocket of your pack then immediately scribble a note guessing the distance from the road and the need for a path for the equipment. Gavin goes ahead a little and when you look up, he’s climbing a small hill in front of you and you can’t help but watch the way his jeans fit so perfectly on his swaggering hips…

He bends over to pick up a stray pine cone and inspect it more closely and you can't tear your eyes away from the picture made by his jeans stretching tightly over his perfect masculine butt and hips as he crouches then, sadly, stands again.

For a moment, you wonder how you will ever survive this whole week with just the two of you out here alone. You told yourself you wouldn’t get involved with anyone ever again, or at least not for a very long time, but out here in the forest everything about him seems accentuated wonderfully. Suddenly you realize he’s saying something and you’ve missed most of it. “Oh, hm what? Sorry…” Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips.

Gavin chuckles softly. "Where'd you go sweetheart? You looked like you were a million miles away from here." He looks back up the trail. Turning to you again he says, "I was just asking if you have what you need? I'd like to get a little farther along then we can look for a place to camp for the night. "

You’re starting to think maybe all you need is him. “Oh yes, I’m all good.” And then you realize he called you sweetheart again. “I was just thinking how much I love being all the way out here. It’s beautiful.” You tuck your notebook away again.

"Sometimes with all the work and trying to get ahead...I forget to stop and take a look around. It's nice coming out here with you. Seeing it through your eyes it's all new and full of beauty and wonder again."

You’re sure your expression is glowing, you feel like you are, but neither of you says anything else. You carry on for a ways and then finally come to a nice flat spot with a small clearing but still sheltered by some of the taller trees. “This looks nice,” you say, setting down your pack with him. “Man, I really need to get in shape,” you groan a little good-naturedly.

He smiles, his charming dimple showing, and looks you up and down assessingly. "Well...you look to be in fine shape to me." Then he winks. Yes...definitely flirting.

You laugh softly. “Well, thank you, if you say so. Should we get the tent set up and a fire going? I feel like it might rain tonight.” Your stomach flutters wildly thinking about tonight, with him. You can’t even remember the last time someone even hugged you and a part of you just wants that feeling.

He looks up at the sky between the trees. "Yeah, I think you might be right about that. We'd better get set up before the storm rolls in farther." He lowers his pack to the ground and inspects the area for the best location then unrolls the tent. You start to gather up some wood for a fire and look up to see him efficiently setting up the tent. His sleeves are rolled up and you can see the muscles in his forearms and the way his brow is just a little furrowed in concentration.

You have to take a breath. You’ve seen him work before, of course, but it feels different now. What is it about a man’s forearms? You’re not sure but looking at them right now makes your mouth water. You force yourself to turn away though and start the fire so you don’t look useless. The crackling of the first twigs burning is like music.

It's merry crackle is a welcome sound as the sun begins to set and the woods get darker. You put your hands out to warm them then pull out a bag with a few cooking utensils. You can't help wanting to sneak another peek at him working but when you glance over your shoulder, you're met with those dark hazel eyes watching you. Caught, he gives you a lopsided grin and turns back to secure the tent.

The warmth he gives you from the inside feels just as good as the warmth from the fire on the outside. Yep, you’re done for.

He finishes up with the tent then and you spread out a stiff wool blanket to sit on by the fire. “So what’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

part 4

Really, really hope you enjoy! Next up, vulnerable confessions, campfires and snuggling in the cold with that gorgeous man! Let me know if you’d like a tag!

[angel2el]

Blackened Haze (Elvis Presley) - PART ONE -- "Sunset"

My gosh I'm so excited to share this with you all. It's a story that explores a possibility where a reader, Elvis's longtime girlfriend, is there to help him through his mother's death and work towards happiness and peace. This is a bit sad at first. I will say I felt a little solemn at times. But I am proud of it and I love it and I hope you all do too. I love you all so, so much. I do not have a taglist but if you would like me to tag you at the next parts I will. The colonel is mentioned but is not a villain due to the fact that at this point, he and Elvis had good relations.

“I came as soon as I heard you were here,” you say softly as you enter the hospital’s private waiting room Elvis is in.  He’s sitting on the blue couch with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands when you first walk in, but he lifts his head up when he hears your voice.

“Hi, honey,” he says, voice raspy and weak, waving his hand for you to come over.  You approach him and set your flowers on the table in front of you two before sitting down.

“How is she?” You ask.  His mother was admitted three days ago, and he’d arrived around twelve hours ago.   It’s 4 in the morning now and Elvis doesn’t look like he’s slept a wink yet.  You put a hand on his forehead to brush his hair out of his face.  He doesn’t look like he’s been crying, but he’s pale and his eyes are bloodshot from a lack of sleep.

“They haven’t told me nothing,” he says.  His voice is still low and glum.  You move your hand to his cheek.

“Have you slept at all?” You ask, moving your thumb up and down his cheek.

“Not yet,” he says.

“Lay your head on my lap and try to sleep some,” you say, scooting away so he has enough room to lay down.

“I..I can’t.  What if somethin’ happens to her while I’m asleep?” he asks, rubbing his eyes.

“I’ll wake you up if anything happens.  I promise,” you say.  “You need to get some sleep or you’ll barely be able to make it through tomorrow.”  You put your hand on his waist and gently start to ease him down.  He hesitates at first, but eventually complies, resting his head on your lap.  “Just relax,” you say, putting a hand on his shoulder.  You feel his body heave with a shaky sigh.  You can feel his nerves, how hot he is from the stress, the cold sweat on the back of his neck.  He can’t even be with his mother right now because Vernon is with her.  That must be the hardest part.  She’s everything to him.

You can’t imagine what life would be like without her.  You both know she’s very, very sick.  But your heart won’t let you think about losing the sweet, loving woman who welcomed you with open arms into their home when you and Elvis first started dating, and again welcomed you into Graceland when you moved in.  The woman who always cared for you, and more importantly, for Elvis.  She’s his best friend.  The person he’s closest to in the whole world.  He wouldn’t be able to go on without her.

You calm yourself out of the thoughts of losing her by closing your eyes and rubbing his shoulder up and down, trying to think more positive thoughts.  Gladys is going to live.  She’s going to get better.  You blink slowly, tiredly as you keep your touch on him, feeling him start to fall asleep.  He’s exhausted.  He may have been up for over 24 hours at this point, considering he’d been in the car most of yesterday, stressing about Gladys.  Your chest aches with sympathy at the thought of his suffering over the last few days.  Luckily, he’d been granted leave from army training to see his mother.  But that didn’t do much to ease the fear and pain.  You look at his hands, which were shaking slightly.  His nails are bitten down well below his nailbeds, a nervous habit he’d developed as a teen.  You hear him sigh softly.  He was asleep now.  Thank goodness.  You lean your own head back and close your eyes, letting your breathing slow.  You hadn’t been up nearly as long as Elvis, but you’d barely been able to sleep these past few days knowing Gladys was suffering and Elvis was too.  A call had come at 3am this morning telling you Elvis was at the hospital now and had been for eleven hours, so you drove as fast as you could to the hospital to meet him.  Exhaustion and fear wracked your mind, just like him.  For Gladys, and for Elvis.  You put a hand on your forehead and try to calm yourself.  Gladys was going to live.  Everything was going to be okay.  You keep repeating that until deep, dreamless sleep welcomes you.

When you wake up to the waiting room’s door opening, Elvis is still in your lap.  You can tell it's been a long time because you’re absolutely starving.  You put your hand on his head and pat it as you watch a nurse with a tray of food approach the two of you.  Elvis shifts, slowly sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Honey?” he says, turning to you.

“I’m here.”  Your hand goes to his shoulder.

The nurse sets down a tray with two bowls of oatmeal in front of you, pushing your pink flowers – Gladys’ favorite color – aside.  “You two need to eat something.  Haven’t had a bite since you arrived,” she says sweetly.

“Is there any news?” Elvis asks.

The nurse shakes her head.  “I’m not your mama’s nurse, Mr. Presley.  I just got assigned to bring you food.  I don’t know anything.”

Elvis swallows and nods slowly.  “What…what time is it?”

“6pm.  You slept nearly fourteen hours.”

Elvis nods again, but he looks a little guilty.  “You needed it, baby,” you say, handing his spoon to him.  “You need to eat.”  The nurse leaves.

Elvis looks down at his oatmeal.  He doesn’t seem that interested in it, but you pick it up and set it in his hands anyways.  “I know you’re not hungry, but you gotta have something.”  You take a bite of your own oatmeal.  It wasn’t delicious, but you were starving.  

Elvis shook his head.  “My stomach’s in knots.  I can’t eat a thing.”

“I know.  You have to try.”  You take his spoon to scoop up a bite for him, putting it up to his mouth.  He eats it.  You can tell it instantly makes him realize how hungry he’d been.  “Eat the whole bowl,” you tell him, handing him the spoon and getting back to work on your own food.  Slowly, he nods and starts eating again.  It takes a great weight off your chest to see him eating.  You were a little worried about his state, but as he eats, a lot of color comes back into his face.  By the time he’s finished the bowl, you’re almost done with yours.  You take the last few bites and set down the empty bowl.

He looks a thousand times better now that he’s eaten.  “You feeling better?” You ask him, and he nods.

“It’s gonna be ok,” you say, pulling him into a hug and putting your hand on the back of his head.  You can feel his body relax against yours.

“I’m scared,” he whispers, his voice breaking.

“I know.  I know, Elvis.”  That’s all you can bring yourself to say, feeling emotional as he pours his feelings onto you.  You pull away from the hug and put your hands on the side of his face.  “We’re gonna get through this, ok?”

He nods.  “Ok.  Ok.”  You move your hands down to hold his, squeezing them.  His eyes look into yours.  He looks so tired and scared.  Younger than usual.  You smile at him, and he manages a weak smile back.

“Promise…promise me you’ll stay with me,” he asks, his voice trembling a little as he puts a hand on your cheek.

You nod.  “I will.  Forever.  I’ll stay with you no matter what.”  He visibly relaxes a little at this, like he’d been afraid of you leaving him.  You rub the side of his shoulder.  “You have nothing to worry about,” you promise, and he nods, sighing.  You open your mouth to talk more, but as you do, the door opens and a different nurse comes through.

“Mr. Presley?” she says.

“Yes?” Elvis turns to her, taking his hand off of you.

You turn to look at him.  His eyes are wide.

“Uh…your mother…she went into cardiac arrest,” the nurse says, tears starting to fill her eyes.

“What?” you ask.

“Her heart gave out.  She’s…gone.  I’m so sorry,” the nurse says, her voice breaking with sadness.  Gone?  The world stops for a moment, and you can’t feel anything, blinking over and over again until you snap out of it. 

You turn to Elvis.  He’s staring at the wall in front of him.  He swallows, but doesn’t move a muscle.  His eyes are wide.

You bite your lip to keep from crying.

“Would you like to see her and say goodbye, Mr. Presley?” the nurse asks.

Elvis’s lip starts to quiver and his brow furrows as he continues to stare at the wall.  You run your hand up his back.  He looks numb.  Incredibly disoriented.

“Elvis, honey,” you say, but he interrupts you.

“No.”  His voice is weak, but firm.  “She–she can’t be gone.”

You don’t know what to say, inhaling a shaky breath from your nose.  “I’m sorry,

honey,”  you say.

“She can’t be gone,” he repeats, turning to you.  You grab his hand.

“I’m so sorry,” you say.

“Mr. Presley, if you’d like to see her now, you can say your goodbyes,” the nurse repeats.  Elvis shakes his head.  It’s like he doesn’t believe this is real.

“Come on, honey,” You say, standing up.  He shakes his head, but you tug on him and he stands. He numbly follows, keeping your hand in his and his eyes on the floor.  As you walk out of the room, he opens his mouth as if to say something, but all that comes out is a shaky gasp.  You squeeze his hand.  “You’re okay.”

His jaw is shaking still as you follow the nurse into a private suite.  When she opens the door, Gladys is lying on the bed.  She looks peaceful.  She’s not breathing.  She is still.  Utterly lifeless.  It really hits you then, and you start to feel tears come down your cheeks.  Your eyes glance at the other side of the room, where Vernon is sitting, sobbing, with his head in his hands.  You look up at Elvis, who approaches the bed slowly and reaches for his mother’s hand.  When he feels her skin against his, reality smashes into him and he breaks.  He takes several fast, gasping breaths before he starts to cry.  He can’t stand anymore, dropping onto his knees with a thud and keeping Gladys’ hand in his.  His head is down but you can see the stream of tears and hear the violent, anguished, gasping sobs you’d never heard someone make before.  He mumbles something between his cries, but it’s unintelligible.  You squat beside him and put your hand on his back, feeling him shaking over and over again as cries wrack his body.

You can’t help but cry quietly beside him, feeling his grief.  Glancing over at Vernon, you see still has his head in his hands, unable to look at his wife or son.  You don’t know how long you stay like that.  Next to Elvis, listening to him cry and rubbing his back.  You’ve never seen someone so sad.  His sobs eventually turn to gasps and whines, and you look out the window and see the sun is starting to set.  Your feet are starting to go numb.  Elvis starts to quiet after a while, and the nurse speaks softly, gently.

“We have to take her to the morgue now, Mr. Presley,” she tells him.

“No,” he cries, squeezing her hand tighter.  You stand up a little and put your hands on his waist, trying to get him to stand up by pulling.  He’s stubborn, but weak, and you’re able to pull him to his feet.  He takes one look at his mother’s face and starts sobbing again.  He turns to you and you put your hand on his cheek.  His eyes and the area around them are red, contrasting his pale, tear-soaked face.  His breathing is too fast.  He’s not getting enough air.

“Elvis, sit down,” you tell him.  “You’re going to make yourself pass out, honey.”  You ease him towards the chair opposite Vernon’s, and he all but collapses into it.  “Breathe.  Slower,” you tell him as he bends over, putting his head in his hands.  You pat his back in a slow rhythm to try and get him to relax and regulate his breathing.  Vernon has stopped crying now and shakes hands with the nurse as she apologizes to him.  You don’t watch, but you hear the footsteps and the wheels start to roll as they take Gladys out of the room.  Elvis can’t hear it over his cries and gasps, but after a few minutes of you whispering to him and patting him gently, his breathing evens out and he looks up to see that she’s gone.  Vernon comes over.

“Son, we need to go now,” he says quietly.  You can see Elvis’s eyes are welling up with tears again.  “There’s—there’s a car waiting for us outside.”

You nod, taking Elvis’s hand and helping him up slowly.  You guide his arm around your shoulder.  There’s no way he can walk in this state on his own.  You follow Vernon to the exit of the hospital.  He’s silent, keeping his head down and shuffling slowly next to you as you make your way into the backseat of the car outside.  Elvis puts his head in his hands as the car takes off, and you keep your hand on the upper part of his back, pressing your other hand on his thigh.  The ride is silent save for Elvis’s small gasps between cries, and it goes by quickly.  As you pull up to Graceland, Vernon gets out of the car on his side and comes around to you and Elvis’s side, opening the door for the two of you.  Elvis looks up and takes his father’s hand to get out of the car and you follow, letting him put his arm around you again.  You silently take him upstairs and into his room, lowering him to the bed gently before sitting to the left of him.  He’s still crying, much quieter than before, but you can hear his shaky breaths and soft whimpers.  He’s on his side, trembling, with his back facing you. 

“Elvis,” you whisper softly.  It’s hard for you to keep your composure.  You’d known Gladys for six years, being Elvis’s girlfriend since senior year.  Losing her was painful for you, too.  But it was a million times more painful for Elvis, and it hurt you to see him suffering so much.  “Elvis, honey, you’re gonna be ok.”  You put your arm over his waist, resting on his stomach, and your other hand combs through his hair gently.

“I c-can’t live wi-without her.”  His stuttering cuts a hole in your heart, a reminder of the shy, nervous boy who was bullied for his speech impediment when he was younger.  He still stutters occasionally now, especially when he’s upset or tired.

“You will, baby,” You say.  He has to.  Your hand that was in his hair moves to his face, to his soft cheeks which are stained with tears that you wipe away.  You have a decent view of his face.  You’ve never seen him so sad in your life.  You’ve never seen anyone so sad.

“I can’t,” he cries, fresh tears streaming down his cheeks.  You wipe them again.

“You can.  You’ll go on,” you tell him, leaning down and kissing his temple.  “You’re gonna be ok.  I promise.”  It doesn’t stop his crying, but he does lean into your touch a little more.

The door bursts open, and you turn to see the Colonel and Vernon in the doorway.

“Elvis,” the Colonel says, “There’s some people who want to take some photographs outside.  The press.”

“N-no,” Elvis says, keeping his back to the door.

“Elvis…” Vernon says. 

“Just a few photographs.  They’re not going to do anything to hurt you,” the Colonel reassures him.

Elvis seems a little calmed at the Colonel’s words, and he slowly sits up and wipes his eyes.  “I’ll…I’ll go out f-for a few minutes,” he says.  You help him out of bed and walk with him behind the Colonel and Vernon down the stairs.  As he walks out the door with Vernon, you sit down at the bottom of the steps and put your head in your hands, letting yourself cry.  Gladys is gone.  Forever.  You hadn’t seen much of her over the past few months, temporarily moving back into your parents’ house when Elvis left, but when you came to Graceland to check in on Elvis’s parents while he was away, she was always sad, drinking or taking pills.  She was heartbroken when Elvis left.  She’d lost her first son and couldn’t bear the thought of losing her other.

As you cry, you feel a tap on your shoulder and look up to see the Colonel holding a glass of water.  “Thank you,” you mumble, taking a drink and wiping your mouth before handing the glass back to him.  He wordlessly nods sympathetically and walks away.  After a few minutes of staring at the door in front of you, it opens and Elvis comes back in.   You stand up and he comes into your arms. 

“You did good…you did good,” you tell him, rubbing your hand up and down his back.  He doesn’t respond.  He’s still shaking from head to toe, weak with grief, barely able to breathe from the pain clenching his throat and pressing on his chest.

“Come on, honey,” you say.  “Let’s go upstairs…”  You pull away from him, wrapping an arm around him, and guide him up the stairs and back into his room.  He collapses onto the bed, curling on his side again.  He’s stopped crying for now, numbly looking out the window and taking labored breaths with his arms over his chest.  He looks like he’s struggling to keep his eyes open.

There’s no point in trying to get him to change.  After everything that happened today, you worry that the effort could be too much.  You can give him a bath tomorrow and change him into something more comfortable.  At the very least, you’ll take off his shirt and pants, leaving him in his undershirt and boxers for the night.  Leaning down, you easily unbutton his pants, and he lets you slide them off.  Getting his shirt off is harder.  You have to pry his arms away from his chest to unbutton it and pull it off, setting it on the floor.  He crosses them again, still keeping his eyes in straight ahead.

“You’re gonna be ok.”  Your voice is soft and gentle, as reassuring as you can make it.  He looks up to you and shakes his head, his face crumpling and chest shaking visibly as he draws in a breath.  It’s the only night he’s ever spent in his life without his mama.

“I…I c-can’t sleep knowin’ she’s not here,” he whispers.  “We slept in the same bed till I was thirteen.  And now…” Tears start to stream down his face again, and you lay down behind him, kissing the nape of his neck.

“I know.  I know…” that’s all you can say.  He starts to sob again.  You don’t even know how he has it left in him.  He must be exhausted at this point, having cried for some five hours at this point, seeing as the sky is black now.

Your hand gently rubs his side back and forth, trying to soothe him, but you’re exhausted too.  “It’s gonna get better, baby,” you say softly, but he continues to sob and shake.  

“I can’t….I can’t live without her…I can’t,” he repeats over and over again between cries.  The pain of seeing him like this is palpable and exists on every level, aching in your chest, pounding in your head, gripping your throat.  

“It’s ok.  You’re ok.”  Your hand gently goes under his shirt, feeling the bare skin of his side.  He doesn’t feel like he’s the wrong temperature in any way.  That’s a good sign, but it does little to ease your worry for him as you closely feel his desperate breaths under your hand.  “Breathe, baby, breathe,” you urge him.  It’s like he physically can’t, like it’s not just grief that’s attacking him, but panic. 

“You have to calm down, Elvis.  You’re going to hurt yourself.  Please.”  Your begging does nothing.  He can’t stop crying.  He can’t relax even for a moment.  You resolve to continue rubbing up and down his side and whispering gently to him, reminding him that you’re there and you’ll stay.

When you look out the window, the stars are out but there’s no moon in the sky. Memphis is quiet save for Elvis’s raspy sobs and desperate gasps for air.  You put your head down on the pillow.  The only thing you can do is continue to be with him, praying that tomorrow will bring some form of peace to your troubled hearts.

But it doesn’t.

thank you for reading <3 I love you!

[alicenotalice]

I’ve been following Etho for ten years and Joe Hills for maybe ten months, so a proper Joe Hills guy might have a different read—but to me they have equal and opposite energies as characters/personas/performers. They are both Just Normal Guys who are also Baffling Cryptids; but Etho is a faceless, bodiless entity who can cause colleagues and fans alike to pop their monocles and clutch their pearls by revealing mundane details about his physical reality (He eats sandwiches! He grows stubble! He experiences local wildlife! Stop, no more, my heart can’t take it!)

But Joe Hills of Nashville Tennessee, meanwhile, has built his whole persona around being...I’d say “uncompromisingly present.” The fourth wall is his canvas, his own self is the paint. Tune into a stream of his and you’ll likely be met with his giant, transparent, real life face imposed over the screen as he regales chat about his time at a local pinball tournament or the troubles of renting in Nashville

They are both weird little guys who’ve been around forever and don’t give a damn what the current prevailing wisdom has to say about how to run a gaming channel. And they’ve started crossing paths more and more, ever since TCG and DO2 and HC Vault Hunters—and for my small part I’ve found it wildly compelling!

Because—ok. Etho’s default mode in one-on-one collabs is to let the other person pick the play, and then back it. Figure out what the bit is and go along with it. Harmonize and amplify—which is how we got slapfights with Gem in the Decked Out lobby as well as “the ship burns, everything burns.” Meanwhile Joe’s improv comfort zone, to my eye at least, appears to lie upstream of whatever’s “expected.” He delights in the odd and surprising, he’s gleefully contrary, he’s helpful and wholesome, he’s a pain in the ass. King of malicious compliance, Joe Hills

A lot of their in-person interactions prior to the current season felt a bit like their cryptid energies cancelled each other out, leaving two Very Normal Guys having friendly if light conversation and being generally accommodating (the best example I can think of is Joe’s HC VH episode where Etho joined him on a cursed vault run). I suspect it’s because Etho was trying to defer to Joe to set the tone and pick the bit, while Joe was waiting for Etho to pick a direction so he could provide friction by running counter to it—so the banter never actually had a chance to start. That said! Both of them separately are charismatic performers who are very good at what they do, so even without a chemical reaction between them they manage to put on a good show…but imagine. Imagine if they DID have that reaction…

And that’s why the stonefrog deal is so fascinating to me—Joe Hills and Etho have a Bit now. A dynamic. A place where banter could theoretically happen. And that dynamic has gone through several tone shifts since Joe decided to lightly menace Etho by making the delivered stone shulkers spell out “Ethowo”

And again! It’s not like this is a major plot line in either of their videos! It pops up often on stream, but only because Joe spends most of his time there putting mountains into shulkers, and gets a lot of questions as to why he doesn’t just use TNT. It’s not a big deal…and yet. And yet!

[anjelicawrites]

Soft IV

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x reader x Osferth

Synopsis: one anon asked for another episode of the Soft saga, with the whole polycule in it. This starts right after the coda to the third episode.

Warnings: p in v sex, blowjob, handjob, anal fingering, anal sex, kissing, scratching, titty sucking.

A/N: hi nonnie! This took me way too long to write! I hope you like it!

Part I, II, III and the Coda.

Osferth is used to live small, being raised in a monk run orphanage has taught him to be pauperistic, this is the reason why he has no issues with sleeping in dingy motels and eat whatever he can find, when his job takes him away from home. Now that is living larger, going by what the monks drilled in to him, he doesn’t feel guilty when he scrambles to go home, where his comforts are.

NSFW and 18+ only under the cut, please!

Only God knows how hard it had been for him to stay away and focus on the job, while Aemond was in pain and the work to keep him safe fell on your shoulders for a whole, awful, week; not that Osferth doesn’t deem you capable, it’s more his own instinct to protect the ones he loves that gnawed at him, until he was home and you had jumped into his arms.

It’s not unexpected that you and Aemond decide to take care of him, and not the other way around, still Osferth’s heart is filled with gratitude for, the two of you, who keep choosing him day after day, even though he feels he’s never going to be at your level.

“Let us, my love.” You murmur in his ear when he tries to undress you and Aemond. “You had a long week.”

He wants to reply that yours and Aemond’s had been worse, he can’t, because Aemond takes a gentle hold of his chin to kiss him, deeply, silencing his words until he’s naked and half hard between the two of your.

“You missed us.”

Aemond’s smirks, his hand around Osferth’s erection jacks him into full mast and steals his voice: he’s already puddle for you two.

Obediently Osferth lets you turn his head to kiss him, slowly as Aemond’s hand keeps moving on his erection, whimpers and moans spill from his lips as the pace quickens; Osferth wants to warn Aemond that he’s close, so close, if he doesn’t stop soon… Osferth comes, pressed between you two, his legs tremble with the power of it, the pleasure a hazy mist in his brain. He lets Aemond hug him to carry his weight as you kiss his nape to then go to the bathroom to start the water for the bath.

Against his tummy Osferth can feel Aemond’s desire, hard and warm his erection is pressed between their bodies, causing flames of desire to ignite inside of him; his mind is torn between letting go and be pampered by you and Aemond, and trying to give back the love he’s receiving. He tries to open Aemond’s slacks to slide his hand in, but Aemond’s fingers curl, with a soft hold, around his wrist, his other hand is busy freeing his erection.

“Let me help you.” Osferth’s voice is a slurred moan that flies directly to Aemond’s cock. “You were in pain.”

“I was, indeed.” Aemond’s lonely eye burns with hunger. “The only thing keeping me sane was imagining you back home, warm and needy for us, for me.”

It’s the husk in Aemond’s soft voice that makes Osferth’s head spin, the quiet determination of a man who knows what he wants and is ready to take it; it’s usually the other way around, it’s Aemond who soaks up all the affection and lets himself be taken and loved, pliant under your hands and Osferth’s, rarely he takes control, when that happens, Osferth can feel his body liquefy with need, his more dominant nature retreat to allow him to enjoy Aemond’s love and desire, the way he’s doing now. He needs to hug Aemond to keep himself on his feet, all his strength, all his blood seem to go straight to his cock, leaving his head empty of coherent toughs and full of cotton; Osferth moans when Aemond takes a firm hold of his ass, his big hands on his cheeks to force his budding erection against his raging one in a slow friction that makes fireworks explode behind Osferth’s closed eyes.

Both men moan when you wet hand takes a hold of their cocks, moving up and down with a slow motion aimed more at amping up their need, than anything else.

“Come with me, my light, the water is ready.”

Osferth’s body is not his anymore, he’s a marionette in your arms that lets itself being turned, so that he can hide his face in your luscious breasts with a long moan. Blindly he follows you to the bathroom, complaining only when you have to release him to get into the huge tub; you open your arms at him once you’re seated and he scrambles on his feet to join you, sighing when his back is cushioned by your breasts.

Your hands caress his inside of his tights with long strokes, slow and deliberate in the way you’re ignoring his erection, preferring to tease the area where his legs join his hip; he wants to beg you, but his words die when Aemond appears, naked, apart from the collar, at the door. He’s all hard planes of muscles, white skin and dark nipples, his erection red and angry against his belly; with the confidence of someone who knows he’s wanted, he saunters to the sink to pin his hair up, feeling Osferth’s burning stare on his body: he’s desired as much as he does the other man. Only when he’s done he turns around to observe you two in the water, your legs pinning Osferth’s open and he loathes that he can’t see the other man’s erection under the bubbles.

When you bought the house and started renovating it, you choose to install the biggest bathtub you could find, because you wanted to treat yourself, now you never stop giving yourself pats on your back, since there’s enough space for three grown people to chill together.

“Relax.” You murmur in Osferth’s ear. “Close your eyes, you’re finally home, you’re safe. We’re safe.”

You repeat the mantra while you let your hands wander on Osferth’s chest; it’s not a sexual touch, your goal is to make sure all the tension you still feel in his muscles disappears. Little by little his body melts against yours, until he’s completely boneless when Aemond lays against his chest, just to hear the whoosh of the air entering and exiting his lungs and the steady thumping of his heart.

It’s not sleep, what Osferth is experiencing, he’s existing with the two people whom he loves the most in the entire World, he’s feeling them the way they’re him, he’s letting his overworked brain know that Aemond is as pain free as he can be, and that your mental health is not hanging in the balance of Aemond’s neuritis flare, and Osferth’s absence. He lets himself be manhandled by you two, body and hair washed until the smell of the motel toiletries has disappeared from his body and he’s been scrubbed with your ridiculously expensive products.

He keeps his eyes closed when Aemond helps him out of the tub and you’re there to bundle him up in the fluffiest bath towel; he’s almost asleep when he, finally, lays on the bed, his long limbs spread out to take as much space possible.

You curl next to him, with your head on his shoulder, your hand playing with the hairs on his chest. Aemond exits the bathroom and throws the bathrobe on the floor; he eyes you and Osferth with love and hunger. Yes, his erection has abated during the bath but he feels lust clouding his brain at the sight of you two cuddling, naked, on the bed.

“Do you want to tell Aemond what you did me, Osferth?”

He recognizes that tone, you’re taking control as Osferth curls, shyly, against you. He wants to be cuddled and coddled, his submissive side always needy and a bit coquettish.

“What is it, beloved? What do you want to tell me?”

Unconsciously Aemond’s voice is deeper, a rumble in his chest that makes Osferth blush and hide against yourself even more; you have to convince him with soft words to turn his face and look at Aemond.

“You know the rules, my love, you need to use your words like a big boy.”

Osferth pouts cutely and tries to hide his face again, he’s too slow though and Aemond manages to get a hold of his chin to look into his clear blue eyes.

“I can’t give you what you need if you don’t tell me, beloved. You want me to make you happy, don’t you?”

Aemond’s voice is a deep murmur, filled with lust and desire, that flies directly to Osferth’s cock, which now swells, untouched, against his tummy.

“Perhaps, does Ñuha egros se sumby, My sword and shield, want to cuddle?”

“No.” Osferth pouts.

“Does my beloved want a kiss?”

“Perhaps.”

Aemond smirks before he leaves a quick peck on Osferth’s lips, only to deepen the smirk when Osferth starts to complain.

“If you want more, you have to tell me. I’m here for you.”

Aemond tries to control his smile as he sees the fight on Osferth’s face, enhanced when your fingers start caressing his nipples, how his cheeks redden and he tries to hide his growing erection, only to have his legs spread by Aemond.

There’s so much he wants, so much he’s dreamed about when he was away, but when he’s reduced in this state, he has to force the words out of his mouth: take me, have me, fuck me until I pass out, mark my body because I missed you so much, show me your strength because I fear you’ still hurting, he has to make himself say them and still his eyes can’t meet Aemond’s lonely stare. When he’s like this, Osferth reverts back to the shy boy who was raised in a monks run orphanage, more of a convent, really, where his budding sexual needs were chastised and he was punished for them. When he needs to be taken care, he forgets his sexual proves, the freedom he’s gained from himself, he wants to be taken by his hand to simply let go. You know, as well as Aemond does, what he needs, the only matter you two care is having his full consent, having him tell you two what his heart desires, to give it to him fully.

Aemond kisses him, his tongue gently playing with Osferth’s, until the kiss is deep and filthy, the latter’s hips jump against his with need.

Tortuously Aemond’s mouth follows imaginary lines on Osferth’s body, his lips leave soothing kisses where his teeth have nibbled and bitten; he moans at the taste he can feel under the bathing gel and the cream you’ve slathered his body with: that woodsy taste he’s always connected to his beloved, freedom and the fresh smell of a clear spring night; Aemond’s lips seek more of it with each kiss and small love bite as Osferth’s body arches under his with breathy moans.

“Please.” Osferth begs, his glossy eyes half closed. “My sweet prince, my lady love!”

His cock is so hard now, red and heavy against his tummy, warmed by Aemond’s breath on the tented skin, his nipples raw with your kisses: he’s so ready to be taken, to forget who he is, that words desert him again after he’s called for you two. He can feel tears fall down his eyes when he can’t tell you two what he needs, when his tongue is tied and only whimpers manage to leave his mouth. Thankfully you are there, your fingers slotting in his wet hair to turn his head on the side and help him focus.

“Can you answer with yes and no?” You ask him, patiently waiting for his voice to come out.

“Yes.” He breathes out.

“Shall I take you, beloved?”

Osferth’s eyes dart to Aemond, he blushes deeply before he can answer with a moany ‘Yes’

“Spread your legs for me, so good sīr sȳz issa jorrāelagon, so good my love.” Aemond smiles, proud. “You’re so hard for us, will you be good and not come just yet?”

Osferth hiccups on a moan at the words, and care he hears in Aemond’s words: anything, anything for the man who loves him so deeply.

“Will you let me ride your cock, my light? After Aemond is inside of you? Will you let me keep you safe?”

“Yes! Yes!” He moans, your cunt is his home, the safest place in the entire world.

“Good, good.” Your lips land on his forehead. “I will ride you, now let Aemond prepare you.”

You let Osferth lips wound around one nipple to suck softly as Aemond fingers start pushing against his tight ring of muscles. Patiently he breaches him, knuckle after knuckle, finger after finger, until he’s three in and he can explore him, seeking his prostate to gently push against it, eliciting Osferth’s hips to move following his slow rhythm.

Osferth whines around your nipple when Aemond’s fingers leave his hole, only to moan when Aemond’s bulbous head enters him, his body arching at the intrusion, his muscles pushing against him, yet Aemond is relentless, slowing making his way with short pushes and pulls, until Osferth’s body lets go and he can fill him fully, fighting against the need to fuck him fast: tight, tight, always a vise around his cock.

Aemond’s eyesight clouds with needs and with the lust curling at the base of his spine when he sees the way Osferth is biting his lower lip, now that he can’t suck on your breast any longer: he knows he’s fighting the urge to push up into Aemond, to start fucking himself instead of letting his body adjust to the intrusion.

Osferth’s body shudders under your when your wet cunt starts sliding on his hard cock, wetting it, mingling your honey with his, his hips try to follow yours and he moans, when he impales himself more on Aemond’s cock. His back arches with need, his hands grab and scratch your skin when you don’t stop and keep taking your pleasure from him, unabashed, your beautiful breasts swinging over his face.

“Please.” Comes broken from his lips. “Please.”

Slowly you take his cock in your hand to slowly sink down, letting your body adjust to his invasion, to the thickness that seems to take your sanity away, until you’re straddling him, fully, with a satisfied smile on your face.

Under you Osferth is lost, his eyes glassy with pleasure, his mouth slack to let soft whimpers out when you and Aemond start moving, slowly, making sure he feels every inch of Aemond’s cock and every crevice of your cunt. He tries to buck, tries to make you two go faster and is subdued by the passion in every stroke of Aemond inside of him. Your muscles clench and unclench around him as you slowly grind against him: he’s not going to leave the sanctity of your cunt, not today when he needs it the most.

Your orgasm is a quiet thing, that slowly unfolds from your loins up to your spine with every grinding motion of Osferth’s cock against your G-spot, every kiss Aemond leaves on your nape, with their hands on you, caressing and grasping at your sweaty skin, pleasure builds and builds. Under you Osferth moans and arches his back, his eyes screwed shut, a similar fire coursing through him with each and every dual movement you’re subjecting him to.

“Come, my light, come with me!” You whine.

Under you Osferth’s body is ravaged by full body shudders, he squirms and arches, moans desperately when his end seems to elude him, his nerves lashed by too much pleasure, his prostate, his cock and God! You’re begging him to come! He opens his eyes, all he can see is you taking what you need from him, ethereal like a goddess.

With a scream he comes, ropes and ropes of seed hitting your walls as you follow him, milking him until you fall on his body, breathless. Inside of him Aemond tries to fight his own end but the vise around his cock is too tight, too perfect after days apart and he lets go with a shout, fucking Osferth until his body can’t move anymore and he falls next to him, only to curl against him to kiss all the available skin he can reach.

Under you Osferth’s body relax again, his lips find yours, and Aemond, to kiss you two slowly and sloppily, letting you two worship his body with soft caresses now and gentle pecks that lull him into slumber.

You help him turn on his side to push his face against your breasts, he makes such a happy sound you can’t help but smile yourself. Behind him Aemond looks dead to the world, his long limbs splayed open as he waits for his brain to restart himself; in between sleep and wakefulness, you tug on his hand until he plasters himself against Osferth’s long back, falling asleep immediately after. You stay awake for a handful of minutes, just observing your lovers, your family, finally back where they belong. You can sleep safe now.

OG!Poly taglist : @fan-goddess, @notyour-valentine, @aegonx, @darylandbethfanforever9 @20thcentwriter @peachysunrize

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose

[writersmess]

I DON’T KNOW HOW | EVAN BUCKLEY

Pairing: Evan Buckley x fem!reader

Summary: After an exhausting shift, Buck decided to expose all the fears he had kept in his heart for so long.

Warning: a bit angst, some crying, fluff.

Word count: 0.9k

a/n: hey there my sweeties, here I am again. This came to me while i was listening to a song, and i couldn't stop thinking about our precious boy. english is not my first language, so im sorry if there’s any mistakes. hope you enjoy it.

Masterlist

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No one could ever understand the mess that was inside that heart. How many times he was left behind, he couldn’t even count. His heart bled, it ached. He wanted to love, he was willing to love someone, to care for someone, to settle down and start a family. Buck was desperate for that. But suddenly he was left and they’re all gone, because no one saw him as the one, but as the one they could call when they needed some fun.

He was not seen as the one who was responsible, or the man of someone’s dreams. That man that someone would imagined a future with. And he accepted it. He accepted that nobody would look at him and imagine him as the father of their children, that nobody would look at him and think about the beautiful life they would have. He accepted his destiny. He accepted that he was broken.

And if brokenness is a work of art, surely this must be his masterpiece.

He stopped looking.

Until he found you.

But the fireman’s heart was already so wounded, so guarded. He couldn’t just let you in. But you easily found a way in. And you loved him. And imagined a future with him. And you imagined your children together. And suddenly you were everything he’d ever wanted, everything he’d ever dreamed of.

After leaving work early, you decided to go to Buck’s house to make some home-cooked food, so that when he came home from another turbulent shift, he could enjoy some fresh food and rest. By your side.

He definitely did not expect all this when he came home destroyed from an extremely heavy shift, a shift with some losses. He was so tired.

You understood this, you knew how hard it was sometimes, and you accepted it when even after thanking you so much, he spent the whole night quiet, trapped inside his own head, his own thoughts.

You were sitting side by side on the couch watching a movie. At least you were, buck was traveling in his thoughts, again.

“baby, is there something bothering you besides your work” you paused the movie when you realized he wasn’t paying attention, and sat down on your side, looking at him with that loving gaze that you had. You were so perfect.

You were surprised when you noticed some tears falling down Buck’s face but decided not to say anything when you realized that he was trying to say something and couldn’t, he was trying to find the right words.

“i wanna tell you but i don’t know how” your heart missed a beat at that moment. What could have happened? Did he want to break up with you?

“i wish I could tell you how much of a mess I am, how everything inside me always hurts and I can’t make it stop. How broken I am and how afraid I am. Because I wake up every morning waiting for you to realize how worthless I am and decide to leave.”

“baby i-“

“And every single moment that I share with you is unique. Because no one has ever been willing to live it with me. But I don’t know how, every second that I am with you, I keep waiting that they will become just memories, memories once again so painful. Memories of a life that I could have had, but I didn’t” you could see how painful this was to him, and you just stayed still, waiting for him to say everything that he wanted to “and I want to love you for a lifetime, I want to give you my heart completely, but I don't know how. I want to truly love you, but I don't know how. Because all the times that I did it, that I loved, a piece of me has been torn away and taken away along with them”

You had never seen Buck fall apart like this, and you could see how vulnerable he really was. And not this indestructible man he showed himself to be all the time. You knew how much he had hurt from past relationships, you just didn’t realize it hurt this much.

But you wouldn’t go anywhere.

You wanted to stay by his side for the rest of your life, because despite all the things he said, you had never felt so loved before, so cared for.

Buck was sobbing, and all you did at that moment was hold him in your arms. You put all your love and care into that hug. You were willing to face everything, all his monsters, all the pain, in order to mend that broken heart and make him happy, as he truly deserved to be. You waited until he calmed down and held his face tenderly, making him stare at you with red eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. I promise. I love you, and this love is not going to disappear overnight, no. Actually every morning when I wake up next to you I realize how lucky I am to have you by my side. I realize how much I want to live the rest of my life with you, to have your children, to have a family with you. I want to grow old with you, Buck.”

That was enough for Buck to crumble again. Finally he had found his home. And it was right there, holding him in a way he had never been held before.

And in that moment after so long, he allowed himself. He allowed himself to be loved and allowed himself to open his heart for you to come in and take care once and for all of that heart that was once so broken.