#WHAT'S IT LIKE TO BE MORE FAMILIAR WITH THE SIGHT OF HIS BACK THAN HIS FACE

[ponderingmoonlight]

How JJK Men React to Seeing You in Their Clothes

Pairings: Gojo x fem!reader; Megumi x fem!reader; Yuta x fem!reader; Nanami x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,5k

Warnings: fluff over fluff, I'm pretty sure I already wrote something like this but I can't find it anymore lol, all scenarios talk about the clothes of the said jjk men being big on you so please don't read if this isn't what you vibe with (but feel free to let me know if you want a version in which their clothes actually fit reader quite well!)

Gojo Satoru

The apartment is unusually quiet as you move through the living room, your bare feet padding lightly across the cool floor. Gojo had left early this morning to deal with some “business,” leaving you alone with nothing but a mess of his belongings scattered around. You’re not one to complain though - cleaning up after him has become second nature after spending so much time together.

As you tidy up his place, you come across one of his oversized hoodies. It’s sprawled across the back of a chair, still slightly wrinkled from when he wore it the night before. The faint scent of his cologne lingers in the fabric, and for reasons you can’t quite explain, you find yourself reaching for it.

It’s soft, much softer than you expected. You hold it for a moment, staring at it thoughtfully before a mischievous grin tugs at your lips. You slip the hoodie over your head, the fabric swallowing you whole. The sleeves are comically long, almost covering your hands completely, and the hemline reaches down to your thighs. It’s so big that it feels like you’re wearing a blanket, and despite yourself, you giggle at the sight of your reflection in the hallway mirror.

You sit down on the couch, pulling your legs up under the hoodie, and let yourself relax into the comfort of wearing something that smells like him. His signature cologne that follows him around wherever he goes, that makes your heart skip a beat every time you smell it. To be honest, you really miss him. These past weeks were so busy that you didn’t really get the chance to see him more than 2 hours before passing out sleeping. What you’d do for a whole afternoon, just you and him…

Not long after, you hear the oh so accustomed sound of the door unlocking, followed by the familiar voice of Satoru calling out, “I’m home!”

You stiffen for a moment, wondering how he’ll react, but you can’t hide now. Fuck, you never wore his clothes before. After all, they belong to him and you have no right to grab his stuff as you please.

Before you can say anything to defend yourself, Gojo steps into the living room, his bright blue eyes immediately locking onto you.

There’s a beat of silence. Then, a slow, amused grin spreads across his face.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he teases, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

His sunglasses are perched on his head, revealing his crystalline eyes that seem to glow with delight.

“Did you raid my closet while I was gone?”

You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool despite the sudden warmth creeping up your neck.

“Your place was cold. Figured I’d borrow something.”

Gojo doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he walks over to you, crouching in front of the couch as he eyes you up and down. His grin widens as he takes in the way the hoodie completely engulfs you, making you look even smaller than usual.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, laced with something playful but undeniably affectionate.

He reaches out, tugging on one of the oversized sleeves gently.

“In fact, I think it suits you better than it does me.”

You scoff, though your heart skips a beat at the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You think everything looks good on me.”

“That’s because it does.”

His grin is infuriatingly confident, but there’s a softness in his gaze that makes your breath catch.

“But you, wearing my clothes? I think that might be my favorite look.”

He leans closer, his nose brushing against your temple before pressing a soft kiss there.

“You can keep it if you want,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

“I don’t think I’m getting it back anyway.”

Megumi Fushiguro

It’s early morning, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon, casting a soft glow over Megumi’s small apartment. He’s still asleep, his dark hair a mess of unruly strands as he breathes softly beside you. You’ve been staying with him for the weekend, a rare break from the chaos of jujutsu sorcery.

As you quietly slip out of bed, careful not to wake him, you feel the cool air hit your skin. Without thinking, you look around the room for something to cover yourself with. Your eyes land on one of Megumi’s plain black shirts, tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair. It’s oversized, much bigger than anything you’d typically wear, but you shrug and grab it anyway.

Slipping it over your head, the fabric is soft and familiar, carrying the faint scent of him. It hangs loosely on your frame, the sleeves too long and the hem falling halfway down your thighs. You glance at yourself in the mirror, a small smile tugging at your lips. There’s something comforting about wearing his clothes, like having a part of him with you even when he’s asleep.

As you turn back toward the bed, you freeze. Megumi’s awake. His dark eyes are half-lidded, still clouded with sleep as he watches you from the bed. You can’t quite read his expression -it’s a mixture of surprise, confusion, and something else you can’t place.

“You’re up early,” he mutters, his voice still thick with sleep.

You shrug, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.

“Couldn’t sleep. I didn’t think you’d mind if I borrowed your shirt.”

Megumi blinks, his gaze drifting over you slowly. He doesn’t say anything right away, but you can see the way his eyes linger on the way the shirt swallows you, how it looks like you’re drowning in fabric. After a long moment, he finally speaks, his voice quieter than before.

“It looks good on you,” he finally speaks out, a little awkwardly, as if he’s not quite sure how to compliment you.

“Better than it does on me.”

You can’t help but laugh at how flustered he seems, even though he’s trying to play it cool.

“Really? I think it’s a little big.”

Megumi shakes his head, sitting up in bed and running a hand through his messy hair.

“No. It’s perfect.”

He pauses for a moment before adding, almost shyly,

“You should wear my stuff more often.”

His words catch you off guard, and you raise an eyebrow at him, surprised. Even though you know all too well that Megumi Fushiguro has a soft spot for you, you never really thought about stealing or borrowing his stuff. After all, he is the guy who slaps the back of Yuji’s head each and every day over stealing his sandwich or equipment. And now…he’s telling you straightforward that he wants you to wear his shirts?

“You want me to?”

He looks away, his usual stoic mask slipping just a bit as a faint blush creeps up his cheeks.

“I mean... yeah. It suits you.”

Your heart skips a beat at his admission. Megumi isn’t one for big, flowery declarations, but this, this small, almost hesitant compliment, is enough to make your chest warm. You walk over to him, climbing back into bed and curling up beside him like you always do after waking up.

“Well, if you insist,” you mutter teasingly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“I might just steal more of your clothes.”

Megumi huffs, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Go ahead,” he mumbles, tugging at the hem of his loose shirt.

“I don’t mind.”

Yuta Okkotsu

You’ve been staying at Yuta’s apartment for the past few days, crashing at his place while you’re both on a break from missions. It’s been nice: quiet, peaceful, just the two of you enjoying each other’s company without the usual chaos of jujutsu high looming over you.

It’s late in the evening now, and you’ve just gotten out of the shower, feeling refreshed after a long day. As you towel off your hair, you realize you forgot to grab something to wear. Your suitcase is still in the living room, and you don’t really feel like walking out there in just a towel.

Your groan in frustration over your usual absent-mindlessness, eyes landing on one of Yuta’s old sweatshirts, folded neatly on the chair by his desk. It’s a little worn, clearly well-loved, and the idea of wearing something of his brings a smile to your face. Yuta definitely wouldn’t mind you wearing one of his shirts, right? And even if he did…you’d love to see that little blush creep up his face.

Without thinking twice, you pull the sweatshirt over your head. It’s oversized, the sleeves long enough to cover your hands, and the fabric is soft and cozy against your skin.

You’re adjusting the sleeves when the door creaks open slightly. You look up just as Yuta steps into the room, his eyes widening in surprise when he sees you.

“Oh, hey-” he starts, but then he freezes, his gaze locking onto the sweatshirt you’re wearing.

His face flushes almost instantly, a deep red creeping up his cheeks as he stares at you.

“Uh… is that…?”, Yuta stammers, clearly flustered.

You glance down at the sweatshirt and smile sheepishly.

“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind. I forgot to grab my clothes, and this looked comfortable.”

Yuta blinks, his face still bright red, but he quickly shakes his head.

“No! I mean, I don’t mind at all! It’s just… you look… um…”

He trails off, his eyes flicking away as if he’s too embarrassed to finish the sentence.

You giggle softly, stepping closer to him, to tease the hell out of him even more. That poor innocent boy who doesn’t even dare looking your direction when you stumble in the bathroom in the morning with noting but a shirt and panties on.

Even though you’ve been together for over a year by now.

“I look… what?”

Yuta clears his throat, still avoiding your gaze.

“You look… really cute,” he mutters, barely audible.

“In my sweatshirt, I mean.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you can’t help but smile as you reach out and take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Thanks, Yuta.”

He finally meets your gaze, his face still red but his expression softening as he squeezes your hand back.

“You can wear my clothes anytime you want,” he says quietly, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

You grin, stepping closer and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I might just take you up on that.”

Yuta chuckles, his arms wrapping around you in return as he pulls you close.

 “I wouldn’t mind,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Not at all.”

Nanami Kento

It’s late, and Nanami is still out on a mission. You’ve been waiting for him to come home, but the clock is ticking past midnight, and exhaustion is beginning to catch up with you. After all, you’ve had a long and exhausting day at work yourself.

You’re curled up on the couch, half-asleep, when the chill of the evening air prompts you to grab something warmer to wear.

Your own clothes are in the bedroom, and you don’t feel like moving that far. Instead, your eyes land on one of Nanami’s neatly folded dress shirts, sitting on the back of a chair. It’s probably not the warmest option, but the idea of wearing something of his feels comforting, like having a part of him with you while you wait for him to return.

You slip the shirt on, the crisp fabric soft against your skin. It’s too big, of course, the sleeves hanging past your wrists and the hem falling almost to your knees, but it’s cozy in its own way. You curl up on the couch again, pulling the sleeves over your hands and breathing in the faint scent of him that still lingers on the fabric.

You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until the sound of the front door opening stirs you awake. You sit up groggily, blinking as Nanami steps inside, looking tired but unharmed. He pauses when he sees you, his eyes widening slightly as he takes in the sight of you wearing his shirt.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. Then, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of Nanami’s lips.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he observes, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement.

You rub your eyes sleepily, nodding.

“It was cold, and I didn’t feel like getting up.”

Nanami walks over to you, his expression soft as he takes in the sight of you.

 “It suits you,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm.

“I didn’t expect to come home to this.”

You shrug, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.

“If you don’t like it, I can-”

“I like it,” he cuts in, his tone firm but gentle.

He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before his hand lingers at your cheek.

“I like it very much.”

You smile, leaning into his touch as you look up at him.

“I might have to borrow your clothes more often, then.”

Nanami chuckles softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek before he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You’re welcome to them,” he breathes out.

“Though I have to admit, you make my clothes look much better than I do.”

You laugh softly, your heart warming at his rare display of affection.

“I doubt that.”

Nanami shakes his head, his eyes soft and filled with affection as he looks at you.

“It’s true. But regardless, you’re welcome to them anytime” he insists.

With that, he sits down beside you on the couch, pulling you into his side as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. You snuggle into him, the warmth of his body and the comfort of his shirt making you feel safe and content.

“Thank you, Kento,” you whisper, closing your eyes as exhaustion starts to pull you back into sleep.

Nanami presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his voice low and soothing as he murmurs,

“Anytime, love.”

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[josephandrewstarkey]

drew and reader have a toddler but they are broken up because reader thinks that drew and odessa are together. drew came to pick up the toddler and they start arguing over nothing because they miss each other so much.

ty for your request anon, i hope you like it!

second chances

warnings: slight angst

disclaimer: this is absolutely no shade/hate towards odessa, this is simply just for the plot <3

words: 1.036

❧ drew starkey x reader

The familiar sound of Drew’s car pulling up in the driveway sent a wave of tension through Y/N. She adjusted her grip on their toddler, Harper, who was happily babbling in her arms, blissfully unaware of the heavy silence that had settled between her parents for weeks.

It hadn’t been easy since the breakup. Y/N had thought she could handle it, but every time Drew came to pick up their daughter, the ache in her chest only grew deeper. It wasn’t just the end of their relationship that stung—it was the constant thought that he had moved on with Odessa. The rumors, the paparazzi photos, they all painted a picture that was too hard to ignore.

As Drew walked up the steps and knocked on the door, Y/N’s pulse quickened. She let out a slow breath and opened the door, greeted by the sight of him—his tousled hair, the familiar warmth in his eyes as he looked at Harper. For a moment, her heart faltered. Despite everything, seeing him still made her stomach flip.

“Hey,” Drew said softly, his eyes flicking to hers before focusing on Harper, who squealed with joy and reached out for him.

“Hi,” Y/N replied, handing their daughter over, careful to avoid letting their fingers touch. She couldn’t handle that right now.

Drew cradled Harper with ease, making her giggle as he kissed her cheek. For a moment, there was a pause, a heavy silence that neither of them knew how to fill.

“I’ve packed her bag,” Y/N said quickly, gesturing to the small backpack by the door. “Everything she’ll need for the weekend.”

Drew nodded, bouncing Harper slightly in his arms, though his gaze lingered on Y/N. “Thanks. I’ll have her back by Sunday night.”

Another stretch of silence filled the space between them, awkward and stifling. Y/N clenched her jaw, her mind swirling with all the things she wanted to say but couldn’t. She didn’t want to argue in front of Harper, but the frustration, the loneliness—it was all building inside her, begging to spill out.

And then it happened.

“So… how’s Odessa?” she asked, the words sharper than she intended, bitterness lacing her tone. She regretted it as soon as they left her lips, but the question hung in the air between them.

Drew’s brows furrowed, his hold on Harper tightening slightly. “What?”

Y/N crossed her arms defensively, her voice quieter now but still tense. “You two seem pretty close lately. The pictures... the rumors...”

Drew’s expression darkened, and he shifted Harper in his arms as she started to squirm. “Y/N, there’s nothing going on between me and Odessa. You know that.”

“Do I?” Y/N’s eyes flashed with hurt. “Because all I see is you spending more time with her than—”

“This again?” Drew interrupted, frustration creeping into his voice. “You’re really going to bring this up every time I come here? You think I don’t miss you? Miss us?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, the raw emotion in his voice catching her off guard. But she wasn’t ready to back down. “If you miss us so much, maybe you shouldn’t be cozying up to her in every photo.”

“I’m not cozying up to anyone,” Drew said, his voice rising slightly as he shifted Harper to his hip, trying to stay calm in front of their daughter. “I’m doing my job, Y/N. Odessa is a friend, and you know that. But you’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. “I made up my mind because you didn’t fight for us, Drew. You let us fall apart.”

Drew’s jaw clenched, his gaze softening as he saw the hurt written all over her face. “I didn’t want to lose you. I still don’t. But you keep pushing me away.”

“Because I can’t compete with her!” Y/N cried, her voice breaking. “I can’t compete with everything your world demands. It was always the two of us, and now... now it feels like I’m on the outside.”

Harper, sensing the tension, began to fuss, and Drew immediately began soothing her, rocking her gently. His eyes never left Y/N’s, though, filled with frustration, pain, and something else—something deeper.

“You’re not on the outside,” Drew said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re the one I love, Y/N. You’re the mother of my daughter, and you’re the only one I want. Odessa... she’s just a friend. That’s it.”

Y/N stared at him, her defenses crumbling as the weight of his words settled in. She wanted to believe him—God, she wanted to believe him so badly. But the pain of the last few months had built walls around her heart, and it wasn’t easy to just let them down.

“I miss you,” Drew whispered, his voice raw. “I miss us. This… this isn’t what I want. We’re a family, Y/N. I can’t keep doing this if we’re not going to at least try.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her heart aching as she looked at him, holding their daughter in his arms—their little family that felt so fractured. “I miss you too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t know how to fix this, Drew. I don’t know how to trust that it’ll be different.”

Drew stepped closer, his free hand reaching out to gently cup her cheek. She didn’t pull away. “We fix it by talking, by being honest. Not by pushing each other away. Please… let’s try. For Harper. For us.”

Tears slipped down Y/N’s cheeks as she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. She felt the weight of his words, the sincerity in them. Maybe they could try. Maybe they could find their way back to each other.

Opening her eyes, she met his gaze, filled with hope and longing. “Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s try.”

Drew let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his thumb brushing away her tears. “I love you, Y/N. That’s never changed.”

“I love you too,” she whispered, her heart finally beginning to mend.

And as Harper giggled between them, oblivious to the pain and healing happening around her, Y/N and Drew realized that maybe, just maybe, their family wasn’t broken after all.

[wolvietxt]

★ cozy mornings with logan

you woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside, sunlight gently streaming through the curtains. stretching out, you turned over, half-expecting logan to still be asleep, but the other side of the bed was empty. that wasn’t unusual. he was always up early, starting his day before the sun even fully rose.

what was unusual was the smell coming from the kitchen. a mix of coffee, something sweet, and something cooking. sitting up, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and smiled softly. logan wasn’t much of a breakfast person—usually, it was coffee and maybe a quick snack before he headed out—but the smell of whatever was in the kitchen was unmistakably homemade. curious, you slipped out of bed and padded quietly down the hall.

when you reached the kitchen, you found him there, standing by the stove with his back to you. the sight made your heart warm a little. he was wearing his usual jeans and t-shirt, but his hair was still a bit mussed, like he hadn’t even bothered to fix it after getting up. his movements were careful as he flipped something in the pan, and you couldn’t help but smile at how focused he looked.

“morning,” you called softly, leaning against the doorway.

logan turned, eyebrows raising slightly. “you’re up.” his voice was low, that familiar gravelly tone still soft from the early hour. “i was gonna bring this to you.”

“bring it to me?” you teased, stepping closer. “since when do you make breakfast?”

he huffed, turning back to the stove. “since now, apparently.” there was a small stack of pancakes already sitting on the counter, along with a pot of coffee and some fresh fruit.

“smells amazing,” you said, coming up behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist. he didn’t stop what he was doing, but you felt him lean back into you a little. “what’s the occasion?”

“no occasion,” he muttered, flipping the last pancake before turning off the stove. “just… figured i’d do something nice.”

the simplicity of his answer made you smile even more. it wasn’t like logan to go out of his way for things like this. he showed affection in different ways, quieter ways—like checking to make sure you were safe or silently offering you his jacket when you were cold. but cooking breakfast? that was new.

“you’re sweet, you know that?” you said softly, your cheek pressing against his back as you hugged him a little tighter.

he scoffed. “yeah, well… don’t get used to it.”

but you knew he didn’t mean it. you could feel the warmth radiating from him, could tell by the way his muscles relaxed under your touch that he liked this, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud.

“come on,” he said, brushing your arms off him gently as he moved to plate the pancakes. “sit down. i made coffee too.”

you laughed quietly, taking a seat at the small kitchen table as he brought everything over. the pancakes were stacked high, golden brown and fluffy, and the coffee was already poured in your favorite mug. “you really went all out,” you said, still a little surprised by the effort he’d put in.

“figured you’d like it,” he shrugged, sitting down across from you with his own plate. “you deserve a good breakfast.”

the sincerity in his words made your heart skip a beat. you reached across the table, your hand covering his for a moment, and he gave it a small squeeze before pulling away, already cutting into his food.

the two of you ate in comfortable silence, the kind of quiet that only comes from being completely at ease with each other. every now and then, logan would glance up at you, making sure you were enjoying what he’d made, but he didn’t need to ask. you were more than happy.

“these are incredible,” you said around a mouthful of pancake. “who knew you could cook?”

he smirked, taking a sip of his coffee. “don’t expect this every morning.”

“oh, i know. this is a rare treat.” you grinned, kicking his foot lightly under the table. “but i appreciate it.”

he didn’t say anything, just gave a small nod, his smirk softening into something almost like a smile. after a few minutes, he finished eating and leaned back in his chair, watching you polish off the last bite.

“you always do this,” he said suddenly.

you raised an eyebrow. “do what?”

“eat like you haven’t had a decent meal in days.” there was a hint of amusement in his voice, but also something else—something soft and affectionate.

you laughed, wiping your mouth with a napkin. “well, it was really good. what can i say?”

he huffed again, but there was a warmth in his eyes as he stood and grabbed both your plates, setting them in the sink. “you’re somethin’ else,” he muttered, shaking his head. “c’mon. let’s go sit outside for a bit.”

you followed him out to the porch, where the early morning sun was just starting to warm the air. you sat beside him, leaning into his shoulder, and he let out a quiet sigh, wrapping an arm around you.

“don’t get used to this either,” he grumbled softly, but you could feel how content he was, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he held you close.

“don’t worry,” you teased, snuggling into him. “i’ll take what i can get.”

and there you stayed, wrapped up in each other as the morning unfolded quietly around you.

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[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : AFTER THE NIGHTMARE : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Worst!Logan Howlett x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff because our man deserves it

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: Logan wakes from a nightmare about losing the X-Men and goes to the balcony to clear his head. You find him, comfort him, and bring him back to bed, holding him close and reassuring him that he's safe with you.

LOGAN WOKE WITH A JUMP, his chest heaving, sweat clinging to his skin like a second layer. The familiar shadows of your apartment stretched across the room, but he was far from calm. His breath was shallow, his heart pounding harder than it should have been. His mind was still trapped in the nightmare, reliving the loss of the X-Men, Xavier’s death, and the ruins of the life he once knew.

Next to him, you slept peacefully, completely unaware of the storm inside him. He stared at you for a moment, your face illuminated by the faint glow of the streetlights outside, the sight of you offering him a brief tether to the present. But the images in his head—the blood, the destruction—tightened his chest. He didn’t want to disturb you. You deserved peace, not his haunted past creeping into the night.

Carefully, Logan slipped out of bed, making sure not to wake you. He pulled on a pair of old sweatpants and padded silently into the living room, his feet sinking into the worn rug you insisted on keeping. His hands instinctively went to the small box on the coffee table, fishing out a cigar. As he moved through the apartment, everything felt too quiet. The echo of his past still followed him, no matter how much time had passed.

The balcony door slid open without a sound, and Logan stepped into the cool night air. The city stretched below, bustling and alive, so different from the stillness inside him. He lit the cigar, the end glowing faintly in the dark, and took a long drag. The burn in his lungs felt grounding, a temporary distraction from the ache in his chest.

It had been months since the ordeal with Wade, the chaos of Deadpool’s wild world colliding with his own. You had met Logan through Wade, your best friend and constant source of trouble. Logan had tried to resist getting close to anyone after everything he’d lost, but you… you had snuck up on him. Your warmth, your patience—it was something he hadn’t expected. And now here he was, standing on your balcony, trying not to let his past bleed into the present.

Inside, the bed felt suddenly too empty, and you stirred, reaching for the space where Logan had been. Your hand met cool sheets, and your brow furrowed as you blinked awake, the soft glow of the city filtering into the room. You sat up, rubbing your eyes, and glanced around. The apartment was still, but you could feel that Logan was no longer beside you. A small frown tugged at your lips as you slid out of bed, tugging one of his oversized flannels over your frame.

Padding barefoot into the living room, you didn’t have to search long. The faint scent of cigar smoke lingered in the air, and the glass door to the balcony was slightly ajar. You stepped out quietly, your heart tightening a little at the sight of him standing there, his broad shoulders tense, his gaze lost in the distant skyline.

Without saying a word, you moved behind him and wrapped your arms gently around his waist. Logan stiffened at the contact for just a second before he relaxed, his hand moving to rest over yours on his stomach.

"Hey," he murmured softly, his voice rough around the edges, but tender.

"Hey," you whispered back, resting your cheek against his warm back. "Couldn't sleep?"

He let out a quiet sigh, his free hand lifting to rub at his face. "Yeah, something like that."

You could tell from the tension in his body and the way he was avoiding your gaze that it was more than just trouble sleeping. Slowly, you moved around to face him, resting your hands gently on his chest. His eyes, haunted and far away, finally met yours. "What’s going on, Logan? Talk to me."

He took a deep breath, looking past you for a moment before meeting your gaze again. "Had a nightmare. About… everything. The X-Men, Xavier… what I lost in my world." His voice was quiet, strained. "I try to move past it, but sometimes it just… it all comes back."

Your heart ached for him. You knew Logan carried the weight of his past like an invisible burden, even on the best of days. His walls were thick, built to withstand pain and loss, but there were moments like these, where the cracks showed, where the vulnerability seeped through.

You slid your hands up to cup his face, your thumbs brushing gently over the scruff on his jaw. "I’m so sorry, Logan," you whispered, your voice soft but filled with understanding. "I can’t imagine what it was like to lose them. But you’re here now. You’re not alone anymore."

Logan closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch. He hadn’t wanted to admit how much it had all been weighing on him, but with you, he didn’t feel the need to hide. "I don’t deserve this," he murmured, his voice low, almost as if he was speaking more to himself than to you. "You. This… peace."

You shook your head gently. "You deserve every bit of it, Logan. We all have things we’re running from. You’ve carried enough alone. You don’t have to anymore."

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just took in the comfort of your presence, the way you held him without asking for anything in return. He let out a deep breath, one that seemed to ease a little of the weight off his shoulders.

"You’re too good to me, you know that?" he muttered, though there was a soft hint of gratitude in his tone.

You smiled, rising onto your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. "Someone has to keep you in line."

Logan chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest as he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you fully. The cigar, now forgotten, sat smoldering in the ashtray. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in the familiar scent of you—a small, comforting anchor in the storm of his thoughts.

After a few moments, you gently tugged his hand. “Come back to bed, Logan. You need rest.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “I… I don’t know if I can. Not after—”

You cut him off with a soft smile, placing your hand on his cheek. “You don’t have to face it alone.” Your fingers threaded through his as you led him back inside.

Once you were in the bedroom, you slipped under the covers and held them open for him. Logan stood there for a moment, his eyes flicking between you and the bed as if he was afraid of what would happen once he closed his eyes again. But with a reluctant sigh, he crawled in beside you, resting on his side, his back to you.

Sensing his unease, you moved closer, sliding your arms around his waist and pulling him into you. Logan stiffened for a moment, but then melted into your embrace, his large body relaxing as he let you spoon him. Your lips pressed gently to his shoulder, leaving soft kisses against his skin.

“It’s okay,” you murmured softly, your voice like a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. “I’m here. You’re safe. It’s okay to fall asleep.”

Logan let out a shaky breath, his hands covering yours where they rested against his chest. “I don’t know how you do it,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Make it all feel… bearable.”

You smiled softly against his shoulder, continuing to place gentle kisses along his skin. “I’m not going anywhere. Just rest, Logan. I’ve got you.”

It took a while, but eventually, Logan’s breathing began to slow, the tension in his muscles easing bit by bit. With you wrapped around him, your steady breaths a comforting rhythm in the quiet room, he finally allowed his eyes to close.

And for the first time in a long time, Logan fell into a peaceful sleep, no longer haunted by the ghosts of his past.

———

🏷️: @twinky-wink @fidgetingbee @astarions-girl-dinner @layladestiny8 @birdy-bat-writes @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @wolviesgirl @veru-boom @lanabobana @shybluebirdninja @corvusmorte @seamlessepiphany @allmyn1ghts @chronicallybubbly @lex-the-flex @evasmlp

I FINALLY POSTED NEW LOGAN CONTENT!!

If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know❤️

[rafecameroninterlude]

can i request a [🍪] chocolate chip cookie, for “bed chem” by sabrina carpenter

₊˚⊹ᰔ 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐦

pairing: soft!dom!rafe x kook!sweetheart!reader

summary: ❝how you talk so sweet when you’re doing bad things. that’s bed chem.❞ — rafe loves coming home to his girl.

warnings: sooo much dirty talk, lots of praise, grinding (?), unprotected sex, brief mention of reader having a size kink, multiple orgasms, love biting, yk rafe has to talk you through it ;)

word count: 1.0k

a/n: me realizing this is the first explicit piece i write with rafe and kook!sweetheart!reader :0 feel free to participate in this little poll if you want to!

“fuck, just look at you..” rafe had you laid out on your bed, his lips whispering sweet nothings against your skin. “so fucking beautiful, ‘always ready for me to take you when i get home.” he ran his large hands up your bare thighs, his cock stirring in his briefs. you took your bottom lip between your teeth, his rough palms a stark contrast to your soft flesh. “this is all i think about when we’re apart.” you gasped when he spread your legs open, his eyes darkening at the sight of your glossy folds. “you’re already wet just thinking about it, huh?” you nodded, meeting his lust filled gaze.

“you’re so passive with me, baby, i love that. ‘love when i walk in here and you give me those ‘fuck me’ eyes.” he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your jaw as his hand trailed down to where you needed him most. you couldn’t help the moan slipping past your lips when the pads of his fingers found your needy clit, all of his attention zeroing in on the way you melted into his touch. “coming home to you like this.. fuck this is all i’ll ever need.” you swore you could cum from his words alone. cupping his face, you pulled him down to meet your lips. like always, he tasted like a little bit of liquor with a hint of mint.

“please, rafe..” you weren’t exactly sure what you were begging for, but since rafe always called the shots, you let him decide where this was going to go. you watched as he took himself out of his boxers, a shaky breath emitting from your mouth. you could never get used to the mere sight of him, the size difference of you two making butterflies erupt in your tummy every single time. rafe laid down, pulling you on top of him as his cock sprang up against his stomach. “grind on me, pretty girl, you know how i like it.” his hands rested in the curves of your hips as you dragged your soaked cunt up and down the underside of his length.

rafe groaned, his head falling back against your pillows as your sensitive bundle of nerves glided on top of his cock with ease. “shit,” he said through gritted teeth, “you’re doing so good for me, doll face.” you whimpered, feeling empty while fighting the urge to sink onto him. “wanna feel you inside me, ray..” your nails dug into the skin of his toned chest, your boyfriend’s mouth falling open in a silent moan. “not yet, baby, let’s go slow, ‘promise i’ll be fucking you into oblivion very soon.” your cheeks heated, muttering a pathetic ‘okay..’ before continuing your ministrations.

rafe was in absolute awe watching the way you moved on top of him, those little sounds falling from your swollen lips as you panted and whined from not being filled up. you jolted with every swipe of your clit against the head of his cock. rafe knew how sensitive you were, how it never took much to have you making a mess on him in no time. that fact turned him on more than anything else he could think of. adjusting the grip he had on your hips, you let out a yelp when he started dragging you up and down his cock himself. “i want that pussy greedy and sucking me in when i flip you over.”

you shuddered, feeling the familiar heat start to boil until rafe brought it to the surface. rafe thought you looked the prettiest when you were cumming, your expression ingrained in his brain forever. “oh, my g- fuck, rafe!” he knew it was good when you cursed out loud, your body trembling and shaking as your high washed over you. rafe pulled you into his chest, peppering your face with kisses until you were nothing but jelly in his arms. without giving you any time to recover, rafe pushed your face into the pillows, snaking an arm underneath your waist before thrusting into you without warning.

thankfully your scream was muffled, your fingers digging into the sheets for dear life. rafe’s skin was flushed to your own, the weight of him on your back making you mewl. “so fucking tight, holy shit.” he kissed the spot behind your ear, his arms enveloping yours. you intertwined your fingers with his as he thrusted into you, stretching you so deliciously. you moaned, the feeling of his cock kissing your cervix made you clench around him. arching into his thrusts, he rested his head in the curve of your neck. “you’re so fucking perfect, ‘taking it so good.” rafe bit your earlobe, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine.

you nearly lost it when he angled his hips, the thick head of his cock hitting the spot inside of you that made you see stars. “oh!” you gasped, your face contorting into one of pleasure. “i know baby, fuckin’ hell, i know.” he shuddered, feeling the start of his peak forming in his stomach. “gonna fill you up, ‘make you take every last drop..” he pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades before sitting up on his knees. adjusting your position so your ass was in the air, you lost all ability to form a single thought when he took your hands behind your back and plowed into you until you were crying out, begging for him to never stop.

when the band snapped, and rafe fell over the edge, he cursed against your skin, holding you still as your own orgasm hit you at the same time. he painted your walls with his cum, his hands never leaving yours. you loved squeezing around him, taking him for everything he had while his breath fanned against your skin. he stayed nestled inside you for a few minutes before pulling out with a hiss. you laid limp, your boyfriend pulling you close as he stroked the side of your face. wiping the stray tears from your cheeks, rafe admired your post-sex afterglow. “what are you thinking about?” he hummed, snapping you out of your daze.

“how you talk so sweet when you’re doing bad things.”

[suplicyy]

heyy hope you’re gonna take this request, can you write something about canon kuroo confessing?

No time skip please. Like with a female reader which doesn’t act in love with him like the rest of the girls, she’s not pick me or stuff like this.

So Kuroo can do nothing but finally talk to her because he can’t stand the fact that she’s different from other girls.

I can’t really picture canon Kuroo confessing, that’s why I’m asking, I really like your writing!

Thank u so much

Notice me Please!!!

Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

— Summary: He has his eyes on you, but for some reason you don't look back.

— Tags/Genre: Fem!Reader | Fluff

— Warnings: None!

Kuroo drums his fingers impatiently on his desk, and with one hand resting on his chin, he stares at your figure across the classroom. You seemed quite entertained listening to music, which he has no idea what it is, but that sight makes him feel something inside him.

Frustration. He admit that he can't stand seeing you like this, because you're never like that when he tries to talk to you, and that made him feel a kind of jealousy, even if it was for something inanimate.

Every time you talked to him, you seemed indifferent, almost as if you were uninterested. Damn, why don't you look at him with the same twinkle in your eye when you're listening to something on your stupid headphones?

It's been a while since Kuroo started to have strong feelings for you, your heart skips a beat every time you pass each other in the school hallways, with Kuroo always looking back when you pass by him. But he never revealed that to you of course.

And no matter how many bad jokes or flirtations he told you, how many little gifts he left in your locker or on your desk in secret and then hinted that he was the one who left them there, it seemed like you never cared about his desperate actions for your attention.

At first, he thought this was just the way you acted, that you were more shy and reserved. But then he noticed the giggles you had with your friends, how talkative you seemed to be around them.

Now he thinks the problem is with him, that maybe you hate his presence, or just don't care about him.

He is a relatively popular person at school. His volleyball team reached the Nationals, which gave great prominence to all the team members, especially him. So it's no surprise to hear girls gossiping about Kuroo in the hallways.

To tell the truth, he didn't care much about it, sometimes he would even tease Yaku for having more fans than him, but that was it.

The only person he craves attention from is you.

But he doesn't know if you feel the same way, or at least care about his existence.

So that's why today would be the day he would bring the whole truth to light. His only option now would be to confess to you. Maybe it was a last choice made out of desperation and doubt, but he can no longer bear your indifference towards him.

Your club activities are over, so you can finally go home after a tiring day of boring classes and uninteresting people.

Now, you were walking towards the school exit, but you soon stopped when you saw a certain boy with a peculiar hairstyle standing at the gate, almost as if he was waiting for someone.

You figured he was waiting for Kenma to go home since they were best friends, so you didn't care much about it and continued walking to the exit.

"Hey, [Name]!"

A familiar voice calls you. And as you turn to the side, you see Kuroo walking towards you, waving at you.

"Let's go home together, shall we?" you look around, and then you look at him again, raising an eyebrow. "Aren't you going with Kenma?" "He said he needed to go somewhere else to buy a new game, something like that. And since I'm alone... I thought about going with you."

He gives you a smile that would make anyone fall in love immediately, but it never seemed to have any effect on you.

You looked at him with an enigmatic expression, almost as if you want to read him through his actions and words. "Um, sure." You say as you adjust your backpack hanging on your shoulder, soon starting to walk, with Kuroo by your side.

Your house wasn't that far from the school, but in the situation you were in, it felt like an eternity had passed since you left the school gates and started walking.

Neither of you exchanged a single word, except for Kuroo who was humming some random song.

"Y'know..." he says after a moment, which made you direct your gaze to him, who was still staring at the path ahead.

"I once heard you listening to this song. You turn your music up so loud that anyone who passes by can hear it coming from your headphones." your expression changes to one of surprise.

"S-Seriously? I never realized that..." you laugh awkwardly, looking away to the floor.

"Yeah... but it's not because of music or headphones that I called you to walk with me." Kuroo stops walking unexpectedly, making you stop too.

Looking back, you notice his expression is more serious, almost as if he is a little nervous.

"Actually, there's something I wanted to talk to you."

His tone of voice seemed to have changed too, which left you confused, or even a little nervous, as much as you didn't want to admit it.

"I...like you, [Name]." As he uttered these words, it was almost as if a weight had been lifted from the boy's shoulders, his previously tense posture allowing himself the luxury of relaxing, even if for a brief moment.

However, the opposite seemed to manifest in you. Previously unconcerned about what this simple walk would offer you, it was almost as if your breath was suddenly caught in your throat. Your heart soon feels like it's leaving your body, hammering in your chest in a fast, nervous rhythm.

"Huh?" you say in disbelief at what you heard. Shock quickly turns to annoyance, his eyebrows furrowing in disbelief. "Look... don't think this kind of joke is funny, because you won't hear me laugh about it."

"Joke? Why would you think that?" Kuroo says this right after with a nasal laugh.

He walks closer to you, and you instinctively step back, until your back is in contact with a large tree that was close to the sidewalk. He stops right in front of you, and looks at you with a touch of doubt, almost as if he had heard something incredible.

"Why do you think I would make fun of something like that? You- my feelings for you... would never be a joke to me." he says with an affectionate tone, his eyes softening for a moment as he maintains eye contact with you.

"Maybe this could have been just a challenge your friends arranged for you, like in those cliché movies." your tone conveys sarcasm, but with a touch of bitterness "Or maybe some pretty girl rejected you, and is now looking for solace in anyone even remotely close to you..." "Or even-"

Your words are cut off as you feel Kuroo's lips land tenderly on your cheek. His hand reaches out to cup the other side of your face, and the other lands on the tree behind you, pinning you there.

"I like you, [Name]." he whispers in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "And I will tell you this until you can't prove otherwise."

Kuroo takes his hand off the tree and takes your hand, then looks at you seriously. "And I mean it."

You feel your cheeks heat up, but you quickly compose yourself, and a small smile appears on your face, but this time it's genuine.

"Hmm, so you want to win me over, huh?" you push yourself away from the tree, placing your free hand on his shoulder. Your sudden closeness makes Kuroo surprised, making him suddenly feel shy.

"Only words won't convince me... you better work hard for it, Tetsurou." you move away from him, and start opening your backpack, looking for your headphones.

You give a small wave to Kuroo, but without turning towards him, focusing only on the path in front of you.

Dumbfounded, Kuroo waves back, his cheeks dyed with pink in embarrassment.

"Thank you for accompanying me, but I can go on my own from here." You say as you fit your headphones onto your head, putting on a random playlist that you made in honor of your little crush, who is definitely not Kuroo Tetsurou (it is).

— A/N: Uh........hi........I'm back.............

First of all, I want to apologize a thousand times to whoever sent me this request, I'm really sorry it took me SO LONG to post this. In addition to apologizing to everyone who follows me here, for not having given any sign of life for more than a month....😭

I really don't have a real excuse for doing this other than a total of 0 creativity and several hours of my life in hell (school), so I really needed to take this time for myself, until I felt more comfortable coming back here again.

I'm currently feeling quite creative artistically, mainly because I'm watching MHA again (which I'll probably bring here on my page) and also because I'm reading the Haikyuu manga. Plus, I passed pretty much every subject at school, so I don't have to worry so much about grades.

So...I'm officially back now!! I apologize again, and in compensation for this, I am already writing 3 more new things for you (2 are from MHA😜😜🤪); and I also won't open requests until I finish writing these, so stay tuned!!

[shadowdaddies]

Holiday Traditions

Lucien x fem!Reader fluff

Summary: Reader finds Lucien preparing for some of his childhood Autumn Equinox traditions, and decides to surprise him.

Wind whipped softly at your cheeks, late September air bringing a much needed reprieve from the exhausting heat August had brought this year. You smiled at the sight of a leaf, twirling in the breeze as it floated down from its branch to join the others scattered about the forest floor in a kaleidoscope of greens, oranges, and yellows. 

The sound of rustling foliage pulled your attention from the path to the Exiles’ Manor. A familiar head of long flaming hair brought a smile to your lips, his presence drawing you like a moth to the flame. 

Hearing the sound of your approach, Lucien looked over his shoulder from where he knelt on the ground, his returning smile sending heat pooling in your belly. You glanced beyond him to the small structure in front of him. A small structure had been built, its fine craftsmanship an indication of who had crafted the object. Lucien’s golden complexion flushed slightly at your curious gaze, your eyes roving eagerly over the small pyre he’d built, decorated beautifully with an assortment of berries, nuts, and what seized your attention most - two cornhusk dolls laid together at the front.

Kneeling in front of the arrangement, you reached a hand out and twined Lucien’s fingers through your own. “What is this?” you whispered, voice soft with awe.

Lucien squirmed slightly, a rare moment of self consciousness showing behind his charming facade. “It’s a Mabon Altar,” he nodded, reaching out to brush away a leaf that had fallen over the display. “It’s an Autumn Court tradition.”

His gaze flicked to yours, studying your reaction. “Each year, we - they - celebrate the Equinox with rituals, to honor the Mother, and to ask her for prosperity, protection, and balance.” He laughed dryly at his own words, mouth twisting into a wry smile as you carefully picked up one of the corn husk dolls. 

“My mother holds the traditions very sacred. The dolls are supposed to represent those we love, to pray for their good fortune.” Gaze swinging to the other doll which still sat on the earth, amber eye swam with emotion. “I hardly believe that,” he swallowed thickly, “but my mother always made dolls for each of my brothers and me. And one like this.” 

He held the doll, pulling it closer so you could see the intricate details Lucien had worked to cut and carve. The doll was darker than the one in your hand, the corn husk itself nearly as dark as the soil, while parts of it were painted gold as though to resemble the doll’s clothing. You looked to the doll in your own hand, studying the lighter hue of its husk, shades of red so much like Lucien’s. “This one is your mother?” you questioned softly.

Lucien nodded, a mournful smile playing on his lips. “It meant so much to her to create these each year. It makes me feel closer to her - even if I can’t be there in Autumn with her.”

Pulling your hand from his, you intertwined your arms and leaned against his warm frame. “And who is that?” you prodded, gently taking the other doll from him.

“I don’t know. I think it was just an idea of my mother’s - a symbol of hope for protection, or her future.” 

Setting the corn husk back in its place, you leaned to press a kiss to Lucien’s cheek. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I hope I can be here to celebrate the Equinox with you, if that is okay.”

His answering smile stole the air from your lungs, unbridled joy casting a ray of sunshine through him as Lucien stole your lips for another, deep kiss. “I can think of nothing that I would love more,” he purred, your insides melting at the suggestive tone. 

~~~

You were lounging on the pink sofa in Lucien’s lap days later when Twilight began to darken the sky. Flashing a conspiratorial grin to Vassa and Jurian, you excused yourself to your room, smiling at Lucien’s groan when the other two quickly did the same. 

In your room, you hurriedly grabbed the burgundy dress from your wardrobe, applying rouge to your lips before giving yourself an assessing look in the mirror. 

Yesterday during your visit to the Day Court on emissary business, you had asked Helion about the library’s books on Autumn Court’s Equinox traditions. The High Lord had shocked you by knowing plenty about their traditions himself, recalling the feast they had each year with different foods to represent the different Houses.

The way in which Helion spoke about the rituals held such a reverence, you couldn’t help but grow more excited to surprise Lucien with a party. You had thanked Helion - who bid you farewell with a mournful smile that oddly reminded you of Lucien’s - eager to race home and begin planning.

Exhaling a nervous breath, you swiped the final touches of makeup across your eyes before turning back to the living room.

“My vixen, you couldn’t stay away for-“

Whatever witty remark Lucien had planned died in his throat, mouth agape as he took you in. You were indeed the vixen, your dark red lips matching the tight fabric that donned your figure like a siren’s call to the male in front of you. Moving as though in a trance, Lucien swiftly stood from the couch, his hands finding purchase on your waist, shamelessly trailing up your body to feel the curves you’d put on display.

“What is this?” Lucien asked, his voice practically a growl with the self restraint he barely clung to. 

“This,” you purred, stepping back to offer him the full view of your body once more, “is what I wear to a party.” 

“A party?” he echoed, tongue flicking out over his bottom lip in intrigue. You simply hummed in response, lacing his fingers in your own as you led him towards the front door with a playful wink over your shoulder.

Opening the door of the manor, you smiled at how incredibly Vassa had pulled together the evening. Fae lights glowed like fireflies throughout the trees, illuminating the table that was set with an ornate dinner and fae wine. A symphonia played the gentle tune of a familiar orchestra, setting the mood for Jurian and Vassa as they swayed on the makeshift dance floor. 

“What is this?” Lucien breathed, hand still tight around your own. 

Smiling brightly at the wonder in his expression, you led him to the table where the others were now taking their seats. “I learned a bit more about Equinox traditions, and I wanted to surprise you with some new memories of a special holiday for you.”

Jurian coughed from across the table, earning an elbow to the ribs from Vassa and an eye roll from you. “Vassa helped a lot... And Jurian a little bit, as well,” you teased in response to the latter’s outraged expression.

“Thank you all, very much,” Lucien murmured, voice thick with emotion. You leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek before filling his plate with traditional Autumn celebration foods, laughing and drinking with your friends late into the night until the moon was high in the sky. 

“It’s time,” you whispered from where you leaned against Lucien’s warm chest. As midnight approached, you followed the path to Lucien’s altar, whispering your own silent prayers from behind as he lit the pyre with a flick of his wrist. 

Turning to face you, Lucien stood aglow in the firelight, his amber eyes and bright hair glowing like the sun. You smiled bashfully at his beauty, still in place as he walked up to you, and right past you. 

Stunned, you turned over your shoulder to find him standing on the dance floor, poised in a dramatic bow with his hand outstretched in askance. “My cunning vixen, will you do me the greatest honor of dancing with me?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his antics, earning a mischievous wink as Lucien spun you into his arms, your chest flush against his, hearts beating as one. The fire burned a soft crackle, illuminating the dark night as the symphonia began to play a slower sort of melody. “Thank you for sharing your holiday with me,” you murmured, cheek laid against Lucien’s chest as you swayed.

Lips pressed gently to the top of your head, lingering there for a long moment. Pulling away slightly, Lucien’s hand tucked under your chin as he guided your face to look at his. “Thank you for giving me new, sweet memories, every day,” he murmured, eyes glowing with emotion before they flicked downward, suddenly turning dark.

Wandering hands found their way back to you, Lucien pulling you impossibly close as his hands squeezed your ass appreciatively. “There is one part of you that will always be the sweetest, though,” he purred, leaning down to tug your earlobe between his teeth. “And I won’t be sleeping until I’ve had a taste.” Before you could react, Lucien tossed you over his shoulder, one hand holding you still as the other moved precariously further beneath your dress while he strode back towards the manor.

A Happy Equinox, indeed.

[anniebeemine]

vacation-s.r. x fem!reader

warnings: just family fluff

Spencer thought his hotel days were over when he left the BAU, but the reality was far from it. He hadn’t kept an official count, but at this point, he was certain that he’d spent more nights in hotel rooms than in his own bed during his lifetime. The ache in his body from lumpy mattresses and too-thin pillows had become a familiar companion, one he woke up with once again this morning.

As he blinked his eyes open, he rolled over, his body groaning in protest. The stark white sheets clung to his legs, and he could feel the stiffness from yet another night on a subpar bed. Sliding his feet into his slippers, he padded quietly to the bathroom, the cold tile underfoot another unwelcome reminder that he wasn’t home.

When he stepped back into the room, the sight that greeted him made it all worth it. There lay you—his beautiful, gorgeous wife—still fast asleep. He couldn’t help but smile as he took you in. There was a bit of drool on your lip, and your hair was a tangled mess that he knew you’d curse over in about an hour when you tried to comb it out. A soft snore came from you, the kind that was peaceful and endearing, the type that only someone who truly loved you would find adorable.

Spencer stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching you, his heart swelling with a quiet contentment. Even after all these years, seeing you like this—so relaxed, so at peace—filled him with a sense of warmth he couldn’t put into words.

He shifted his gaze to the other bed, where his two children, Daniel and Marissa, lay in a chaotic sprawl. The twins had somehow managed to starfish over each other in their sleep, arms and legs tangled like they couldn’t decide whether to be attached or push each other away. Their small faces were still flushed from the excitement of the night before, remnants of laughter still etched into their expressions.

He had fallen asleep listening to their giggles, their hushed whispers carrying through the room. There was a small wall between the two beds, and to them, it had seemingly acted as a barrier that prevented their parents from hearing their mischievous late-night conversations. Of course, Spencer and you had known exactly what they were up to, but neither of you had the heart to break it up. After a night of swimming in the hotel pool and a sugar rush from vending machine snacks, it felt like a harmless indulgence.

Spencer’s smile softened as he remembered the sound of their laughter. It had filled the room, bright and full of life, the kind of sound that made the ache from his job, his travels, and those lumpy mattresses fade into the background.

He tiptoed back to his bed, careful not to wake anyone. Sliding under the covers, he glanced over at you again, his heart full. Despite the exhaustion, the unfamiliarity of yet another hotel room, and the ache in his muscles, this—being here with you and the kids—was what mattered. It wasn’t the bed that made a home; it was the people in it.

Spencer leaned back against the pillows, watching as the early morning light filtered through the curtains. He knew that in a little while, the room would be filled with the sound of your voice, grumbling as you untangled your hair, and the twins’ excited chatter as they planned whatever adventure they’d get into next.

But for now, in this quiet moment, everything was perfect.

Spencer felt himself slowly drift back to sleep, the warmth of the bed and the sound of your soft snores lulling him into a light doze. His mind relaxed, slipping into the peaceful in-between where everything was calm, where the aches from the hotel mattress disappeared, and it was just him and his family.

But that peace didn’t last long.

He woke to the blaring sound of a children’s show playing on the TV, the shrill theme song snapping him out of his slumber. Daniel, his oldest, stood next to the remote, wide-eyed and frozen like a deer in headlights. As soon as he caught Spencer’s bleary gaze, he fumbled with the buttons, managing to mutter, “I’m sorry,” as he quickly set it to mute.

From beside him, you stirred, your eyes still closed but your voice carrying a sleepy warning. “He better not have woken up the baby.”

As if on cue, the unmistakable sound of little miss cranky pants, Liza, echoed through the room. She screeched loudly, her tiny arms reaching out from the hotel-provided crib, clearly unhappy with the sudden lack of quiet. Spencer chuckled softly under his breath as Daniel winced, already knowing what was coming.

Daniel made a valiant attempt to help, reaching into the crib to lift his baby sister, but at only seven, he was still learning the ropes. His small arms struggled under the weight, and Liza’s face immediately contorted into one of discomfort—maybe even disgust. She was not pleased with her brother’s lack of finesse.

Marissa, always the problem-solver, quickly jumped in to help. The two of them worked together, lifting their sister from the crib with a series of grunts and awkward tugs until they finally managed to settle her down on the queen bed. The three of them lay there contently, Daniel and Marissa giggling softly as Liza nuzzled against them, her earlier frustration quickly forgotten in the comfort of her siblings’ embrace.

Spencer watched the whole scene unfold, his heart swelling with pride at how naturally the kids cared for one another. Even though he and you were right there, the twins had taken it upon themselves to handle their baby sister, and he loved seeing that bond grow between them.

You muttered something again, your eyes still closed but your voice half-aware now. “I should probably go downstairs and get them some breakfast.”

Spencer leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’ll go get something. You stay here and rest.”

You hummed in response, grateful for the offer but still half-asleep, while Spencer quietly gathered his keys and slipped on a pair of sneakers. He tiptoed out of the hotel room, the soft click of the door closing behind him signaling the start of his little mission.

The drive to the nearest fast food place was quick, the streets still quiet in the early morning. Spencer placed the order, his mind already back in the hotel room, his heart aching to return to you and the kids. It was funny how much he’d changed—years ago, he would’ve dreaded this sort of thing. The noise, the chaos, the constant movement that came with being a parent. But now, it was his greatest joy.

By the time he returned with the food, the kids would be up and fully awake, you probably wrangling them into some semblance of order while Liza demanded to be held. He couldn’t wait to see their faces light up when he walked through the door, bags of breakfast in hand, ready to start the day.

And as he pulled back into the parking lot, Spencer smiled, knowing that even though his hotel days weren’t quite over yet, as long as he had you and the kids with him, it didn’t really matter.

Spencer returned to the hotel room, the warm aroma of breakfast filling the air as he carefully balanced the bags in his hands. As expected, the kids were already wide awake and bouncing with excitement. Daniel and Marissa were sprawled out on the bed, playfully poking Liza, who was now much calmer, her earlier cries forgotten.

“Daddy’s back!” Marissa squealed as she noticed him, hopping off the bed and rushing over to grab one of the bags from him. Daniel was close behind, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the food.

You stirred in bed, finally sitting up with a groggy smile. “Saved the day again, I see,” you teased, stretching your arms above your head.

Spencer grinned and leaned over to press a kiss to your lips before handing you a cup of coffee. “Thought you might need this.”

“Always,” you replied gratefully, taking a sip and sighing contently. The twins were already digging into their breakfast, barely able to contain their excitement for what the day held.

As the family sat together, the room filled with the chatter of their morning routine. Liza babbled in her high chair, her tiny hands reaching for the small bits of breakfast Spencer had cut up for her. Daniel and Marissa were exchanging stories about their dreams from the night before, their voices a flurry of energy.

After breakfast, you all began the process of getting ready for the day. The familiar chaos of wrangling kids into clothes, brushing teeth, and packing bags for the day began. Spencer moved between the beds, folding tiny outfits and zipping up backpacks, while you made sure Liza had everything she needed.

“Are we almost ready?” you called from the bathroom as you pulled a brush through your hair, the inevitable tangles from the night before giving you a bit of trouble.

“Just about!” Spencer replied, glancing over at Daniel and Marissa, who were now fully dressed and pulling their shoes on. “Are you guys excited for today?”

“Yes!” they both shouted in unison, their eyes wide with excitement.

“Do you think Uncle Derek will play soccer with us?” Daniel asked, his voice bubbling with hope.

“Probably,” Spencer chuckled, knowing full well that Derek would never turn down a game of soccer with the kids. “You guys have been practicing so much, you might even be able to beat him this time.”

Marissa grinned, clearly proud of her skills, and Daniel’s face lit up with determination. The twins were in the thick of their travel soccer season, and weekends like this had become the norm—constantly on the go, shuttling between games, practices, and tournaments. If it wasn’t soccer, it was travel hockey or dance competitions. Every season brought something new, and while it was exhausting at times, Spencer secretly loved every minute of it. Watching his kids pour their hearts into their activities made all the travel and chaos worth it.

Once everyone was dressed and ready, Spencer glanced over at the packed suitcases by the door. He hoisted one onto his shoulder and smiled down at Liza, who had waddled over to him, her tiny fingers clutching the sleeve of his jacket.

“Are you ready to go see Uncle Derek?” he asked her softly, scooping her up into his arms.

Liza gurgled in response, a wide grin spreading across her face as she grabbed onto his collar.

“You heard her,” Spencer said with a smile, turning toward the twins. “Let’s get going!”

The room was filled with excited chatter as Daniel and Marissa scrambled to grab their backpacks, eagerly talking about all the things they planned to do with Uncle Derek. Spencer couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. Derek had always been a favorite of the kids, and any chance to visit him was met with sheer joy.

As the family made their way down to the lobby, Spencer carried Liza on one hip, the suitcase in his other hand. You followed close behind with the twins, each of them tugging at your arms as they excitedly discussed their plans for the day. Despite the hectic pace of travel and the constant shuffle between hotel rooms, these moments—these weekends spent as a family, watching their kids grow and bond with the people they loved—made it all worth it.

And as they stepped out into the crisp morning air, Spencer felt that familiar warmth fill his chest. He might still be living out of a suitcase, but with his family by his side, every day was an adventure worth having.

[1800titz]

COME TOUCH ME TOO | Best friend’s dad

age gap. 11.2K on patreon

second part to LIQUID SMOOTH

You’d catch him over the sink sometimes. Or the stove. At the dinette, shirtless. Big bear, you thought, still only half-awake (starving), staring at his skin, swathed in ink that traversed limb, to torso, to limb. You’d catch the smattering of dark hair pooling over his sternum, and the hair beneath his navel, darker, more wiry, seeping into the band of his pajama pants. And later, you’d wonder if it was the substructure— torn out from you— that you were chasing (the surfeited rift between your ages, the sage wisdom you lacked), or if it was just the shape of him, the way he fit into your life, the subtle domesticity of a morning. The pantomime of a distant daydream. (Pretending this was your life you were living, and not taking a page from someone else’s.)

preview

The bar you’re at feels congested. Sticky, shoulders brushing shoulders, feet bumping feet, and the music is loud enough that you feel it droning along the skin of your bones. Past max-capacity; something you anticipated. Accepted on a Friday night— no sort of discomfort that couldn’t be waterlogged into an unconcerned bliss with enough alcohol. 

And that’s what it started as. 

One shot to ease the restless hypervigilance (when you shuffled in, sliding between clusters of bodies), that burned at the back of your throat, heat flaring across your crinkling sinuses. Then, a second, that radiated warmth along your chest, under your skin, that settled as a weightless feeling beneath the soles of your feet. Loosened the arc of your shoulders. 

(You never buy your own drinks.)

A third, cupped from a stranger’s fingers, with bright, powder blue eyes that lingered on your throat, the line of your jaw when you tipped your head back. Inkpools stuck to your tongue when you smeared it out across your lips, the bridge of your nose rucking. He gave you a wolfish, glimmering grin and told you what a pretty thing you are.

(And you think, staring up at him through the misting crest of intoxicant smog, he’s too young. Feels like a boy— one you can’t re-mold even in the haze of alcohol— in the absence of crows’ feet and shallow smile lines, the glinting, tawdry rhinestone stuck to his incisor. Skin speckled with ink that resembles zealous impulse rather than an aged, carefully-crafted tapestry. You doubt there’s any worthwhile story behind the dice in the nook of his elbow; RICH across the front, C and H tipped perfectly on their southern edges to show the S and K that could fill the word out, instead.)

(You can’t even pretend.)

You seldom find regret in the sea of a familiar gyre (the world spinning, and you, finally, spinning with it), but the spindrift crashes across in a misty fog of discomfort. The riptide lures you out to swallow you whole. You’re not sure when the euphoria mutates into anxiety— maybe somewhere along the fourth and the fifth— but it coagulates in your esophagus, in your stomach. Cakes in the warm, soft spot under your ribcage, until your bones feel like they’re wobbling with the pulse of your heart. Vibrating.

You showed up with a coworker. Admittedly, one you didn’t know too well, to a bar you haven’t been to before. But going out is going out, and a bar is a bar. You don’t need a babysitter, you don’t need to know her well, and you don’t need to scope the the pub, but—

Last you saw her, she was propped against the corner of the bar, and now, as you sweep your bleary gaze over the mass, she’s nowhere in sight. You’re alone. You’re alone, and the world is spinning, screaming, chattering over the pulsing base, and you feel like you can’t keep up. 

When you swallow, it lodges in your throat. You feel like you can’t breathe, nearly tripping over your own feet, brushing between tangled musculature, limbs like gnarled, warm roots for you stumble over. And you feel like you’re trying to part the sea to make room for your clumsy steps. Like you’re trying to move mountains. 

By the time you make it outside, your lungs are aching, and your shoulders are quaking. You don’t know where it’s coming from— what it is— but it feels like a flame licking its way up under your dermis, and you want to shed your skin off the bone. The gulp of air you take is welcome. Cold. Wet. 

It’s raining. 

Pouring. The gust drenches your bare legs in spittle off the sky, even under the awning. Helplessly, you pat around for your phone. 

And you don’t know what possesses you. You don’t know if it’s a clumsy swipe of your thumb across the glowing screen, or a cruel form of divine intervention, when you scroll and stutter along his contact. It’s a number you should’ve deleted. Haven’t pressed in months. 

You flung yourself out of orbit, and seeing his name feels like you’re a piece of star-shed that’s slipped too close— a hair from homecoming. It feels like the inevitable, crushing weight of gravity snagging you into the miserable ouroboros you’ve spent every evening running from. A tidal wave, reborn, swallowing you whole. 

And you know the repercussions— the potential there. The consequences of sticking wet fingers into electrical sockets, but you tell yourself, he won’t pick up. It’s too late. You’re too late. Too—

Your finger lingers. 

You don’t know what would be worse. Abandonment in another shape, or hearing his voice on the other end of the line. 

You call him. 

You regret it a split-second too late, staring down at the screen dialing. When you press the phone to your ear, with the rain spitting, the thrum of the bass behind the door— your heart rattling in your ears, your head spinning—

You barely hear the three rings before the line clicks. It’s quiet. 

And then—

“Hello?”

You suck in a gust of air. You expected his voice to hurt. To ache— you anticipated, maybe, a lot of things, with variegated hypotheticals spelled out in misty shapes through hours spent staring at your ceiling. 

But every chimera crumbles when the words stick to the back of your throat. Part of it is the slurry in your veins, the hard liquor, the way it’s all kicked in, all at once. And part of it is the realization that, despite the biramous conjectures you’ve crafted— the what if’s— it’s the heavy thought that all roads lead to this.

He sounds hoarse. Mean with sleep.

“Um. Hi.” The words sound garbled, like you’re underwater. Tinny, wet, strained. 

Eager in the shape of unrequited pining; a mangled fruition of all the nights you’d spent, thumb hovering over the call button, wondering if he’d pick up on the other end of the line, stockpiling the heap of broken wishes. The ones you cradled in your hands like jagged fractures of your rib bones, cracked from how hard your heart was pounding. 

(If only he could see the lovelorn tar in your marrow, leaking out in a rotting treacle and pooling in the crevice of your love-line; tragic, broken down a long gap right under the wedge between your pinky and ring finger.) 

The awning does a poor job of covering your toes, and they soak in the torrent that spumes from the midnight aether, shimmering against the wet asphalt. Silly, little girl— woman, nowadays— one ear corked with your forefinger to stifle the downpour spitting from the same sky you’d crane your neck and spill orisons at, the other fisting at your phone like a lifeline. Dangling onto the thread off this unspooled hope. 

You sound ditzy. Soporific. Lost. You wonder if he picks up on it on the other end of the line. “Are you, um. Are you busy?” 

The speaker crackles.

Finally, he rasps from the other end of the line— a thunderclap, like a gunshot, “You’re not callin’ me at one in the morning to ask me if I’m busy.” 

“I—“ the words stick to the back of your throat. 

Something seals up in your lungs with the breath you try to take. 

Bitter recrudesce, a reminder when it wakes back up in the slotted teeth of your heart— an ache, alleviated in his absence after time, that throbs at the sound of his voice. Your jaw quakes on what you want to confess, snarled in your throat. I love you— Please— I’ve loved you since—

Your lip wobbles. Teeth clack, staring at the wet asphalt. “Uh. Sorry.”

You settle for a middle ground— some compromise in the clouded welter of your docket— something you’ve been meaning to say for months.

(Sorry for being a silly, little girl that fell in love with you.)

You’re met with a beat of silence that eats into your marrow. Has your guts twisting, chest tight. Then, (solace) a sigh— surly— oozes across the crackling speaker. 

“Where are you?” 

The question reminds you why you called in the first place. That you’re sopping up dirty rainwater with your boots on the outskirts of town, outside some seedy bar you came to, to drown your demons (him) in burnt amber. A thunderbolt ripples across the pitch aether, zagging electric chalky across the swollen plumes. All at once, you…

Crumble. 

“I’m, um. Ah…” your chin quivers. You nod, “I’m here. At a, um. At a bar. Outside a bar.”

“Which bar? Who are you with?” 

The slew of questions nearly makes you laugh. 

The concern, there, throttles you and the tension in your shoulders like you expected anything less. You did. And you would laugh if hearing his voice, for the first time in months, wasn’t a sobering maelstrom on your psyche. Despite the way your tongue feels sticky, and useless, like it's caught on the roof of your mouth, you clear your throat.

“Um. It’s called, ah— Southbound,” your eyes slip shut. The wobble at your feet clicks in your knees. “I came with a— with a coworker. But I can’t find her. And I just— sorry. Fuck. Sorry. I got, um. I’m… sorry.”

You set your teeth and stare down at the rainwater speckling the toes of your boots. Gusting against your bare legs, and you don’t realize you’ve been hanging onto the phone with both hands cupped, like a lifeline, until his voice comes through.

“Y’alright?”

He sounds a little more awake. No doubt at the quiver in your tone. The way you can’t cohesively suture the words together. You roll forward on your toes. It’s a miscalculated motion on your part, because you nearly topple forward. 

“No. Yeah. M’really— um. I’m a little, um. Drunk. I think. So—“ you slur. Take a breath. “No. I don’t—“

The words come out small. Tired. There’s a crack in your voice, like you’re on the edge of keeling over the precipice. You feel it in the burn at the back of your eyes, raw in your sinuses, when you admit, softly, “…I wanna go home.”

He doesn’t say anything. You take another breath, and feel it against the enamel of your teeth. Expect the sear of ice. Your fingers feel strained on your phone. Crushing. Taut. You think about his next words before he says them. Before the surly crackle from the other end of the line hits you, imagine it— call an uber. 

I’ll call you an uber, at best. At worst…

You swallow. The line crackles again.

“Send me your location. I’m coming to get you.”

[r3i-mp3]

Will you be my valentine?

riddle oneshot, 801 words

this is my first time writing so id highly appreciate any constructive criticism to improve but anyways pls enjoy ☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

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February 14th, once a common and frankly unintriguing day had now become something so important to Riddle as he looked into the mirror, fixing a stray strand of his scarlet locks before pacing around nervously. Did he forget anything? Everything needed to be flawless today. There was no room for mistakes. His dignity was on the line, after all, and it simply wouldn’t do to present anything less than his best.

What was he to do with himself? Weeks ago, he had scoffed at the idea of romance. Foolish. He had no time for such nonsense, or so he told himself. He’d even convinced himself—more than once—that he didn’t think about them at all. Yet here he was, standing nervously in front of the wooden door to their house, a small rose bouquet clutched tightly in his gloved hand. He let out a small sigh, annoyed by how this all had unfolded. How exactly had he gone from indifference to this?

It was absolutely undeniable now. Each time he thought of them, something warm and bubbly seemed to just stir within him. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before, that sickly sweet sensation. This was something so abhorrently different from his usual routine it seemed to just irritate him more. Something that made his heart thump just a little harder and his palms sweat a tiny bit more than usual. His knuckles barely grazed the door when he hesitated. Should he really go through with this? What would he do if he messed up?

All those endless nights spent with his head buried deep within his palms flusteredly as he questioned exactly which aspect of them was so alluring to him yet never once could he come up with a solid answer. They felt like a fresh breath of air, an enigma amongst a land of solved riddles. They seemed to always know what he wanted to hear, sweet talking him into holding extra tea parties and letting them off the hook for broken rules. They were like a puzzle he couldn’t solve, no matter how hard he tried. And that frustrated him to no end. How was it that they always seemed to know exactly what to say to disarm him? To make him question the very rules he lived by?

As he stood and marinated in his thoughts, the door suddenly creaked open, snapping him out of his spiralling thoughts as his heart nearly leaped out of his chest. Standing face to face in front of him was you, your expression one of surprise yet your smile still shone brighter than the rays of morning sun. Riddle immediately stiffened, feeling a heat rise in his face as he awkwardly cleared his throat, a hand creeping to rub his neck shyly.

There they stood, blinking in mild surprise yet still with that familiar warmth in their eyes. The sight of them—one so ordinary and yet so profoundly impactful—made Riddle’s pulse quicken again as he looked away in an attempt to calm himself. Their gaze flickered towards the neatly wrapped bouquet in his hands, their eyes softening as they realised what he was trying to do. “You wanna come in and take a seat first?” You offered with a soft smile, reaching a hand out to softly hold his hand as you gently pulled him into the dorm room, gently illuminated by the rays of sunlight hitting dust.

Just as you were about to leave him to his thoughts for a while, there was a tight grip on your wrist. The touch desperate in nature as he almost pulls you back, your head turning back to look at him “Wait!” He spoke softly, but it was clear enough to be audible and with a deep breath, he stood up while still holding one of your hands in his, unfurling it before placing the rose bouquet in it gently and looking in every direction but yours. “I… hand picked them from Heartslabyul and trimmed off the thorns myself… and I was wondering if you’d be my… valentine?”

His voice seemed vulnerable, a soft lilt to it as he spoke. His head tilted upwards at the end of his sentence. The confession seemed to have hung in the air between them, raw and vulnerable. For a moment, time seemed to freeze, the expression on your face changing as your lips curled up softly.

“I’d love to.”

The relief that washed over him was indescribable, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. For the first time in weeks, the tension in his body eased ever so slightly. He allowed himself to smile back, just a little. The soft pillowy lips of the person he could now call his valentine meet his, and maybe valentine’s day wasn’t so boring after all.

writers note: im so worried its not very good aaaaa i tried my best TvT

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 14/?

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Vampire/Witch!AU

Less than a week 'til everyone's back on our screens! Eeeeeeee!

Read on AO3

As soon as Tommy realized the elevator was full of fucking witches, he knew he was in trouble.

The bodies of Jonah Greenway and his familiar were still lying on the floor in the hallway—obviously having met their end at the hands of vampires. Any witch worth their salt would be able to tell at a glance that Tommy had drunk witch blood recently. And Evan had absolutely no reason to try and help Tommy explain himself before the witches attacked. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to fight his way out. The power that roiled off the witches staring at him in shock was disconcerting.

Options—none of them good, none of them even really feasible—flashed through his head…but then Evan took the decision out of his hands.

Suddenly, Evan was at his side, his hand curling around Tommy’s and gripping tight.

Suddenly, Evan was screaming a phrase in the strange, lilting language of his casting.

Suddenly, Tommy was enveloped in the white light of a witch’s magic, tossing like a boat on a stormy sea, the feel of Evan’s hand in his the only thing he could focus on.

And suddenly, Tommy was standing in the loft at the coven safehouse.

He blinked in surprise, his brain taking a moment to catch up with the change in events…and still kind of snagged on the feel of Evan’s hand tangled in his, Evan’s strong, calloused fingers fitting against his so perfectly. He almost reached for Evan’s hand again when he let go, not wanting to lose the connection. Common sense asserted itself before he could, though, and he shook his head in amazement.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. He’d known witches could teleport—had seen it happen a few times over the course of his long life—but he’d certainly never experienced it. He turned to look at Evan, a thousand questions leaping to his lips, but froze as he took in the sight of the witch.

Evan was white as a sheet, sweat standing out on his forehead and cheeks, his eyes glazed over with exhaustion as he swayed on his feet. Blood dripped from his nose, painting his lips and chin in a ghastly mask that made him look like a new turn in his first feeding frenzy. The intoxicating scent of Evan’s blood hit Tommy like a fist to the solar plexus, and his fangs immediately ached in his mouth, a powerful longing to taste that sweet, electrifying nectar again sweeping through him. He forced it back, far more focused on his concern for Evan…had he somehow been injured in the fight? None of the vampires had gotten close enough to lay a hand on him—Tommy had made damn sure of that.

“Evan? Fuck, are you all right?” he asked.

Evan blinked slowly and reached up, laying a hand on Tommy’s chest as though to steady himself. Belatedly, Tommy realized how close together they were standing, Evan wavering into his personal space. Beneath the rich call of fresh blood—witch blood—Tommy caught a wave of the dizzying, delicious scent that had driven him to distraction in Gerrard’s mansion, the scent that had become harder to ignore the longer he spent in Evan’s presence. God, he wanted to gather the witch close and bury himself in that scent, wrap himself in it. He swallowed the desire back, barely resisting the urge to reach up and cover Evan’s hand with his own, keep him close.

“Evan? Talk to me,” he demanded urgently, unable to understand what was happening. Evan had been fine…he’d been fine; none of the vampires had touched him, the witches hadn’t been able to get a cast off before Evan had gotten them out of there. What was happening?

Evan’s brow furrowed slightly and he went to take a step back. If possible, his face went even whiter as soon as he moved, and he abruptly sagged forward. For the second time in as many days, Tommy found himself lunging to catch Evan before he could hit the floor.

“Whoa, okay, okay, easy sweetheart, easy, I’ve got you. Let’s just…” Evan hadn’t quite lost consciousness, but he stumbled drunkenly over his own feet as Tommy helped him over the short distance to the couch, gently lowering him to slump back against the cushions. “Just keep your head tipped back,” he advised, not really sure if Evan was tracking anything that was happening as he hurried over to the kitchen.

He had no use for ice packs or bags of frozen vegetables, but he grabbed the lone dishtowel that had somehow spawned by the sink (he thought it might have already been here when Alonzo bought the building) and ran cold water over it. He wrung it out and more or less vaulted back over to the couch, where he crouched down in front of Evan and used one corner of the cloth to gently wipe the worst of the blood away from the witch’s face. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle, but Evan’s face was still worryingly pale as he folded the bloodied corner over a couple times and then pressed the cool compress against Evan’s nose.

“You with me?” he asked, and frowned when it seemed to take a minute for Evan’s hazy blue eyes to focus on him. He listened, finding Evan’s heartbeat a little fast for his liking, but not thready or weak.

“Wha—yeah. Yeah, m’fine,” Evan mumbled, closing his eyes before reaching up to clumsily paw at the compress. Tommy let him take over holding it against his face, his hand hovering over Evan’s for a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to drop it.

“This is a very different interpretation of ‘fine’ than I’m familiar with, not gonna lie,” he said carefully. Evan sighed, blinking his eyes open again to fix him with a half-hearted glare. Tommy held his hands up in mock surrender. “Just saying.” He rose and walked back over to the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water. Behind him, he heard Evan sigh again.

“I thought you said your friends just wanted us to see if Greenway was at the temp agency,” he said, an accusatory edge to his voice.

“They did.”

“So what the hell was a cleaner crew doing there?” Evan demanded.

“I’m sorry, what? What makes you think those witches were a cleaner crew?”

By the look on Evan’s face, it was plain he thought that was a stupid question. “They had the SoCal high coven sigil on their jackets. Hell, they were in a uniform in the first place! An investigation would’ve been two, maybe three witches, and they sure as hell wouldn’t be wearing sigils. That was for any witch in the area that sensed major magic going down and went to see what was up.”

That…made a disturbing amount of sense, actually. “Great. So a team of witches specializing in disappearing anything that could jeopardize our secrecy saw you and me standing over a murder scene.” Evan pressed his lips together, looking far more scared than Tommy knew he’d be willing to admit to. “Howie wouldn’t have done that,” he said.

“What about his coven leader?” Evan countered immediately, and Tommy inclined his head, acknowledging the point.

“I don’t know Athena Grant—but I know their coven’s reputation, and I’ve known Howie for a decade. He…I know you don’t believe it, but we really are friends. Or as much as a witch and a vampire can be friends. He wouldn’t have set me up. And even if Sergeant Grant would have, I believe Howie would have given me a heads up.”

Evan didn’t look convinced at all—which was fair, honestly—but subsided. He leaned back against the couch and stared up at the ceiling. “I need to go back and get the Jeep,” he said at length, a thread of nervousness running through his voice.

“You and I both know that’s not a good idea. I get you’re attached, but I’ll pay to get it out of impound once it’s towed and—”

“No, you don’t get it. If the high coven team figures out it’s mine, they can use it to track me.”

“One of those locator spells?” Tommy guessed, and Evan nodded.

“The only way to focus the spell is to have something of the witch’s—hair, clothes, jewelry, anything they have a personal attachment to.”

“Fuck. All right—I need to call Howie anyway. Let’s see if Grant can do anything about the Jeep discreetly.”

“You’re trusting them?”

Tommy thought about it—really thought about it—before slowly nodding. “I don’t think we have much choice. This…I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but whatever it is, it’s getting bigger by the second. Even if Grant told the SoCal high coven everything we suspected about Greenway, that’s all she had. Suspicions. I’m guessing these cleaner crews don’t roll out for minor inconveniences?”

Evan snorted bitterly. “No. No they do not.”

“There you go. Trust me, kid, in my experience the people in power don’t start sending out their big dogs unless they’re trying to keep a lid on a huge explosion.”

“So if you really don’t think your friends set us up—”

“I don’t,” Tommy interrupted quietly. “I really, really don’t.”

“Then whatever’s going on involves someone high enough up to sic a cleaner crew on us. And that’s not even counting the vampires that killed Greenway.” Evan’s voice was flat, a tired sort of dread lurking under the words. Tommy could relate.

“Which means whatever Greenway was trying to accomplish by sending you to Gerrard, it also involves someone high up in the witches’ hierarchy in LA. Maybe even on the high coven itself.”

Tommy had his suspicions about that, actually—a picture trying to form in his mind that he really, really did not want to examine too closely. If his slowly growing suspicions were correct, they were in a lot more trouble than he was confident they could deal with…and Evan was somehow at the center of it.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Howie’s number, only mildly surprised when the witch picked up halfway through the first ring.

“Tommy, please tell me you found something at that office,” Howie said without preamble as soon as the call connected.

“Greenway and his familiar are dead,” Tommy said, wishing they had time for him to soften the blow a little. “He was killed by vampires.”

Howie made a soft sound on the other end of the line, something between a groan and a gasp, and he heard a woman’s voice swear violently. “Damn it. Victor, too? We felt the coven bonds go dark a little while ago, but we were hoping…shit we were hoping he’d severed them himself. Fuck!”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said automatically…although he really didn’t give a flying fuck what had happened to Greenway. He’d set Evan up to die. The bastard could rot in hell for all Tommy cared. “I know that’s not the news you were hoping for.”

“No shit,” Howie muttered. “Okay. Okay, did you find anything? Any clue who killed him, what coven they belong to?”

“I didn’t recognize any of them. They knew who I was, though. Seemed to think I knew who they were working for, but I have no idea.”

“Wait, you saw them?” Howie asked incredulously. There was a screech of tires over the line and then the scuffling sound of dead air.

“Kinard?” a woman’s voice, smooth and authoritative, came over the line.

“Sergeant Grant, I presume?”

His eyes fell on Evan, still holding the compress against his face as he rolled his head towards Tommy. Tommy didn’t like the fear he could read lurking in those sky-blue eyes, uncomfortably aware of just how alone Evan had to feel right now. Tommy had his coven, his friends and family. Alonzo would be furious with him when the coven master found out just how far Tommy had waded into this mess, but Tommy knew Alonzo would help as much as he could without compromising the coven. Push come to shove, Sal and Lucy would have his back. He had people.

Evan? Evan had…Tommy.

That was it. The only person in this city who seemed to give a damn about Evan’s wellbeing in this mess was a vampire he’d known less than twenty-four hours.

“Tell me everything,” Grant ordered, drawing him out of the turn his thoughts had taken.

Evan closed his eyes again, just listening as Tommy gave Howie and his coven leader a brief rundown of what they had found at the temp agency office. He didn’t think he was imagining the sharp inhalation of surprise when he got to the witches appearing (and the slightly hysterical edge to Howie’s much louder exclamation of, “What the fuck?!” went a long way toward reassuring Tommy he’d been right in assuming Grant and Howie hadn’t been responsible for that) and Evan’s assessment that it was a cleaner crew.

“How the hell did you get out of there?” Grant asked when he was done, suspicion thick in her voice. Tommy couldn’t say he blamed her. She had to know he was powerful, but she had no idea he’d have the advantage of witch blood for at least another several days and what he’d just described had been pretty long odds.

“Evan’s magic,” he said, seeing no reason to lie to them, but a bit unwilling to give out details they hadn’t asked for. If everything Josh had learned about Evan was true, Tommy had no doubt he’d want to keep the secret of his true identity from Howie and Grant., At this point in time, it was unnecessary information, anyway.

Grant hummed, low in her throat. “I thought Chim said he’d been banished?”

“His power hasn’t faded, yet,” Tommy replied, giving nothing away in his words or his voice. Athena Grant commanded a lot of respect in LA, even from the vampire community, but Tommy had been playing this game for a very long time. She wasn’t going to get anything out of him that he wasn’t willingly giving up.

“Have you had a chance to look at what’s on that flash drive you mentioned?” she asked instead of pursuing questions about Evan’s magic.

“I’d rather wait ‘til you can take a look at it, honestly. If it’s encrypted or password-protected or something, I don’t want to risk damaging what’s on it. And I’d rather not involve my coven any more than I have to.”

“Understandable. All right. Where are you willing to meet us?”

He looked over at Evan again, watching as he gingerly pulled the compress off his face and twitched his nose a couple times, relief flitting across his face when no fresh blood poured down. The witch was still looking pale and exhausted, and Tommy wondered how much use he’d be able to be in another confrontation. He chewed on the inside of his cheek a moment before rattling off an address not too far from the loft.

“And that is?” Grant asked, her tone carefully neutral.

“Personal property. Not connected to my coven in any way. Probably not even on any of the digital records in the county, unless that story Channel 8 did about city council misusing funds set aside for digitizing files was wildly exaggerated.”

Tommy had dozens of properties in the city and all over the world—most of them places he hadn’t set eyes on in years or decades. Some he used as investments and income, turning their management over to rental agencies and real estate trusts (many of which were run by vampires for vampires), but others he kept as private bolt holes and safehouses. It was a habit leftover from lifetimes ago, formed in days when being a vampire was much more dangerous than it was now, but he’d never been able to let it go. The bungalow he wanted to meet at was one of the few places he kept up with personally, managing its upkeep on his own and often staying there for a few days or weeks when he needed a break from life at the coven house.

“If we’re meeting on your territory, I’m bringing another member of our coven,” Grant said after a long pause. She did not sound like she was asking permission.

The place itself was not especially defensible—but he knew the surrounding streets and neighborhoods like the back of his hand, including several abandoned sections of sewer tunnel and old wells that would make excellent hiding places and were almost guaranteed not to be on any maps. And just because the house was not overly defensible did not mean he didn’t have defenses in place. If worse came to worst, he was reasonably certain he’d be able to hustle himself and Evan out and disappear. Tommy cracked his neck and raked a hand back through his hair, considering.

“Acceptable,” he said eventually. “Also, we had to leave Evan’s car behind in a parking garage on 12th street. Blue Jeep. Think you can do anything? Evan said someone looking for us could use it as a focus for a locator spell.”

“Damn. He’s right. I’ve got a couple of people down at that precinct that owe me some favors. I might be able to send someone to get it…it’ll have to be impounded, but I can bury it in paperwork until you can pick it up.”

“That’ll be fine. I’ll handle any fees or fines. Give me an hour?”

“See you then,” Grant agreed, and ended the call without another word. Tommy decided he liked her.

He slid his phone back in his pocket and picked up the abandoned glass of water. “You gonna be okay to head out of here again?” he asked, trying not to let on how worried he actually was. He’d never seen magic affect a witch like this—he didn’t understand what had happened.

Evan sat up gingerly, pressing his fingers against his temples and rubbing slow circles for a moment before looking over at Tommy. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Mmhmm, very believable, what with the fainting and all,” Tommy deadpanned. Evan blinked and shot him an annoyed glare—though his gaze was much clearer, so Tommy chose not to take offense.

“I didn’t faint,” Evan said, a touch petulantly.

“You absolutely did. Swooned like a Victorian debutante with the vapors.” He risked a little teasing and was rewarded when Evan actually let out a short chuckle.

“Shut up, Victorian debutantes all had arsenic poisoning and their houses were full of carbon monoxide.”

“That’s…a surprisingly accurate description, actually. Huh.” He walked over and handed Evan the glass of water. He was pleased to note—though he didn’t remark on it—that Evan took it with no hesitation, draining half the glass in one long gulp.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, toying with the glass briefly before he licked his lips and looked up at Tommy. “It’s because I don’t have a coven bond anymore,” he said quietly, as though that explained anything for Tommy. He seemed to realize that a second later and elaborated. “Our coven bonds help us cast more complicated spells, let us, I dunno, spread the strain out. Without a coven bond, it’s just me channeling and directing the magic.”

Tommy stilled. “Your magic can hurt you?”

Evan just shrugged, his eyes going dark and distant. “Kind of a natural failsafe for banished witches, I guess. It takes a while for our magic to fade completely. The kind of people who get banished, you don’t want them to be able to cast whatever kind of spell they want. I really would’ve been fine, but teleportation magic is fucking hard even with a coven bond. Never mind trying to teleport two people.” He raised the glass to rest it against his forehead for a few moment, before clearing his throat. “Don’t suppose you have any Tylenol around here?” he asked, and Tommy frowned, shaking his head apologetically.

“Sorry, we don’t have much use for it.” He knew Lucy had brought Lena to the apartment she claimed as hers in the building sometimes (a fact Tommy appreciated…they all respected each other’s privacy, but vampiric senses made privacy pretty much an illusion by default, and Lena and Lucy were, ahem, very enthusiastic about each other), but he doubted they spent enough time here for there to be minor first aid supplies.

Evan grunted an acknowledgement and set the glass down on the coffee table next to the folded up, bloodied dishtowel. He shot Tommy a wary look. “Is this gonna be a problem? Like…should I go throw it away somewhere else? I’m kind of surprised you’re not all…” He trailed off and made a weird face, hooking one of his index fingers in front of his mouth in a terrible—yet somehow adorable—imitation of a fang.

Tommy let out a snort of laughter. “Snot doesn’t exactly make a great chaser, Evan,” he said, raising one eyebrow. “Besides. Most of us can control ourselves around minor injuries just fine, unless we’ve just risen.”

“So what’re all those stories about blood frenzies and feral vampires?” Evan asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Oh don’t get me wrong, it can take a century or two before your control is good enough that you can be around lots of blood. If there was, like, arterial spurt involved, I’d have to hold Lucy and a few others in our coven back, no matter how they felt about the person bleeding.” It was Tommy’s turn to shrug. “Nature of the beast.” An uncomfortable look flashed across Evan’s face, and Tommy tilted his head. “So how worried do I need to be while you’re casting? Much as I hate to say it, I don’t think that was our last confrontation before all this is over.”

The discomfort shifted into something cagier, and Evan’s eyes darkened further. “Most of the time, I’ll be fine. I end up with a headache, maybe I’ll get a little dizzy. The really complex spells are harder, but it’s not going to, like, kill me.” He narrowed his eyes, his chin lifting defiantly. “I can pull my weight, Kinard.”

“I know you can,” Tommy said immediately, and it wasn’t even really a placation. Evan was a damn powerful witch, and clearly he’d been trained well by someone at some point. He’d killed more of the vampires that had attacked Greenway than Tommy had. “I’m just asking how I can help you while you’re doing it.”

Evan startled at that, a confused frown scrunching his face. “Oh. Uh…nothing really. I just—I’ll be fine once I eat some carbs and get some sleep?”

“Okay. Carbs we can do on the way. Do you want to grab another shirt before we head out?” Tommy tipped his chin towards the smears of blood along the collar of the hoodie he’d “loaned” Evan earlier, and the witch seemed to notice it for the first time.

“Oh…oh! Uh, yeah. Yeah, that’d be good.”

“Help yourself to anything in the dresser upstairs. Maybe grab a couple things to change into; no telling how long this is going to take.”

Evan blinked at him, the wariness fading from his expression to be replaced by the same vague puzzlement Tommy had been seeing more and more often. Slowly. Evan levered himself off the couch, not saying anything when Tommy stepped a bit closer, reaching out a hand to hover over his shoulder if he needed help. The witch steadied himself quickly, though, and sidled past Tommy to head to the stairs, that same air of confusion still clinging to him.

Tommy watched him go, and then pulled his phone out again, debating on whether he should update Alonzo and Josh before or after he got a look at whatever was on Greenway’s flash drive. Even as he did so, a text popped up on the screen, from Howie.

Athena just got a call notifying her about Jonah and Victor. You need to be careful, Tommy. Make sure you’re not followed.

Tommy frowned, tapping out a quick reply. Why? What else did they say?

The high coven is sending out a message to all coven leaders later tonight, apparently. Declaring a rogue witch in the city, working with a vampire. They’re pinning Jonah’s murder on you two.

[miss-multi45]

Vengeance

Hoodie x Fem!Reader

Part 2 of 'Blackmail'

cw: blood, mentions of dead bodies, swearing/vulgarity, sloww burnn, objectification, sexual harassment, sexual themes, nightmares, reader has a tired breakdown (jus like me fr), romantic petnames, opeia being autistic and taking three hours to write it bc they zone out. enjoy, darlings.

When you woke up, it was cold.

You were in a bed, with the smell of rain and something else that you prayed it wasn't what you thought it was.

Sitting up, you saw that you were back home in your own bed, the hooded man nowhere in sight. But something was wrong.

Even though you felt safe and comfortable, you couldn't shake the feeling that screamed at you to get out. Everything was the same, the pillow you threw was on the floor. You even got out of bed and checked. Liam's gun was on the kitchen counter, Liam..

Liam.

Where was Liam's body..?

Suddenly, you heard footsteps echo from the direction of the bathroom. You scrambled back to your room, closing the door as quietly as humanly possible and sliding your whole body underneath the duvet.

Slapping a hand over your mouth, you squeezed your eyes shut and prayed that he wouldn't come in here.

But fate wasn't on your side. The door opened, and you felt the bedsheets dip under Liam's bodyweight. Making your stomach turn, you felt his hand rubbing your waist.

"How'd you sleep, baby?"

His voice, a sickly sweet venom poisoning your senses and filling your brain with toxins that told you, 'no turning back now, your boyfriend is here.'

You stifled a sob, accepting your fate and peeling back the covers from your face.

As you laid eyes on his face, you noticed the unavoidable bullet wound right on his forehead. It wasn't dripping blood, but it was covered in it.

"Well, hello there. Have fun running off without me?"

-

You gasped as you woke up, body immediately shooting up before a headache kicked in and you fell back down again. Cradling your head, you scrunched up into fetal position and rubbed your temples to help with the pain.

Oh, thank God. It was only a nightmare. You thought, looking up at the dark log ceiling.

Ah, so you weren't back home. Instead in a small but very cozy log cabin that smelled of rain and a slight tinge of metal. If you were here, then where was that strange hooded man?

You decided not to dwell on the subject for too long, instead rolling over and going back to sleep.

Maybe 30 minutes later, you heard the door swing open and close, heavy footsteps making their way to where you were curled up. You were half asleep, the sensation of falling would bring you back into consciousness immediately.

A heavy hand on your hip made you stir, alongside an all to familiar male voice talking to you. "Wake up. If I can't lie in, neither can you."

Mentally rolling your eyes, you groggily turned over and opened your eyes a crack just to see the blurry colours of the red and black ski mask.

"There she is." You could hear his grin through his words.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, babe. You slept for a while." He grabbed your arms and hoisted you up, pushing your back against the wooded wall your bed was up against.

You must've been sleepily grimacing at him, because as soon as he propped his shotgun against the wall, he turned back to you with a "Fix that face right now."

Although you didn't exactly appreciate how commanding he was, you didn't want to feel a cold shotgun barrel against your head. So you dropped you head down and rubbed your eyes, making the discovery that you were only in a baggy t shirt that wasn't yours, and panties that thankfully were yours.

"What the.." you mumbled as you saw the outfit. But that confusion was quickly taken over by shock, because you knew damn well nobody else would have changed you.

"How much did you see?" You brought the blanket up to your chest, even though your clothes weren't inappropriate to wear to bed, Liam would say otherwise.

"Just enough." He said, even though you needed a lot more than that to feel reassured that he didn't do anything creepy to you.

"How much is 'just enough'?" You commented, slowly dropping the duvet from its place.

"Collabone, legs, shit that you'd get dress coded for. I took off your bra with your shirt still on, I may be a murderer but I'm not a weird incel." You breathed a sigh of relief, coming to the conclusion that it was fine to get out of bed and go to the bathroom.

"Um, where's the bathroom?" You muttered, you weren't still completely comfortable with whoever this strange man was.

"First door on the left." He said, beginning to clean his gun without looking up at you.

You closed the door behind you, opening the bathroom door and closing another door.

It wasn't a luxury bathroom, but it was pretty decent. It just looked like one you'd find in a static caravan, small but enough.

There was a small window, open enough for you to feel a cool breeze against your face and see the vast woodland landscape outside.

It was beautiful, the dark green pine trees wet with freshly fallen raindrops. Maybe you should live in the forest. It would be stress free, and maybe you would even get to be like Aurora and make some woodland friends.

Finishing up, you washed and dried your hands and went back to the bedroom. The man was still on the chair cleaning his gun, the bedroom window open.

You awkwardly stood in the doorway, fiddling with the hem of the baggy shirt while you waited for something to happen. You could at least use a change of clothes.

"You wanna tell me about that boyfriend of yours, babe?" His voice cut through the quiet atmosphere, interrupting your thoughts.

"What about him? You know about the nightmares?" You replied, unsure if you should complain about your newly dead boyfriend to the very man who killed him.

A moment of silence, he looks up at you. "No, I don't." He says, "How bad of a boyfriend was he if you're having fucking nightmares about him?"

You froze. Liam was a piece of shit, but you didn't like how long it took for you to notice that about him. It had taken you halfway through the regretful relationship to realise that he was human waste.

"Um, well.." you started, but you didn't know where to actually begin. He was just like those boyfriends you'd see women complain about. He was controlling, accusing, lying. A reprehensible dick.

"A stereotypical shitty boyfriend, I don't know why I stayed with him for that long." He finished cleaning and loading his gun, putting it to one side as he stood from his seat.

God, he was tall. And brawny, too. Even though he was wearing that baggy hoodie, you could still see how his arms were ever so slightly straining the fabric.

Taking your eyes off him, he shared his most insightful opinion on your dead boyfriend.

"Glad I shot that crapweasel."

-

The next morning, you woke up with excruciating stomach pain. But at least you didn't start your morning off with a nightmare about Liam.

Getting up to go to the bathroom, you were met with an all too familiar bloodstain in your panties. Great, you had been so caught up in whatever was going on that you had completely forgotten about menustrating.

There was no way there were any pads or tampons in the cabin, so you settled for wrapping toilet paper around your pants and calling it a day until you could get some menstrual products.

You finished up in the bathroom, returning to the bedroom and getting changed into some clothes that Hoodie stole from your house yesterday morning.

He was in the lounge, probably loading or cleaning his gun again. You didn't really care.

You went out into the lounge, reluctantly asking the question. "Do..are there any pads or tampons here?"

Which was met with:

"Bad time to get your period. But unfortunately no, we don't have anything menustration related."

You sighed, "Is there a convenience store nearby with any pads?"

The question left your lips before you could think about it, and you quickly came to the conclusion that there was no way he would let you eave due to the risk of you running away. But you didn't have anywhere to go.

"Yeah. I'll come with you." You breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

"What do you need?" You asked, putting your shoes on.

"Nothing, I'm only coming to keep an eye on you." You had anticipated an answer like that. At least you would be safe with a guy like him watching you.

After you tied you shoes, the two of you set off in the direction of the store.

It was quiet in the forest, the only sounds being the subtle nature sounds and your footsteps. Thankfully, it didn't take long for the convenience store to come into veiw.

He just leaned against a tree near the shop while you made your way in, taking note of how empty it was.

The clerk was a young woman, probably around your age. There were three young men elsewhere in the store, but you couldn't care less about them.

You found the brand you used, taking two packs before you were distracted by three voices a few feet away.

'Dude, have you seen that girl's rack?' 'That chick's got a body for days.' 'I bet she's good in bed.'

Your heart sunk, even in the woods you couldn't escape the male gaze. Could there be one day where women would be treated like actual human beings instead of pieces of fucking meat?

Even though it made you want to crawl into a hole and die, especially while on your period, you ignored it. But you made sure to subtly kick a guy in the shin after he made the mistake of grabbing your ass.

Walking up to the till, you placed the pads on the counter and gave the girl a small smile. She looked exhausted, as did you. You paid with a 'thank you' and quickly left the store.

You looked for the hooded man, he was well camouflaged by all the thick green foliage. He would come to you, you decided, and you knelt on the ground with a hand massaging your womb to try and ease the cramps.

You didn't know how you didn't hear him creeping up behind you.

"Womb massage, huh?" He commented, placing a large hand on your shoulder.

"How's that working out, babygirl? Any good?" He put his hands in his pockets.

"No.." you croaked, earning a chuckle from the man.

"Let's go. You can complain when we get back." You huffed and rose to your feet, clutching the packs of pads to your chest.

-

When you got back, you immediately changed from toilet paper to an actual pad. As expected, it felt much better.

You flopped onto the couch, closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep after tossing and turning uncomfortably for too long.

-

"(Y/N), get up." Liam hissed.

You groaned, covering your ears with the pillow before it was cruelly ripped away from you by him.

"I'm not asking again. Get the fuck up." His voice was pure venom.

He ripped you out of bed, dragging you out of the house and into the forest behind it. You looked down, seeing that you were in nothing but a baggy shirt and panties.

"Where are we going?" You asked, feet beginning to hurt as you went deeper and deeper into the woods.

He didn't answer, just kept pulling you alongside him. Eventually, the path you were on narrowed and thorny bushes began to nip and you legs.

You winced, batting a hand at the branches to avoid being hurt more. Liam sped up, practically sprinting as your feet and legs where being cut up by the bushes. The further you went, you were met with the sight of bodies. Bodies of your family.

Your mother was torn limb from limb by a bloody rose bush, your father beside her. Everyone was trapped dead in the sharp greenery, and you were forced to run past them and Liam's grip tightened.

Your shirt was beginning to tear, revealing the bare skin underneath for the sharp branches of the bushes to slice at.

It was brutal, the overpowering stinging sensation making tears prick at your eyes and pleas fall from your lips.

You were woken up by a rough, leather clad hand grabbing your face and talking to you with a stern tone.

"Calm down, babygirl. Calm down, you're fine, you're okay." He told you, moving his other hand down to massage your lower stomach.

You sobbed, tears running down your face as you realised it was another nightmare. Wrapping your arms around him, you sniffled as more tears fell from your glossy eyes.

This was exhausting. You were exhausted. It was like Liam was stalking you, haunting you. You felt awful, mentally and physically. Nothing helped. Nothing but him.

You caught your breath, and he loosened his grip on your chin, but didn't let go. He kept his other hand at work, doing well to soothe your cramps and calm you down.

"Atta girl, that's it." He reassured, bringing you into his lap as the tears began to stop and all that was left of you was a sniffling, tired mess.

"Another nightmare about him?" He questioned, tilting his head to look down at you.

You nodded, putting your hand over his on your womb, surprised at how good he was at it.

At this point, Hoodie had decided he had had enough. He wanted to know everything about this man, right down to his mother's maiden name.

"Tell me about him," he said, "Everything. How did he abuse you, how long were you a thing, did he pleasure you enough? Was he a selfish shitsteak?"

"He.." you mumbled, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

There was so much to say, but so little you wanted to reminisce.

It had to be talked about, you decided. And Hoodie was curious.

So who were you to deny him his curiosities?

spent the whole day on this autism is a bitch.

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2024: 21 Shade

(You can all blame @voidsentprinces and one of their posts for inspiring this one cuz I sure as heck am. Spoilers through Dawntrail.)

-

In the colorful forests of Kozama’uka, a strange movement of light green catches my eye. For a moment, I imagine.

“This one finds this forest so lively! Will these ones feast soon with the bright feathered ones again?”

It was a trick of the light on banana leaves. The shade of our little courageous one is gone again.

-

We’re still in Kozama’uka, but the roar of the waterfalls is below instead of above, and we’re trying to reach out to the bandits harassing the Potsworn.

I think of a boy with gold hair and an eager smile, no longer wearing blue. “You gave me a second chance, and I’ve never regretted it. We’ll find a way to help them, too!”

I blink, and realize the only resemblance in the bandit before me is that he’s young and blond. The shade of our foolishly brave boy is gone again.

-

I cross the bridge to Shaaloani, with its hot, dry plains rolling into the distance, eventually leading to grasslands in the northeast and craggy hills in the west, toward what was Yyasulani.

A Landsguard officer speaks an order, but in familiar tones, a comrade to his men. His voice stirs a memory, and my mind wanders again.

“We’re a long away from Quarrymill, but this reminds me in some ways of home. I bet you still hear thanks enough whenever you go back.”

I look at the soldiers laughing with each other before dispersing to their duties. The shade of our revolutionary captain is gone again.

-

The sky always seems so close in Worlar’s Echo. The Yok Huy see a few more traders these days. I’m watching the moon cross the sky when someone lights a pipe, the smoke wafting past my nose. Comfortable as I am, I’m halfway to dreaming already.

“Foolishness. We know what it is now, hardly deserving the veneration bestowed upon it for so long. And you surely have better things to do than mourn the likes of me.”

I turn to protest, but now I am fully awake and see the pelupelu merchants smoking and haggling. The shade of our spiteful witch is gone again.

-

There’s a sense of responsibility to the people afflicted with levin sickness, especially the children. I make sure that Oblivion is getting the families everything they need. I visit the first boy we met with this illness, and offer a treat of real fruit juice from the farms. It’s a good day, and he smiles as he sips, his mother smiling through her tears as he manages the straw.

“You learn to take what moments of happiness you can get. You figured out how to help the light afflicted and the tempered; this too will be defeated in time. But find the little victories where you can meanwhile.”

I look up from the boy’s bed. It’s just him, his mother, and me in the room. The shade of our fierce carer is gone again.

-

I’m still awake in the pre-dawn hours, so take a mug of mate with me to the end of the boardwalk to watch the dawn. The endless blue of the water, with the light piercing into my eyes, makes me remember a similar sight at the end and start of everything.

“There is no true challenge in this land. ‘Tis a wonder you are not bored. But you always have found meaning and pleasure in people and their small matters.”

The sun continues rising and the city wakes. The shade of my antagonistic mirror is gone again.

I finish my mate, return to my cabin, and go to bed.

-

They come and go, these ghostly memories. Some not as much as they used to, since that journey into the aetherial sea. Perhaps their aid and that last chance to say goodbye made a difference.

Maybe I am simply sentimental.

“The burden of heroes and leaders,” one of my newer ones says. “We spend all our time fighting for their lives and happiness, and feel it keenly when we fail them. Yet they helped to shape us, and so stay with us. And we strive to do better by those who come after them.”

I look up, but the shade of that heroic father is gone, the echo of his boisterous laugh ringing through his city’s streets, in his daughter’s own laughter. She waves to me now, her brother, her nephew, and our comrades with her. They are all exuberant and bright and alive, with so much possibility ahead.

I laugh as I wave to my friends.

[haveyouanytime]

omg im obsessed with your rust domestic blurbs pls anything with rust braiding reader's hair

not even going to lie... i took a month because i was stuck on a different ask just for it to barely click yesterday... i could answer asks out of order. i wish i was joking i'm very embarrassed ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) anyway more old dog rust !!! <333

Often, you felt like the Louisiana heat got to you like no other. It took a long while to get used to the sheen of sweat that seemed to linger on your skin like an unmoveable force. Hot and humid summers were foreign to you, and it was only then that you missed your cooler Alaskan summer. 

Swimming in the lake was an option, so was standing under the garden hose or the sprinklers. Any and all options led to a reasonable conclusion, a nice shower. The soap and water were like a baptism, washing away any stickiness from your overheated skin, leaving you feeling anew and smelling like lavender (or cedarwood, if you decided to use Rust’s soap). 

But more often than not, the best conclusion was being fresh out of the shower and walking to the living room, finding Rust nursing his usual beer, sitting with his legs in a dominating spread as a black and white movie played on your small TV. His hair was down, a rare sight only you were gifted. His dirty golden locks going a little ways past his shoulders, and it was only a matter of time before he asked you to give him a little trim. His hair tie sat on the wrist of his hand holding the beer, the other holding the back of the couch. He seemed so relaxed, and you hesitated moving to him in hopes of giving him a moment more of the relaxation he deserved but often rejected. 

The creak of the floor gave you away, making Rust turn his head to you. You stood in the doorway to the living room, only in in a pair of panties and an oversized t-shirt that was stretched out at the collar, your hair still wet with a few droplets falling onto the shirt. He smirked at the sight, looking at you from over his left shoulder. 

“C’mere, baby,” He croons, his voice raspy from the cigarettes and dark liquor. He places his beer on the neighboring side table as you walk over, perching yourself in his lap. With your legs thrown across his, your arm moving around his back and his holding onto your hip, both of you fell into the familiar embrace. A weary smile pulled at his lips, and his hand moved off of the back of the couch to run through your damp hair, exposing the expanse of your neck. He took advantage of that, leaning in and placing a few soft kisses on the exposed skin. You couldn’t help but let out a small, airy giggle as the kisses traveled down to your collarbones the stretched shirt left bare. 

“Tsk, what’s so funny?” He asked, pulling away to look up at you. It might’ve been the fact that he was in a good mood, or it was the lighting of the room, or the ambiance of the old romantic movie on the TV, but you couldn’t help but admire Rust for a moment. His strong nose. How the warm light of the lamp turned his blue eyes the shade of an unnameable, alluring blue. His cheekbones, his lips, the loose strands of hair that fell in front of his face. 

“Your mustache’s tickly,” You smile, looking down at Rust. You run your own fingers through his hair to push it back, abandoning it at the nape of his neck to brush your pointer finger against his mustache, smoothing it out against the top of his lip. “Gonna need a trim soon, hm?” 

“We’ll worry about that later,” He answered, holding your wrist to give your fingertip a playful nip with his teeth. His hands move to hold your waist, lowly speaking, “C’mon, baby.” You moved with his gentle lead, him scooting back and letting you sit between his spread legs on the sparse space on the couch, your back facing his chest. You felt a smile pull at your lips again, already feeling his fingers moving through your hair. He gently pulled your hair back, forming it all it a small ponytail before his fingers spread it carefully into three parts. 

You remembered the first time he braided your hair, the surprise that you felt that a man so rugged and masculine as he could give you a nice, neat braid. He first gave an excuse of working on the fishing docs in Alaska and something about ropes. It was a few times later that he spoke of his daughter, about how he used to braid her hair. It struck a cord within you, an aching, twinging reminder in your chest of his life far, far before you. The man you loved was an enigma, his heart and mind a labyrinth you wanted to spend years inside of just to truly know him. 

“You’re awful quiet tonight,” Rust spoke up, his fingers moving languidly through your hair to dance it into a nice braid. “You’re normally chirpin’ my ear off, pretty girl.” 

“Just thinking,” You softly answer, adjusting the loose shirt on your shoulders as your eyes rise to the TV. The black and white movie showed a couple embracing at a train station, kissing the way they did in old movies. 

“Careful with that, now,” He playfully cautioned, reaching the end of your hair and carefully looping his dark hair tie around the ends to hold your braid in place. “Don’t get lost up there.” 

“I want to get lost up there,” You answer, turning on his lap again to sit sideways and placing a light tap on his forehead. 

“No, you don’t, pretty girl.” He answered, his voice losing it’s playful edge. He gently holds your wrist, carefully holding you on his lap. “I’ll give you a few peeks now and then, but I don’t want you to travel too far.” 

You couldn’t help but smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and placing a soft peck on his lips, his mustache tickling your upper lip again. “I’ll take those. Maybe I can convince you to give me a few more peeks.” 

“I know a way you can convince me,” He grinned, scooping you up in his arms. You can’t help but laugh, feeling his mustache tickle your jawline as he carried you through your small house, your arms holding into him just as tight as he held you. 

[frostdayz]

Dinner surprises

Loki x reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: Being away in midgard for a couple of weeks you come back to a Loki surprise.

warnings: None :)

AN: Might be the last loki x reader for a while. Let me know if you guys have any other people you want me to write about!!

my stories never really describe the readers gender so unless stated otherwise all my stories are gn!!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

I stepped through the portal, the familiar golden shimmer fading as my feet touched the smooth floors of Loki’s palace chambers. It felt like I’d been gone forever, even though it had only been a few weeks. Midgard had its charm, but it was nothing compared to the comfort and elegance of Asgard—nothing compared to being with him.

The air was rich with the scent of something delicious. I furrowed my brows, surprised. That wasn’t usual. I made my way down the corridor, following the tantalizing aroma. The closer I got, the more my heart began to race.

Turning the corner, I stopped in my tracks.

There, in the center of the grand dining hall, was the most breathtaking sight I’d ever seen. The room was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, casting flickering shadows against the walls. A long table, covered with the finest silver and goblets of sparkling wine, was adorned with an extravagant spread of dishes—each one looking more delicious than the last. The colors of roasted vegetables, perfectly seasoned meats, and intricate desserts filled the table.

But it wasn’t the food that caught my breath.

It was him. Loki, standing at the end of the table, looking impossibly handsome, as always. He was dressed in a deep green suit that made his eyes stand out even more. His usual mischievous grin was nowhere to be seen; instead, there was something softer in his expression—something that tugged at my heart.

“You did all this?” I asked, my voice coming out as barely a whisper.

Loki walked toward me, his lips curling into a gentle smile. “You’ve been gone far too long, darling. I thought I should make your return memorable.”

I blinked, taking it all in. “This is incredible.”

He reached out, taking my hands in his, the warmth of his touch instantly calming the last remnants of exhaustion from my trip. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” I whispered, leaning into him.

He chuckled softly, pulling me into a tight embrace. “Two weeks without you felt like an eternity.”

I rested my head against his chest, the familiar sound of his heartbeat steady and soothing. “You didn’t have to do all this,” I mumbled, overwhelmed by the effort he had put in.

“Of course, I did,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You deserve nothing less.”

My heart swelled at his words. For all his teasing and trickery, Loki had a way of making me feel like I was the most important person in the universe. And in moments like this, I believed it.

He led me to the table, pulling out a chair for me like a perfect gentleman. I laughed softly, taking a seat. “I don’t know where to start,” I admitted, looking over the food.

“Anywhere you wish,” he said, sitting beside me, his eyes never leaving mine. “This evening is all yours.”

We spent the night eating, laughing, and talking about everything and nothing all at once. The food was divine, but the company—being back with him—was what made it perfect. Every so often, he’d reach across the table, taking my hand in his, his thumb tracing gentle circles against my skin. It was such a simple gesture, but it made my heart flutter every time.

After what felt like hours, the candles burned low, and the night grew quieter. We sat in a comfortable silence, the world outside fading away.

Loki turned to me, his eyes soft and full of warmth. “You know,” he began, his voice low, “no matter where you go, or how long you’re away, you’ll always have a place here—with me.”

I felt a lump form in my throat, emotions welling up as I looked into his eyes. “I know,” I whispered back. “And I’m never leaving for that long again.”

He smiled, leaning closer, his lips brushing softly against mine. The kiss was gentle, slow, full of all the things we didn’t need to say out loud. When we pulled away, he rested his forehead against mine, his hands cupping my face.

“I love you,” I breathed.

“And I love you,” he replied, his voice steady, yet full of that same overwhelming sincerity that made my heart skip a beat every time.

Being with Loki, under the soft glow of the candles, I knew there was nowhere else in all the realms I’d rather be.

[wrightingdungeon]

Just a apple

I decided to write for my comfort ship, cus I'm depressed and fighting writer's block/imposter syndrome, this is essentially me making chicken noodle soup for my soul

Penny x Shane, fight me

Looking down at the apple in his hand, Shane let out a low groan. The fruit stared back at him, dull and unpolished—nothing like the shiny, wax-coated ones from Joja Mart. Some dirt still clung stubbornly to its skin as it had been plucked straight from the branch just yesterday, not washed yet. He turned it over, noticing a few scuff marks where it looked like Jas had dropped it a few times.

He recalled how Farmer had let Jas pick a few from their orchard the other day for her to feed the animals. But this apple wasn’t meant for them. Jas had cradled it in her small hands, determined to give it to her teacher, Penny. "So I won’t forget!" she’d declared proudly, placing it on the kitchen counter with a smile that made Shane’s heart ache a little less, knowing she would be a positive force on the world as she grew up.

Now, that same apple sat where she’d left it, a silent reminder of Jas’s disappointment. She had woken up with a fever, her cheeks flushed and forehead hot to the touch. Disappointment had flooded her eyes when she realized she wouldn’t be going to school. "But… but I wanted to… to give it to Miss Penny," she had murmured, her bottom lip trembling, her resolve crumbling in the face of illness.

Tossing the apple up once, then catching it in his calloused hand, Shane’s eyes narrowed. He could just leave it there, let Jas deliver it when she felt better. But something in him resisted that idea. Perhaps it was the gratitude he’d been nursing for a while, seeing how Penny took care of Jas—patient and kind—always ensuring she got the care and education he feared he couldn’t provide her.

“Fuck it…” Shane muttered under his breath, his resolve hardening as he gripped the apple tighter. He’d drop it off on his way to work; her house was on the route, after all. Just a simple gesture—a little thank you from an uncle who didn’t know how to say the words out loud.

Stepping outside, the cool morning air nipped at his skin. He set off down the familiar path, boots crunching softly against gravel. One of the few perks of being up early was the solitude—just Shane, the road, and the endless stretch of sky warming with the first hints of dawn. For a moment, he could almost convince himself the world was just his, silent and still, untouched.

Morning doves cooed from their perches, joined by the rhythmic buzz of cicadas hidden in the grass, their song rising and falling like the tide. Each step felt instinctive, every dip and curve of the road familiar. He could probably walk it blindfolded if he had to, honestly having walked home from the bar without releasing it a few times.

The apple grew warmer in his hand, grounding him, reminding him of the task ahead. What would he even say to Penny? ‘Hey, this is from Jas,’ and then just walk away? Or maybe try to say something more meaningful, and end up making a ass of himself.

He let out a heavy sigh, breath misting in the chilly air. It wasn’t like he was doing anything special—just delivering an apple. But it felt bigger, like it carried more weight than he understood. Maybe because Jas had put so much thought into this gesture, or because he felt he had so little to give in return.

As he approached the old trailer, Shane slowed his steps, taking in the sight of the once-vibrant home now dulled by years of wear, the shiny exterior was now rusting over. Empty beer bottles cluttered the ground around Pam's white plastic smoking chair, their glass glinting dully in the light. Shane let out a soft sigh, half-tempted to turn around and shove the apple in his locker at work, but he was already here. He’d even left earlier than usual, meaning he’d be standing outside Joja waiting for Morris to open the doors if he bailed now.

He leaned his head back, groaning softly, shaking it to summon the courage that always slipped through his fingers. Finally, he climbed the creaky steps, each one protesting under his weight. Lifting his free hand, he rapped quickly against the metal door and waited, telling himself he'd give it a minute—just sixty seconds—and then he’d be out of there.

As he began to step back, relieved by the lack of response, the door creaked open as if on cue to stop him. Shane paused, heart jolting as he saw Penny’s green eyes and bright red hair peek out, her expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity. “Shane?” she whispered, her voice barely cutting through the morning air as she stepped outside. He caught a glimpse of Pam passed out and snoring on the couch behind her before the door clicked shut, leaving the two of them outside on the small porch. “What can I do for you?”

For a moment, he stood there, awkward and unsure, the apple now feeling like a rock in his palm. “Uh,” he cleared his throat, embarrassment creeping up his neck. “Jas picked this for you. Said you were a good teacher or somethin’.” He held out the apple, trying to sound casual, as if it didn’t matter.

Penny’s expression softened as she reached out, her fingers brushing against his. “Oh,” she said, eyes brightening in a way that made Shane’s chest tighten with unexpected warmth. “Thank you. I’ll make sure to tell her how much I love it.”

Silence fell between them, and Shane shuffled his feet, searching for something else to say. “She, uh, wasn’t feelin’ great this morning,” he muttered, scratching the back of his head. “But she wanted you to have it.”

Penny nodded, her gaze warm and understanding. “I hope she feels better soon,” she said softly. “I know how much she looks forward to coming to school.”

“Yeah,” Shane replied, the weight of his words hanging in the air. He didn’t know how to articulate the mix of guilt and gratitude swirling inside him. “She really cares about you, you know? It’s nice to see someone look out for her.”

Penny’s smile deepened, and for a brief moment, it felt like the world around them had faded away. “Thank you, Shane. That means a lot,” she said, her voice steady but laced with sincerity. “It’s easy to forget how much these little things matter.”

Shane shrugged, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “I don’t do much, but… I try to be there for her.” He could hear the slight tremor in his voice, an unfamiliar vulnerability surfacing as he spoke.

“You do more than you realize,” Penny replied, her tone gentle, as if she could sense the struggle behind his words. “Jas sees you as a role model, you know?”

The warmth of her words surprised him, a soft ember igniting in his chest. Shane shifted, feeling an unexpected swell of appreciation. “Yeah, well… don’t go spreadin’ that around… Got a reputation to maintain,” he shot back, attempting to mask the fluttering sensation in his chest.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she replied, her playful tone laced with sincerity. For the first time in a long while, something inside Shane eased. He felt his mouth twitch, an involuntary smile threatening to break through, but he fought it back, maintaining his gruff exterior. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he grumbled, though there was no bite to his words.

“You’re not as scary as you think,” Penny teased, tilting her head, her hair catching the light. It wasn’t fair how easily she got under his skin. “Deep down, you’re just… kind.”

“Alright, now you’re just talkin’ nonsense,” he muttered, heat creeping up his neck. He shifted, feeling like a teenager caught in an awkward encounter. “It’s just an apple, Penny. Don’t make a big deal outta it.”

“But it is a big deal,” she insisted, her voice gentle but firm. “You didn’t have to, but you did. And that means something…”

For a moment, Shane didn’t know how to respond. The sincerity in her eyes made it impossible to brush off her words. “Yeah, well… someone’s gotta thank you. You work real hard,” he said quietly, the admission slipping past his defenses.

Penny’s expression softened further, her eyes shining with something deeper. “You’re the first to say that,” she murmured, fingers brushing anxiously against the apple’s smooth skin. “Sometimes, it feels like no one even notices.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not doin’ a damn good job,” Shane replied quickly, surprising himself with his certainty. “Jas, Vincent—they look up to you. And I… I’m grateful for that. Don’t think I say it enough.”

There was a beat of silence, heavy with unspoken words. Penny’s cheeks flushed a faint pink as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re not as bad as you think you are, Shane,” she said, a teasing lilt underscored with belief.

He let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “If you say so.”

Penny smiled, lighting up her face. “I do say so,” she replied, winking as she reached back toward the door. “But you should really give yourself more credit. It’s okay to be kind, you know?”

He felt heat rise in his cheeks again, rubbing the back of his neck harder, as if to erase it. “Yeah, well… maybe I’ll think about it,” he replied, voice gruff but lacking real bite.

“Good,” she said, voice softening again. “I’ll see you around, Shane. And tell Jas I hope she feels better soon.”

“Will do,” he nodded, feeling strangely buoyed as he turned to leave, the weight of the morning feeling lighter.

As he walked down the steps, he glanced back one last time, catching Penny still standing there, watching him with that soft smile that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds.

He waved goodbye, feeling an unfamiliar warmth spreading through him, grounding him. With each step away from her porch, he realized that for the first time in a long while, he felt seen—not just the drunk who stumbled through life—but as someone worthy and capable of kindness and connection.

The world around him felt different, alive with possibilities he hadn’t noticed before. Perhaps it was true; maybe he was more than just a shadow in the background. He could be a part of something meaningful, all because of something as simple as an apple.