#he is back but now he is closer to you within the same walls that seek to entrap you

[teshadraws]

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 63]

<< First | < Previous | Next >

AO3 Link

-

Tobias, Nia, and Junie travel back to the Lexym Guild with Fidel in tow, where they update August and reunite with an unexpected face.

-

The next morning is thankfully clear for their flight back to the guild. Tobias is the first one up, as usual, but Nia and Junie only grumble a little upon being woken up, since they can’t sleep in with Fidel and the flight ‘mon waiting on them.

By time they’ve grabbed breakfast and their gear and left the inn, Fidel is already stationed near one of the empty bonfire pits. Behind him, perched on the wall surrounding the cliffside village, two large flying types are perched.

For a split-second, Tobias thinks the bulkier silhouette is Fliss, but as they get closer he can see that there are a few differences. This Pokemon’s plumage is a different color, a stark white layered above a gray undercoat. And the crest above his face is definitely different, too—an almost eye-like pattern of bright blue and purple. No scar, either. A shiny, maybe? Or the psychic type variant if braviary that Fliss had mentioned before?

Whatever the case, he’s massive, possibly even larger than Fliss.

Next to him is a slightly smaller Pokemon—a pidgeot. She gives them a calm smile as they approach, the long yellow and red feathers atop her head streaming behind her in the wind.

Fidel turns to greet them as well. “Ah, good morning.”

“Yeesh,” Junie says. “You sure it’s a good morning? You look rough, dude.”

Tobias had thought the same—the zoroark’s voice is duller than usual, his smile worn and tired—but at least Tobias had the tact not to say it.

“Junie!” Nia quietly scolds.

Fidel laughs. “I’m aware I’m not at my finest, Nia. It’s been a long morning. And night. Asher was not pleased about my leaving on such short notice.”

Nia makes a sympathetic sound in her throat. “Understandable. You two do seem close.”

“We are. I hate to leave him so suddenly, but I know Will and the rest of the settlement will look after him.” The zoroark shoulders his large pack, looking them over. “You’re all ready to head out? You picked out some snow gear from Florence’s shop?”

“Yup!” Nia says.

“My coat makes me look like a lemon,” Junie’s adds cheerfully.

Fidel’s smile curves into something a bit more genuine. “That’ll make you easy to spot on the mountain, I suppose.”

“Yeah! See, Toby? Strategic advantage.”

“Strategic stupidity.”

“Hey!”

Fidel interrupts the brewing squabble by introducing the two flight ‘mon who will be flying them across the Obsidian Sea, back to the Metreja continent and the guild nestled within Bethoc’s Haven. The braviary, Cato, greets them with a nod, and the pidgeot, Auretta, ducks her head with a polite, “Pleased to meet you all.”

Since Fidel is heavier than Tobias, Nia, and Junie combined, he boards the braviary alone. The rest of them crawl atop the pidgeot, who crouches low to ease their climb.

Nia sits behind Tobias as has become the norm, so she can hold onto him and hide her face. By now, Tobias is almost used to the way she wraps her arms around his torso, though he still has to will his face not to burn with embarrassment.

“Ooh, cozy,” Junie teases. “Where do I sit?”

The flying types decide to have Junie settle in front of Tobias, and she wastes no time leaning back against him like her own personal seat. She cranes her head back, grinning. He flicks her forehead. She snaps her beak at his fingers with a playful clack clack.

Shortly after, they leave the human settlement with a powerful beating of wings, lifting into cool dawn air and higher into the sky, until the collection of stone buildings lining the cliffside look more like toys than an actual city.

And then they’re off.

———————————————————————————————

Junie, of course, can’t stay quiet for long, so they’ve only just reached the ocean when she finally stops trying to talk to Tobias (who is busy enjoying the flight) and Nia (who is busy being terrified) and instead strikes up conversation with the pidgeot.

Luckily, Auretta seems content to chat as they glide over open water, and it doesn’t take long for the conversation between the two to turn to flight.

“Yeah,” Junie says. “I’m not, uh, a real strong flier yet. I get freaked out flying too high on my own. But I wanna be a mail ‘mon one day, so I’m working on it! And riding on your back doesn’t scare me or anything.”

The pidgeot hums in response. Then she turns her head to catch Junie’s eye. “Have you ever flown over the ocean?”

“Nope!”

“Would you like to try?”

It takes a moment for Junie to understand what Auretta means. Then she squawks, “Right now?! What if I crash?”

“I’ll watch you,” Auretta soothes. “I helped my little sister learn to fly over these very waves, once. And she was a pidgey at the time, so not much larger than you.”

“Aren’t the winds unpredictable nowadays?” Tobias asks, dubious.

“They are,” Auretta confirms. “But they seem calm today. Would you like to try? Your wingspan isn’t made for soaring like ours, but we’re here so you can always take a break.”

Junie still seems unsure, leaning over to peer down at the waves far below. But after a long moment of silence she shakes herself and says, “You know what? Why not! Just, uh. Don’t let me die, okay?”

The pidgeot trills a sound somewhere between amused and encouraging. “Of course not. I’ll be here.”

For the next few minutes, the pidgeot gently coaches Junie, teaching her how to keep her wings steady and ride the air currents, as well as how to seek out thermals to elevate.

Eventually, Junie works up the courage to leap from Auretta’s back. The rookidee’s wings snap out and beat furiously, and for a heart-stopping moment Junie is swept back head-over-heels by a powerful gust of wind.

But Auretta is quick to tuck her wings and drop back with her, calmly buffeting the wind in front of Junie so she can regain her balance.

Still, Tobias can’t help looking back to make sure Junie just didn’t plummet into the ocean. Nia, whose arms had tightened around him, squeaks, “I-Is she okay?!”

She is. Her little face is screwed up with determination as she listens to Auretta calmly explain to keep her wings steady and to soar with the air current instead of working against it.

It takes a few more minutes before Junie seems to have the hang of it, only a little shaky as she coasts along behind Auretta.

“I think I got it!” Junie shouts.

Fidel, who had been watching from atop the braviary off to the side, yells, “Good work!”

“Stay calm, even when the winds shift,” the braviary adds, watching as well.

“I’m going to elevate,” Auretta calls over her shoulder. “The wind will feel stronger for a moment, but just let it take you, all right? We’re on a wide current, so you shouldn't be lead astray. Don’t panic.”

Junie calls, “Got it!”

The pidgeot tilts and flies higher, out of Junie’s path.

Junie looks overwhelmed for a moment, flapping once before stopping herself and straightening her wings. She wobbles, but then she’s quickly picked up like a leaf on the wind, moving forward at a brisk clip.

Before anyone can ask how she’s doing, Junie whoops a loud, joyous sound. Auretta dips so she can fly right beside her, and Junie turns to face them with a beaming grin.

“Toby, look! I did it! And it feels awesome!”

Tobias can’t help smiling back, something sharp and warm in his chest. He always wanted to be there when his sister evolved and got to fly herself for the first time. This isn’t that, but it’s close enough to have him choked up.

“You did it,” he says, trying not to make it obvious that he’s feeling stupidly emotional.

Luckily, Junie is too distracted by her own joy to call him out on it, simply turning her face up to enjoy the sun.

Of course, it’s not five minutes later before Junie starts begging Auretta and Cato to show her how to do some “cool flight tricks.” Tobias is relieved when they gently shoot down her idea of learning how to barrel roll.

————————————————————————————————

The rest of the trip is largely uneventful, thankfully, no rogue winds to disrupt their journey across the sea. Nia stays hidden in Tobias’ shoulder most of the time, but she makes muffled comments occasionally, so she must be listening to their conversations.

At one point Tobias thinks he catches a glimpse of Giratina checking in on them in the reflection of the sky below, but the titan is gone too quickly for Tobias to be sure.

They’d borrowed a cup of water the night before to update Giratina on their findings about Yveltal and Xerneas, and their plans to go to Silenfroar. Giratina had seemed to approve, apparently deeming their guess a valid possibility.

However, he’d also seemed more exhausted than usual, expression flat and his subdued gestures lacking their usual bite. Nia, being Nia, had of course asked if he was all right.

Giratina had straightened up, walls visibly rebuilding as he nodded. Nia clearly hadn’t been convinced, but without a way to hear Giratina speaking through the reflection it wasn’t like they could even understand anything he said except a yes or no answer.

Regardless of what was actually wrong—if anything—Tobias figures that Giratina just doesn’t feel like wasting valuable time and energy to monitor them today.

Junie takes to resting periodically on Auretta’s back, but she still leaps back into the air as much as possible, rambling about how impressed Bo will be by her new skills.

Hours pass peacefully this way, and it’s nearly noon, the sun high and bright overhead, when the braviary calls out, “Land ahoy!”

Tobias squints, ignoring Nia’s quiet, “Thank goodness.” Sure enough, the shore of the Bethoc Bluffs and the forest of the Haven lie on the horizon, faded blue with distance.

Tobias is startled out of his search by a high, unexpected voice coming from Fidel and Cato’s direction.

“Finally! I thought we’d never get there!”

Cato falters, and everyone else’s heads snap over.

From the pack still strapped to Fidel’s back, a tiny gray and red head is poking out with a devious grin, clearly enjoying their stunned reactions.

“Asher?!” Junie yells.

“Asher?” Fidel asks, half shocked and half concerned. He quickly unstraps his pack to pull it in front of him. Seeing that his son is unharmed, his brows lower. “What are you doing here?”

The zorua sinks low into the bag at his father’s upset tone, until all Tobias can see are golden eyes and lowered ears. He can barely hear the zorua over the wind as he says, “I didn’t want you to go.”

Fidel’s anger softens. He sighs. “I didn’t want to leave you either, but that does not mean you are allowed to disobey direct orders. What if we were going straight to the mountains and had to stop to find somewhere safe for you to stay?”

“I’d be okay!” Asher says. “I’m tough! And I can always hide in your hair to stay warm.”

“You are not coming to the mountians,” Fidel says, voice hard. “And I will be double-checking that you haven’t decided to sneak along again before we go.”

Asher pouts. “But—"

“No. You will stay at the guild’s nursery until we return.”

Asher perks up again. “Does that mean you’re not sending me back to the settlement? Please tell me you’re not. It’s so boring there!”

Fidel sighs, glancing over at Tobias, Nia, and Junie. “…No. we can’t afford to turn around simply to drop you off. You’ll come with us to the Lexym Guild, as long as Team Scarlet thinks you’d be welcome there.”

“Of course he would!” Junie chirps, despite having never been to the guild herself.

Tobias squashes her down with a hand, ignoring her offended cheep. “I’m sure Asher can stay in the guild’s nursery while we’re gone. Honestly, the shinx kids will probably be thrilled to have a new playmate.”

Asher almost wiggles out of his father’s hold in his excitement. “Ooh, are they fun? How old are they? I bet I could turn into a shinx!”

“Don’t sound so thrilled,” Fidel admonishes. “We will be talking about this more once we settle in. You’re still in trouble.”

“Right. Sorry,” Asher says.

Tobias doesn’t think he sounds all that sorry at all, but it is clear Asher doesn’t like upsetting his father, even if he doesn’t really regret stowing away.

Despite the scolding, Fidel doesn’t stop his son from joining in the conversation after that. Some part of Tobias thinks the zoroark is actually relieved to have his son nearby where he can keep an eye on him.

Half the remaining journey is spent with Asher yelling questions across the sky about the Lexym Guild, which Tobias answers patiently. Junie wastes no time jumping in with questions of her own.

They must’ve taken a different flight route than usual since they came straight from the human settlement, because today they pass over a beach town near the bluffs on the edge of the continent. It’s a fairly small place, bigger than Stonebrook but much smaller than Ghatha. Closer to Fort Asra’s population than anything. Tobias thinks he remembers visiting once or twice with Maggie when he was younger.

As they fly over the bustling town, the braviary carrying Fidel suddenly jerks, strong enough to cut off Asher’s rambling with a yip. Fidel pulls his son closer.

“Cato?” Auretta says, tone concerned. She flies closer, as if to steady him.

The braviary doesn’t answer for a moment, frowning down at the quiet activity of the town below. “I’m fine. Just…thought I felt something strange in the air for a moment.”

Tobias frowns, eyeing the braviary’s crest. Fliss said that braviary variants were psychic types, right? Psychics do tend to be a bit more sensitive to certain things.

But after a tense moment of observation, the braviary shakes his head. “Probably nothing. Likely some psychic types playing with their powers. Apologies for the scare.”

The rest of them take the dismissal for what it is, slowly relaxing again. Asher and Junie resume their questioning after a minute or two.

The two chatterboxes only fall silent once they reach the Haven in earnest, and the giant tree that houses the Lexym Guild towers in the distance, far above the other trees of the forest.

“It’s huge!” Junie says. “You guys didn’t tell me you lived somewhere so cool!”

Tobias shrugs. He’s lived at the guild for over eight years now, so it’s long since lost its novelty. It’s just…home, nowadays.

Auretta and Cato find the mail ‘mons’ flight floor with easy familiarity, alighting on the wooden platforms with gentle thumps.

Fidel and Asher slide down from the braviary’s back, and Auretta crouches for Tobias, Nia and Junie to do the same. Tobias tries to help Nia soften her landing, but she still winces as she lands, paw going to her ribs.

The two flight ‘mon were paid in advance by Will, so they give their goodbyes and head off to the flight outpost. Junie hops after them, calling out her thanks for the impromptu flight lesson.

It’s not long until the two flying types are out of sight.

“So what now?” Junie asks, eyes sparkling as she takes in the open, windy interior and wooden walls. “Gonna give us the grand tour?”

For once, Tobias wishes they could do something so laid-back, but he knows they need to get something else over with first.

“We need to talk to August first. Update him and see if he found anything out about Xerneas while we were gone. Plus, we need to get his approval so we can travel to the mountains. He might have some tips for us.”

“And…” Nia adds, looking nervous. “Um. We have to tell him about the whole Kaleido Bay thing, right?”

The mark on their record, yeah. As their guildmaster, August will find out about it sooner or later, so Tobias would rather the rillaboom hear it straight from him.

Tobias nods, ignoring Asher’s curious look and Junie’s sympathetic grimace.

“We’ll join you, if that’s all right. I need to make sure it’s okay for Asher to stay here while we’re gone,” Fidel says, giving his son—who is happily sniffing circles around the room, probably tracking an old scent—an unimpressed look.

Decision made, Tobias leads their little group up the few flights to August’s office. He just hopes the rillaboom is free so they can get this over with.

The whole walk, Junie and Asher take turns eagerly pointing out different parts of the Lexym Tree’s construction, peering through the lattice windows they pass and asking how they built a whole guild inside of a tree.

“I think it’s magic,” Nia whispers conspiratorially, leaning closer to Asher and wiggling her fingers.

Asher grins. “Has to be. Even with lotsa grass types around, this tree is humongous! Like, weirdly so. Right, Dad?”

“It is impressive.”

“Hm. Magic and lots of love and care?” Nia jokes, glancing at Tobias.

Tobias snorts. “I’m sure that’s it.”

Tobias is glad they don’t push for actual answers, at least, considering he doesn’t have them. As far as he knows, the Lexym Tree has been like this for over a century, since the guilds were first formed and Bethoc herself founded this branch.

Still, their good mood nosedives as they reach August’s quarters at the top of the guild. The stone doors are closed tight, vines wrapping around their surface, and bright autumn foliage wreathes the corners of the doorframe.

Tobias takes a deep breath and knocks. He’s both relieved and disappointed when August’s deep voice can be faintly heard in response.

Verene is the one who opens the doors. The lurantis scans Tobias and the others with mild surprise, but she opens the door wider without hesitation, silently ushering them in.

August seems just as surprised to see them, though his expression quickly turns to warm relief.

Tobias stomach churns. For a second, he considers not telling August about their transgression in Kaleido at all.

…But no, that’ll only delay the inevitable. And August would be even more disappointed in them if they tried to hide it.

Tobias takes another breath to calm his nerves.

“Team Scarlet! I wasn’t expecting you back so soon. And I see you’ve brought company?”

Tobias nods, gesturing first at Junie. “Juniper the rookidee. You might remember that we met her in Ghatha on our last trip East.”

“Junie,” Junie corrects, hopping forward with a dramatic bow. “I live in

Stonebrook! I’m just here to help these two knuckleheads stay in one piece.”

August chuckles. “Pleasure to meet you. And you two?”

Fidel steps forward, his usual friendly demeanor stiffening as he bows as well. “Fidel the zoroark. Second in command at the human settlement south of Ghatha. This is my son, Asher.”

“Hiya!” Asher chirps. In a flash of light, he morphs into a grookey to bow just as dramatically as Junie had.

Junie snorts, but Fidel almost looks panicked as he nudges his son. Asher glances up at him, sighs, then transforms back into a zorua to bow more respectfully.

August watches the exchange with a strange expression, half-amused and half…sad, almost? Still, his smile is warm when Fidel looks back to him. “You and your son are welcome here, Fidel. Worry not.”

Fidel’s tense posture doesn’t relax, but he does nod, murmuring his thanks.

“Happy as I am to welcome you all to the Lexym Guild, am I wrong in assuming you have a purpose in mind, coming here with Team Scarlet? Have you news on your search for Xerneas?”

Tobias nods. “Will’s team did some research, and we think we have a place to start looking.”

He glances at Fidel, and the zoroark takes over.

“Xerneas and Yveltal rest within a certain proximity of one another during their sleep cycles.”

August nods, not looking surprised. He must’ve found similar claims in his own research here at the guild.

“As such, we only need to find one before we have an anchor point to find the other,” Fidel continues. “We can also assume from the legends that their resting places display specific qualities. Namely, that Xerneas will rest somewhere lush, and Yveltal somewhere barren. In addition, the crystals forming their cocoons typically spill over into the environment around them as well.”

August narrows his eyes, a thoughtful hand coming up to his chin. “That makes sense, considering the role of each legendary in regards to the ecosystem. I’m assuming you believe one of the two legendaries to be nearby since you followed Team Scarlet all the way back to Metreja?”

Fidel nods, looking to Nia.

She startles, but hurries forward to continue. “Y-Yes! Do you remember the sableye we rescued in that dungeon on the river, along with Team Aqua Jet? Carnelian?”

August smiles. “I do. A nervous little fellow, but very polite.”

“Yes! Before he left the guild, he mentioned that he was going somewhere to investigate some strange crystals.”

“The Silenfroar Mountain range,” Tobias adds.

August straightens, brow furrowing with understanding. “Which would certainly be a barren landscape, yes?”

Fidel nods. “We’re thinking that Yveltal may be resting there. However, we want to investigate and confirm for sure so we can use his location as a tether to find Xerneas, considering they should be within sight of one another.”

August hums, thoughtful, his gaze locked on one of the branches snaking its way through the walls of the room and bringing a burst of autumn leaves with it.

Tobias frowns. He knows August well enough after all these years to guess what that look means. “You found something out while we were gone, didn’t you?”

August blinks back to the present, and laughs. “That transparent, am I? We have been performing our own research in your brief absence, but let me confirm my suspicions with Alistair and Tawny first before I share what I suspect. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to keep you all in the loop.”

Tobias doesn’t doubt that August is telling the truth, despite how much grief he’s given his guildmaster over the years.

Another jab of guilt in Tobias’ chest.

“You trained up in those mountains once, right?” Tobias asks, pushing past the feeling. “Did you hear anything about Yveltal while you were there?”

August looks faintly surprised that Tobias remembers that little tidbit, probably since it was shared so many years ago. The rillaboom shakes his head. “No, I heard nothing of the sort while I was there. But though they welcomed me on a surface level by the end of my training, I was never truly one of them. It’s likely they would still keep important secrets from me, and a legendary hidden in their territory would certainly qualify.”

“Oh,” Nia says, wilting. “Does that mean you wouldn’t be able to put in a good word for us?”

August’s brows raise. “You mean to travel up the mountain yourselves? All of you?”

“Will would like to work with ‘mon he personally knows he can trust,” Fidel says. “And I could help to assure their safety, if you permit it.”

“And Giratina asked US to look into Xerneas,” Tobias adds. Well, he asked Nia, but still—they’re a unit. “And we know Carnelian, too. He trusts us. It makes sense for us to go.”

Nia and Junie open their mouths to add their own input, but August lifts a hand to stop them.

“You don’t need to try so hard to convince me. You’ve already proven yourselves worthy of missions far above your ranking, and you aren’t the worst option in the guild, type-wise.”

Verene, who had been silently watching the exchange off to the side, steps forward for the first time, pink and white claws crossed politely but voice firm. “All the same, August, if time is a pressing matter, should we not send someone who could make the trip faster? I know we don’t have many upper-level Seekers on hand who are great in the cold, but someone like Team Sequoia could adapt well.”

Andyn’s parents? Oh, absolutely not. Tobias is not trusting the fate of the world to two sawsbuck who can’t even raise their own kid properly.

Before he can protest, August shakes his head. “You know as well as I do that Team Sequoia would make enemies of the village sooner than they’d find any answers, Verene. Trust me on this. We need someone non-threatening who already has a connection with the sableye researcher at the very least.” He smiles at them. “As I cannot go myself, I have a feeling this group is exactly the team for the job.”

Tobias is going to die from the guilt. A glance at Nia shows she’s feeling the same, wincing under the praise.

Verene doesn’t seem thrilled by August’s answer, glancing over Nia, Tobias, Junie and Asher doubtfully, but she dutifully steps back.

August looks back to them. “You have my approval for Team Scarlet to investigate the Silenfroar mountain range for signs of Xerneas or Yveltal’s presence. I do want you to wait a day or so for my confirmation before you depart, though. I need to draft a letter to the matriarch of the village if you want to bypass any initial suspicion. Additionally, I want you to prepare properly—the mountainside can be brutal, especially if you run into any bad weather. Make sure to get some snow clothes from Vera before leaving.”

“Already done!” Junie chirps. “Will hooked us up.”

“We didn’t grab shoes, though,” Nia frets. “The ones at the shop looked too thin, so…”

August bends over his desk for a moment to scribble a note to himself. “In that case, make sure you grab some snowshoes before departing from the guild. I believe Vera has a few pairs in storage. I’ll send word so she can dig them out.”

Nia gives her thanks, looking relieved.

“What about me?” Asher asks, head craning back to look up at his father.

Fidel falters. “Right. Guildmaster, would it be possible for my son to stay here in your guild’s nursery while we journey up the mountain? He was not supposed to join on this trip, but…”

“Of course,” August says, clearly catching Fidel off-guard with such easy approval. “Arlo and his assistants can handle one more bundle of chaos, I’m sure. Just be sure not to cause them too much grief, little one.”

Asher perks up with a radiant smile. “Of course not, sir!”

Junie and Tobias snort in unison.

“Does that mean I’m cool to crash with Nia and Toby while I’m here too?” Junie asks.

August nods. “I expected as much. You should have more than enough room in Team Scarlet’s quarters.”

Junie whispers, “Mission accomplished!” to Nia, making the riolu smile.

August makes a sound in his throat as if he just remembered something. “Speaking of which, you actually have another guest who requested to meet with you. They’ve been staying in the guest quarters the last few days, but I’ll send word for them to meet up with you right away. I’m sure they’ll be interested in joining you on your journey to Silenfroar.”

Tobias blinks, surprised, and exchanges a confused look with Nia. A guest?

“You and your son will also have guest quarters for the duration of your stay,” August says to Fidel, quickly writing down some details on a slip of paper before holding it out to him. “Though Asher is more than welcome to sleep in the nursery while you’re away.”

Fidel takes the slip of paper after a beat of hesitation, murmuring his thanks. Asher clambers up his father’s side to perch on his shoulder and read it too.

“If that’s all,” August says, “I’m sure you’re all hungry after your travels. Feel free to go to the cafeteria—they should still be serving lunch at this hour.”

Nia and Tobias hesitate, exchanging a reluctant glance. Part of Tobias just wants to leave and deal with the mark on their record later, especially if August could potentially rescind his permission for them to investigate the mountains, but…

He can’t just lie to August, not after how welcoming he’s been to them. Today, and for Tobias’ whole life, honestly.

“We have something else to tell you,” Tobias sighs. He glances uncomfortably at Fidel. “About, uh…an incident we were a part of in Kaleido Bay.”

August straightens, his smile curving into a concerned frown.

Fidel must pick up on their discomfort, because he smiles awkwardly and dips his head. “In that case, Asher and I will go find our lodgings for the night and grab some food. I’ll come to speak with you tomorrow, Team Scarlet.”

“Can we go see the nursery first?!” Asher asks, shaking his dad’s shoulder. “I gotta find those shinx kids!”

“We can,” Fidel agrees with a wry look. “But you’re also helping me draft a letter to poor Will to let him know you’re safe. He’ll be in a fuss over your disappearance.”

Asher winces. “…Whoops. Didn’t think about that.”

“Yes, ‘Whoops.’” Fidel turns back to August with another formal bow. “Thank you again for your hospitality, Guildmaster.”

August nods and dismisses the father and son, and they take their leave to slip quietly from the room.

In their absence, a heavy silence falls.

August turns back to them, looking more concerned than anything. “What exactly is this ‘incident’ that occurred in Kaleido Bay?”

Tobias takes a breath and steps forward. “It was my fault. We found out that one of the Pokemon responsible for the death of my family was being held in the prison there. I wanted to talk to him.”

August recoils, clearly not expecting that answer. The rillaboom surely knows the vague details of how Tobias came to join the guild years ago, but even Maggie doesn’t have the full story. And Tobias has certainly never willingly divulged details like this to him.

It helps to say it like a report. To keep a clinical sort of distance from the event itself.

Verene is staring at Tobias with uncharacteristic emotion, pink eyes wide with shock. Tobias wouldn’t be surprised if this is the first time she’s hearing about his circumstances at all, considering she wasn’t at the guild when he first arrived.

August could’ve told her at some point, of course, but Tobias realizes suddenly that he’d always just trusted that August would keep it as quiet as possible out of respect for his privacy. After all, from the very beginning, August was one of the few ‘mon at the guild who treated Tobias with respect. He has always showed a deep, honest sympathy for Tobias’ circumstances, rather than pity.

August has always been on Tobias’ side, even if Tobias didn’t recognize it until recently.

Which is why Tobias is going to keep his lying to a minimum, here and now. They can’t implicate Rosalind because Arceus knows what she would do in retaliation, but…

“We blackmailed a guard to get into the prison,” Tobias admits, lifting his chin and locking eyes with August. “I had to know.”

August’s expression becomes more somber. He leans forward to rest his chin on interlaced fingers. “I see. And did you find what you were looking for by speaking with this outlaw?”

Tobias swallows down fresh grief. “…In a way, yes. I don’t regret doing it.”

He does regret getting Nia in trouble too, and of course the danger of the whole situation in the first place, but as far as tarnishing his own record? He’d do that a thousand times over to find answers. To get some closure.

“Nia didn’t want me to go alone, but it was entirely my idea.”

“I went along with it,” Nia protests, stepping up to his side. “I-I…I should bear any punishment you give, too.”

August hums, looking between them. “And you two are telling me this out of the goodness of your hearts? Or were you found out?”

“Dismas made an escape attempt while we were there,” Tobias says, lifting his arm to show his still-bandaged side, finally almost healed. “We delayed him until reinforcements arrived, but that did bring attention to the whole incident. One of the wardens came to talk to us afterwards and explained that due to our help we would get a lighter punishment, but we’ll still have a mark on our record. You should be receiving notice of that soon.”

August is silent for a few moments, looking to Verene as if to gauge her reaction. She looks troubled by the admission of wrongdoing, but strangely uncertain, too. Likely still reeling from the revelation about Tobias’ family.

Finally, August sighs, making a note on a slip of paper on his desk. “Well, I certainly can’t condone you both engaging in such unsavory activity, not to mention where you received the knowledge to blackmail a prison guard in the first place—"

Here, August pauses to give them a stern, knowing look that makes them wince.

“—But I can also understand where you are coming from, Tobias. I suppose my next question must be whether you plan to repeat such behavior in the future?”

“Not if it might hurt someone else,” Nia answers first. Tobias looks at her, surprised by the passion in her voice.

“The Pokemon we blackmailed got in trouble, too,” Nia continues, quieter, voice shaky. “I-I can’t do that again. Hurt someone else for personal gain.”

She peeks at Tobias as she says it, expression both hard and pleading, as if begging him not to put her in such a situation again.

Tobias feels fresh guilt worm its way into his gut. He hadn’t thought much about Jude’s repercussions at all. Of course Nia has been stewing in guilt over them the whole time.

“Agreed,” Tobias finally says, crumbling under Nia’s expression. “I…can’t say I wouldn’t be tempted in the future if information about the outlaws who killed my family was on the line, but I’ll go with Nia on this. I promise no one else will be caught in the crossfire in the future.”

August gives them a tired smile. “As much as I am pleased to hear that your hearts are in the right place, as your guildmaster I need to remind you both that you should not admit to planning to break any rules to Verene and I.”

Nia and Tobias both wince, Nia murmuring a quiet, “Sorry.”

August chuckles, shaking his head.

Verene looks torn, as if unsure if August should be taking all of this so lightly.

Tobias swallows, pushing forward. “Do we still have your permission to investigate the Silenfroar Mountains?”

August quirks a brow. “Would it stop you if I said no?”

Nia and Tobias exchange an uncertain look.

August coughs, though it sounds suspiciously like he’s covering a laugh. “Don’t answer that. Typically, teams with infractions for suspicious activity would be put on leave while the issue was investigated, but seeing as you came to tell me your reasoning directly, that step of the process is complete for now. I do truly believe you all are the best choice for this mission, so I’ll keep you as the assigned team.”

Tobias releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, hearing Nia do the same next to him.

“However,” August continues, pinning them both with a stern look. “This is still a permanent red flag on your record. Accumulate more than two and your team will be put on leave indefinitely. Do not put me in that position. Got it?”

Tobias straightens up with a nod. “Yes sir.”

“Y-Yes sir!”

August holds the look for a moment longer, then waves them out. “In that case, you three are free to go. I’ll send your other guest to your quarters soon. And I believe you had a rather large delivery as well during your absence.

Tobias blinks. News of a “guest” is strange enough, but they had a big delivery, too?

Tobias doesn’t question it aloud, though. He, Nia and even Junie bow and say their thanks before scurrying out of the room.

Just before Tobias crosses the threshold, August calls out, “Tobias?”

Tobias stops, looking back at the rillaboom.

His face is soft. “Circumstances aside, I’m glad you found what you were looking for in the prison. I hope it bring you some measure of peace.”

Tobias swallows against an unexpected wave of emotion, nodding and mumbling his thanks before following Nia and Junie out of the room.

As soon as the door closes behind them and they’re alone in the hallway, Junie sags to the floor. “Whew! Well that was nerve-racking. No wonder you don’t like to get in trouble, Nia.”

“Who does?” Nia asks, aghast.

Tobias just points at Junie, who proudly fluffs out her chest. She’s an impidimp under all those feathers, he swears.

“Well, I certainly don’t enjoy it,” Nia murmurs. But then she perks up. “Oh! But what do you think August meant by us having a guest? And a delivery?”

“I want food and a tour soon, but I’m curious too. We could go to your room first to check it out?” Junie suggests.

Tobias doesn’t see any issue with that. They’re likely not going to get much done today aside from settling back in and checking on Maggie and Nia’s friends, so they might as well quell their curiosity and take their time.

Tobias leads the three of them to the floor where the Seekers’ quarters are housed, then down the hall and to their room. Along the way, Nia tells Junie about where and who they need to visit while at the guild.

“Oh, you’ll love Maggie! She’s Tobias’ mom and she’s the sweetest person alive. And you’ll probably meet Fen and Sage during that visit, too. And I need to introduce you to Xander’s team! They’re a few years older than us, but they’re some of our best friends. And Andyn’s—"

Nia cuts herself off abruptly.

Tobias rolls his eyes, not even looking back to see his partner’s crestfallen expression. “If Andyn is still in a mood a week after our little tiff, that’s her problem. And don’t you dare go to apologize to her when it’s her fault for having such an awful attitude.”

“I-I know,” Nia says quietly. “But…I do miss her.”

“If you’re worried, you could always check in with the sensible members of her team.”

“Wait, hold up. What’s the drama here?” Junie asks, fluttering forward to perch on Tobias’ shoulder. “Who’s Andyn?”

“One of Nia’s friends. We did a joint mission with her team before we left and she was being an insecure little brat the whole time. She was still acting huffy when we left.”

“She was being a brat to Nia?” Junie asks, aghast. “Oh, she’d better be a bug type. I’m gonna peck some sense into her.”

“Junie, no!” Nia says.

Tobias smirks. “Grass type, actually. So you’re good. And I think her teammates might just cheer you on at this point.”

“Tobias!“ Nia says, louder.

Tobias and Junie ignore Nia’s protests from behind them on the staircase, the two of them instead making more and more ridiculous attack plans. Tobias knows Nia isn’t actually upset with them since he can hear the growing laughter in her voice with every protest. After Junie threatens to stalk Andyn around the guild and drop berries on her head in some kind of psychological warfare, Nia doesn’t even try to protest anymore as she giggles.

The teasing continues until they reach their room. Tobias opens the door, expecting their delivery to be something too large for the mailbox but still manageably small.

Instead, the three of them stop cold in the entryway of the room, staring at the supplies lumped together into a pile taller than them.

“What in the..?” Tobias says.

Nia gasps, pushing past them. “It’s a bed!”

“For real?!” Junie yells. She flutters forward to join Nia, eagerly knelt next to a bundle of…wooden posts?

Tobias frowns, joining them as well. “I thought you didn’t buy a bed from Hazel because it was too expensive.”

“Oh.” Nia pauses, blinking. “I didn’t.”

Junie brings their attention to a little note tied to one of the posts, plucking it free with her beak to hold out to Nia. Nia skims through it, and a peek reveals that it’s written in that strange scrawling script from Hazel’s last letter, completely illegible to him.

Nia’s expression softens. “It IS from Hazel. She says she wants to thank us for returning her ‘silly husband’ to her and her family in one piece. No charge.”

“Her husband?” Junie asks.

“Yeah! He’s super nice. I think he’s called a floatzel? We saved him and his crew from a mystery dungeon on the way back from Shivergleam.”

“No charge at all is pretty generous of her,” Tobias says, raising a brow.

“I know! I almost don’t want to accept.”

“Hey, don’t look for the hair in the soup and all that,” Junie says, hopping from one bundle of crisply cut, polished wood to another.

“Do you always have to make it yourself?” Tobias asks doubtfully. It looks…kind of complicated.

With a grin, Nia flips over the letter to show him the back, where more is written along with some little doodles to help illustrate. “Nope, but there are instructions! It doesn’t look too bad.”

Tobias still doesn’t get why the two of them are so excited. He’s having a hard time figuring out what this weird bed will even look like by the time they’re done. What’s wrong with a simple nest on the floor?

Junie must sense his doubt, because she hops over the wood and says, “You’ll understand soon, Toby. Come over here and feel this!”

Tobias rounds the pile of materials to find a giant rectangular…something? It looks thick but soft and it’s covered in cloth. It sparks a long-forgotten memory on the edge of his thoughts, of waking up somewhere impossibly soft after Team Zenith’s attack.

Oh. Maybe he has slept in a similar kind of bed before. He thinks the doctor in the village had one? Maybe there was a human living there that Tobias was unaware of at the time.

Trying not to look too intrigued, Tobias follows Junie’s order and sits down on the edge of what she calls a “mattress.” It feels like more of those springs might be inside, but it’s heavily padded by fabric and other stuffing, so he sinks comfortably a few inches before lightly bouncing back up.

Okay, maybe Tobias is starting to see why they’re so excited to sleep on this. He hesitates, knowing Junie will likely comment on it, but eventually decides to flop back onto it fully.

“Nice, right?” Junie asks, her smug expression audible. Tobias doesn’t give her the satisfaction of responding, instead closing his eyes.

…It is pretty comfortable.

Nia snickers, but thankfully doesn’t comment. The sound is followed by the clatter of wood and shuffling as Nia starts putting together whatever the rest of the supplies are for.

“Okay, looks like it’s just a peg system, so I don’t think we’ll need tools…”

“Should we grab food before you get lost in construction mode?” Junie pipes up, looking between them. “I’m starving.”

Nia is clearly reluctant to part with her new project, but Tobias is hungry too. They compromise, heading down to grab lunch and bringing it back to their room to eat.

Tobias and Junie dig in with relish, the little rookidee praising the cooking’s quality. Nia just takes bites of her meal here and there while organizing the materials and lining up pegs in their proper placement.

After he’s finished eating, Tobias peels himself from the mattress to help Nia hold the supplies in place, since her muttering has only gotten more frustrated in the last few minutes.

The two of them are only halfway through building what is apparently a frame to hold the mattress off the floor when a quiet tap tap comes from the doorway. They all turn to look, just as a familiar head pokes into the room.

Oh. That’s the second time this afternoon that Tobias has been thrown completely for a loop.

“Samir?!” Nia gasps, practically throwing down the materials in her paws to scramble up and greet the skiddo.

Samir looks just as they’d left them in Fort Asra, albeit a bit more unsure in this new environment. Their nerves visibly lessen in the face of Nia’s enthusiastic greeting, but the skiddo still holds themself stiffly as ever, legs locked and chin raised. Across their back, a satchel like the one Maggie wears when gathering herbs is draped over their spine.

So the mystery guest August had mentioned before is Samir. After hearing about the skiddo’s terrible partner back in Fort Asra, and Nia offering Samir a place in the Lexym Guild instead, Tobias can take a wild guess for why they’re here.

He’s just not quite sure how to feel about it.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Crash Course

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

word count: 822

pairing: Lando Norris x driver!reader

summary: Y/n returns to the paddock after recovering from her injuries, and Lando confronts her with his growing feelings

______________________________________________________________

The days following the crash were a blur for Y/n, filled with recovery sessions and endless interviews about the accident. The media buzzed with speculation, talking more about the rivalry between her and Lando than about the championship itself. Everyone wanted to know if the tension between them had reached a breaking point.

But Y/n couldn’t stop thinking about what Lando had said. His confession kept replaying in her mind, stirring something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel before. She kept pushing it aside, trying to focus on her recovery and the upcoming races, but it lingered in the back of her thoughts, persistent and confusing.

A few days later, Y/n was back at the paddock, still moving a little stiffly but determined to show everyone she was ready to race again. She walked through the garage, her team bustling around her, making sure everything was in place for the next practice session.

As she sat down to review some data, she felt a presence behind her before she heard the voice.

“Back so soon?” Lando’s voice was light, but she could hear the edge of concern behind it.

Y/n glanced over her shoulder, seeing him leaning casually against the wall, hands in his pockets. He looked relaxed, but his eyes were studying her closely, as if assessing whether she was really okay.

“Did you expect me to stay away?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “I can’t let you have all the fun, can I?”

Lando smirked, pushing off the wall and walking closer. “Just making sure you’re not pushing yourself too hard.”

“I’m fine,” Y/n insisted, though the slight wince as she shifted in her seat betrayed her.

Lando noticed, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You sure about that?”

Y/n sighed, rolling her eyes. “You sound like my doctor.”

“Maybe I should be,” he teased, but there was an underlying sincerity in his tone. “Look, I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

Y/n paused, the playful banter between them losing its edge. There it was again—that concern, that softness. She wasn’t used to this version of Lando, and it made her feel off-balance.

“Why do you care so much?” she asked quietly, looking up at him.

Lando hesitated, his playful smile fading. He glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot before sitting down on the chair next to hers. “Because I meant what I said, Y/n. After the crash, when you almost collapsed… I realized how much I care. More than I probably should.”

Her heart skipped a beat, the air around them growing thick with tension. “Lando…”

“I know we’re rivals,” he continued, his voice low and serious. “And we’re both fighting for the championship, but… that doesn’t change how I feel.”

Y/n’s pulse quickened, her thoughts racing. This was happening—he was actually saying it, putting into words what had been unspoken between them for so long. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. How could she explain the way she felt, when she wasn’t even sure herself?

Seeing her hesitation, Lando sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I get it. This is complicated. And if you don’t feel the same way, we can forget it—”

“No,” Y/n interrupted, her voice firm. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. “It’s not that. I just… I’ve been so focused on beating you, on proving I’m the best, that I didn’t stop to think about anything else.”

Lando’s eyes softened, a glimmer of hope flickering in his expression. “And now?”

Y/n looked at him, the weight of her feelings settling in her chest. “Now, I’m starting to realize there’s more to this than just the rivalry.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the noise of the paddock fading into the background as they looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. The tension that had always existed between them was still there, but it had changed—shifted into something neither of them had expected.

Lando leaned in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “So… what now?”

Y/n swallowed hard, her heart racing. She knew they couldn’t just flip a switch and change everything. They were still competitors, still fighting for the same title. But maybe—just maybe—they could be something more, too.

“I guess we see what happens,” she replied softly, her eyes locking with his.

Lando’s lips curled into a small smile. “I like the sound of that.”

Before they could say anything else, Y/n’s team called her over for a briefing. She stood up, feeling Lando’s eyes on her as she turned to leave. Just before she walked away, she glanced back at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Maybe this wasn’t the end of their rivalry—but it could be the beginning of something else. Something that neither of them had been prepared for, but now seemed impossible to ignore.

[croissantlover24]

Solar angst where he has a panic attack after meeting Nexus again because he reminds him of his Moon?

(Yes yes YESSS)

Solar’s hands shivered. His nonexistent heart began to beat faster and faster, the sound suffocating his audio receptors. The oil within his eyes threatened to spill over. He could hear Nexus saying something in the background, but wasn’t really listening.

This was not how he had wanted things to go.

When Solar confronted his former brother, he thought he’d see some sort of explanation. Some sort of reason.

Not his Moon bubbling back all over again to torture him.

Of course, his Moon was dead. Solar had ensured that himself. However, with how Nexus was acting… it was like his brother was possessed by the ghost of his abuser.

Not a good combination.

“Aww, are you going to cry?” Nexus mocked, flexing his claws and exaggerating his tone.

“Shut up,” Solar hissed, holding back tears.

Nexus came closer.

“I’m not going to change,” he whispered lowly. “I have dark star power. That’s all I need. And soon, I’ll become a god.”

His laughter echoed across the empty halls like a distant wound Solar had long forgotten reopening.

“That may make me the villain of your story,” the lunar animatronic continued, “but I can handle that.”

His voice became colder than ice, frozen over from years of pretending to be someone he was not.

“However… can you?”

“Can’t you do anything right?” Moon had hissed at Solar, slamming his faceplate against the wall repeatedly. “Why are you STILL HERE? Where’s Sun? WHAT’D YOU DO TO MY BROTHER?”

Solar shook his head, pushing the memory back to the deep recesses of his mind. Now was not the time to compare how Nexus had become the person he swore not to be.

“Kneel,” said animatronic commanded, and Solar was suddenly shoved to the ground. He tried to stand, but a force far beyond his own kept him on the ground.

Nexus laughed. “How pathetic.”

“Shut. UP,” Solar hissed, pushing off of the ground and ramming into him. Nexus swiftly dodged, sending Solar barreling into the wall.

“Ugh,” the latter groaned, rubbing his head. Not the smartest decision.

“You’re as foolish as always,” Moon—no, Nexus—teased.

Solar would be lying if he said that he didn’t see the two as one and the same now.

He shook his head. Don’t think about that. DON’T DON’T DON’T—

Solar was slammed to the ground by his former brother yet again, purple magic floating around him.

“Keep your head down,” Nexus growled. “I’m going to make this very clear.”

He grabbed Solar’s faceplate, digging his claws into it and ripping some of the paint off.

“I am not Moon anymore. I am Nexus. Get that straight. Nexus, Nexus, Nexus.” Each time he said his own name, Eclipse—no, Solar (get out of that mindset, Solar)—was punched hard in the face.

Nexus was still going easy on him.

He grinned maniacally, the thing spread far too wide. “I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding.”

He disappeared.

And that’s when the panic attack formed.

Solar’s airways felt tight, as if they had rusted over and filled with dust. Each breath didn’t seem enough, like he needed more more more air and—he wasn’t getting enough of it. He was suffocating, a victim of his own mind. Nervous energy jittered through him, convincing him of hallucinations that weren’t there.

“You’re pathetic.”

“You’re the reason Sun is gone.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

Was it his Moon or Nexus saying those things? Solar suddenly couldn’t remember.

He collapsed against the wall, gripping his head tightly as his heart raced and his mind reeled.

Sleep was… a far away dream for Solar that night.

[katszumi]

every room stood still. your kitten, katsuki insisted on naming 'skullcrusher', also didn't dare to move.

your head hung low, feeling the stuffy air sneak into your lungs. you glanced at the clock on your watch. 7:19. the usual time katsuki arrived at the doorstep.

normally, you'd rush to the door, showering your boyfriend with short pepper kisses on his face. but you remained on the velvet couch, the same couch you picked out when house shopping with katsuki.

a click sounded, indicating the door was recently unlocked. you harshly breathed in the same stuffy air, forcing yourself to swallow the panic that resided inside of you.

katsuki slugged through the door, immediately dropping his bag at the front door. his eyes met yours then to the kitchen, his face contorting slightly at the sight. it was empty?

"no food. what's up with you?" his words came off more formidable than he liked, especially when he knew something wasn’t right.

katsuki inched towards you, his eyebrows wearing an expression of its own. they were furrowed, his right eyebrow a little deeper than the other.

"katsuki," you started, breaking your words off.

he slightly cocked his head in confusion and worry. as he came closer, not only did he see your presence shaking alongside the couch, but he also saw two suitcases behind you that were clearly filled to the brim.

you watched how his eyes widened, how his teeth unclenched leaving his jaw to drop. his ruby irises instantly shot back towards you, scanning your face for any signs that you were playing a joke on him.

"what the fuck." the words leave his mouth too quick for him to register.

you swallowed nothing. "katsuki, we need to talk."

"talk?!" his mouth opened to continue yet no words seemed to come. oddly enough, for the first time, he was speechless.

"i-i need you to listen to me." you hated the fact that you stammered on your words.

"and then what?!" he paused, "you leave me?" katsuki's voice lowered in volume, a tone of angst leaked within his words.

you attempt to stand strong. you weren't even sure if this was the right choice now by looking at his wounded face.

slowly, you nodded.

"yes."

katsuki was expecting that. hell. who wouldn't when their girlfriend has two suitcases behind her? but hearing the words leave her mouth was entirely different. it was like a shot through his heart, the bullet penetrating every piece of restraint he had.

his head turned to the side. he was battling his thoughts; every fucked up thing he did occuring to his mind.

"is it because i left my bloody rag on the counter the night before? because if so, i promise to god, i will never do it again. i know how much you despise it." he went on his own plethora, his words and body language holding enormous amounts of panic.

"katsuki." you reinstated again. if he went on like this much longer, you were afraid you'd never have the strength again to walk out of the door.

"or because i yell too loudly at ungodly hours?" he ignored your words.

"katsuki." you repeated.

"i understand i'm not the easiest person. fuck. i'm even shocked i've gotten this far." he rambled, not caring about a word you have to say. he had to say something, do something, in order to convince you. bargaining with all of his strength. "what have i done? what do i need to fix?"

you reach for his hand, molding your hand to fit in his. you placed your open hand on top, soothing small circles into his skin.

"it's not you, katsuki."

katsuki's face fell. "then, why are you leaving me?"

"i can't live like this. i was not taught to be a housewife. to clean, cook, wait for your arrival every night at seven o'clock just to eat dinner with you." you shook your head. "i don't have a job or even a hobby! i am stuck within these walls everyday, the paparazzi at damn near every corner doesn't help either. i am exhausted being alone all day."

you could feel the sweat accumulate on katsuki's palms.

"i'll tell the media to back off. i swear to it. a-and, i know somebody who's looking for help with their business, i can set it u—"

"katsuki, i am miserable here!" you interrupted his words, slightly raising your voice. "i can't do it anymore! you are a pro-hero, dedicating your life to these people everyday. and what am i doing? making sure that your stomach is filled and that there's no stains on a countertop!"

katsuki was quiet, allowing the words to settle in. taking the moment of silence of advantage, you slipped your hands from his.

"you're a pro hero. you've made the ranks. you've accomplished everything you've hoped for." you sighed. "i just don't fit within your schedule."

katsuki remained silent, reality now kicking in for him. he bit the inside of his cheek to restrain the tears that were welling in his eyes.

"i'm sorry. i truly, really am. i just need to accomplish my own goals before it's too late."

katsuki's eyes fell to the ground, a very slow nod coming from him. he cleared his throat, also sniffling to remove the snot that was aching to run down his nose.

"where will you be staying?"

you echoed his action from earlier, turning your head sideways. you couldn't face him anymore after utterly destroying his heart.

"it's best if you don't know."

he paused. "right."

you spun on your heel to bend down behind you, grabbing your overly stuffed suitcases. you increased the height on the handles, slowly trudging them towards the door.

you couldn't believe that this was happening. it was a last minute decision. lying down in bed, realizing that if this continued, you'd be nothing more but a trophy wife that's made no true accomplishments on her own.

you were more than that. more than a cleaner and cook.

"i didn't accomplish everything." katsuki broke the silence.

you halted your steps, peering at him over your shoulder. you hoped he took the silence as permission to continue.

"i wanted to marry you. have a big ass wedding reception and drink until we could barely see anymore." he dryly chuckled. "maybe even have a few flowergirls of our own. that goal mattered more to me than any accomplishments i've made before in this life." your heart clenched at the fact.

tears covered your vision, your breathing starting to become sporadic.

"you can keep skullcrusher." you faced forward, grabbing the door handle. "i love you, kats. thank you for everything." your words trembled, tears uncontrollably streaming down your face.

as the door shut behind you, katsuki buried his face into his hands, and cried like a little boy in his now empty, silent home.

[janumun]

Jdieos hii so I have a lil request. Please ignore it if you're uncomfortable with it,

Sylus with a virgin reader. Like never touched herself, not even toys, never seen a dick kinda virgin

Just to make sure I'm 18+ 😭

Hey Nonny! Requests are technically closed but since I am very not normal about anything Sylus and LaDS men right now and your request is personally, an interesting topic for me, I don’t mind indulging in a few HCs for both our sakes 😆😆 for how I see him with a beloved, who’s never been with anyone before. Happy Reading!

First Times with Sylus (NSFW/18+ Headcanons)

Tags: virgin reader, oral and vaginal sex, squirting

Good communication is a strong basis of a relationship established with Sylus.

Words are used, desires are conveyed in clear cut actions and mannerisms and Sylus encourages the same of you. Even when the two of you share a kiss for the first time, it is on your terms alone and at the pace with which you wish to drive your relationship further into physicality. 

Scarlet gaze meeting yours from across the warm space in between your faces — the want he parses on your face for more, in the curl of delicate digits you grip against his, as you urge him closer. Lashes trembling shut with the press of your mouths against the other, your pleased little sound of approval breaking against his lips, he swallows into his. 

Soft, drifting kisses he lets warm your body into his; across the curve of your cheek, down the angle of your jaw. 

And only when you haul his face back up against yours in the curl of desperate digits against his jaw, letting your mouth fall open, does he put his tongue into you for the first time. Smile hitching wider against the catch of breath that very new feeling elicits within you. “Any more of trying to hold your breath like that and you’ll turn yourself dizzy in no time.” Thick fingers easing about the back of your head, threading in between your locks. “Breathe through your nose, kitten. Yes, just like that.”

 Your first time is a slow, torturously pleasurable and long process. And not just because of how a single night in Sylus’s bed is enough to ruin a person.

It is also because of his need to prepare you well beforehand — his sheets will be drenched, your pussy worked open, long before he even attempts fitting his cock into you.

[As also detailed at great length in my NSFW headcanons for Sylus] the man is no stranger to sex, he knows his way about it; which in turn also affords him the knowledge of how to handle a partner, especially an inexperienced one, with the proper care they deserve. 

It is only thanks to the enduring stores of stamina afforded to a Hunter through their relentless cycles of training, are you able to keep up with Sylus’s gentle wrecking of your body during your first night. 

Once he’s shed you entirely of your clothes and spread, willing and open, upon his sheets does he move to pace down the length of your body. Devious mouth having long worked your lips and tongue into a mess; he shifts to settle in between your legs. Prying open your legs in the press of large palms, thumbing to ease at the tense tendon of your thighs when you involuntarily stiffen to stone, to have a man down there for the very first time in your life. 

You’d never been with another and a relationship with Sylus had already gifted you with so many of your wonderful firsts.

And you’re ready to let him be the first man you make love to, a fact you’ve never been more sure of. 

You are no stranger to how sex works, in theory —  you may have never indulged before freely in your desires, never having had the reason or drive to indulge in pleasuring yourself, before him but you certainly do understand what it entails, broadly.

And yet, when Sylus’s mouth settles across your wet heat to lap, you know nothing else in this world could’ve ever prepared you for the way your hips spasm up into his steeled hold. 

Not used to the way the pointed edge of his tongue curls up into your walls to work your pussy open for himself. Humming into your folds, the gravelly vibrations of it traveling all the way up, as if to your very womb. 

“Relax yourself, kitten. There you go, good girl.” Clenching in on him so tight, to filthy words and praises he warms into the night. 

“You’re going to tear through the sheets if you grip them any harder.” He hums. “If you do need something to hold on to, ” Guiding your white knuckled grip to loosen, and towards the mussed strands of his hair. “My head is right here, sweetheart.” 

Trudging you uphill, slow, sensuous — this man takes his merry time —  towards a devastating peak. Ministrations gentling when he feels you close, causing you to gush your frustrations across the angle of his jaw, his nose brushing up against your clit.

A combined assault of lips, tongue, gentled teeth and fingers working you into ruin — he keeps you suspended for hours within that torturous, precipitating state of desire. 

And when you finally fall— 

It is the most wonderfully disastrous feeling you’ve ever experienced in your life, orgasming so fucking hard, you feel your wetness spurt onto his eager tongue, trickle down the strength of his jaw. Eyes giving in to grey at the corners with the vehemence of your release before you black out, with your lover’s mouth still buried within the space of your legs. 

When you next wake up, Sylus is soothing your nerves against the kisses he feathers at your temples.

“Better now, sweetie?”

Your disorientation unfurling back into the present before you give him your consent, assuring him you are alright.

He’s unraveling you open so many more times after — a terrifying incarnate of self-control — on his fingers coaxing open your hole for what’s to come.

You’re nearly delirious with mad desire by the time you feel the hot roll of his cock against your drenched thighs, working your slick onto his length before he positions himself at your slit.

Pushing into you, gentle, slow.

There is no pain, owing to how he’s had you so overly prepared — only the discomfiting stretch of a foreign ingression you’ve never before felt in your life. 

Sylus’s thrusts into you are languid and superficial the first night you are his. Lazy, wonderful pleasure, he brings upon the two of you. 

He is well-endowed down below and he understands that well; his full length he doesn’t try coax you to accommodate during your first time together. Not ready to overwhelm you with his full size just yet. There will be time for that, later.

When you are much more stretched, much more used to his girth, sweetie. 

End Notes: Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are very much appreciated if you are so inclined. ❤️

Tagging @bitches4lifebro , @catboi-anon , @samanthagnicole , @beebumbo , @hellinistical , @chocomii-chan , @dangerousluv1 , @webmvie , @Cas-tiel13 , @aria-tempest , @raendarkfaerie , @lordchula-thegrandrula

If you’d like to be tagged in my future stories, you can fill this short form here. If you’d like to be removed, shoot me a DM!

You can also find me on Ao3 and twitter, if you’d like to chat or just squeal with me about hot characters, in general.

[pasukiyo]

RIDE EM', COWGIRL

tyler owens x f!reader word count: 1,168 warnings: SMUT! tornado sex?, riding, masturbation (both m & f), very sloppy writing, i was just horny after watching twisters okay lol synopsis: it's like he always says, you don't face your fears, you ride em' cowgirl...

 “You take it so fuckin’ well, fuck!”

 Rain pounds against the windows of the truck along with quarter to ping pong sized hail but she rides Tyler faster, his cock pounding faster against her cervix than the little balls of ice that strike the steel of the truck. Her fingernails etch hooks into his shoulders, reminiscent of the hook echo in the supercell on the radar behind her. His palms knead at her hips, guiding her up and down his length, her walls clenching around him. 

 “It’s headin’ east!” Boone’s voice emits from the comms and her hips slow, but Tyler’s hands tighten around them, heaving her up and down his cock himself. Her eyes roll and her head lolls, a string of curses tumbling past her lips. 

 “Come on, baby, almost fuckin’ there,” he mutters beneath his breath like it’s sacred prayer, canting his hips towards hers, bringing her within inches of her end. 

 “Tyler, shit!” She gasps, sinking her nails further into his skin, deep enough to draw blood. “Slow down! I can’t… I can’t fucking take it…”

 He shakes his head, a low rumble thundering deep in his chest like a crack of lightning. “Yes you can, come on,” he groans. “You do so well, takin' my cock so damn good.”

 “Tyler, the hell you doing? We got a vortex on the ground at your six, so are we ridin’ this thing or not?” Boone’s voice sounds from the comms again and Tyler hisses, pressing the pads of his fingers down into the flesh of her waist, hips angrily thrusting up into her. 

 A sob wracks her body and she slumps against him when his hips finally still, his cock sitting dormant inside of her. Every muscle aches in her body and her core practically screams for more, feeling the blisteringly white hot bliss she felt mere moments ago begin to slip away. Perspiration drips in beads down the slides of her face onto his sweat-slicked skin and she lets her lids flutter closed, feeling Tyler’s chest heave up and down beneath her cheek. 

 Tyler huffs and reaches for the transceiver, bringing it up to his lips. “Yeah, we’re ridin’.”

 Her eyelids snap open as Tyler practically shoves her into the passenger seat and she hisses when the back of her head meets the window. “Tyler!” She exclaims as he buckles himself into his harness, gesturing for her to do the same. 

 “Harness on, baby,” he snickers. “This ain’t your first rodeo.”

 As her orgasm slips further away, she scrambles to sit upright in her seat, buckling herself into her harness as Tyler shifts the truck into drive. She hardly has time to get herself properly fastened before she’s being jostled about, slippery palm struggling to find its grip on the handle above her head. 

 The truck bobs up and down against the unsteady ground it drives on, her thighs instinctively closing together at the friction against her core. Tyler glances over when she does, feeling his dick twitch until it’s unbearable— he can’t not take it into his fist. 

 She turns her head almost as soon as he does, feeling her stomach do a somersault as he pumps himself in one hand, steering the truck with the other. 

 “Tyler, we’re driving straight into a fuckin’ tornado right now and you’re jerking yourself off?” She asks with a dent between her brow and he turns, grinning as he does it. 

 “‘If you feel it, chase it,’ amirite?” He says with a wink and she’d admit— it makes her clit throb. He side-eyes her sore, puffy clit before turning back to the mass of churning wind in front of them. “You should really take care of your situation down there. It’s good for the nerves.”

 Blood bites her cheeks as he steers them closer to the tornado and all she can do is stare as he pumps himself, her own hand itching to be between her legs. Tyler drives them into the twister and she can’t fight it anymore, one hand sliding over her clit, the other tightening around the handle above her head. 

 Tyler’s laugh thunders the small interior of the truck, even as rain and wind and hail pound against the top of the vehicle. He anchors the truck into the ground and fires off the rockets, tightening his fist around his cock, tugging angrily, damn near ferally. 

 Tyler’s a fucking animal, anyone could see that. But he’s a whole new breed when they’re alone, absolutely primal. 

 The pads of her fingers race back and forth over her nub, her legs shaking as she brings herself back towards that edge Tyler nearly pushed her over moments before. His name stumbles past her lips in a whimper and she feels his hand snake around her head, bringing her closer. 

 “Fuck, come here,” he growls against her lips before enveloping them with his, his tongue like a bull she struggles to stay atop. There’s a knot building at the pit of her belly that’s on the precipice of rupturing, closer and closer with every flick of her fingers against her clit. 

 “Gettin’ close?” He asks against her mouth and she mewls, nodding. He grins against her lips, “do it.”

 The wind pounds against the steel of the truck and the vehicle rocks as the vortex twirls around them. She used to think this was crazy, absolutely utterly insane and it is— but she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t equally exhilarating. She thinks risk is what she’s been missing all her life— and then she met Tyler. It seems risk has been her new normal ever since they started dating. 

 But this?

 This was unlike anything she’s ever done before. 

 When she finally felt herself tip over the edge and her orgasm wreaks havoc through her body, like a cyclone meeting the ground, carving a path into the earth in its wake. A loud string of curses tumble past Tyler’s lips as he, too, meets his end and they’re two identical supercells, spinning into one another until they become one. His mouth is a seal over hers, warm and wet when they meet. Her mind is numb with sex and all she can think to say is his name, chanting it over and over like it’s holy word. 

 The tornado dissipates around them and she can hear the crew cheer through the radios when Tyler finally pulls away, a thread of saliva a bridge between their lips. She falls limp against the back of her seat, the aftershocks of her release rattling her bones. 

 “You’re fuckin’ crazy, you know that, Owens?” She finally says once she’s come to and Tyler laughs beside her, caressing the side of her face with his knuckles. 

 “I always say, ‘you don’t face your fears, you ride em’, cowgirl,” He adds with a wink. Her eyes roll and she reaches for her panties he’d thrown in the backseat, pulling them up her legs. 

 “Jesus, you can’t get any cornier, can you?”

a/n; outing myself as an oklahoman (yes, i do in fact live in the sooner state unfortunately but maybe fortunately in this context lmfao) because the inner storm enthusiast inside of me is SCREAMING after watching twisters. please don't mind my sloppy ass writing here, i was just incredibly horny after watching it LMFAOOOOOO (this is also not proofread!)

🌪️ if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the world to me 🫶

[moondirti]

𝐂𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑, 𝐈𝐈 [18+]

familiar! ghost × witch! reader

you are a witch trapped at home by a devastating blizzard. ghost is the demon that answers your call. ( 2 of 3 /PREV )

DEAD DOVE. RATED E. HORROR EROTICA. 9K. – AO3 heed the warnings below and proceed at your own discretion.

warnings: NONCON. graphic depictions of gore. injury. cannibalism. blood licking. slaughtering + ingesting animals. violence. degradation. body horror. hypothermia. isolation. manipulation. corruption kink. religious imagery. dark!ghost. female reader. i know i said 2 parts total but now it's a 3er.

additional tags: groping. tit fondling. rough oral (male receiving). face-fucking. cum guzzling + eating. it’s all a little disgusting and not in the good way i fear.

𝐈𝐈.𝐈

The cottage is halfway buried under snow when you run out of firewood. 

It should come as no surprise, though you stare down your emptied closet like the ground opened up and swallowed your remaining reserve. Out of body, you fail to confront the cold reality that has already seeped into your walls, freezing the splintered wood of your floors, instead standing stock-still as your mind sharpens its critical edge. 

Only there is no one to direct your reproach to but yourself. Weeks ago, your rune casts had predicted a crippling whiteout, thus you set out to collect enough fuel to last you the season. Yet as night waxed on the third day of your efforts, and your hands started tearing bloody from splitting hardwood all on your own, that resolve debilitated rather quickly. Like sugar steeped in tea; your will to live was already in a decrepit state, and indeed, eagerly unravelled at the first sign of adversity. Suicidal, with hindsight. A passive play at death of which you were too fearful to try and seek for yourself. 

It did not seem like that at the time, of course. Rather, you justified the fatuous decision to stop (after cutting down a mere three trees) by concocting an estimate of how long it would be before you could venture out for more. Based on absolutely nothing but a desperation to curl back on your couch, sore but sheltered, you gave it one month. One month until the storm would abate. Of restlessness, fermenting in a prison you call home. To your distorted sense, four-hundred pieces of firewood seemed plenty enough to get you through it, despite admittedly lacking even a basic working knowledge of wood arithmetic.

Counting the days now, you’re almost tempted to laugh. Almost. The shroud of horror that newly accompanies death since Ghost’s lesson triumphs, after all. You are more terrified than you would have been a week ago. Still, you were not wrong – the firewood had lasted a month – only the weather does not seem to be looking up, and you’re trapped inside a quickly cooling cottage with no source of heat to get you to the thaw. The possibility of fatal hypothermia looms closer, more dangerous. Eerily relevant–

(Just a year ago, you watched a man die from the warmth of your ancestral home, face down in fresh snow outside the parlour room window. Your ageing mother had invited the pastor’s son over to help repair the stairs left unattended since your father’s death, and the man had called your fascination with the corpse morbid, nail between two teeth as he hammered down a wooden plank. 

No use starin’ at a dead man, lass. Not for a bonnie thin’ like you.

But you could not tear your eyes away from his mottled skin, the blue-black ends of his fingers. Even at his burial several days later, his face displayed the same, blank expression, perpetually cast by that winter’s frigid storm.) 

You imagine yourself passing in a similar vein. It will take longer, you think. You’ll be dying for weeks as your blood courses slower through you, iced by the winds that howl down your chimney. Protected, but not enough, by these walls you have been banished to live within. Unable to get even a glimpse of sunlight before shutting your eyes for the last time, the snow packed up to your windows effectively burying you without ceremony. A forgotten tomb. 

You wonder if Ghost would intervene, yet your speculation is brief. His words echo like he uttered them only moments ago. Fight or die. He has long established the volitional aspects of your relationship – he owes you nothing unless you ask, and if you do, then you would rather wish you were dead in lieu of what he asks for in return. No. He will merely watch as you take your last breath, satisfied that he was right, then scavenge your carcass for his next meal. Fated to wet his mouth like the picked off crow. A long-awaited feast.

Curling in on yourself, it is all you can do to bury yourself in clothes. Your vulnerability is often a fickle thing, you find, ebbing and flowing like seawater tides gradually gorging on their shore. There are periods you feel invincible; a being made of eternal magic, unmoved by the shifts in nature bid by time. Some sequoia, whose roots pierce deep into the earth and drink from freshwater wells unacquainted with human touch. A thing truly deserving of the title witch. 

Other times – these times being of increasing occurrence since the arrival of your familiar – you cannot help but to shrink back into a girl again. Raw and tender and emotionally volatile. Naked, sore lungs, as you’re pulled from your mother’s womb and forced to embrace the harsh cut of air. Ghost watches from his usual corner, a spectre practically pulsing with this voyeuristic game he likes to play. You know he’s figured out the predicament you’ve put yourself in, can feel yourself quailing at the discredit his judgement affords. The layers serve a dual purpose, then – for warmth, and to grant brief reprieve from his gaze on your shivering form. 

Three pairs of socks. A tunic, a fleece, a cardigan, and a coat. Skirts over your trousers. Gloves and a woollen hat. 

By the end, you have a hard time moving at all. Certainly not enough to cook, or to try tunnelling a way out of the window. No point in reading if you can’t practise your magic, either; so you mutter a quiet ignition spell over the charred firewood from last night, hoping it lasts even half as long, before collapsing on the couch and willing yourself to sleep. 

Only sleep does not come. 

Or, it might. Yet your mind is so occupied with your condition that it does not allow you to fully lose consciousness. You’re attuned to every particle around you, overstimulated in the worst sense, still subjected to an unsettling sequence of half-dreams. Brain flickering through pale mirages of dead crows, ice floes, of capsized rafts in arctic waters, their hulls resembling slabs of marbled meat. As you drown, you shout for help and pique at the sound of it echoing in real life, tangible enough that it shakes you awake. You nearly strangle yourself trying to wind your quilt tighter around your shoulders afterward, burying your nose in a pillow and cupping your cheeks with frigid hands. 

Eventually, time joins the distortion, and you have a hard time discerning whether it’s been hours or meagre minutes. The only indication is the way in which your body starts to ache with a pain so profound, it is as though you’ve been beaten. If you weren’t frustratingly cognizant of your surroundings the whole night, your first bet would have been to blame Ghost, or at least the threadbare couch you’ve been using as a bed erring too long now. Unfortunately, the true cause of your affliction is hard to misdiagnose; a violent, merciless shivering, your muscles made to tremble as if compelled to by electric shock. The teeth chattering kind – and it is exactly the rattle of ivory against ivory that serves as a makeshift timekeeper. 

Click. Click. Clickclick. Click. 

It must be two hours later when you bite your tongue and jolt completely awake from the pain, swathed in your quilt like the nesting doll that sat on your windowsill back home. Though the appendage bleeds, spreading metallic bitterness onto your teeth, you wonder for a brief moment whether you are alive at all. Foggy vision. Taut skin drawing lines down your cheeks from either corner of your eyes. When you squint, it tugs tighter, and you realise at one point you had started crying. It’s hard to tell without your nose hot and runny, or your lips swollen like overripe berries. Instead, you’re rendered to a shrivelled reflection of yourself, dried tear tracks setting the image in stone. The shadow looming above you seems to agree. 

“Not dead yet. But only just.”

You wish you could say his voice is any softer than standard. That the stars aligned, or that this is an ideal world where the antediluvian creature occupying your home has tapped into his small pool of pity. But he nudges your knee with all the detached amusement he prescribes to most things, like he can’t understand why you’re so easily affected by the cold. 

“Ghost?” 

“Almost exclusively.” He mocks.

The couch dips near your feet. You do not register why until he scoops an arm into your quilt, pulling you from warm refuge and onto his lap instead. It isn’t in you to fight, merely mewling like a feverish cat as you reach a hand out to the cushion where you once lay. Wiggling your fingers, kicking your heels. 

He swats your arm until it flops back to your side. 

“If only y’could see yourself like this. Bloody pathetic, pet.” 

“I’m c-cold.” 

“Not doin’ yourself any favours, then. This,” He tugs at the coat barely hugging your shoulders, stretched taut over your bulky layers. “off.” 

When you fail to listen, he takes the initiative for you, pulling it down your arms and towards some distant corner. You don’t miss it, necessarily – it hardly did anything to keep you warm – but you protest the loss as you would have done anything else; noisily, sniffing to suppress the fresh bout of tears spooling over your vision. 

“Think you exhausted every option, hm? All you can do is curl over and cry?” With his hands now at your cardigan, thumbs hooked under the lapel, you search his eyes for indication of what he intends to do. Ghost is difficult to appreciate even on the best of days, but now, without the handy glow of fire or direct stream of sunlight, he’s practically impossible. Like two mountains stood tall with no valley in between them, no line of logic exists that can explain his actuality. 

(And you’ve never been the logical type – there is no precise science to why goat fat and cumin work together to lure someone into love, or why you knew to stay away from the pastor who kept your mother company. Some things exist solely in magical proportions; limiting yourself to rational thought would be doing a great disservice to what they have to offer.

But confronting Ghost on a plane where he has the upper hand is a daunting task, so you stick to what rationale can place.) 

“What are you–you doing?” 

“Shut it.” He folds the cardigan around your hips, clasping a colossal palm onto the back of your neck. Though you’re used to being scruffed when he’s less than pleased with you, the purpose of this is far from dissatisfaction. You know it immediately. His skin, flesh, is warmer than anything you’ve felt in a long time. A quality of comfortable, penetrating heat that sinks into your nape and slowly works to defrost your marrow, your limbs, the icy film clinging to your brain. Your eyes roll shut almost instantaneously, body slumping forward to sink into his chest. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, where the relief of warmth has not yet reached, you worry that he’ll push you off. 

He does not. 

Instead, his other hand slips under your fleece and tunic, smoothing over the knots of your spine to reach between your shoulder blades. There, his heat sinks to swathe your chest, and the weakly heart somehow managing to do its job, pumping blood that tickles your toes and fingertips. It drips down to your tummy too, where it weighs heavy like a tangible mass, and brings your pulse to the bud between your legs.

His touch there doesn’t last long; he pulls away only moments later, a tightness newly lifted off your sternum. One hand still kneads your nape, effectively keeping your face against his broad shoulder, but the other moves to collect your slack wrists together. It strikes you as unusual, sure, yet you’ve since surrendered your inhibitions for sake of survival. A cavewoman tradeoff. Your body purrs at the satisfaction of your baser instincts, happy to resort to this primitive state of impartiality, if only it means you’ll stay snug throughout the winter. 

Yes. If anyone were to ask you right then, you would have seen it as not only plausible but entirely necessary to stay like this for the months to come. Sated and secure and just a hint impassioned, content to doze off on the lap of your tormentor. Already halfway there, lashes fluttering as you battle complete oblivion. 

Only that isn’t what Ghost has in store, and he seems eager to break the illusion you hold in such high regard. 

He releases your neck, guiding you to sit upright upon his tree-trunk thighs. When you object by reaching for his hands again, you find that your own are securely fixed behind your back. Completely immobilised. 

Sensation slowly trickles back to you. Once numb, your skin now comes alive with frayed nerve endings, crackling, hair standing on its ends. What you find, alarmingly, is your place within a twisted example of the lesson Ghost has been attempting to teach. The lightness on your sternum not as metaphorical as you had assumed – rather, the bandages binding your breasts have been unwrapped to treacherously hitch your wrists together. The rough fabric excoriates the surface of your forearms. 

Your breathing accelerates. If you’d been freezing before, you’re thoroughly iced now. Shock races through your system and persecutes everything that lulled you into this position. Stupid, stupid, stu–

“Ghost.” You hiss. “Ghost. This is-isn’t funny.”

He doesn’t respond, rolling your top to reveal the soft stretch of your navel. It involuntarily retracts when he flits over your belly button, dodging the unwelcome spread of his fingers. Your body's way of protesting, for all you lean into his touch. Too tempting not to, really. Something in him burns; perhaps a furnace in place of his heart, or a piece of hell he takes with him wherever he goes. 

That primitive voice grows louder, whispering deceptively in your ear that it’s fine, let him touch you. So long as you stay warm. 

You shake your head as if to jerk the instinct off your crown. Lips pursed tight now, the hand on your belly slowly climbing up. Up. 

“Stop it. Stop this, I d-don’t want it.” 

“I know.” He says, pressing his thumb into your waist. It digs until it hits a rib, tenderising muscle. You’re a lamb on a spit, spun slowly, roasted over an open flame. How silly of you to lean into the burn. Short-sighted to decide that it’s better than the cruel press of winter. You’ll be eaten like this. 

“Then g-get the fuck off me!” You yelp, swaying on your haunches in a bid to knock yourself off his lap. Your arms are useless, but that does not mean you cannot fight. “I order you!”

That pulls a laugh from him. Or, what sounds like a laugh. As with everything, it’s his estimate of a human one, like the cicada mimics the bird; not as melodic, rather striking you with disgust so potent you feel your nausea reawakening. You might just hurl.

“And wha’ will I be granted in return? Nothin’ you have that’ll convince me to unhand you, pet.” Ghost rucks your tunic to your shoulders at last, exposing your bare breasts to bitter air. Though he gives them no time to pebble up, large paws enveloping both mounds and squeezing until your breath syphons from your lungs. “Haven’ seen a pair of tits in decades. Suppose you humans do have somethin’ going for you.” 

Your words startle in your throat. Nothing about it is pleasurable, nor does he intend for it to be. His fingers take your nipples; rolling, tugging, pinching. Nails dig crescent cuts into the darkened skin there, perhaps searching for blood. He certainly treats it as though blood is the aim, and you wonder whether you’re to be hung from your bust to drain onto his waiting tongue. Just as one might press olives, no care for their pulpy bodies but only the rich oil they produce. Grease to slick their pans, to moisten their mouths. 

You’ll be eaten like this.

“Stop, please.” 

“Wonder what y’would look like plump with milk. Nursing my litter, rounded out with another dozen.” He sucks his teeth, contemplative. “Body wouldn’t handle it, f’you ask me. Stronger women than you ‘ave tried.”

Have. It hurts to think about. Hurts more when the insult of his words truly resonates. Stronger women. That is to say you have been exiled for nothing. That with a year of solitude and occult practice, you are just as feeble as before. Is this why he ate your crow? To prove to you that he could? 

The tide pushes back out. In a great swell of loam and brine, your hatred crashes vengefully onshore. You muster all of it, dipping pails into the water and letting it weigh heavy on your shoulders. It is almost negligible, you find. You scarcely feel its burden when fuelled by a focused point to your antipathy. Your teeth stop chattering. You glare daggers. 

“Let me go.” 

Your final plea rolls over him like all the ones before it. “But you’re a witch, aren’t ya? Brew up a little elixir to pull yourself through the whelping. Maybe then you’ll realise how much you long to stay alive.” 

Your neck snaps back. Before you can think it through, you thrust your head towards his face. There’s a crunch, a dizzying moment of choked silence, then a hot burst of moisture down your face. For a naive moment, you think you must have struck gold. You imagine drawing back to find his mask sticky with blood, or tar, or whatever demons have thrumming through their veins. A raw testament to your resolve, if he should ever underestimate it again. 

But the mirage is as naive as your mother. Eventually the pain catches up to you. You realise the iron-tang at the back of your throat is not the dreg of satisfaction. The tears slipping past your lashes no longer wrought from misery. Everything, rather, an immediate response to the sore condition of your nose. Misshapen and swelling already.

Ghost hums. You hoped to see him grovelling in pain by now. The battered expectation somehow makes his condescension worse. 

“Good to see y’find your spirit,” His head tilts, bullying yours into remaining still, fingers knitted firmly in your hair. “but it’s misplaced.” 

Given his derision, you know not to rejoice when his other hand leaves your chest. Your shirt slumps lamely back over your figure as he lifts the edges of his mask, folding it over his mouth. In the dark, it’s difficult to map the nuances of his exposed jowls. There’s a pale curve there, a disfigured line here. Your sinuses twinge when your stare narrows, cutting through murk to place the shape of his lips. 

It’s futile. You have no way to jam the gaps; no way of knowing whether he’s all man, all demon, or a foul mix of the two. 

The one thing that glimmers with definition is the string of spit when he unlatches his jaw, long tongue striking like a wound-tight cobra. You would flinch if you could, eyes pruning shut, but his grip keeps you steady in place as he laves a forceful path up your chin. Tasting the metallic leak of blood, all the way up to its source. 

You see it coming. Still, you can’t help but scream when he works his tongue around your nose. Loosed bones shift under your skin, steadiness fractured, cartilage support dipping inwards against the assault. He groans, and in spite of your impaired sense of smell, you get a whiff of rot-hot breath. It must all be a terrible dream, you think. The hardened muscle pressing against your inner thighs, the viscous web of saliva stretched across your face. It’s cold and you’re sweaty, and everything about the past month – the past year – seems like it has been especially curated to torment you. You would wake from this any second.

He gathers the salty drips off your eyes, the blood, every grief coating your skin. Agony blinds you – so profound it takes shape, colour. You squirm in your binds, ragged shrieks ripping from your throat. 

It echoes even after he breaks away. If it weren’t for the sudden coolness of spit drying within your cupid’s bow, you would think he was still making a feast of you. 

“Tha’ got you to settle, hm?” 

You shake your head, exhausted. “You said–” 

“I said fight, or die.” He huffs. You let silence swathe your lips, pursing them as thin as you can manage without exacerbating your injury. “Yer fighting to die, pet.”

“I just want to be left alone.” 

“‘N’ what d’you think will come of that?” 

“It shouldn’t m-matter.” Your conviction sound hollow when spoken aloud. If he hears it, he uses it as an incentive to strip your top back over your chest. Like a hot wire pushed through your ribcage, his warm hands toast you from the outside in. It is in your best interest not to shiver in delight; though you are still dreadfully cold, and your injury makes it difficult to pigeonhole any alleviation to your pain. “You can’t-t-t defile me on the grounds of greater good.” 

Ghost laughs again. “Ain’ pretending this is for the greater good, pet. The world will thank me if one more witch freezes to ‘er death.” You’re yanked further up his lap. “I let you go, you’ve got four, five hours tops ‘till your heart fails. You wan’ to live?”

You shake your head, fervent tremors batting your pout. A nonanswer seems the only manner of resistance, now. “Not like this.” 

“Clever. Tha’ still tells me you do.” He pinches the knotted peaks of your breasts, twisting until you buck wretchedly onto his pelvis. “And I wan’ to spend my evenin’ playing with your tits. A fair compromise, then.” 

What sort of familiar makes the demands? You contemplate berating him out loud, lunging for the dirty insult to beat at his status like he did yours. With no room for taking the high ground, you will do anything so long as you can later say you bared your claws. So you do not wonder, for countless sleepless nights, if there was something more you should have done. You will be mean. You will go low. You will condemn him to a fate of eternal dissatisfaction, so that no matter how much he eats or kills or takes, he will always feel his stomach a gnawing pit. 

Though something tells you he will not succumb to scrutiny against his honour. There is no code for creatures like him, who floss their teeth with crow meat and pluck the nipples of girls who grant them shelter. Nothing to hold them to expect the conditions of their summons.

Perhaps that’s just it.

You stir. It feels much like magic, when an incantation rolls off the tongue just right and the air shifts to accommodate it. Your heart vibrates behind your sternum, power bloating your veins, ricocheting within your skin. If Ghost feels it, he doesn’t falter.

“Be sure, demon.” You rasp, drawing your intent taut in your chest like a bowstring. He hums but does not stop, kneading your flesh to conform to the creases and calluses of his hands. “Be sure that’s what you want. I could give in without further fuss and be like a docile rabbit on your lap. That way, you will have taken two things from me tonight.” 

The liquid of his eyes shifts quick. You catch its gleam in the little light, and it pleases you enough to deliver the rest of your covenant.  

“By the spell that brought you here, you are bound to do what I sacrifice for.” You pause a moment. “In exchange for the blood you have ingested off my face, you will dig this house out of the snow. And for my virtue, this one evening allowance of which you have already taken upon yourself, you will collect my firewood until the season clears.” 

Ghost makes an indiscernible noise from underneath. You can not tell if he is peeved or pleased, and the ambiguity shakes you. You expected some sort of acknowledgment or counter to your trick. Instead, he does not speak on it. No pitch or complaint, protest or taunt. 

He just sits there, pawing at your chest like a satiated dog. 

(And come morning, when your breasts are raw and tender to the touch, he tunnels the snow around your cottage and returns hours later with a hundred cedar logs for the kindling.)

𝐈𝐈.𝐈𝐈

She prefers him in the daylight

Sun floods her little home when it rises and keeps it bright until it sets. Whereas the dark plays tricks on mortal eyes, oil lamps flickering, casting shadows that always resemble something else. She likes training an eye on what he does in his usual corner; but come night, she can’t trust what she sees. Thus, her confidence strains. She flinches at every sound. Any movement will have her tucking deeper under her quilt. His empty-eyed stare glows more sinister, if anything is to be assumed by the way she will crack her grimoire open and mouth protective spells like prayers.

Perhaps she’s afraid she caused offence, that he mulls over a punishment to teach her not to make a fool of him again. Perhaps it plagues her that she cannot stop him if that is the case. He does not tell her that, already, the worst possible thing that can confront her has. Though of course she isn’t privy to it, it’s been a month since he decided against making a meal of her. Everything he does now is moderate in comparison. He’s being good. 

Good, yes. In the evenings, he will venture out to do her bidding. The timing grants her a few hours rest, then, and him an opportunity to hunt for his dinner. 

Good, because he waits until he’s a mile out to transform to his truer self. It is easier to strip trees of their branches and snap their spines when he stands over two metres tall. Not so easy to mend the fragile tolerance she’s gained for him, which is sure to shatter if she catches sight of his monstrosity. He eludes the possibility entirely, then. 

Good, because Ghost refrains from agitating her more than he already has. And his intention in doing so does not change that decency. 

That is to say, he hasn’t grown a heart. He does not care for the girl. But the passivity that necessitated his savagery has since come to pass. She’s grown claws. She fights for her say and punches through life with guile. Any more and he would be faulting her for it, like burning the meat he tumbled through mud to slaughter. It is down to him to take it off the roast, now, to revel in the succulent bite. He’s got her right where he wants her.  

With some brief tampering on his part – laying out the temptation like a breadcrumb trail into the woods – she broke her invisible vow not to ask him for anything. Has it not made her life that much simpler? Her hearth burns bright and warm everyday; she does not have to worry about keeping it lit for the remnants of winter. He picks cedar for its aroma, it's even char, and she would not have access to that if it weren’t for his ability to tackle the sturdy tree. All it took was her debauchment, the vitiating of character to match his. 

(And really, how debauched was it if she only endured his groping for one night?)

It isn’t too much to want, he thinks. 

She thinks so too. Or otherwise decides it's worth the risk. 

It is late into the evening and his dinner sits fresh in his belly, fire chewing away at the split logs he emptied into the pit earlier. The air is thick with cloying cedar and the mephitic scent of potion-brewing, his pet crouched over a bubbling pot. She has been at it for hours, the same nightly routine since she broke her nose. Tadpoles and feverfew and sage, chanterelle and wishbone and sand. Stirred, brought to a boil, thickened with spit. Then scooped out and smothered over her sore face. A modest poultice, turned cast, to help her mend correctly over weeks.

He wonders if she considered bothering him to heal her. He certainly can. But it appears as though she enjoys keeping her hands busy. Toiling through time, grinding away like water does the earth. In the aeons he’s been around, he’s seen mountains chipped away, rocks change shape, rivers bend over time – and it is always the same eternal petulance. Stubborn mediocrity built into something larger. Endurance over brute force. He doesn’t pretend to understand it, but he can recognise a reflection of it in her craft. 

But she is not eternal. Every mortal has their limits. 

Ghost sees the iron grow filigree in her eyes, calculations imprinting onto her resolve. When she stands and turns to him, he almost expects it. The past quarter hour has built up to this ambitious ask, whatever it may be, and he’s mapped every battle she’s held within herself over the course of it. She does not want like he does. It is only extraneous circumstance that would lead her to his service. 

“I started it later than I usually do.” She mumbles, lips twisting like maggots. The hollows under her eyes are prominent, both exhaustion and hunger trimming her down to a sorry state. “I need sleep, but this can’t be heated beyond a boil.”

His cock chubs up in his trousers, aching as an array of possibilities occur to him in that second. Would he split her cunt on his fingers? Would he make her set it down atop his tongue? Her skirt leaves much to the imagination, but he imagines it bright and faithful in his head. Darker on the outside than in, glazed with pellucid slick, and shrouded in a matting of hair. The thought alone funnels salivate to the underside of his tongue. 

He meets her eye, shoulders curving inward, poised to pounce. 

Then, her brow spasms, and the wolfish instinct unravels as fast as it materialises. 

No. He cannot push it too far, not when she asks for something so little. It took all her energy to come to him now. She will never consider it again if he exploits that beyond equal measure. 

So, Ghost stands, stalking over to the cauldron and his pet. He often forgets how small she is until she cranes her neck to look up at him, all owlish blinks and delicate fingers latticed together, anxious for his response. 

“I’ll wake you.” He says. The tension in her forehead ebbs immediately, eyelids sagging now that he confirmed her ingredients will not waste. Though she doesn’t move, and he makes her stand there until he determines on an appropriate return. 

Moments later, he wraps an arm around her. His hand finds the jut in her skirt, where it protrudes to lap over her arse, and squeezes around the fat of one cheek. Even with the layers separating them, she is supple like softened butter. She makes a sound like a trapped mouse, jumping to the balls of her feet. The noise doesn’t deter him; he holds it there until he’s satisfied his grip will bruise. 

“There we are.” When he releases her, she stumbles backwards to find her bearings against the cool press of the wall. Puts a safe distance between them. Yet her stunned silence is intoxicating, and he has to actively suppress the gluttonous urge for more. Nothing is sacred when he gets like this. “That’s us even, then.” 

She nods. It is a wonder she manages to sleep at all.

(Unfortunate that the potion to heal her broken nose steals stock from her kitchen shelves. Day by day, he’s watched her sacrifice her fungi and herbs to the cauldron, prioritising recovery over sustenance. Unfortunate that she is still unable to go out for more. The winter whips cruel and merciless winds for anyone who dares step out into its storm.

Unfortunate. But not moving enough. 

It is intentional silence on his part, then. For the day will come where she opens her cupboards to eat and finds them lined with dust.

And on that day, he will be there.) 

𝐈𝐈.𝐈𝐈𝐈

Ghost takes his meals outside. 

That is, when he comes back lugging a dead beast and a tree behind him. You’ll watch from the window as he places the latter to the side, sinking to his knees to feast on whatever he caught that day. It always varies: hares, owls, rodents. An elk if he’s lucky. Today, it is a fox. 

Your heart knots with pity, mourning for the mammal who cannot grieve itself. Eyes blank and jaw swung open. Its fur, which typically strikes as a vivid red, can only look dull when set by the blood it leaves in its trail, tangled in the entrails bursting from its belly. The demon never minds the hair, nor the carnage. He balances on his haunches and pulls his mask up, sinking his teeth into the softest parts of his spoils. 

Though no one holds you to the frosted glass – chanting look, you have to look – you insist on bearing witness. The gore never grows easier to behold; everytime, it is the same revulsion that stews nausea at the sight. But you sit and suffer it anyway. If anyone were to ask you why, you would be hard-pressed to find an answer. 

Perhaps it is to build a tolerance for nature’s brutality. Ghost’s lesson with your crow has carved an irreplicable torment within you, revealing the jeopardy you face should you continue down your meek path. Exposure therapy is good justification, then, when your personal improvement thus far has only wrought merit. Your magic begets greater effect. You feel your self-possession flourish your spirit. Even your familiar has staved off the trouble, and you can not ask for a greater success.  

But that does not capture the core of the matter. Perhaps that is to be found in him, instead.

Because when Ghost eats, his visage will fluctuate. You do not think it is something he’s mindful of. None of it looks intentional – he does not bid whetted talons or teeth, features that would aid him in gutting the fox. Rather, they appear like fish beneath a rippling brook. Swift, transient flashes of another form. 

He sucks down an intestine, and his burly legs stretch so the joints are equidistant. They snap backwards, digitigrade heels extending, before you blink and they’re human once more.

He laps at a puddle of blood, and his mask parts to reveal two ivory prongs that steadily grow from his head. They curl, winding around his temples as ram horns do, only to disappear as your arid eyes burn. 

He tears into cartilage, and his exposed skin flakes like charred wood. The liver; his torso extends and thins. The brain; his breath condenses to black ash, as yours would ghostly vapour in cold air. None of it permanent. All of it haunting. 

The first time you saw it, you chalked it up to phantasm. Lack of sleep, insufficient nutrition. Searching for monstrosity that would better connect to the horror unfurling before you. So you set out to observe. Incessantly. Again and again and again – validating what you saw, though you received confirmation upon the second instance long ago. Sure enough, each day he reveals different parts to a whole. Excrescent spines and lofty feet. Things that have been urging for a spot in the sun, pressing under his skin. 

It’s the nesting doll all over again. Little matryoshka faces, each opening to reveal a smaller version of itself within. If you are the innermost one, then Ghost is the sisyphean effort to close them over each other in descending order. Unfeasible. Too large to comfortably remain within his confines. The wood will eventually snap in your struggle, and all the painted pieces will scatter across the floor. 

(You remember him just then. Craggy charm and blue eyes. Crafty hand – the same to restore your mother’s staircase – whittling the doll when you suggested he couldn’t. He wore a cross no matter the day, a habit of his father’s doing, and the silver pendant would sway with the paring motion of his hands. Lustrous against tanned skin. No doubt forged by him, too.

He used to call you macabre. Though it was footling fun at the time, you can’t help but grasp at what he meant as you track the steaming slaughter outside.)

“Do you like it?”

Water rushes into a tin basin, its metallic clang a forceful, echoing percussion. The noise is insufferable, grating on your ears, but you would rather it than have Ghost tow the pungent smell of death into your home. With his back turned to you, he washes his hands and mouth of dinner’s remnants, faucet spitting frigid reserves into the kitchen sink. 

His head twists a fraction, pupils coasting to assess you in his peripheral. Small talk is not commonplace. In the weeks you have coexisted, you can count your conversations on both hands. They always seem to prefer the path of internal dissection instead, judgments flung at one another through glares and body language and not much else. 

“Be more specific.” He grunts, facing his task again. From your place on the couch, you can see the way he picks his nails for stubborn shreds of fat. 

“Fox.”

A sliver of pale skin, bared where his mask ends at his nape, twitches. “No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Ammonic. Greasy. Tough all ‘round. Slippery little fucks, too.” His voice is softer when he isn’t being caustic. Skipping over enunciations, the typical rumble in his chest quieted to a hum. “There are easier, more rewardin’ meals.” 

You imagine what he may be referring to. Of every creature on this earth, only one does not have the benefit of evasion. Predators are sheltered by hierarchical canopies, demons like Ghost so powerful that they do not have to watch their backs. Birds of prey have their wings, fish their slippery scales. Even deer – slender and pregnable – are granted fleet-footed instincts rivalled only by the Pantheon’s messenger himself. It is only you, human, that is condemned to spindling, slow inelegance. Perhaps it is why so many are intellectuals, worshipers, terrors – why you yourself are a witch, sapping nature for her wares of which you do not come by naturally. That is the way things turn. Assuming the offensive to offset one’s shortcomings.

And turn back again; your effort has only imperilled you further. There is a cannibal, a monster, a man inside of your home. And you beckoned him here. 

Even as the revelation occurs to you, you can’t stave your ambition. Of course you do not parley with Ghost for the sake of it. There is nothing this new knowledge grants. But since he left to do his day’s errands, your stomach has made its presence known. Opening up like an early grave, emptiness gnarled beneath a soil bed as with roots of a tombstone tree. Every moment, every word, you are reminded of its cavity. Too long, it says, you’ve ignored the pangs of hunger that seized this trench in an iron fist. Priorities, you would reply, as you surrendered food to brew your poultice. And so your nose is healed, great, but your shelves are empty and your head is faint. Hunger surplants the cold as your imminent killer.

“My mum taught me how to fix a good stew.” You begin, rolling your sticky tongue and tucking both hands beneath your bottom, cautious not to set this mousetrap off yourself. The pressure is grounding, at least; you match your breathing to the pulse you feel in your fingertips. “I trust it would be better than raw meat.”

A pause. Ghost’s spine straightens. Then, a panic. You’re thrown off your conviction when your chest flutters and you feel it in your brain. Where is that wily being? The woman who cheated her familiar into a season’s worth of labour? You feel as though you have regressed; screeching infant, lungs flaring with a rush of new air. You cannot face this, you think, but you’re already halfway out into the world. The sink squeaks off. 

You just pray your stomach doesn’t make noise in the new silence. 

“Is tha’ so?” He says, though does not turn to look at you just yet. 

“I could try.” The words bubble like bile in your throat. It is in your best interest to stay quiet. Say no more. He’s being ambiguous so you will reveal too much in turn. The game is transparent. You can see the water-worn rocks on the river bed, so clear it’s like they’re clasped between your hands instead. Yet– “If I had the ingredients for it, ‘course.” 

There. The lip of the cliff. How odd of you to see it only as you plummet towards a frothy scree. Ghost snaps, live lightning in heated air, or otherwise like the rocks that impale you on landing. In two strides, you’re cornered by a creature with scorn harrowing the space between its brows. You were stupid not to plan an escape route, stupid to arm yourself with nothing but flimsy subtlety. There was always the risk of it coming to this, you knew that. 

“You think y’can rummage for loopholes, hm?” He leers, eyes searing holes into yours. “A trick is only charmin’ on the first go, pet. More than once and y’start to stink of stale piss.” 

“I don’t–” 

He snatches your jaw, thumb and ring fingers digging an aching grip onto either side. Your protest warbles pathetically, dies, chokes you with its rot. It’s difficult, no– impossible to decipher what he's mad at. A small, fresh part of you actually hoped he’d see your cunning as artful. But it seems your station has come back to haunt you; another mortal whose brain cannot keep up with her heart. Even if one is in the right place, you will go about chasing it in the wrong direction. Artful is too shiny of a laurel, then. Trick, too, is being charitable 

“Do not play coy with me, girl. I do not take kindly to underhand deals.” Snarled right above you, spit spattering across your face. Your mandible squeaks, bone-deep pain flaring where he tightens the pressure around your face. Fox blood flavours his breath. There is a ringing in your head – shrill, like water in the tin sink. “If you need something from me, you will admit it and cope with the terms I have in turn.”

“I-I’m sorr-eeeee.” Your apology wheezes thin when he thrashes your head in place. It is either that or the relentless force on your jaw that tears a new world of pain down your neck. The tears are reactionary, then. Hot and foggy and not at all a sign of fear. “Ah- I’m sorry! I won’t– I didn’t mean to offend y-you.” 

“S’too fuckin’ late for that. You’ll follow through, before I take wha’ I want anyway.” He shakes his head. “Ask nicely for what y’need then, pet. Go on.” 

“Nothing! Nothing anymore, please. Jus’ let me go, Ghost.” Perhaps the universe disdains your insincerity, because in a hand dealt by its inexorable irony, your stomach buckles and purls a foul sound. Like it heard your words and protests the withdrawal, gurgling out loud to whoever will address it instead. 

And he does. He does. 

“You’re hungry, hm? That it?” He shoves your limp body onto the floor, dismissive of the pleas you now regulate to your feet, thrashed wildly to strike at his shin. Everything he does is callous, mean, agitated like the sulphur and magma that run thick beneath the earth’s crust. And though it is not your first encounter with a creature of that ilk – you have had your run-ins with over-excited men – the intentionality behind it has never been more flagrant. Ghost does it to hurt you. “Yeah, been neglecting you, haven’ I? Forgot pets couldn’ feed themselves.”  

“I’w scrounge somefing up mysef.” You struggle, speech impeded as he crushes your cheeks inwards. Pearl dust flakes your gums. 

“Should ‘ave thought of tha’ before. Even if I end up breakin’ every bone in that fine skull of yours, I won’t let up. Say it, then, you daft thing.” 

The scaling of your options is instantaneous. Even as your immediate conscious lags behind, activity lights the back of your head and cracks its way out of your mouth before you can catch it. It took weeks for your nose to heal, much less your skull. You’re consuming fuel quicker than you can replenish, running on a backlog of quick-burning fat. And all of it can be taken care of if you just give in, to what will likely only be a few hours of degradation. 

(Cavewoman. Primordial. Primitive impartiality, or survival of the fittest. The world has only come so far since then, and even within its concentrated civilizations, there is no aegis but for those who come up on top. You cannot expect your liberties to be met anywhere. That, you know too well.

But here, in this feral forest, at least you can use the violation to your benefit. At the very least, you will not be exiled, cast as witch for taboo of saying the greater word. 

You are already macerated on rock bottom. And at the barren abyss of all leasts, Ghost will not hang a cross pendant above you as he stomps it in.)

He must see the surrender wet your eyes, for the grip on your jaw lessens. 

“I am hungry.” You cry, finally, lashes fluttering shut so as to guard your tears. “I am hungry. This winter has dashed my garden and I do not know how to hunt. The cushions jab into my ribs when I sleep. I feel as though my stomach will consume me from the inside out, and I’m desperate. I am desperate, and I am so, so hungry. And I am asking for your help. Please.” 

If there was any part of you that still believed he would choose pity, it is muffled and killed. You hear the scratch of fabric as he undoes his pants. Final, failing. Rustled hand behind confines, stench of musk stiffening the air. For a few seconds, you opt to remain blissfully ignorant – keep your eyes closed and imagine that the presence before your face is something different. A purifying flame, tender cut of meat, a smiling face before things fell downhill. It all sounds too good to be true, and they are. Sooner or later, you tell yourself, you have to face the misery. 

So, you force yourself to behold it before he takes that upon himself. 

His cock is heavy. Fat and oversized, length not having suffered for its breadth. Ruddy where the head peaks from an uncut tip, hard already, but bowed under the weight of itself. If you had anything to expel, you would’ve done so by now. A thicket of hair fledges his groyne – a shade of dark that pales his scarred skin in comparison – and it reeks of sweat and miasma. 

He taps it on your cheek, prespend sticky and warm. You flinch as though you have been beaten. 

“Just one thing af’er the other with you, pet. Think this’ll give y’something to fix yourself on.” 

“I don’t– I’ve never–” His thumb hooks over your bottom teeth, prying your trap as wide as it can go. Drool slicks the cracked hinges of your lips. “Don’ know how.”

“Not what I’m lookin’ for.” He purrs, cruel humour gracing his tone. Somehow, it is not a reassurance as much as it is a snub. “Jus’ keep your teeth out of the way.” Humiliation washes your neck and ears, rush of blood like white river rapids behind your ears. It is the final swatch, trumpet to armageddon, before your ruin. You suck in a breath and bring your mouth to him.

Ghost meets you halfway, treating the crown of your head as an anchor to thrust forward. Immediately, you let slip his only rule, teeth snapping reflexively at the intrusion. You expect to be backhanded, have your hair ripped from your scalp in relation, or worse. It is a relief, then, when the only force you receive is a knock against your jaw. The rapping shakes your cotton-lined skull, snaps you out of your stupefaction, and you slack all muscles to accommodate his demand.

The mass feeding down your throat vibrates, an appreciative hum coursing through his body. “There you are, little jezebel. Look a’ you takin’ my cock so well.” 

You make no effort to glide your tongue along his veins. To make this pleasurable for him beyond what he takes for himself. True to his word, your familiar does not punish you for it. He knots his hands around your head and fucks your face, careless, cock rearranging the anatomy of your neck as it bludgeons a straight path down. You sway, ragdoll with the motions, knees rubbing abrasively across the floor as he slides you back and forth over it. 

Hypoxia spots your vision, lungs clenching furiously at the obstructed flow of oxygen. You would fasten it all shut, close yourself off from the world, but your eyes bulge a little at the edges, stagnant blood keeping them arid and open. It’s hard to dissociate. Hard to pretend that the steel-wool friction at the tip of your nose, the pendulum-consistent slaps on your chin, are not his pubic hair and balls searing unmistakable marks on your skin. And your series of gags are sloppy, lewd out in the confined air of your home. How could they be anything but damnation? There is no deluding the Maker. 

(No matter how fervently he tried. Marry me, proposed down on both knees. It’ll set this whole fankle right. We’ll hold hands an’ seek penance at the kirk before th’ceremony. My pa will officiate. Yer ma will be thrilled.)

Snot bubbles from your nose, cheeks slick with tears and wayward spit. When he batters forward, it amalgamates in the soft palate beneath your spasming tongue. When he draws out, he takes it with him, viscous strings of saliva bridging the gap. It streams down to your neck, glosses your lips, webs your lashes together. You feel buried beneath its stifling coat, set down into your grave at last. Maggots worm their way into the soft matter of your brain, eat away at the tissue until there’s nothing left but suffocation. Death. Throttling void. 

Your hands flail out, seeking an end to it, but all you find is Ghost.

He slows down once he nears his end. 

The bruising pace he set stutters, balls tightening against your submental. It catches you off guard because, for the past ten minutes, you accustomed yourself to the patterns of his push and pull. For every plunge, there is a retreat, where you will greedily feast on fresh air before being choked back down on his cock. It is a break of tide, an opportunity to paddle your way above water to clear sea-salt from your hollows. A bay to hold onto so you do not drown.

Until now; his forearms twitch and you’re kept in place, forehead squashed onto his mons. You panic, hold on your breath breaking. The heady scent of sweat sweeps over you, laced with the tart products of your mouth – saliva and blood from where your canine pierced your cheek. Prespend, too. The undiluted stink of him. Hair tickles your lips. Your cunt flares, sudden, slickening the chafe of your thighs, but the unwelcome arousal does nothing for you. 

He holds your head down and spurts his load into your gullet. 

There is no room to swallow. It goes in the wrong direction, then – upward – and out your nose. You squeeze your eyes shut, disgusted scream gargling around his throbbing appendage. Distress bloats your head, temples feverish and sweating, nails digging deep impressions into your palms. It’s futile. Useless. Nothing thwarts him but the last dregs of semen spitting out onto your tonsils, pumping himself dry until finally, finally–

Ghost pulls out. You collapse onto the carpet and hack up cum until your throat bleeds. 

The silence afterwards is mortifying, tension palpable enough to writhe up against. Drained, you’ve since pressed your cheek into the puddle of filth, urging pearlescent spend to seep into the fibres below. It'll be a nightmare to clean later, you process slowly. Perhaps you’ll use the bleach, and take the same sponge to your lips.

The monster above you tuts at the display, crouching to your level when you exhibit no interest in rising to his.  

“C’mon, sweet. Wouldn’t want to waste your dinner now.” 

But you’re too weak to lift your head. So Ghost gathers your hair, puppeteering – in a manner rather gentle for your assailant – until you can lap his essence off the floor. 

It tastes like raw venison. You snivel your thanks, and imagine it is exactly that.

i do not have a taglist. to be alerted when i update, please follow @moondirti-archive and turn on post notifs.

[cute-little-crow]

I had a thought earlier, which you can read here and this was born from it.

You want to spar and Sylus is more than happy to indulge you, but he wasn’t anticipating you taking the hand wraps from him…

tw: female reader, total fluff, Sylus is a softie and I will die on that hill, suggestive at best, light petting

Sylus watched whilst you gave the entirety of your attention to the red hand wraps in your grasp. His throat felt tight, dry, like he might not be able to take his next breath—until he does.

The concentration etched plainly across your face tugged the golden threads woven around his heart until it seemed like it might beat right out of his damn chest.

You are so precious… do you realise?

“One… two…”

“What are you counting, sweetie?” He asked, curious.

His head canted left, the facade of amusement masking his features in an attempt to protect himself from a hurt that in his heart of hearts he knew might never come.

Your eyes crinkled at the corners as you glance up, smiling whilst you explain that it’s important to wrap around the wrist then the width of the palm a specific number of times to provide support. It’s information he learned many many years ago, so much so that it’s now muscle memory, but it’s cute to see you take such an interest.

“Mm. I see.”

Sylus hummed, stepping closer and letting his unoccupied hand ghost the curve of your hip. For a moment, he was certain you hadn’t noticed his actions, too engrossed in your activity, but when his calloused fingers grazed the side of your breast… you paused.

Twinkling eyes lifted to his face, searching his crimson gaze and finding nothing but mystery. His thumb subtly rubbed the underside of your breast and you let out a soft gasp in response.

“Sylus~”

“Sweetie?”

Your brow knit together in an effort to regain your concentration. Under, over, around, smooth out any lumps. The words of the guide you had found online the previous night when you couldn’t sleep replayed in your mind.

Pouting, you blew a breath through your nose. “You’re distracting me…”

“It’s not my fault, you’re very distractable.”

“Is that even a word?”

Sylus chuckled, and leaned down when you finally finished with his right hand. He flexed his fingers to test the tension of the wrap, pride filling his chest at how competently you had worked.

His lips caressed the shell of your ear. “Does it matter? And… good job, sweetheart.”

He melted at your beaming smile. The remnants of his barriers splintered before exploding in full force. These emotions were almost too much.

He wanted to kiss you.

He wanted to press you up against the nearest wall and reward your good job with one of his own.

But mostly… he wanted to protect you with the same level of care and consideration you had shown his hand moments ago.

Swallowing back his pride, he kissed the crown of your head and placed his left hand within the cradle of yours.

“One more then you can show me how much you’ve been practising. I have a feeling you might take me by surprise this evening.”

What you didn’t know was that you already had…

an: I’m open to requests ☺️ dividers by @/roseschoices

[peachesofteal]

Cool girl

ghoap x female reader / 18+ warning: the boys are foul - could be considered dub con / part one / part two

Two (three) can play at that game.

"When you're done being a brat, call us."

You decide within a week, that you're very much not done being a brat.

And you're very much done with them.

Fuck them, you coach yourself in the mirror as you fix your makeup. Fuck them both. And her, whoever she is, though you know she doesn't deserve your wrath. She probably has no idea the tangled web she's walked into, she's the one stuck in the trap, now.

The doorbell rings, and you check your reflection one more time, satisfied with your dress, the way it gathers across your breasts, how it flatters your shape. It's a tad short, there's a bit of cleavage, little pieces that make it more than perfect. Something about this style, the way it fits, always drove the boys nuts, so it should be more than good enough for your date.

Fuck them.

You bring him to the dive. It's a safe choice, the bartender knows you, pays attention. You feel safe here, familiar. It's a great option for a first date.

And because you're a cool girl, you don't know how to play pool.

Of course, he's happy to teach you.

You start with a tequila. It scalds on the way down and settles like fire, but it takes the edge off. One turns to two, and it's enough to get you closer, allowing him to rest his hand on your knee at the bar, allowing him to keep a hand at the small of your back as he guides you to the finally empty pool table.

He's handsy, and normally, you'd be a little put off.

But not tonight.

"Okay, it's simple. You use the white ball to break." He lines up your shot for you, folding you into place, bending forward, hand brushing against your thigh as he leans beside you.

You intentionally short the shot, barely breaking the triangle of balls free. He chuckles. "Not bad for a first go."

"What do I get if I win?" Your smile is shy, and it's only half forced. You do like this guy, he's very nice, very attractive. Tall with a strong jawline, kind eyes. His fingers find yours, and his touch is gentle, patient.

"A kiss?" He ventures, testing the waters. You nod.

"Sure thing."

You're halfway through the game when the energy in the bar shifts. It's like everyone freezes, a collective whoosh of air washing through the bodies hunched over at the bar, loitering on the walls, perched on the wrought iron chairs out back.

The regulars look at one another and then return to studying the TV, or each other, their half empty drinks.

You don't need to look, to know.

You can feel them.

Apparently, so can your date.

"Don't look, but there are two guys staring at you, across the bar." You bat your eyelashes.

"Who?" It's innocent, this kind of play. Playing dumb. It's pure, until your chin turns over your shoulder and find them, white knuckled and focused, Johnny alight with anger, Simon stoic as ever. Sadness, and rage, roar inside your head, and you force yourself to look them in their eyes. Force yourself to be brave.

After a second, you turn away and into your date. He pulls you closer, palm resting on your lower back, mouth dangerously close above your ear. "Are they bothering you?" What a nice guy.

"No." You assuage immediately. You know what would happen, if he tried to be your knight in shining armor. You know how it would end.

With blood. Broken bones. And tears.

"Let's keep playing." You suggest. "Will you show me how to hold the stick?" Your teeth hold onto the last syllable, hand wrapping around the polished length of the wood, slowly moving it up and down. Your heart pounds, but a thrill rushes through you at the same time. Fuck them. Your date raises an eyebrow, mouth cocking into a sly smile, and nods.

After your third drink, you can't delay using the bathroom anymore. Skin tingling from all the places his hands have traversed, you're dizzy with the pulse of power, the high of your performance. It's wrong, and twisted but...

they deserve it. They deserve worse.

"I'll be right back." You promise, tracing a fingernail down his arm. "Get another round?" He trots off, eager to please.

The chairs scrape as soon as you turn into the dingy hallway, and their shadows fill the air, sucking it dry. You resist the urge to turn, palm flat against the swinging door of the toilets.

"What are ye doin'?" Johnny rages, and you turn to mouth off, only to jerk backwards at the realization of how close he is. You can count the flecks of gold around his irises, see the shimmer of cerulean blue. Simon stands at his back, a wall blocking out the rest of the hall, hiding you from view.

"I'm on a date." Simon laughs.

"You call this little show a date, sweetheart? Is that what you think that is?"

"Not sure you'd know what I'm like on a date since you never took me on one." You spit, and Johnny goes rigid, muscles hardening.

"Not sure that little boy would know the first thing about handlin' ye."

"Handling me?" The squeak your voice makes is embarrassing and incredulous at the same time. "Handle me? You think I need handling? I'm a full grown woman. I don't need-" He presses closer, close enough you can smell him, and your mouth drops open when he pushes you against the wall, cock hard under his jeans. "J-johnny."

"Aye, we think ye need handlin'. Ye're only supposed to be handled by us. Not by some sad wank who cannae stop droolin' like a dog."

"Stop." The resolve in your voice wavers, your resistance cracking and crumbling as Simon appears beside him, mouth pressing to your ear.

"You think that boy has a fat cock to feed you, sweet girl? Think he knows how-" One of them cups you between your legs over the fabric of your dress, palm grinding against your clit, and you grit your teeth against the friction, the moan it tries to pull from your throat. "to take care of this pussy?"

"She's high maintenance, ye know." Johnny snickers, lips dotting your cheek, down to your neck. He cups a fistful of your breast, thumb stroking where your nipple strains beneath your bra. "Ye think he'll be able to make ye gush for him? Make ye cum on his cock?" You're boiling, anger and desire feeding twin flames, trying to sputter out a response.

"What's going on here?" Your date practically shouts from the edge of the hallway, and Simon's grin turns feral. Predatory.

Fear strikes, and turns you cold.

"D-don't." You try to implore.

"Are you okay?" Your poor date catches your gaze, and you try to will him away with your eyes.

"Leave him alone." You plead.

"Fuck off mate. This is between us and our girl. Ye're done here."

"Excuse me?" He steps closer, and Simon pushes off the wall. Desperate, you latch onto his forearm.

"Simon, please. He's not-"

"He said you're done here." Simon snarls. "Run along like a good boy."

"Fuck you." He postures, and you shake your head frantically, trying to step out between them. Johnny doesn't budge, keeping you half pinned against the wall.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Maybe you'd like to watch us fuck her, after we make you beg for it. After we stretched out your neglected little hole." Johnny laughs, a cackle full of crow, smart and mischievous, and you nearly faint. Your date looks sick.

He takes one look at you, another look at the boys... and then flees. Johnny whistles. "Coward."

When they both turn back...

you burst into tears.

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . GOJO SATORU — gojo may be the strongest, but something about you makes him so weak.

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ warnings! f!reader, just gojo being obsessed with you + your kisses, pet names, mostly fore-play. ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! hiiii more jjk for the soul + i’m so into the sappy lover gojo agenda <3 he deserves happiness !!!

gojo knows he’s up for work early tomorrow, but how was he supposed to resist— you, in any sense. when you’re curled into his side so closely he can basically feel the heat radiating from your figure that’s draped so prettily in his shirt.

your lips parted as you focused on the same show you both watch every tuesday, because you got him hooked on it just the same way as he’s hooked on you — and because he’d pout and complain if you watched without him.

but now that same show— your show, is forgotten in the background of the living room and gojo’s grateful he decided to record it because he’d much rather watch you right now.

“‘’toru—“ you whisper softly, your eyes casting the sorcerer a lustful glance as he presses down on your puffy clit harder, eagerly, as his huge body looms over yours even though he’s almost falling off the couch at this angle. he’s using his thighs to keep yours spread for him, languidly pumping two of his fingers in and out of the warm hug of your pussy before he smears an open-mouthed kiss along your temple as a means to soothe you.

“that’s it, sweet thing. nice and loud f’ me..” gojo’s fingers are long, but thick enough for you to hiss at the slight stretch everytime they sink into you, before he pulls back to really look at you. to admire the way your face contorts in pleasure and the way your pouty lips part to pant his name before he’s pressing his digits up with angled purpose, brushing them against the spongy spot inside you until you’re arching into his chest and he’s kissing you breathless.

“hm, that feel good? lookin’ real pretty like this.“ your boyfriend drawls against your lips as he sinks his fingers into you once more, swirling gentle circles into your clit with his thumb while his fingers drag more of your slick out, making a sloppy mess between your thighs and on the plush sofa cushions below you both.

gojo groans when he feels your tongue drag along his own, a low, gravely sound as he works your body with practiced precision. this was his kind of love, one part of it atleast — the kind that’s shown through the way he knows your body perfectly, the way he’s memorised every part of you but still wants to learn because he wants to love every part of you.

he feels your hips twist under him when he pushes his fingers deeper, feeling your walls tighten around the digits as he speeds up his ministrations, pulling an almost surprised whimper from your lips and god— he loves you like this.

gojo’s breathing becomes ragged as he kisses you, feeling him shift slightly from his position over you to support his weight with his forearm as it rests beside you. his hand moves after to rest around the back of your neck, pulling you closer— deeper into his mouth with a sigh, but it’s a more breathless, dreamy sound against your lips.

“when did you get so beautiful, hm?“ he grunts again, a slight whine to his words and he’s convinced the heavens and the earth dropped an angel into his lap everytime he steals a glance of you.

gojo’s giving in completely to the dizzy spin of the room and the buzz of his mind, a feeling he’s only ever found in you as he offers you the air from his own lungs just so you don’t pull away, not yet. you’re too intoxicating, his mind and senses feel blurred when he’s wrapped in you and not even the six eyes could control his body or the way his soul yearns for yours. nothing could stop him from curling over your as he loses himself— pushing his name between your lips.

it’s like fire lived within your kiss, and it had a way melting every part of him.

he’s only snapped from his lustful, drunken haze when you nudge him, a needy— questioning whimper falling from your lips and that’s all it takes for him to realise his fingers have suddenly stilled inside of you and he can’t help but smile.

maybe he got a little too lost in you. not that he cares, his need for you was limitless after all.

“‘toru, you okay?” you soften, smoothing your fingers through the snowy peaks of gojo’s hair and he grins, cheeky and a little smug despite the flush of his cheeks and chest and the kiss drunk little buzz in his mind.

“oh, is my sweet girl worried about me?” he breathes, deflecting the real reason but he smiles again, and because you love him, you catch yourself smiling too before you roll your eyes instinctively at his sickly sweet tone.

“yeah right, i just don’t think right now is the time to be distracted— i was so close, you know.” gojo pulls you in for another sloppy kiss and pulls away once more, slowly pulling back his fingers from between your thighs in favour of kicking off his sweats instead as he huffs—a more needy but still as fond sound before he chuckles again and takes a handful of his cock.

“oh no, i would never.” he gasps, free palm resting against his chest like he’s offended you’d even suggest that it wasn’t always you that’s constantly occupying the space in his mind. he gives you another look when you giggle, and he knows he’s so in love when it rings through the room before he’s back over you once more, cock pressing between your slick folds as he groans.

“got everything i’ve ever needed right here, sweet girl. just keep looking at me, yeah?”

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[murdrdocs]

UNTITLED 001. luke castellan

description. luke sneaks into your cabin with pure intentions in mind. those quickly turn into something more.

includes. SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, fem! pet names ("sweet girl"), semi-public sex (everyone's asleep), unprotected p n v, desperate luke, very slight somno (r is dozing off but consenting), very slight coercion

wc: 1.2k+

thinkin abt ... Luke sneaking into your cabin, having abandoned the kids back in the Hermes cabin and he just hopes that nothing bad will happen in the hour he’ll be gone.

He shouldn’t have left in the first place, but he needed to feel your body. Even just by laying with you for a little while, letting your breaths synchronize and lull him off to a relaxed state of mind.

It's what he does at first. 

Laying with his chest to your back, an arm thrown over your waist, his eyes closed as he matches your breathing. You’re awake for a little while, but neither of you speak.

By the time you’re dozing back off, Luke has different intentions. His hand has pressed flat against your torso, having slid up a little to splay beneath your chest. He whispers your name, and only when you answer in a low hum does he let his hand trail the rest of the way up.

He waits, he hesitates, attempting to gauge your reaction. 

You’re tired, he knows it. You had been unable to hold your eyes open during dinner earlier in the night, and now, you nuzzle yourself closer to him as if you’re planning to fully walk into the embrace of sleep. 

You bury your head under his chin, settling your ass against his crotch.

“‘M tired,” you explain as if he hadn’t already known that.

“I know. I know, sweet girl.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I'll take care of you. You don’t have to do anything. Okay, angel?”

He's a sweet talker, always has been. Luke could convince you to do anything. He knows his power, but he speaks to you void of any true manipulative intent. If you said no, he would cut his losses and sleep peacefully with you until it was time to return to his cabin.

But you agree with another hum. 

“Okay, Luke. Thank you.” 

Luke makes quick work of your bottoms. they’re loose and short, just like they always are, and he could get away with slipping the crotch to the side but you reach a hand to the elastic and start to pull it down. Luke contributes by sliding the fabric down the rest of the way until your bare ass is against the flannel fabric of his pants.

He does the same with his own clothing before wrapping his fist around his cock and tugging a few times. It’s dry, and despite the slick already gathered between your legs, Luke knows it won’t be enough.

“Angel?” He prompts, continuing after a moment. “I need you to do something for me.”

It takes you a second to respond and Luke fears you’ve fallen asleep. 

Eventually, you ask, “What is it?” (your words come out slurred but Luke clearly interprets them)

He holds his hand in front of your mouth, commanding, “Spit.”

You do as told.

He smears your saliva over his cock and doesn’t bother wiping his hand free of the rest before he props your leg up.

“Jus’ stay right there,” he tells you as he lines himself up with your entrance blindly. It takes a second and a couple of tries but eventually the tip of him slides in.

He goes slow, inch by inch he lets you adjust, and he gently shushes your small sounds. Little mewls and breaths that could easily pass as you having a dream, but he wants to play it as safe as possible.

Fortunately, it’s not long before he’s completely within you, and he doesn’t waste anymore time. It'll be soon enough before someone wakes up from a dream and notices he’s gone. Or even worse, before someone in your cabin hears and is forever scarred.

The possibilities motivate him.

He holds onto your hip as he thrusts up into you, his cock curving into your walls from the position, creating a friction that you’re not quite used to.

Your head turns to face him, and the light is low, but there’s just enough moonlight through the windows for him to see your eyes. For him to take notice of your heavy eyelids, almost completely incapable of holding themselves open once more.

Your eyes close every so often, and during those moments your face relaxes, as if you’ve completely fallen asleep. Then Luke puts more force behind a thrust and your eyes lazily blink open.

“Yeah? Still with me?” There’s a little humor behind his words. He can’t hide his smirk at this point, and if you weren’t on the cusp of sleep and if it weren’t so dark, you would’ve negatively commented on the look on his face. As if it didn’t rile you up.

Instead, you nod and bring your face closer, pressing a single kiss onto Luke's parted lips before you lose the motivation to do even that. You let your head fall back against your pillow, looking straight up as you let Luke pleasure you.

Your ass presses back into him a little more, your hand holds onto his forearm.

Luke slides his hand back up to your chest, rubbing his thumb into your erect nipples over the fabric of your thin tank top before he easily dips his fingers beneath the shirt and does the same once more. Skin against skin this time. 

You sigh heavily, your chin tilting a little more pointedly towards the ceiling. Luke kisses your cheek, sloppy and repeatedly, even trialing a few down to your shoulder.

“You close?”

It's barely been long, but Luke knows that like this—sleep hazed and comfortable after a long day—it won’t take much to get you to cum.

And just as he expected, you nod.

“What’d you want me to do? Hm? You can tell me, baby. Tell me what you want and I'll do it for you.” 

He’s talking a little too much at this point, the anxiety of someone finding them prickles at the back of his neck. But he doesn’t control his mouth when he’s fucking you. It’s like your cunt puts him under a spell, makes him spill out every single thought in his head before he spills up into you. 

You look over at him once more, your eyes pleading to him.

“My clit, Luke. Please.”

He nods and lets his hand find the bud, using two fingers to swirl tight circles around it. He feels you clench around him, tight enough that he has to hold himself back from cumming up into you then and there.

No matter how ethereal the moment is, he knows he can’t do that. So instead, he pushes you over the edge and pulls out just as you finish.

He’s already jerking himself to finish whenever you fumble behind you. He watches you with pinched eyebrows, attempting to decipher your intentions, and then your hand drapes over his and you stare at him, exhaustion so clear in your eyes that he can’t believe you haven’t given in yet.

You do the frenzied motions with Luke, hand over hand over cock, until he cums on your inner thigh, your leg finally closing afterwards and squishing the liquid between them.

It’s less than ideal, and you’ll have to wash your sheets and shorts in the morning, but for now you let Luke pull your shorts back up, do the same for his bottoms, and you’re asleep before he can hear his “goodnight” echo from your lips.

[yok00k]

¿can you kiss me more?

pairing: hellokittylover!oc x boxer!jk

genre: smut

“baby, hold me ‘cause I like the way you groove”

summary: jungkook’s lust and love for you becomes insatiable

warnings: MATURE— cockwarming, slight somnophilia [consented], jk jerks off in front of oc, jk is a pervert and hella possessive (& mentally obsessed w/ oc), unedited, lowercase intended

word count: 900

author’s yap: i’m kinda back bc I’m in my jobless era🥸. I wrote this a few months ago and just kinda abandoned it -_- it’s also far from the initial scenario that I was gonna write but meh.

“koo..so deep inside me” you softly cry as for the fact that his entire length is buried deep within your aching walls. you can feel how hard Jungkook is inside you.

“yeah? you’ll keep me warm, right?” he lowly said while smirking underneath you. he firmly shoves himself more, resulting you gently tug on his long hair as he further sucks one of your perky nipples, making it swollen.

—

this particular action is what 's been keeping him occupied for the past thirty minutes as soon as he came back from his 2-hour morning boxing session. jungkook spotted you in the same position you were in before he left. the only difference now is that his thick comforter that wrapped your whole body is no longer covering every inch of you. which makes your baby pink see-through lingerie on display for him to see, only for his sight to enjoy.

what a drooling view

he goes up to your sleeping figure, taking a closer look of your exquisite physique. your cleavage almost flashing him because of how low cut the piece of cotton fabric you’re wearing. not forgetting to mention those curvy hips of yours and naturally thick and tender thighs that only he can touch. nobody else. not on his watch

jungkook feels like some perverted man lusting over your unconscious frame. you’re so sweet, too fragile. seems like in one touch, you’ll break.

however that’s all facade. you may seem too innocent but he knows every tiny detail of yours. including those dirty secrets that turn you on and wild kinks that nobody would’ve guessed you’re into. to him, you have the face of an angel with devilish preferences.

you initially woke up with a pleasurable sensation that jungkook had caused you: a storm of wet kisses from your neck to the valley of your breast accompanied by a pair of muscular arms roaming around your figure. it’s a habit for both you and jungkook to be touchy to one another in the morning. you love showing your love and affection to him, so as he does to you therefore you allow him to express physical intimacy towards you.

as much as you’d love to show your love back to him, you’re still sleepy and lack energy to move. a few seconds later, you fall back to sleep.

on the other hand, jungkook is getting even more aroused by this situation. his fully tattooed arm moves its way down to your backside, giving your plumpy ass a tight squeeze before proceeding to knead your cheek.

your sleeping figure doesn’t help with his high sex drive. how would his sexual urges decrease when the person in his fantasies is laying on his bed. you.

before he could ever comprehend what he’s doing, he found himself kneeling in front of your ass cheeks. jungkook lowers his light gray sweatpants, just right down under his balls, setting his erected cock free.

he leans down towards you to plant a tiny peck in your temples. jungkook locks his attention to your angelic face as he begins pumping his member toward your ass that’s covered by transparent lace fabric. he smudges his oozing precum around his til using his thumb while thinking how pretty your swollen lips would be if he smeared his fluid around them.

he continues to ejaculate, tightening his rough palm around his cock trying to imitate the tightness of your pussy when he nests himself inside you. your tight walls are 100% way much better than his fucking hands. it’s no doubt that nothing and nobody can compare to you. not even a bit

jungkook fails to be soundless and slips out quiet groans, cursing by how good and light headed he feels right now. he hopes that he could stay in this scenery forever. having you comfortably and peacefully sleeping on his bed while he jerks off in front of you. plus you wouldn’t mind just laying there and looking effortlessly pretty for him, right?

he’s almost there, he’s starting to feel the anticipated satisfaction coming towards him. by the moment, he shuts down his eyes as he throws his head back, savoring the intense feeling of pleasure as he reaches his highest peak.

jungkook spills ropes of hot white cum, aiming his oozing tip over the thin baby pink fabric that barely covers your ass. he releases a few more moans as he fully emptied himself to the cloth of your lingerie.

he arrives his desired destination, his paradise

you rise from your sleep by a familiar faint noise, more like a series of whimpers. you lift your head and catch that those breathless sounds are coming from none other than your boyfriend, jungkook. you also notice that he’s weakly pumping his hand around his cock, slowly coming to a halt.

“kookie?” you softly call, which brings him back from heaven to reality.

once he opens his eyes, he locks eye contact with your beautiful eyes, an innocent smile is painted on your face. his appearance softened, as if he wasn’t lusting over you a second ago.

he lifts his upper body and leans closer to your face, giving your lips a smooch.

“good morning baby”

series_m.list

[pearlywritings]

The scent of being mine

synopsis: lately your husband has been staying deep in his thoughts as if bothered by something. It's only natural you want to figure it out and help.

pairing and characters: Neuvillette x fem!reader

tw: established relationship (marriage), tiny hurt/comfort, draconian features (scenting, growling, implied sharp nails)

word count: 3k+ words

“Beloved, you are brooding. More than you usually are.”

Your comment snaps Neuvillette from his thoughts, long lashes fluttering in surprise. He blinks, primordially beautiful eyes finally focus on the document in front of him, and the man makes a frustrating discovery - he’s been staring at one single line of text for who knows how long.

“Beloved?” Your sweet voice soothes the momentary disappointment, and Iudex’s undivided attention is on you in a second. 

“Yes, my dear? My apologies, I didn’t quite catch what you said. Could you be so kind and repeat, please?”

You lower the book onto your lap, and the man can’t help but relish in the sight of you comfortably lounging on the sofa in his office at the Palais Mermonia, with your shoes neatly put near one of its legs and your legs hidden under the light embroidered plaid. Your back and side sink into multiple pillows, half of which he fetched for you previously from the second sofa, and you look pleasantly relaxed within the walls of his work space, knowing very well that he has no meetings scheduled for the day, and the only people who can enter his office are the melusines with document delivery. And who would be uncomfortable in the presence of their own ‘daughters’?

“I was saying that you are brooding. And It won't be superfluous to note your sour mood too,” you nod in the window’s direction, where the sky is cloudy and gloomy. It has been this way for a couple of days already. “I wasn’t bringing it up since I thought you were simply a bit stressed, but after observing you for some time, I am sure there’s something on your mind that’s been bothering you immensely.”

Neuvillette exhales deeply. How could he ever hide anything from the woman he’s been married to for so long? Not that he ever tried, but subconsciously he sometimes tends to push his own worries aside not to make you fret. Besides, usually it’s not something of a big deal…

Watching the thoughts overtaking his mind again, you grab the bookmark from the armrest and soon the closed book takes its place, at the same time as you push the plaid off. Not caring to put the shoes on, you make a quick way to the grand doors to turn the key left in the hole from the inside. But changing your mind a little, you take a hold of a handle instead and crack the door slightly open, enough for the melusine at the reception to hear you.

“Sedene, sweety, Monsieur Neuvillette is taking a small break.”

You can’t quite see her perking up in her booth, but you know she is aware of what that means.

“Thank you for informing me, Madame. Would you like anything to drink or eat? I could send someone to put an order in whatever restaurant you’d like.”

“Much appreciated, but we’ll be fine.”

You hear her hum in understanding and only then close the door and lock it, turning the key two times.

“Now…” glancing back at your husband, you slowly walk back to your previous place of resting, but making it past the sofa and then around the desk, stopping right at his side. Neuvillette lifts his head, looking at you, and immediately pushes the chair back to make room. Gloved hands take a hold of your waist when you step closer and help you settle down onto his lap. One stays gingerly on your hip, the other is placed upon your knees, as you adjust your position, turning half-around to face him. Mesmerizing eyes with slitted irises stare at you with hardly-veiled adoration, and for a moment it almost fools you into thinking that nothing is wrong. Until he inhales and white eyebrows furrow slightly.

“Neuvi, what’s going on? Is it something I can assist you with?”

The man leans forward, pressing his face to your neck, silky locks of his fringe tickling you when he releases a breath. Your fingers find the back of his head, softly scratching the scalp, making him groan in satisfaction. His own digits flex, and you think you feel the claws digging slightly into your flesh through the dark material of his gloves and the skirt of your own clothes, and you let the dragon be a tiny bit greedy in expressing his affections.

“It’s not something I thought would bother me,” you hear him murmur into your neck. Instead of rushing to ask him to elaborate, you encourage him to take his time with a soft touch, gently following the pointy shape of his ear with your fingertip. The man shivers, but quickly relaxes, leaning into your body a bit more.

“Why logically I understand I’m in the wrong, but on an instinct level it doesn’t give me rest. Remember the celebration Lady Furina threw three days ago?”

Ah, of course you remember. It was a nice little feast the Archon organized to mark another successful staging of hers, to which your husband and you were obviously invited. You can’t, however, recall anything particular that could upset Neuvillette. He wasn’t offered anything to taste he didn't enjoy - had his own supply of fresh water even; he had no cases to worry about, having finished everything rather important beforehand, and he was not engaged in any interactions he could potentially be uncomfortable with. Maybe it was something related to you? However, you can’t think of anything: most of the time you spent conversing with Furina, discussing her next outstanding and grand performance, or dancing with your beloved, happily twirling in his embrace. Sure, other people approached you too, but…oh. Wait, there was something.

“Do you mean the celebration during which that opera performer from Li Yue was flirting with me?”

Immediately his body tenses and a low sound, kind of sounding like a growl, escapes his strained throat. He quickly composes himself though, once you drop your hand from his head to his back, drawing circles there.

“...I apologize for that.”

“Please don’t, I don’t mind a bit of jealousy,” you assure him, and the man finally leans back, looking at you with those fairytale eyes.

“You think it was jealousy?”

“Well, maybe right now it was just a bit of frustration, but back then I think it was jealousy,” Neuvilette hums, lowering his gaze, processing the information. You meanwhile decide to ask more. “But what sparked it? You know I am yours and that no human will ever be able to steal me from you.”

“Ah, my love, I am fully aware of that,” gloved palm leaves your knee and cups your cheek instead. “I know all that, but…but what I felt is hard to explain in words.”

“Try,” you encourage, turning your head and kissing his palm, “I’ll get it.”

“Alright,” with a sigh he lets his fingertips outline the contour of your jaw and travel down the side of your neck, sending a pleasurable sensation down your back. “I suppose I should start with what happened before, when we were still back home. You looked so ravishing and regal - a true gem to an eye, - and I just couldn’t help but let some of my scent linger on you.”

Which is absolutely fine, you love doing the same for him.

“Keeping that in mind I felt all those strange emotions wringing my heart, as he was giving you compliments, especially about the scent, not realizing it’s mine. And then more and more.”

As he doesn’t find what more to say, you stare at him, trying to analyze the information. After a couple of minutes of silence, during which you absent-mindedly braided a little braid out of his straight lock, you decide to summarize.

“So… If I understood you correctly, it felt upsetting that, basically, he caught the whiff of you on me, yet didn’t stop his attempts to hit on me. Am I right?”

“Exactly,” a small smile graces his pale lips, and Iudex presses a delicate kiss to your shoulder. “I could not have worded it better.”

“Hmm… Now I see why you are torn. It is annoying for sure, but it’s not like an ordinary human could know of draconian peculiar properties.”

He nods, thumbing at the pulse point on your neck, staring a little bit past you. His state is saddening, really, even though a tiny slither of pride infiltrates your heart - knowing your husband wants the world to know you are his as much as you want to claim the same about him… Would’ve made you purr if you were a feline.

You shiver when Neuvillette brings his face close again, soft lips pressing to the side of your neck.

“You are so dear to me, my love…” he breathes in a way that makes your heart skip a beat, voice full of unbridled devotion, something not many can hear from this stoic man throughout their whole life. “There are days when I can’t bear the thought of you not being close to me, I overcome with desire to be in your presence, to hold you in my arms, to listen to your divine voice… When you call my name, I want to bring everything I have to your feet.”

“But you already do so,” you cup his cheeks, kissing his forehead. “You don’t have to say all of it - you sound like you are apologizing, like you are trying to excuse your natural behavior. Don’t do it, please. You are so precious to me, I’d be damned if I ever felt unnerved by something like this.”

“I apologize if it sounded like this,” he sighs, long lashes flattering close, when you proceed to kiss over his eyelids. “I just meant to express how thankful I am that you chose me.”

“Oh, Neuvi,” you chuckle, kissing the bridge of his nose and when the tip of it. “I adore when you are so affectionate in private. As for the public display, if we return to the topic of scent… I think I could figure something out for the both of us. If you trust my judgment, that is.”

“How can I not?” Those eyes are staring back at you, bottomless pools swirling with wonder and elation. “Only if you truly want this.”

“I do,” your lips hover dangerously close to his. “And I will find the way.”

Soft thuds rhythmically yet quite leisurely cut through the lofty noises of the Court of Fountaine, catching the attention of the passersby. One hit of an elegant cane against the pavement equals two steps of yours, as you and your husband walk through the main square of the city. Your appearance - no matter together or by yourself - always gathers attention, and you could bet that if Fontaine didn’t have a law prohibiting photography of executives without their permission, your picture would’ve adorned tomorrow’s copy of The Steambird.

And you are a sight to behold - your hand resting in the crook of his elbow, gloves matching perfectly his today’s cravat of choice, jewelry specifically picked to mirror the beauty of their wearer’s partner, clothes tailored to clearly be a ‘couple outfit’... It is pretty evident that this outing is planned, if the Iudex’s absence from the Palais Mermonia didn’t serve as a clue.

You hold no conversation, rather relishing in the warm rays of sunlight (you did though tease Neuvillette upon stepping outside that his mood seemed to improve). Despite looking like it’s you who is clutching onto the man and him leading you somewhere, it’s completely vice versa. Your beloved has absolutely no idea what kind of ‘surprise’ he is soon to experience, but your previous words keep his mind at rest - you found a solution for his concern.

As a result, his high spirits are pretty apparent to the people who know him well. Or the melusines, if one is being accurate, who approach you two along the way with warm words of greetings and cute waves of their hands, which brightens Neuvillette’s features more evidently.

“I think we should soon visit the Merusea Village,” you suggest after bidding goodbye to Tristane. “And do a little gathering for our girls who work here, in the city. I am sure they have many stories to share with us.”

“I would really like that,” Neuvillette's smile is a heart-warming sight. You can only hope that you’ll get to see it more after today. “How about we start planning tomorrow after work?”

“That would be wonderful! I can’t wait to write an invitation to every single one. And to the village too.”

“Then it’s on you as always,” he agrees without objection, leaning a little to subtly kiss your temple when you turn the corner. Letting out a soft chuckle, you give him a fond look, and then focusing back on the street.

It’s barely a couple of minutes later when your partner sees you perk up. Trying to pinpoint what caught your eye, the man scans the signboards of the shops and boutiques lining up at both sides of yours. Jewelry? No, he doesn’t think so - you adorn each other with fine gemstones regularly. Clothes? Doubtful, given you’ve just received a couple of new outfits a week before. Maybe it’s-

You disturb these wandering thoughts, tugging on his elbow to catch his attention. Looking at you and then following the direction of your raised hand, Neuvillette lifts his eyes to read the signboard above the shop you’ve stopped in front of.

“Palais des parfums”

“So,” you start when he gives you a questioning look, “it’s a perfumery, yes. And my suggestion is the following - let’s choose a scent we could wear together. Before you get concerned about it becoming too popular, because we will use it, this shop has an option of creating something personal. We can just pay a little more to make it exclusive.”

“The same…scent?” Your husband hums, touching his chin in thought. This actually sounds quite good - created by a human master, it is to be perceived by humans, and by utilizing one fragrance on you both it will be made clear that the two of you are spouses. Not to mention the newspaper that will spread the fact for others to know. “My dear, that’s a marvelous idea.”

“Really?” A wide smile lifts the corners of your lips.

“Really. I like it a lot,” he assures you with a smile of his own. “And I do favor the possibility of making perfume specifically for us. How did you know though, my love?”

“Have done my research. And already spoke to the vendor before. Furthermore, I think we can order the creation of two perfumes. One for every day, and one for grand events where our presence is required.”

“I see you’ve done your research indeed,” his words are soft and gaze is full of admiration. It’s so hard to resist and not kiss him right in the middle of the street, yet let your fingertips gently scratch his forearm.

“I promised my husband a solution, didn’t I? Couldn’t disappoint you.”

“You can never disappoint me, if anything you astonish me every single day of our lives. Shall we get inside?”

“We shall. Just please, beware, there are a lot of fragrances mixed in the air. I am afraid your nose will be assaulted just like mine was.”

“I can bear with it, beloved. I would be a coward of a husband, if I turned back after the amazing work my wife did,” your cheeks heat up at his praise and you lightly dig your covered nails into his arm.

“Oh, stop it, no need to be so sweet, I already understood your appreciation for this,” your eyes motion to his hand resting on the hilt of the cane and fingers joyfully tapping against the wood. With a barely audible chuckle, the man unhooks your arms, wrapping his around your waist, and steps forward, reaching for the handle.

A soft chime caresses his ears, as the maddening mix of scents hits him right in the nose. Glancing to the side to check on you, he notices how you instantly switch to breathing through your mouth and follows your example. It, thankfully, gets better.

The shop owner is not hard to find, a sweet lady in her late 50’s welcomes you with a glint in her eyes upon recognizing you, which soon is replaced by the look of surprise when she sees your companion.

“Good afternoon, Monsieur, Madame, how can I help you?”

“Good afternoon, Mrs Deschamps,” you greet her with a smile, “I came by two days ago, remember?”

“Yes, yes, how could I forget our dear Madame? You were curious about my perfumes and if I do personal orders.”

“Right! This is my husband,” you motion to the man still courteously holding your waist, who bows in greeting.

“Pleasure to be meeting you.”

“O-oh! How could I not know you and your husband? Your wedding was the event of the century!”

“Haha, you flatter us,” you chuckle merrily, covering your mouth. “We are here to put in an order. We’d love to buy a newly crafted perfume. However, we have a couple of conditions…”

It’s almost evening when the doorbells chime again, marking your departure. Once again walking side by side and with arms linked, Neuvillette feels an almost primordial satisfaction. These hours spent in that stuffy, smelly box of a shop will be absolutely worth it when your order is complete. While he does feel the inevitable approach of a runny nose after test-smelling way too many fragrances, and it doesn’t feel like he left work today at all, as he was handling legal documents relied to the exclusivity of the product, he doesn’t regret a single mora spent and to be spent in the future for this.

Soft thuds once again cut through the sounds of the city, and they are gently lulling your mind. Maybe your head hurts just a little bit, but it pales in comparison to the invested state of your husband and how much evident fun he had in meticulously choosing the right aromatic notes to your future shared scent.

You can’t wait to help him apply it every single morning to come and get the same treatment in return. This is going to be a new, hopefully a long-staying option to your usual scenting routine.

taglist: @meimeimeirin

[serendipitylily]

Just A Ride

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Summary: Logan seduces Scott’s girlfriend.

Warnings: nsfw, smut, grinding, cheating, reader is scott's gf

word count: 848

been rewatching the xmen movies… my obsession has returned! part two here!

You were leaning against the cold wall of the mansion's hanger, taking a small rest. You had just gotten back from a mission with a few scrapes and bruises, nothing too serious. You could already heard enough from your boyfriend, Scott, who had chastised you for not being careful enough.

As you walk through the room you see a familiar figure leaning against Scott’s bike, a smug smirk on his lips.

“Looks like you took a hit darlin’” Logan’s voice rough and low as his eyes scanned up and down your body, noticing a particularly large gash on your arm.

“It’s just a scratch,” you tell him, trying your best to ignore the way he undresses you with his eyes. You can’t help but shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

He had always looked at you this way, and it angered Scott beyond belief. Anytime the two of you were in the same room, his eyes would be locked onto you.

“Damn shame, wouldn’t have happened if I was there” he tells you, that cocky tone of voice making your stomach flutter.

“Is that right?” You responded, a small smile tugging at your lips despite trying to suppress it.

Logan pushed off the bike and walked closer to you, quickly closing the gap between your bodies.

“Yep.” His voice was rough and low as his hand traced the doctored wound on your arm. “No one would have touched you if I was around.”

You felt your body heat up at his slight touch, but you tried to ignore it and rolled your eyes at him. “Scott was there,” you muttered in defense.

Logan laughed, “Scott’s heads too far up his own ass to know when his girl’s in trouble.” he shot back.

“And you deserve better than that” Logan leaned closer, his breath warm on your skin. You knew this was wrong, your mind was filled with guilt at the thought of betraying Scott.

You tried to ignore the way your heart beat sped up at his words. He was so close to you, too close. You could smell the blend of leather and smoke from him.

Before you could even respond, Logan’s hands gripped your hips. He lifted you with ease, sitting you onto the seat of Scott’s bike.

The leather was cool against your growing heat as Logan positioned you on the edge of the seat, your hands instinctively reached out to grip the handlebars.

Logan sat himself behind you, his large hands still firm on your hips as he started coaxing you to grind against the leather seat.

You gasped at the pressure, a shiver running down your spine. “Logan…” You pleaded in a weak voice.

Your hips started to roll with his rhythm, your clit rubbing against the bumpy texture. You bit your bottom lip hard, the mix of shame and desire fighting within you. “Please…” You mewled.

“Please what?” He taunted, his lips pressed to the side of your neck, his teeth lightly grazing your sensitive skin. “Please stop, or please keep going?”

You couldn’t answer, you knew that you should stop, but the way that Logan was touching you - you couldn’t.

“You want this don’t you?” He growled, one of his hands snaking under your top and sqeezing your breast. His calloused fingers pinched your nipple hard enough to make you to yelp.

Your hips grind harder against the leather, with every roll you could feel Logan’s hard bulge against your ass. The friction - the heat, it was overwhelming.

“Cheating on Cyclops like this…” Logan’s eyes were dark with a lust filled hunger as he growled against the skin of your neck. “Now you see what you’ve been missin’.”

You could feel a surge of heat pooling between your legs at his words, even knowing you should be fighting against this, but you couldn’t stop your body.

His hand moved to unbutton your jeans, pulling down the zipper agonizingly slow. You could feel his lips against your neck, nipping and sucking on your skin. It sent a quiver through your body.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” Logan murmured, his hand slipped under the hem of your jeans and brushed your sensitive skin.

You couldn’t.

You tilted your head back, giving him better access to your neck. Logan accepted your silent approval and glided his hand under your panties, his fingers finding your wetness.

He groaned as his large fingers slid along your slick folds, it didn’t take him long to find your sensitive bud.

Your back arched against his chest, his fingers circling your aching clit. A knot was forming in your stomach, you could feel your core tighten from the taboo pleasure.

“Bet you don’t get this wet for golden boy do you?” Logan growled, his hot breath against your skin. His other hand then moved to your thigh, pushing your legs wider for better access.

You were too engulfed in Logan’s groans against your skin to hear the muffled footsteps outside the door. His hand was still down your pants when the hangar door slid open.

“What the fuck?”

[hischierhoney]

OFF LIMITS

nico hischier x hughes sister!reader

part 2: I Know available now!

It’s not the first time they’ve run into you on a night out, and Nico’s pretty sure it won’t be the last. You live in New York, close enough that your paths overlap quite often. It is, however, the first time he’s seen you this drunk. On top of that, it’s the first time Nico’s run into you without your brothers with him.

Jack may be younger than you, but what he lacks in age he makes up for in overprotectiveness. When they run into you at a bar, Nico rarely gets a chance to even say a word to you before Jack is questioning how much you’ve had to drink or why you’re even out in the first place.

But Jack is in Toronto, for the All Stars game, and Luke’s still too young to be out at a bar and is also out of town, and you’re there, standing under a neon sign, leaning up against the wall. You look hazy. Out of it. There’s a guy standing nearly over you, arm next to your head on the wall. Nico’s stomach twists.

“Isn’t that Hughes’ sister?” Someone asks.

Nico nods, juts his chin at the scene unfolding. “Does she look uncomfortable to you?”

His teammate lets out a snort. “Was wondering the same thing.”

Nico keeps a watchful eye on the situation for just a moment. He doesn’t want to overstep, but something feels off. When you put your hand on the guy’s shoulder and try to push him away, and he stays put, caging you in farther, the switch flips. He’s gone from concerned friend to overprotective captain within a second. He passes his beer off to someone and makes his way across the bar in a few short steps.

“Hey man. Back off.” He snaps.

The guy turns with a glare. Nico stands his ground. Your eyes meet his, and he watches relief wash over your face. He knows then that he’s made the right choice.

“I saw her first,” the guy sneers.

Nico really didn’t want to get in a fight tonight. He was supposed to have a chill night out with the guys, maybe talk to a couple girls, get his mind off of… things. But now he’s here.

“Nico,” you say, softly, and he watches the guy’s face drop as he realizes you know Nico.

“Hi,” he says, kindly and quietly to you. He juts his chin at the guy and shoves his shoulder firmly. “Get lost.”

The man melts away into the crowd. Nico watches him go. Then he turns back to you, to where you’re leaning against the wall, doe eyed and drunk as hell as you stare up at him. His breath gets caught in his throat for just a moment- if your brothers knew the things he thought about when you looked at him like that, they’d have his head. Jack and Luke are a bit oblivious, he thinks. He’s lucky he’s not around you and Quinn at the same time very often. There was that game last year, in Vancouver- you in your Devils jersey, elbowing him lightly, and Quinn’s glare trained on him, one raised brow, like he was just waiting for Nico to take a wrong step.

“My hero,” you say, reaching out to tug on his wrist.

Your words are extremely slurred, and when he gets a closer look he realizes you’re probably close to blacking out. The light is gone from your eyes. He winces.

“Okay, schatz,” he says. He ruffles your hair just to get you to stop staring up at him through your eyelashes, afraid of the way it makes his heart jump. “Can I call someone to come get you?”

You shrug. “Where’s Jacky? Or Lukey?”

Nico groans. “Toronto, and who knows. Not here, though.”

You purse your lips. “Right.” You dig in your pocket for your phone, find it, and Nico watches you try and turn the screen on with no luck- it’s dead. “Huh. That’s not good.”

And… Nico could call one of your brothers. Could ask for some sort of phone number- a roommate or a friend or anyone. But as you stare up at him, you lean away from the wall and fall into his chest, and he knows he needs to act quickly. Preferably before you pass out at the bar.

…..

You don’t remember the walk out of the bar, or the car ride, or the elevator up to the apartment that you’re sure you must’ve taken. Your world zaps back into focus on the entryway of Nico’s apartment. You’ve been here twice- both for parties. It’s different when it’s not full of people. Feels more like Nico.

You toe your shoes off in the doorway. Nico swipes them to the side with his foot and then reaches out to catch you when you stumble. You lean into his shoulder and laugh- he smells good, like honey and whiskey. You want to breathe him in. He laughs, too- you can tell by the way his broad shoulders shake.

He leads you out of the entryway and into the kitchen. He grabs you by your hips to maneuver you, and you nearly squeal at the feeling of his fingers splayed against your body. Instead, when he moves you to lean against the counter, you sigh. You brace yourself, elbows on the granite, and stare up at him as he moves through the room.

“Stop staring at me like that,” he says in a warning tone.

“Like what?” You ask, innocently.

If he’d look at you, you’d bat your eyelashes at him. But he’s not looking, and you’re not going to waste your energy. He has his head in the fridge, an empty glass in his hand. He returns with a pitcher of water and pours it into the glass before sliding it over to you.

He never clarifies what he means by staring like that. You want to circle back to it, but you’re getting really tired, and the water is cool and refreshing. You laugh when you spill a little bit, the water running down your chin and neck. Nico just groans and rolls his eyes.

“You’re drunk,” he states, like you both didn’t already know it.

You nod. “I had a lotta tequila.”

He gives you a look of exasperation mixed with affection. “Trying to forget?”

You shrug. “Something like that.”

Once you’ve finished the glass, he starts maneuvering you again, hands on your shoulders this time as he walks you down the hallway. You wonder what it would be like to have him do this all the time- maybe when you’re not drunk. Does he manhandle his girlfriends, his dates, like this? Maybe manhandle isn’t the right word. You don’t feel handled, you feel… taken care of. Like he’s making sure you’re exactly where you should be. It’s sweet. It makes you shiver just a little bit.

He mistakes the movement for a chill, and he rubs his hands up and down your shoulders. You sigh. The two of you step into the bathroom, and he digs through the drawer until he finds a new toothbrush and toothpaste, and he hands them both to you.

You stumble your way towards the bedroom five minutes later, his hands on your hips again. He pushes open the door to his bedroom and leads you to the bed, having you sit down on the edge while he heads for the dresser. You look around. You’ve been to his place, but never here. It’s… calm. Quiet. The sheets and duvet beneath you are soft, and the lamp next to the bed casts a warm glow over everything. He has trophies taking up space on his desk. The bed is unmade, blankets rumpled and messy.

“Always wondered what your room looked like,” you say.

His shoulders tense, though he shakes it out a few moments after. “Yeah?”

You nod, forgetting he isn’t looking at you, and then supplement with words. “Can learn a lot about a person from their bedroom.”

He laughs and looks over his shoulder at you. “What have you learned, then?”

You shrug and cast your eyes to the ceiling. He goes back to rifling through the drawers. You flop backwards onto the end, laughing lightly at the way it bounces beneath you.

Something lands on your stomach- a large t-shirt and a pair of shorts. You pick them up and hold them above your head.

“Get changed,” he says. When you lean up to look at him, the whole room spins. He sighs, like he can tell. “I’ll be back in a second, okay?”

…..

Nico nearly panics five minutes later, because he knocks on the door to ask if you’re decent and you don’t answer. He’s torn between worry about seeing something he shouldn’t, and worry about you dying- one of them trumps the other, so he shoves his way into the room frantically.

You’re laid out on the bed, swallowed up by his t-shirt, the drawstring of the shorts pulled tight around your waist. Your lips are just barely parted, soft sighs escaping with each rise and fall of your chest. You’re asleep. He could leave you, but right now you’re asleep on your back, and very drunk, and he’s worried you’re going to throw up and- they warned him about that, years ago, when he first started going to parties. Friends don’t let friends sleep on their backs.

He crawls up onto the bed and tucks you into the blankets. Then he rolls you onto your side, and sighs when you immediately try to roll back onto your back. He repeats the process, and this time you groan loudly in response. Without really thinking about it, he sits down on the bed behind you and props his leg against your back. That seems to keep you in place- you lean into the warmth but you don’t try to roll over again.

So. That’s great, except, now he’s stuck. Realistically, he was going to stay anyways. If he was the last person to see you and something awful happened, he’d never forgive himself, and neither would your brothers. So it’s fine, really, that you’re leaning against him, but… you’re warm, and breathing softly, and your hair is strewn all over the pillowcase, and god, he hates the way it all makes him blush.

He can’t do anything about it, especially not now, with the state you’re in. So he just sits and watches you sleep, the way he’s sort of always dreamed about.

Hours later, Nico’s woken from a half asleep state by a loud noise- it’s his cell phone, ringing on the nightstand. He scrambles to pick up, blinking blearily at the screen. 4:53 am, and Jack is calling him. He wouldn’t normally answer, but it’s Jack, and by now he’s probably heard about you, so he swipes to take the call.

“It’s not even 5am, Jack,” he says softly.

“Hischier.” A voice returns- it’s not Jack.

“Quinn.” He replies, carefully.

He keeps his voice low. His gaze flickers down to you. You’re asleep -on your side, thank god- one arm wrapped around his leg. He swallows tightly and carefully brushes a stray piece of hair from your face. You don’t stir.

“It’s not even 5am,” he repeats.

Quinn scoffs. “I know. Woke up to go do some early morning training, and imagine my surprise when I see about ten texts from various people telling me you took my baby sister home with you last night.”

Right. Everybody knows everybody in the NHL. Nico rolls his eyes. You’re older than both Jack and Luke- you’re not a baby. He refrains from saying that, though- knowing it’ll only upset Quinn more. He may sound relatively calm now, but Nico can sense the undercurrent of tension.

“It’s not like that,” Nico says.

“Right. And you’re just whispering for the fun of it, then? Not because you’re afraid to wake her?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “She was wasted. I brought her back here to keep an eye on her. Did they tell you about how I nearly punched a guy to get him to leave her alone?”

He hears Quinn falter whatever he was going to say next. Then he speaks up again. “Doesn’t explain why you’re close enough to her right now that you’d need to be whispering.”

“I was worried she was going to choke on her own vomit,” Nico says curtly. “So I stayed up most of the night making sure she stayed on her side.”

“Right, sure, by what- curling up with her?” Quinn sneers.

Nico slumps down against the headboard. “Jesus, Hughes. You trusted me to take care of your brothers. You said that yourself. You can’t trust me with this?”

“It’s a bit different and we both know it,” Quinn says.

Nico figures that’s fair. If it was his sister… he understands. He just wishes Quinn would give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Look, man. Nothing happened. I swear to you, I wouldn’t ever do anything to harm her, alright? We ran into her at a bar, she was wasted and by herself and trying to push some guy away and he wasn’t letting up. So I put a stop to it, and we couldn’t call any of her friends because her phone was dead. And not sure if you’ve noticed, but your brothers are out of town. I didn’t want to leave her alone.”

He hears Quinn sigh. “You just happened to be there to save the day?”

Nico groans, this time a bit too loudly. You shift next to him, and suddenly you’re awake, blinking up at him with soft eyes. His heart catches in his chest. You wrinkle your nose, likely in confusion at the sight of him on the phone at 5am. He mouths your brother’s name, and your confusion only grows. You gesture for the phone.

“Quinn,” you say, sleepily. “It’s 5am. Why the fuck are you calling?”

Nico can’t hear what your brother is saying anymore- a welcome reprieve, really. You roll your eyes and he holds back a laugh. When he meets your gaze, you’re fighting a laugh, too, he thinks.

“So you called because you were checking on me, right?” You ask, blinking up at Nico. “Not to harass my friend, right? Because that would be a rude thing to do at 5am, you know.”

You’re quiet for a few more moments. Then you yawn and roll your eyes again. “Okay. Well. I’m fine. I’m going back to bed. Goodnight.”

You hang up on him. Nico’s torn between laughter and panic, wondering if Quinn’s going to call again. The phone stays silent in your hand, though. He takes it from you, sets it down on the nightstand carefully. Your arm wraps back around his leg, and he tries not to let it make him sigh in relief.

“Sorry about him,” you say, quietly. “He’s like a guard dog. But one of those little yappy ones.”

Nico laughs. “Ankle biter.”

You nod and laugh, too. “Why’d you even answer?”

Nico drags a hand down his face. “He called from Jack’s phone.”

“Sneaky little bitch,” you scoff.

He shrugs. “To be fair, I probably should’ve at least let someone know where you were. If I’d woken up to a message about my sister like the one Quinn probably got…” he scrubs at the hair on his jaw. “Not sure I’d have reacted differently.”

You huff- your warm breath washes over his leg. “You hockey players are a bunch of gossips, you know that?”

He grumbles at that, not even giving it a real response. He slumps down further against the headboard, eyes feeling heavy, head feeling even heavier. You pat your hand against his knee and sigh.

“You should lay down,” you mumble.

He sighs. “Yeah. If you’re feeling okay I can go to the couch. Didn’t want to leave you alone, I was scared you’d throw up.”

You stare up at him. He stares right back. Pretty eyes. God, your brothers would kill him.

“No, like, just- lay down,” you tell him, patting the bed next to you. “It’s your bed.”

His heart does a somersault. His stomach follows suit. He shouldn’t. Jack will punch him, Luke will deliver the final blow, and then Quinn will fly down from Canada to stomp on his grave. But he’s exhausted, and the bed is comfy, and you… you’re there, like he’s always dreamed. He won’t touch you. He’ll just lay down right next to you, barely under the blankets, plenty of space between the two of you in his big bed. It’ll be fine.

…..

You wake up hours later with a raging headache and your head against Nico’s chest. You nearly panic until you remember who he is. Then you worry he’ll think it’s weird, having you pressed against him like this, but you realize his arm is wrapped tightly around your waist. He’s strong. You know that, but it’s different to feel it for yourself, the way the thick muscle presses against your back. His cheek is resting on top of your head, too, and he’s just barely snoring, soft sounds through his lips.

You’d stay right there forever if your head didn’t hurt so bad.

When you try to wiggle free, he holds on tighter, groaning softly. You try to pry his arm off your waist and he grunts this time. When he finally wakes up enough to be somewhat coherent, he doesn’t let go.

“Whatimesit?” He asks groggily, lips brushing against your forehead.

“Dunno,” you admit. “Head hurts. S’there ibuprofen in your cupboard?”

He groans softly and then peels his arm away. Before you can make a move, he rolls out of bed and stumbles towards the bathroom. You watch him go and try to pretend you don’t shiver at the roll of his back muscles beneath his t-shirt. He comes back with a glass of water and pills in his hands.

You fight a laugh at the sight of him, sleep rumpled and groggy, brows furrowed tightly. You push yourself up to sit up, leaning on your left hand and rubbing your eyes sleepily with your right. He hands over the water and the pills. You take them eagerly.

You blink up at him after you down the whole glass and cock your head. “Did I dream that Quinn called?”

Nico snorts and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Nope. That was real life.”

You roll your eyes. “Overprotective asshole.”

Nico laughs at that, eyes slipping closed. “Like I said. If I were him, I’d have had the same reaction.”

You let yourself fall back down to the bed. “Right, like you’d ever…” you cut yourself off with a laugh. “I mean, he and Jack and Luke are always so worried about teammates being into me or something. It’s ridiculous.”

Nico laughs, but it sounds hollow. You lay on the bed and stare at the ceiling. You’re already planning how you’re going to chew Quinn out for this one.

“I don’t blame him,” Nico says, quieter this time. “Just wish he wouldn’t have called so early.”

You close your eyes. “He’s annoying. Why’s he worried? Like… none of you guys have ever shown any interest in me, so. ”

Your lack of dating hockey players is not for lack of trying. There’d been Quinn’s teammates in college, and Jack’s from the other teams, too. You’ve had crushes that you’ve eventually let fizzle out after getting nothing in return. Nico’s the only crush that’s stuck around this long. Because despite the fact that you can barely even call him your friend, sometimes he pulls shit like this- taking you back to his place and staying up late to take care of you, fielding phone calls from your protective older brother. Nico’s a giant human teddy bear. You think at this point it’s gone beyond a crush.

“Why d’you think that is?” Nico asks, breaking you from your train of thought.

“Why do I think what is?” You reply.

You swear you feel his hand brush against your wrist.

“That none of us ever show any interest?” He says.

He’s quiet. Quieter, at least. More tentative. Softer. You pry one eye open and look up at him, and you swear he’s blushing. Hm.

“Because…you’re not- nobody’s interested?” You say, softer than even him.

He tilts his head. Your mouth feels dry.

“You remember the first Devils game you came to?” He asks. You nod, and he continues. “Before the game, in the locker room, Jack mentioned his sister was going to be there, and, well, you know how hockey players are. Couple people made comments about wanting to meet you, asked if you’d be at the afterparty. Jack made it pretty clear you were off limits. And, you know. Guys do that shit all the time, get overprotective over their sisters, and it’s never been, you know, an issue. Half the time I don’t even meet the guys’ family, you know?”

He trails off and scrubs his hand through his hair. You watch him closely.

“But that night, after the game, I was leaving and I saw… this girl. This beautiful girl. And she was wearing a Hughes jersey, and I was…” he laughs and closes his eyes. “I was coming up with all these stupid pick up lines, about how I was better than him, and I was walking towards her, and I swear I looked away for a second and then Jack was there. Hugging you, and glaring at me over your shoulder. I got the message.”

You reach up and pinch the bridge of your nose. “I hate my brothers.”

Nico laughs. “In Luke’s defense…”

“Don’t defend any of them, Luke’s the worst of them, he’s just quiet about it,” you scoff. “He chased my college boyfriend out of my dorm with a hockey stick.”

Nico laughs. You laugh, too, but you shake your head. He nudges his knee against yours. When his thumb brushes against your wrist this time, you open your eyes. That blush is there, soft and rosy on his cheeks.

“So you get it, then,” he says, head tilted as he blinks down at you. His hair is falling over his forehead messily. “Why I’ve never made a move.”

You’re so busy trying to process all the information of the day that you almost miss it. Why I’ve never made a move. It could’ve been a fleeting moment, just a quick crush when he saw you the first time, but something about this tells you it’s not. He presses his thumb to your pulse point on your wrist, and the warmth of his hand on your skin makes you shiver slightly. You stare up at him and chew on your lower lip.

“I think you should ask me about my limits,” you say, quietly. “They’re a lot different than my brothers’, you know.”

The grin on Nico’s face grows wider. “S’that so?”

You nod eagerly. He lets out a low, slow breath, like he’s bracing for impact. Something in your chest aches. He plants a hand next to your head and leans towards you, and your heart leaps in your throat.

“What’re your limits on kissing hockey players?” He asks. His other hand comes up and cups the side of your face. He brushes his thumb against your Cupid’s bow. “Y’know. If the opportunity were to come up.”

You shrug. “Would depend on the player, I suppose.”

He nods in understanding, pursing his lips. “How about… hm. 6’1”, brown hair, brown eyes. Team captain. Nice guy, I guess. Would definitely make sure you got home safe from the bar.”

You reach up and draw a hesitant line on his jaw with your fingertip. “Team captain, huh? I do like a man in charge.”

He nods. You nod back. For a moment, the two of you sit in limbo.

In the end, you’re the one to wrap your arms around his neck and pull yourself up to kiss him. When you do, though, he responds eagerly. He cages you in with both arms, and as you melt for him, he does the same for you. It’s a sweet kiss, one full of hope and excitement. You’re surrounded by him, by his arms and his touch and the smell of him on the sheets. You’ve never been more happy you ran into him at a bar than in that very moment.

…..

You’re back in that same bar from weeks ago, standing under the very same neon light. Except this time, there’s no guy hovering over you, and this time, you and Nico both know the other is going to be there. He’s at the bar, pretending he’s just noticed you, smiling and waving as he orders. You shake your empty cup at him, and he nods.

He wanders over a few minutes later, drinks in hand. He leans against the wall next to you and hands you the cup. The neon light glows bright on his dark hair. You sip your drink and smile up at him. Politely. Friendly. Nothing more. He’s a polite, friendly distance away. There’s space between the two of you.

“If we’re gonna make this believable, you’re going to have to come say hello to the rest of the team,” he says.

You nod. “In a minute.”

Across the bar, one of his teammates is yelling about a game on the screen. For now, you want just a minute with Nico. A moment for just the two of you. One where he’s not your brothers’ team captain, but your boyfriend instead.

The word feels new in your brain, would feel even newer on your lips if you said it. So far, you’ve only tried it out a couple times- when he asked the question, and then after that in the bathroom mirror, a wide grin on your face. You haven’t told anyone else. Nico’s worried about Jack and Luke’s reactions, and the season’s almost done- he wants to wait to tell them afterwards, when the results of a game won’t rest so heavily on how they take the news. It’s been a lot of staying in dates, movie nights at home on his couch, which both of you are partial to anyways. And lots of this, too- seemingly chance meetings at local bars, quick texts from him telling you where he’s headed with his friends and you showing up, purely coincidental to anyone other than him.

Eventually, you follow him through the crowd of people to a secluded corner full of hockey players. You spot your brothers, blissfully unaware, nursing matching beers. Just before everyone catches sight of the two of you, Nico sneaks a hand back and squeezes yours. You smile brightly.

“Look who I found!” Nico calls out.

He moves his grip on your hand to your wrist, raises your arm like you’ve won a fight. You laugh and shake your arm free of his hold. You’re met with cheers from the team, loudest of all from your brothers. You can wait to tell them. For now, the way he smiles at you is more than enough.

…..

“Should we just tell them we know they’re… a thing?” Luke asks.

Jack shakes his head, watching you and Nico. “Nah. Let ‘em sweat. She’ll slip up eventually, or he’ll start to freak out.” He sees Nico reach to grab your hip, then pull back at the last second like he’s been burned. A mix of disgust and amusement passes through him- you’re his sister, after all. “Jesus, dunno why they think they’re fooling anyone.”

Jack’s known since the day he got back and saw you at lunch. You’d been overly happy but basically refused to talk about your impromptu stay at Nico’s. Then, he’d seen Nico at practice, and he’d been much the same. By the time the team had gone out to a bar and you mysteriously happened to show up, he’d had his suspicions and had relayed them to Luke. They’d watched you and Nico leave the bar together one night when you thought nobody was looking.

Luke laughs. “Okay, but, when do we tell Quinn?”

Jack turns to him with wide eyes. “We don’t! D’you want our captain to die?”

Luke directs his gaze back towards you and the aforementioned captain. Jack follows suit and tries not to roll his eyes. The two of you aren’t touching, but the smiles on your faces say it all.

“I mean,” Luke starts quietly. “They’re kind of cute. And we want them to be happy, right?”

“Don’t even start,” Jack says firmly.

He’ll let it go for now, in the interest of finishing out the season on a good note. But after that, all bets are off. Definitely. Probably. Jack’s the one who set the rules, who declared you off limits, and he’ll stick to his word.

No matter how much the two of you together are starting to grow on him.

Part 2: I Know

if you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading! i hope you’ve enjoyed

[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : ASLEEP IN HIS ARMS : :;

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

・❥・GENRE: Fluff :))

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: you often struggle with fatigue and tend to fall asleep easily, sometimes mid-conversation or while watching TV with Logan. At first, he’s unsure how to react, worried that something might be wrong, but as your relationship grows, he becomes more accustomed to it. He starts to find comfort in the way you trust him enough to fall asleep on his shoulder or in his lap. Logan quietly cares for you, gently adjusting to your needs, and cherishes the peaceful moments where you sleep in his arms, feeling protective and close to you.

Based on this request.

THE SOFT HUM OF THE TELEVISION BARELY FILLED THE QUIET OF THE LIVING ROOM. Logan sat on the couch, legs stretched out, one arm casually draped over the backrest. His eyes flickered toward the clock on the wall and then back down to you—your head resting gently on his shoulder, breathing slow and steady. You had fallen asleep again, the same way you always did.

You hadn’t been dating long, just a few months, and everything still felt new and exciting, but also a little uncertain. Logan wasn’t used to this—this softness, this quiet kind of intimacy. At first, he wasn’t sure how to react. The first time it happened, you two had been watching a movie together. About halfway through, your laughter grew quieter, and you leaned into him a little more.

“Hey, you okay?” he’d asked, glancing down at you. He felt your body relax against his, and when he looked closer, your eyes were closed.

You were already asleep.

He wasn’t sure what to do. His initial thought was that you must’ve been bored out of your mind—he hadn’t picked the most riveting movie. But the longer he sat there, feeling the warmth of your body against his and listening to your steady breathing, the more his concern shifted to something else. Were you sick? Had you been sleeping okay?

He didn’t want to wake you, though. You looked peaceful, your lips slightly parted, your face soft in sleep. But curiosity gnawed at him. Once the movie ended, he gently shook you awake.

“Hm?” you mumbled, blinking your eyes open.

“Hey,” Logan said softly, his eyes searching yours. “You fell asleep.”

You blinked again, straightening up a little and rubbing your eyes. “Oh… I did?” Your voice was groggy, still thick with sleep.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah. Everything okay? You seemed really tired.”

You gave a small, sheepish smile, pulling your knees up to your chest. “Yeah, I get like that sometimes. I dunno… just tired a lot lately.”

“Like, all the time?” His brow furrowed slightly, concern creeping into his voice.

You nodded, leaning your head back against the couch. “Yeah, pretty much. It’s not a big deal, though. I’ve always been like this—get sleepy out of nowhere, sometimes.”

Logan had tried to understand, but it threw him off at first. He hadn’t really known anyone who could just pass out like that, so effortlessly. It wasn’t like you were doing anything exhausting; sometimes, you’d just lay your head on his shoulder and within minutes, you’d be asleep, even during conversations. He couldn’t help but feel a bit strange about it at the beginning—did you feel comfortable? Were you okay?

But as weeks passed, he began to notice that it wasn’t boredom or disinterest. It was just… you. Sometimes you’d yawn, lean your head against his chest, and within minutes, you’d be fast asleep, the world drifting away. It was just how your body worked.

Now, it had almost become second nature. Like tonight, for example. You had planned to watch something together, but you barely made it through the opening scene before you nestled up next to him and dozed off. Logan smiled softly to himself, looking down at you again.

His fingers gently brushed a stray lock of hair away from your face. He could hear your steady breathing, could feel the weight of your trust as you relaxed completely against him.

A part of him had grown used to this—this quiet routine where you found comfort in him, even when fatigue pulled you under so quickly. He loved it, honestly. It was endearing how you trusted him enough to fall asleep without a second thought.

After a while, he stopped feeling awkward about it. Now, when you nuzzled into his side, he’d just let his arm wrap around your shoulders, pulling you in closer. Sometimes he’d switch off the TV and let you sleep while he’d sit there with a book, content just to have you near him. It wasn’t about what you were missing—he realized it was about being there, even if it was in silence.

You stirred slightly, shifting in your sleep. Logan looked down, his hand gently rubbing your arm. “You okay?” he whispered, not really expecting an answer.

You mumbled something incoherent, and he chuckled. He adjusted slightly, careful not to wake you, and leaned back into the cushions. His fingers absentmindedly traced small circles on your arm, and he found himself smiling. This had become your thing now, and though it wasn’t something he had expected, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

But tonight, as you lay there, he couldn’t help but feel like maybe you were overworking yourself. Tomorrow, he’d ask you again—make sure you were taking care of yourself, ask if there was anything he could do. He’d thought about mentioning seeing a doctor, but he didn’t want to push too hard. For now, though, he’d just be here.

After a little while, Logan shifted slightly, careful not to disturb you as he reached for the remote. He turned off the TV and rested his head back on the couch. You didn’t stir this time, just pressed a little closer to him, your hand resting on his chest.

He smiled softly, his heart warming at the simple gesture. The quiet of the room felt comforting, and despite the small pang of worry that lingered in the back of his mind, he felt peaceful in moments like these. The trust you showed him, how easily you fell asleep in his arms—it made him feel something deeper than he could put into words.

“I’ll take care of you,” he murmured quietly, his voice so low he wasn’t even sure if he had said it out loud. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, feeling the warmth of your skin against his lips.

And even though you couldn’t hear him, not really, you shifted just enough to let him know that, in some way, you understood.

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

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