#just imagining them all having gone their own ways

[wildfloweroutlaw]

Sticky Fingers

warnings: SMUT!! minors dni. some fluff. friends to lovers. switch!azriel. unprotected sex. oral (male and female receiving). underwear fetish. a bit of voyeurism. azriel is an after care king. wing play. shadow play. i really threw the kitchen sink at this one so lmk if i missed anything!

word count: ~7k WHOOPS my fingers slipped.

a/n: reader matches azriel’s freak!! this is more fleshed out continuation of this little piece AND my first ever azriel fic. for the sake of this story, let’s just assume that you can winnow to The House of Wind because let’s be fr, only being able to fly or walk up the 10,000 steps would be such an inconvenience. and to the one person who asked for this @darkbloodsly …. thank you ❤️

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Azriel’s little escapade in your bedroom a few weeks ago had been one of the most exciting things he’d done in quite some time. It was also one of the most violating. After he had returned to his room with your obscenely tiny pair of panties, he had been filled with a whirlwind of emotions. Shame. Guilt. Self loathing. But underneath all of that, the desire remained, unchecked and unbound.

Which is probably why every couple of days since that incident, he found himself staking out your room, waiting on you to leave The House so he could go in and rummage through your underwear drawer freely. He found that you had acquired a very intriguing collection. Several lacy black pairs, a pair that was a deep red and made of the softest silk, a strappy blue pair that he felt perfectly matched his siphons.

He couldn’t help but to let his mind run rampant, picturing you in every single one, picturing himself pulling them off of you. However, today’s discovery may have just been his most favorite of all.

Unsure of how he missed them all the times before, Azriel’s eyes caught on a light shade of pink. Digging to the very bottom of the drawer, he grasped the lovely material and pulled it free.

While not as daring or extravagant as some of the other items in your trove, this pair was sinfully soft and seemed so unlike anything you would normally wear. Instantly taken with the dainty pink shade and the tiny little bow adorning the front, Azriel decided that these would be his prize of the day.

Pocketing the skimpy undergarment, he sent several of his shadows through the house to ensure you were still out running errands. When they reported that the coast was clear, Azriel silently made his way down the hall and back to his own quarters.

A sick thrill went through his body and curled low in his stomach as he closed the door behind him. He pulled your lovely pink panties out of his pocket and studied them once more. Gods he should not be as turned on as he was by a pair of fucking underwear, but they were yours and they had touched you more intimately than he knew he ever would, no matter how often he dreamed of that.

Typically, Azriel held off on this part until it was late at night and everyone had already gone to sleep… but The House was empty for the next few hours and his cock was already painfully straining against his pants.

Fuck it. Pushing off the door, he made quick work of his clothes as he crossed the room to his large bed.

Laying back against his dark, plush pillows, Azriel made himself comfortable, tuning everything in the world out except for the thought of you and these godsdamned panties.

He palmed himself gently at first, the head of his cock already flushed and leaking with anticipation.

He imagined what your hands would feel like against him, how big he would look in your smaller hands, how you would stroke him. Would you prefer to pleasure him soft and tenderly? Or would you set a punishing pace with a tight grip? Azriel knew that he would let you touch him anyway you wanted to, he would let you do anything you wanted to him.

He let depraved images of all kinds fill his mind. He let himself imagine what your soft skin would feel like under his touch, let himself imagine what beautiful sounds he could pull from you. Azriel knew it was unlikely he would ever truly know, considering he had never allowed himself to openly pursue you. However, he supposed he would settle for your panties.

Finding the delicate fabric beside him on the bed, he brought the soft material that carried your sweet scent to his aching member. He shuddered at the first touch and let out a deep groan at the sensation. Several of his shadows trailed down his body, the cool sensation only adding to his pleasure. They always got rather excited when he used your undergarments in this way.

Seeing your panties against him like this always brought about a feeling of wrongness that only served to turn Azriel on even more. Now, watching the pink cloth and that fucking little bow caress his cock, he was fairly certain this could count as a sin.

And damn if that didn’t make his blood pump all the faster.

Fisting your panties against his cock, Azriel let his head fall back, soft black curls splaying upon his pillow. He allowed his mind continue to run wild with thoughts of you, deep guttural groans and soft moans of your name slipping from his lips.

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You opened the front door to The House, finding the place quiet. Which made sense considering Cassian had matters to tend to in Illyria this evening, and you were supposed to meet Nesta for dinner in just a little while. Azriel most likely had plans of his own that he almost never felt inclined to share.

You had been out running errands for the last few hours, but the evening had proved to be chillier than you anticipated. You decided to just run home and grab a sweater, assuming you would probably be out late with Nesta. Kicking off your shoes by the door, you made for the stairs.

As soon as you rounded the corner to your hallway, you were greeted by several of Azriel’s shadows.

Suppose he is here then.

The wispy tendrils wrapped themselves around you and begin to gently tug you down the hall. Confused but curious, you followed along hesitantly.

“Is everything okay?” You knew you would never get a response, but you always had a habit of speaking to Azriel’s shadows. You were actually very fond of them.

Several of the shadows trailed up your arms and twined into your hair. Apparently they had grown fond of you as well. The feeling of them against your skin was always something you enjoyed, and you found their presence to be very comforting.

You allowed them to lead you past your own bedroom door and down the hall to Az’s room. You found a few more shadows waiting outside, and they too greeted you warmly. Tugging you forward, the shadows continued to urge you towards the door. “I-I don’t understand…” you whispered to the wisps of darkness.

“(Y/N).”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, and for a moment you questioned if you were hearing things. But you had heard your name, however faint. You were certain of it.

You raised your hand to knock on the door, not wanting to just barge in to Azriel’s room, even if he had presumably called out to you.

Before your fist could make contact with the wood, some of the shadows darted out, turning the knob and silently pushing the door open. You were certain your heart stopped beating as you took in the sight in front of you.

Azriel. With his head tossed back. Face dusted with pink. Large wings splayed across his bed, eyes screwed shut, plump lips parted, legs spread wide, tendrils of shadows trailing down his body.

And he was stark naked.

Oh gods. You should walk away. You should close the door and pretend you never even came home. But by the mother, he was pumping himself with his hand, hips bucking up in response, and you couldn’t help but drink in the beautiful sight and the lovely sounds tumbling from his lips.

This was wrong. You should not be here. You weren’t sure why his shadows had pulled you to his room, but Azriel’s lack of awareness of your presence made it clear this was not intended. And the longer you stood here, watching like a fucking pervert, the stronger the pulsing between your legs grew.

Suddenly your eyes caught on a piece of pink fabric clutched against Azriel’s… well, extremely large member. You quickly took note of the familiar tiny bow peaking out from his hand and you thought your heart was going to break free from your ribcage and leave you standing here like the fool that you were.

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Azriel was lost in his darkest fantasies. He wasn’t sure if it was the long week he had, or the way you had looked in that dress that fit you just right before you had left The House this afternoon, but he just completely gave himself to the pleasure.

And gods he could smell you, stronger than any other time before. Your lovely scent entrapped within the fabric of your panties seemed thicker, sweeter… headier.

Azriel’s eyes flew open, shooting to the other side of the room and he saw you, standing there. Face tinged with red, eyes wide, and chest heaving against your dress.

And he wanted to die.

With an unspoken command, the mass of his shadows flocked to him, some of them unfurling themselves from where they had been twinning around you, and came to conceal his naked form. of course he had left his clothes halfway across the room.

He pushed himself up off the bed and felt heat crawling up his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. He literally could not imagine a worse scenario than this.

Fuck, you would probably hate him after this. This would ruin your friendship for sure. You would want to move out of The House, far far away from him and his demented perversions. Azriel’s mind, once filled with glorious images of you, was now flooded with a whirlwind of thoughts. And none of them were good.

“(Y/N) I-I can explain-“ Azriel managed to stammer out. How could he explain this? He doubted there was any excuse he could come up with that wouldn’t make him look creepy. Maybe you hadn’t seen the panties? He could perhaps say they weren’t yours, even if you had seen, but he wasn’t sure how long you had been standing there.

“Those are mine.” You simply stated, as if you were telling him the sky was blue.

“I…. Well, I-“ gods be damned, this would be a good time to be able to form a cohesive thought. But his racing heart and overwhelming mortification were short circuiting his brain.

“And you said my name.” You took a step forward into the doorway. Azriel’s shadows were obscuring the majority of his body, and at your words, they seemed to grow all the more restless.

Azriel briefly considered winnowing out of his room and fleeing Velaris- No, Prythian. “(Y/N) I am so sorry, shit, I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry. I-I know this is so wrong-“

You took another step forward. Well, you were already knee deep in this horrifically embarassing situation, for both of you it seemed. You may as well see where this takes you. “You can continue… if you are comfortable doing so, that is.”

Azriel’s heart stopped beating for probably the hundredth time in the last 5 minutes. “I… what?” His hazel eyes scanned your face for any sign of mockery or judgment or disgust.

“I was enjoying the show. Quite thoroughly, I must admit.” Your heart was thundering, and you were terrified of what Azriel might think. But you felt the overwhelming need to own up to invading his privacy, to watching him. To take control of this situation.

And he had very clearly been thinking of you… “If you are alright with it, you can carry on. Don’t feel like you must though. I can also leave if you’d like.” You motioned behind you to the door.

“You… aren’t angry with me?” Azriel’s shadows dissipated slightly, now he was visible to you from the chest up.

“Do I seem angry to you?” You asked, managing a smirk that you hoped made you look braver than you truly felt.

Azriel allowed himself to take you in fully now. You had been shocked, yes, but there was also something else dancing in your eyes. And your scent was slightly different than usual. He took a deep breath in, mind going quiet. You were aroused. “No. I suppose you don’t seem angry.”

Azriel allowed his shadows to slowly leave him, some of them choosing to return to you. A chill ran down his spine as he watched your eyes drink in his bare form.

He took a couple steps backward until he could rest on the edge of the bed.

He searched your face again, wanting to ensure that this was really alright with you. Finding no signs of discomfort, he plucked the dainty undergarment from the bedspread and began to tentatively work the material against his still hard cock. “Is this… what you wanted to see?”

Your chest began to rise and fall quickly again and you sucked in a breath at the sight of him. “Yes…” you sighed out, fingers going to the clasp of your dress at your neck. You quickly undid the mechanism and let the material fall and pool at your bare feet.

Azriel’s eyes widened and he let out a soft moan at the beautiful sight. You weren’t wearing a bra and stood before him in only your underwear, the tiny, lacey black pair that had originally caught his eye the very first time he thieved from your chambers.

What in the seven hells was happening? He decided not to question it, tightening his grip on his member and began to stroke more confidently.

Your eyes were glued to him, wandering from his proud wings, across his gorgeous face, down his heavily tattooed chest and muscled stomach, all the way to his scarred hand fisting your fucking panties against himself.

You had desired Azriel for so long, but he never pursued you beyond friendship. The male was notoriously difficult to read, and you were always too afraid to go beyond simply flirting with him in case he truly wasn’t interested in you. You never in your wildest dreams could have imagined this.

You took a few more steps forward, brushing your fingers against the erect tips of your breasts, sighing at the sensation. The pounding between your legs had amplified to an all out ache, and you were more than eager to find out just how far Azriel would let this go.

You now stood before him, between his spread legs, eyes locked to his hazel ones. You brushed back a stray lock of his dark hair, and lightly ran your fingers across his flushed cheek. “Do you enjoy pleasuring yourself with my panties Shadowsinger?” You let your eyes drift back down to where he worked himself.

Azriel was reveling in your sweet touches and felt there was no reason to attempt to deny the claim now. “Yes.” He groaned.

You felt a sudden surge of power, his words stroking your ego like his hand stroked his cock. “And is this the first time you’ve stolen a pair from my room for this purpose?”

Azriel tried to avert his eyes, still feeling ashamed of his actions, but your hand gripped his chin and turned his gaze up to meet yours. If his senses weren’t currently being overwhelmed with the scent of your arousal and you weren’t staring down at him like you wanted to devour him, he would have thought this was some cruel attempt to get him to confess. “No.” He answered honestly.

You smirked at his admittance and you could feel your panties growing more soaked by the second. You dropped to your knees before him and you could not deny that he looked like a god above you. He was absolutely divine. And your face was a mere foot from his cock. This was not at all how you had expected your evening to go, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

You took in the sight of his swollen tip, shaded an angry color of red from lack of release. His pre-cum had soaked both his member and the fabric of your panties, leaving him glistening in the evening light

“Fuck, you are so hard.”

Azriel moaned in response, as he watched you with curious eyes. He wasn’t sure what you were doing, but he loved that you were here with him, and seemed to be just as turned on as he was.

You inched your face a little closer, leaning between his thick thighs. “Oh Azzie, this seems rather uncomfortable. Would you allow me to help you?” You crooned as you looked up at him through your lashes.

Azriel felt like he could die happily any moment now. That nickname and the image of you, between his legs, staring up at him like that, was something that would stick with him long past the grave. However, a thousand protests rose to his mind.

He didn’t want you to feel like you had to do this. He wanted to tell you that you didn’t need to, that you shouldn’t, because he was unworthy of your touch. But he stopped himself.

Everything told him that you wanted this too, wanted him. As hard as it was to believe, he did not think you would be here, responding so… positively, if you didn’t want to. However unworthy he felt that he was, he felt the desire to be selfish more.

He had dreamed of this for so long, and now the opportunity to have you, in whatever capacity, finally has arisen. He would be damned if he didn’t seize it.

“Yes. Please.” He didn’t care if the plead sounded pathetic. He needed you to touch him. Now.

With a grin that could only be described as devilish, you gently grasped his wrist, urging his hand away from his member. He still clutched the now spoiled pink panties in his hand. You tenderly pulled them from his grip, unbunching the material and letting it dangle in the space between you two.

You studied the damp fabric, glancing between it and Azriel’s face. “You’ve made such a pretty mess of these Az. I can tell how much you like them.”

Beyond words and drowning in anticipation, Azriel could only muster a nod in response.

You tossed the underwear across the room to join your dress. Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly gripped Azriel’s cock. You tested the waters with a gentle, almost teasing stroke and you felt him throb in your hand. You quickly glanced up at his face to see if he was still okay with this.

You found him leaned back on his palms and studying you intently, eyes half lidded and filled with desire. The look of sheer need gave you a shot of courage, and you tightened your grip slightly and increased your pace.

Azriel moaned out your name and your core turned to molten at the sound.

“Does that feel good, Az?” You cooed to him, squeezing your legs together in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure there.

“Gods, yes (Y/N). Touch me however you like… please.” He could not stop staring at you, your gorgeous practically naked form, and how small your hand looked wrapped around him.

This was better than any fantasy he had ever conjured up.

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth at his praise, loving how it sounded in his deep voice. “How about this?” You leaned forward and wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, sucking gingerly.

Azriel short circuited, his entire body shuddering from the feel of your warm, wet mouth on him. He let his head loll back and his eyes flutter closed as a guttural groan reverberated from deep in his chest. “Fuck I- yes.” He gripped the blankets beneath him.

You hummed against him in response. You always felt that Azriel was too hard on himself, punishing himself for gods knew why. You were determined to spoil him with much deserved pleasure.

You licked him from root to stem before taking him deep, one hand working what you could not fit in your mouth, and the other gently caressing his balls.

Sounds that may have been considered embarrassing to some males, spewed from Azriel. He could not help it, nor did he care to hide them. You were making him feel this good and you deserved to hear that. “Sweet girl, shit- that feels incredible.” He growled.

As you continued your ministrations, Azriel worked a hand into your hair. Not forcing your head down, or applying any pressure, just reverently caressing your locks. He finally peered down at you again, discovering you staring back up at him, head bobbing up and down his length and moaning around him. He noticed you had brought one of your hands between your legs and were grinding your clothed cunt against your palm.

You were going to kill him.

You were going to suck him within an inch of his life, and the sight of you touching yourself to pleasuring him was going to send him on to the after life.

Just as Azriel was about to pull you off of him, you released his cock with a pop of your lips. You stood then, placing your hands on Azriel’s firm chest and urging him backwards. “Lay in the center of the bed for me please, Azzie.” You asked sweetly.

Azriel nodded and found himself scrambling backwards, doing as you said and moving to lay back. Azriel rarely ever relinquished control in the bedroom, preferring to service his lovers to their liking. However, he felt very comfortable following your lead and this was actually really lovely. Well, it was far beyond lovely.

You moved to hover over him, straddling his waist and you felt a thrill surge through your body at the sight of the massive Illyrian warrior beneath you. “Is it alright if I try something else?” You asked, still unsure about how much Azriel wanted from you.

He gingerly grasped your hand, one of the first few touches he had allowed himself since this all began, and guided it to his chest where he pinned it beneath his own larger hand. “Of course,” he rasped, “I told you already. Touch me however you like… I am yours.” The admission was vulnerable, but felt so right to him.

Your heart clenched at his words and you nodded, lowering your hips to his. You began to slowly, but firmly grind your still clothed pussy against his length, loosing an airy moan in response to the glorious contact.

“I bet my panties feel much better like this, hm?” You leaned down to murmur in his ear, nipping at his lobe.

Azriel shuddered underneath you, wings twitching against the sheets. “Y-yes, (Y/N). So much better.” His hands hesitantly reached up to grip your waist, giving you time to protest if you wanted. When you showed no objections, he tightened his hold on you and pulled you down against him, harder. Azriel delighted in the noise he drew from you.

He continued dragging your hips across him, both of you breathless at the sensation. “Gods above, you are so gorgeous…” He let one hand travel up to your breast, stroking a thumb across a hard nipple and smiling to himself when you cried out.

“Would you like to see what you’ve done to me?” You breathed against his neck, a hand tracing circles against his chest.

Azriel nodded, then almost protested when you pulled away from him. That was until he saw you standing at the end of the bed, slowly shimmying out of your panties. His breath hitched to see you completely and utterly bare before him, then sputtered out of him when he took in the way you crawled up the bed towards him.

Kneeling beside him, you pressed the soaked cotton of your underwear into Azriel’s hand. “You’ve turned me into a complete mess Az…” you confessed.

Azriel took in the absolutely drenched material, and let out an almost animalistic groan when he scented your arousal coating the fabric. “All of this is for me? I’ve barely gotten the chance to touch you yet.” He would be lying if he said that wasn’t a major boost to his ego.

He slipped an arm around your waist and turned, pinning you beneath him and slotting himself between your legs. “Let me change that…”

He pressed messy kisses along the length of your neck, sharp teeth grazing over a particularly sensitive area. Azriel reveled in the sound of your breathless moan and the way you pulled him tighter.

He dipped his head to lav at a nipple, rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger before latching his lips around the sensitive bud. Azriel slid a well muscled thigh against your leaking cunt, applying just enough pressure to have you gasping for air.

He did not miss how you rocked your hips against him, desperate for friction.

Thus far, Azriel had allowed you to take the lead, to show him how much you wanted from him, making him feel better than anyone ever had before. Now, Azriel wanted to return the favor and show you how good he can make you feel.

He kissed a path between your breasts and down your stomach, glancing up to find your bottom lip between your teeth and eyes pressed closed. He worked his way lower, and lower, until all he could smell was your heated sweetness.

He inhaled deeply, and let out a long breath that fanned against your sensitive cunt, causing chills to erupt all over your body.

Guiding each of your legs over his shoulders, his hands found purchase on your thighs, spreading you open for him. He placed a couple of gentle nips along the inside of your thigh, before softly asking “Is this alright?”

“Yes. Gods, yes.” You excitedly nodded your head, as if you took too long to answer he may change his mind. Although, a quick glance down at Azriel’s face told you that wasn’t the case. He stared up at you like you were his favorite meal. You lifted your hips slightly, urging yourself closer to his mouth.

He huffed a laugh before pinning you back down to the bed. “Try to stay still for me, sweet girl. Want to make you feel good.” And then his tongue was upon you. He licked a strip right up your center, expertly locating the sensitive bundle of nerves and swirling around it.

White hot pleasure shot up your spine, and you cried out. Hands searching for more contact, you reached down and entangled your fingers in his dark locks, Azriel rewarding you with a low growl when you pulled slightly.

His mouth was maddening. It was like he already knew all of your favorite things as he stroked your clit with the warm velvet of his tongue. Every time you managed to crack your eyes open, you found hazel ones staring back at you, full of hunger and reverence. He kept your hips throughly pinned down, leaving you no choice but to take everything he was giving you.

Suddenly, you felt a cool brush against your collar bone and looked down to find several of his shadows curiously exploring you. The inky tendrils wound themselves around your nipples, the ghost of a touch just enough to drive you crazy, just as Azriel wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked.

Every thought in your head ceased to exist and your back arched away from the sheets. A wanton scream tore its way up your throat and you fisted Azriel’s hair tightly, which only seemed to spur him on more.

“Fuck Azriel, there- yes!” You babbled as his grip on your hips loosened slightly, allowing you to wind your hips against his mouth. And mother above he was moaning into your pussy and… oh gods.

You raised your head and watched him unabashedly rut into the mattress, just as needy as you were.

And that was nearly your breaking point. Seeing this beautiful male, wings spread behind him, letting you fuck yourself on his face, shadows twining around your body. You were not like to forget this as long as you lived.

Right as you teetered on the edge of oblivion, you pulled him off of you quickly. “Azriel… need you. Want to cum on your cock. Please.”

“As you wish.” Azriel rose slowly, chin glistening with your slick, and placed his aching cock where his face had just been.

He leaned down and studied your pretty face intently, sliding one scarred hand to your jaw. He then pressed his lips against yours, the kiss searing his very soul.

This was the first time his lips had ever touched yours, other than that one drunken night when you all had played spin the bottle. Although that kiss had kept him up for many nights, it was nothing like this.

“Can you taste yourself? Can you taste how sweet you are? Could spend an eternity with my face between those beautiful legs…” Az mumbled against you.

“Y-yes. I want you to show me more of what you can do with that mouth another time.” You grinned up at him.

Another time. His heart leapt at that. Azriel had not allowed himself to think past this moment, for fear that this could be the first and only time he experienced you this way. Yes, he could show you everything he knew and more.

Grabbing the base of his cock, he lined himself up with your entrance, and pressed his forehead against yours. He ever so slightly began to push in. You were soaking wet, but you were also extremely tight and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you.

The stretch burned, but not in a way that was painful, just uncomfortable. Holy gods he was huge. You felt his shadows run up and down your arms in a soothing caress, Azriel’s hand at your waist mimicking their motions.

Once his hips were flush with yours, you both sat utterly still, chests heaving against each other. Azriel fought back the urge to thrust as he allowed your body to adjust to his size. “Are you alright, Princess?” He cooed, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek.

“Yes… Azzie. Please.” You began to squirm underneath him, unable to patiently wait any longer.

“I know, sweet girl. I just don’t want to hurt you.” He brushed a loose strand of hair back that had fallen into your face.

“I appreciate your concern Azriel, but I will die if you don’t move. I need you to move.” You pleaded, fingers digging into his muscular shoulders.

Without another moment of hesitation, Azriel slowly drew out of you before pressing back in to the hilt. He had never, never, felt anything as good as this before. He knew that with just the first fucking stroke, he was losing himself to you

“Fucking hells (Y/N). You’re so godsdamned tight… feel so good on my cock sweet girl.”

You cried out at both the sensation and his words, any feelings of discomfort giving way to burning hot pleasure as Azriel fucked you slow and deep. The normally stoic and reserved Shadowsinger was passionate, shocking you with how intently and thoroughly he was loving you.

Azriel angled his hips, rutting in to you at a slightly faster pace now. He buried his face deep into your neck, panting and moaning like he was young male all over again. He was trying his best to fuck you the way you deserved, but it was already so difficult to not unravel completely.

“Azriel…” you moaned his name like it was a prayer, “gods you’re so big… stretching me out just right. You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this.” You pulled his face to yours for another searing kiss, carding your fingers through his soft hair.

Azriel was genuinely surprised that you had thought about this with him, and the confession only turned him on more. He sped up his pace more, pulling back slightly to watch you.

And you stared back at him. You took in the massive wings looming behind Azriel, noticing how they twitched every so often, like they were restless. You remembered one drunken night that Azriel had admitted to you that the rumors about Illyrian wings were in fact true, but that he very rarely felt comfortable enough to allow his lovers to actually touch them.

You wanted so badly to run your fingers down the beautiful membrane. Not only to see his reaction for yourself, but also because you wanted to feel special to him.

Maybe that was foolish, and maybe this whole situation was no more than a manifestation of your shared physical attraction and nothing more. But you could not stop yourself from wanting. “Az… may I touch your wings?” You asked nervously, afraid to ruin the moment.

Azriel drove home a particularly deep stroke, causing you to cry out and tremble around him. His hand came up to guide your eyes to his, and his stare was molten. “I’ve already told you baby, touch me however you like.”

Your heart squeezed at the fact that he felt safe enough with you to allow you to touch him in a way he rarely let others.

You nodded, taking in his words through the haze of pleasure. You reached out slowly, fingertips just inches from his wings. “H-how?” Your hand remained hovering in the air, unsure.

He huffed a laugh that turned into a groan as his hips met yours. “However feels natural to you. There’s no wrong way, just be gentle.” He extended a wing, offering you better access.

You searched his face for any signs of discomfort or hesitancy. Finding none, you simply nodded and ever so lightly grazed your finger tips across the ridge of his wing.

Azriel’s entire body went taught as a bowstring before he shook, the most delectable whimper working its way out of him. His fingers found that sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs and began to draw quick, tight circles against it.

You were certain the entirety of Velaris could hear your sounds of pleasure now. You placed another exploratory stroke on a different part of his wing, and continued when you saw the way Azriel’s eyes screwed shut and his brow furrowed.

“If you keep doing that you are going to make me-“ Azriel was interrupted when the soft pads of your fingers rubbed against a particularly sensitive spot.

His hips faltered, a string of curses tumbling from his lips as he went careening over the edge and into the abyss of ecstasy, crying out your name and hips snapping against yours.

At the feel of his fingers against your clit, his shadows caressing your body, and his warm seed pumping deep inside you, you came completely undone on his cock. Consumed by burning pleasure, all thoughts eddied out of your brain except for Azriel.

For several moments the two of you remained there, chests heaving against each other, both attempting to unscramble your minds. Azriel eventually pulled out rather reluctantly. “Sit tight.” He murmured against your heated skin, before disappearing from sight.

Minutes later, Azriel reappeared with a wet rag in one hand and a glass of ice water in the other. He set the glass on the table before turning back to you, using the rag to clean you up. “Are you alright?” His eyes flickered between your face and his hands.

You nodded, a grin blooming on your face. “I think I’m more than alright Az. Are you alright?” You parroted his question back to him.

“Yeah. Yes. I am… maybe a little surprised that we somehow ended up here, but I’m glad that we did.” He offered you a grin to match your own that showed his dimples.

His hand found your back, helping you to sit up, and he situated you against the mountain of pillows on his bed before handing you the glass of water. “Here. Drink.”

You accepted the refreshing drink greedily, drinking about half the glass in just a few gulps. Offering the drink back to Azriel, you cleared your throat. “I myself am surprised as well. This was… not really what I expected of my evening. Or ever honestly.” You gave a small shrug.

Azriel settled in beside you, pulling the fluffy duvet up to cover you both. “(Y/N) I do really need to apologize for what I did-what I’ve been doing…” he studied his lap intently, suddenly finding the bed spread mighty interesting.

“It was wrong. Very wrong. I shouldn’t have entered your room without your permission, let alone rummage through your dresser and…” he trailed off, feeling red hot shame creep up his neck.

“And steal my underwear?” You finished for him, brows raising in amusement.

“Yes. That. It was an extreme invasion of your privacy, and wrong on so many levels. If you never want to speak of this again, or never want to speak to me again… I would understand.” Azriel could not bring himself to look at you, to see what you might be feeling.

You gripped his jaw, guiding his gaze back to you. “Az… I told you already, I’m not angry with you. I felt like I proved that rather thoroughly, but I will say it again. You are my friend Azriel. None of this changes that fact. If you are open to it, I’d actually like to do more of… this.” You motioned between the two of you and gave him a big smile.

“I-I am definitely open to it. I would like that very much. I guess you could say I’ve had a bit of a crush on you for a while now…” Azriel glanced at you with heated cheeks and a dimple peeking out as he rubbed the back of his neck.

You let out a breathless laugh, the sound making Azriel’s heart jump in his chest. “Well I guess I can now admit that the feeling is mutual.” You snuggled down into the pillows further, cherishing the warmth of his body next to yours.

Azriel turned to you, propping his head up on a fist. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving. I was actually supposed to meet Nesta for dinner.” You glanced to the window in Azriel’s room, noticing that the sun had already slipped below the ridge. “She is probably pissed I stood her up, but there’s no sense in going now… and I’d like to stay with you.”

Azriel grinned at you then. “Well perhaps you would consider sharing a meal with me? We can stay here if you want.”

You agreed eagerly and Azriel offered you one of his large, but incredibly soft shirts to wear even though your room was just down the hall. You cherished the feel of the material against your otherwise naked body, his scent surrounding you, the shirt reaching your knees. It made you feel special.

Azriel had the house whip you up your favorite foods and the two of you stayed in his room for the remainder of the evening, chatting and swapping stories as usual. However things definitely felt…. different between the two of you. But in a good way. In the best way.

You must have dozed off eventually, because you awoke to the early morning sun spilling in through Azriel’s parted curtains. You quickly realized that Azriel himself was curled around you, one arm slung over your waist and your back pressed to his chest.

Feeling you stir, he mumbled a groggy good morning, voice rough with sleep. You would be lying if you said the sound didn’t send heat straight to your core all over again.

You turned in his grip to face him, “good morning…” you brushed a couple of your wild strands of hair back from your face and cleared your throat. “I’m sorry if I have over stayed my welcome. I didn’t intend to fall asleep here last night.” You studied his face for any sign of annoyance.

One side of his lips tipped up in a lazy grin, revealing a dimple. “Nonsense. I’ve enjoyed your company... even if you did snore.”

Your eyes widened for a moment, face growing hot. “I do not snore Azriel! I think I would know if I did.” You protested, brow furrowing.

Azriel’s grin only grew, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “And how would you know that?”

“Well I’ve never had any complaints about it before.” You explained, praying to the gods that you actually didn’t snore the very first night you ever spent in Azriel’s bed.

Tracing lazy circles on your side, Azriel’s eyes perused your form. You looked so beautiful wrapped in his huge shirt, blankets pulled up over your hips, hair askew in a thousand different directions.

“Perhaps they were just too polite to mention it?” His gaze flicked back up to yours, unable to hide his full on smile at your flustered responses to his teasing.

“You could have done me the same courtesy, asshole.” You shoved his bare chest playfully causing a laugh to spill from Azriel’s lips. Despite what happened yesterday, things felt… comfortable.

You reluctantly untangled yourself from his arms, sitting up to stretch. “I better go inform Nesta that I’m still alive. She’s probably assuming someone kidnapped me last night.”

“I pity the person who would try to kidnap you.” Azriel placed an arm behind his head, watching you shuffle out of the bed, secretly wishing you would stay longer.

You snorted. “True. I also better find a peace offering to give her as well, as an apology for flaking on our dinner date.” You turned to Azriel then, drinking in the sight of him sprawled on his back, blankets pooling around his waist, tattoos swirling down his bare chest and arms. Gods, he was delectable and you wanted to jump his bones all over again.

Azriel was staring at you as well, admiring the length of your bare legs and how his shirt hung down to almost your knees. A surge of male satisfaction flowed through him at the sight. “I think that’s a good idea. I apologize for ruining your plans.” Azriel wasn’t sorry in the slightest.

You gave him another big smile, something you found happening very frequently when he was around. “You can ruin my plans anytime you’d like Shadowsinger.” You began gathering your belongings, preparing to make the trek down the hall to your own quarters. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Azriel nodded. “Anytime you’d like.” He parroted your earlier words back to you.

You bid Azriel goodbye and began making your way out the door, your pile of clothes filing your arms, when you heard Az call out your name.

Turning back towards him, you found him holding up your lacy black panties from yesterday, a smirk plastered on his face. “I think you’re forgetting these.”

You gave a one shouldered shrug, one corner of your lips curling to match Azriel’s. “You can just hang on to those for me.” Watching his eyes widen, you closed the door behind you, smiling all the way down the hall to your own room, and already counting down the seconds until you could see the Shadowsinger again.

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°

EEEEK i had SO much fun writing this!! feel free to let me know what you liked, i always appreciate feedback 🫶🏼.

[raebiis]

I was thinking about this last night, so I’ll share the idea I had here:

Organized crime- not (explicitly) the mafia bc that’s just gauche. But their roots are the same. This is temporarily from the love interest’s POV, so I’ll refer to them as MC for now. Also, this was more meant to be a sort of ‘warning’ to the MC but they’re drawn in anyway- it gets much worse when romance is involved… tbh I just love a good toxic relationship.

The MC (who I personally imagined as Al Pacino’s Micheal Corleone- a little fanfic just for me- but to each their own) is witness to an argument between two sisters. One is the ‘leader’ and the other is… not ignorant, but also not completely informed.

The other is a recovering addict who relapsed and the leader found out about it. The leader confronts the other and there’s an ensuing argument/one sided screaming fest while the other cries and tries to shift blame.

She blames it on her longtime boyfriend (there’s history there).

It’s a mistake.

“Oh,” leader says, suddenly calm. And why does she look a little amused? “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” cries other, unable to recognize the danger through her tears.

“Are you absolutely positive that it’s his fault?” Leader clarifies. “And this is how you want this to go?”

“Yes,” other insists.

“Okay,” leader says, and leans in to press a kiss to others head, “then just rest here and I’ll take care of it.”

And other would know better, should know better, if not for the relief of leader no longer being upset with her.

It’s only when leader pulls a gun from the drawer next to her that other catches on. But it’s too late, leader has already silently ordered the goons to keep other there and out of the way.

Other is begging, pleading, but her words fall on deaf ears. Leader brushes past MC on her way out, and MC turns to watch her out of the window.

Other’s boyfriend is outside, having just exited the shed out back. He looks up at Leader and begins to smile before she raises the gun- his face hardly has time to shift in horror before-

!!!

Leader takes her time meandering back to the house, other’s wails can be heard all the way down to the lake at the bottom of the hill the house sits on.

When leader enters again, MC can feel their heart racing and they take a measured step back. But leader doesn’t even notice them.

She sets the gun aside and goes to her sister, gathering her in her arms and shushing her tears.

“It’s alright,” says leader, “don’t worry. I’ve taken care of the problem. You can start to really work on recovery, now.”

And other blubbers out something that sounds a lot like a confession to having lied. Her boyfriend was innocent?

Leader’s smile is unsettling when she pulls back and cradles her sister’s crying face (she already knew). “Don’t say that, other. Because if he wasn’t the source of the infection?”

Her thumbs press deeply into the hinge of her sister’s jaw, and her smile is long gone by now.

“That means I’ll just have to cut deeper.”

And other has a look on their face- understanding, despair, and the unconditional love of siblings forged in fire. Other knows to forgive leader is to invite more pain, but how could she not? Leader is her sister, and her sister has been by her side all these years. And her sister isn’t always terrible. Most of the time she’s kind, generous, gentle…. That’s gotta mean something. It has to make up for all the times leader is cruel.

Doesn’t it?

(And, of course, we see the same happen to MC. They’ve seen the warning signs, but leader at her best is just so charming and so loving- how could they ever not love her? Why, even in her most wicked moments leader is only expressing the depth of their unfathomable love. Leader hurts them to save them. Right?)

fucked up hurt/comfort. the person who stabbed you tends to your wound. the person who killed your loved one helps you grieve.

[littlelamy]

Pouge!Reader x Rafe(season 4-isch): She has a crush on Rafe (maybe he comes somewhere she works, say café, bakery or whatever) and she thinks her feelings obviously are unrequited given that she is a pouge. Rafe is still at that point where he is struggling between the thoughts of ‘’Pouge-vs-kooks are ridiculous’’ but also caring. Perhaps he is having a crush on Reader but is finding his internal thoughts so he goes on a date with some kook girl and Reader see them somewhere, and her dreams are crushed since the girl is the complete opposite of her (expensive clothes, barbie pretty face and manicured etc) and she feels so stupid since she was clearly not even Rafe’s type. She says yes to a date with some random Pouge guy and….well…..Rafe sees them---the dude holding her hand, kissing her cheek and making her smile, and decides to talk to her when she goes off by herself

the salty tang of the ocean still clung to your skin as you adjusted your apron behind the counter of the little seaside café. it was nothing fancy—wooden tables scuffed from years of service, mismatched chairs that creaked whenever someone leaned back too far. but it was yours. well, not yours-yours, but a place you’d carved out a piece of yourself in.

you wiped your hands on a towel and glanced up just as the bell above the door jingled. and there he was. rafe cameron.

he didn’t belong here, not really. everything about him screamed kildare royalty—the sharp cut of his jawline, the too-clean sneakers that probably cost more than your entire paycheck, the faint whiff of something expensive and unattainable. and yet, he came here.

it started a month ago, the first time he strolled in like he owned the place, squinting at the menu board above your head. you’d fumbled with the cash register, your palms clammy. “can i get a black coffee?” his voice had been low, smooth, and it did stupid things to your stomach.

he’d been coming back ever since.

you told yourself it was nothing. he probably just liked the quiet, the way the café was tucked away from the usual kook place. but then there were the moments. the way his eyes lingered on you a second too long when you handed him his order. the faint curve of a smile when you tried to make small talk and ended up rambling about nothing.

but you were a pouge. and rafe? rafe was… not.

“uh, hey,” his voice snapped you out of your thoughts. he stood at the counter, hands shoved into his pockets.

“hey,” you replied, trying to sound casual even though your heart was doing somersaults. “the usual?”

he nodded, but his gaze flicked over you like he was searching for something to say. “yeah. uh, thanks.”

you busied yourself with the coffee machine, grateful for the excuse to not look at him. because every time you did, you felt it. that stupid, hopeless crush that made your chest ache and your cheeks burn.

when you handed him his cup, your fingers brushed briefly. you swore he hesitated, just for a second, before pulling away. “thanks,” he said again, softer this time, and then he was gone, the door jingling shut behind him.

it wasn’t long before the café became the place you dreaded most. because it was where you saw her.

the girl was flawless, all shiny hair and manicured nails and a wardrobe that probably came straight from vogue. she sat across from rafe at one of the tables by the window, laughing at something he said. the kind of laugh that sounded effortless, like she didn’t have a single care in the world.

you hated her. not because she’d done anything to you, but because she was everything you weren’t. and rafe? he looked at her the way you’d imagined he’d look at you in your wildest dreams.

you tried not to stare as you cleaned tables , your chest tight. but then rafe glanced up, and for a split second, your eyes met. he looked away quickly, like he’d been caught, and you wanted to laugh at how ridiculous it all was. of course he wasn’t looking at you. why would he?

you said yes to the date with ethan out of sheer spite. he was nice enough, a fellow pouge who worked on the docks, but there was nothing earth-shattering about him. still, when he held your hand and kissed your cheek, you let him. you let him because it felt good to be wanted, even if it wasn’t by the person you wanted most.

it was during one of those kisses, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth as you both walked along the beach, that you saw him. rafe. he was leaning against his truck, arms crossed, watching you with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

you pulled away from ethan, your smile faltering. “i’ll catch up with you in a minute,” you mumbled, ignoring his puzzled expression.

you made your way over to rafe, your heart pounding. “what are you doing here?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

his jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. then: “he’s not right for you.”

you blinked, caught off guard by the raw edge to his voice. “excuse—what?”

“he’s not right for you,” rafe repeated, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “and you know it.”

you laughed, a short, bitter sound. “and who is? you? last i checked, you were pretty happy with barbie over there.”

he flinched, and for a moment, you thought he might walk away. but then he stepped closer, his voice low and strained. “she’s not you.”

those three words stopped you cold. you stared at him, your mind racing. “what are you talking about, rafe?”

“i…” he ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched across his face. “i can’t stop thinking about you, okay? every time i see you with him, it’s like…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “i don’t know. but it’s driving me fucking crazy.”

you opened your mouth, but no words came out. because this couldn’t be happening. rafe cameron couldn’t be standing here, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“why now?” you finally managed to ask, your voice trembling. “why are you telling me this now, rafe?”

he hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground. “because seeing you with him made me realize how fucking stupid i’ve been.” he looked up again, his eyes burning into yours. “and because i can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

you wanted to scream at him, to tell him he didn’t get to do this—didn’t get to mess with your head when you were finally trying to move on. but instead, you said nothing, the weight of his words sinking in.

“i need to go,” you whispered, turning away before he could see the tears welling in your eyes.

“wait,” he called after you, his voice breaking. but you didn’t stop. because if you did, you weren’t sure you’d be able to walk away again.

lamy's notes: i hope you liked it!!!

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx

[chaiihuo]

GUNSLINGER . . . ft. boothill

cw :: boothill x f. reader. nsfw. mdni. established relationship. gun play. f. masturbation. fingering. petnames. praise. oral fixation. overstimulation. wc. 2.3k

note from the lamb :: i am forever thankful to nick for having this on their blog still

this was a private moment, one boothill really shouldn't have been watching. but he couldn't help himself.

he had been planning to be gone the entirety of the three day weekend, but his scheduled bounty had gone much quicker than he intended, and he had made it home in just two days.

he had expected you to already be there when he opened the door, expecting that you'd have come running to the door when you heard his house key in the lock of your front door. but there was nothing but the still furniture of your shared home. you were nowhere in sight, and boothill had assumed maybe he just happened to come home while you were out.

until he looked down and saw your boots still lined neatly against the entry way wall. curious, he kicked his own boots off— leaving him about an inch shorter— before wandering down the hall. he'd need to wash once he greeted you, sweat, dirt and mud dirtying his hair, body and clothes.

he went down the hall towards your room, the next most likely place for him to find you. it made him a little excited, imagining you curled up in bed wrapped in a tight bundle of blankets, in the middle of a circle of pillows and stuffed animals, probably dreaming about him. he'd like to think, at least. he'd wake you up by peppering your face and neck with kisses, and you'd be so excited when you woke up to see his face.

when he pushed the bedroom door open, he found you in bed but you definitely weren't sleeping. boothill stood completely still in the doorway, seemingly unnoticed by you, his eyes wide and practically glued to your body.

your body that was writhing and squirming on your shared bed, hips jerking and twitching upwards as your fingers slid and rubbed in and around your cunt. boothill lost track of the minutes as they passed, watching your fingers dip in and out of your hole, rubbing quick and frantic circles around your clit.

he felt his face get hot, so hot it felt like someone had lit a match against his skin, eyes wide as he watched you.

but you weren't really getting anywhere. and boothill felt a little bad, watching you and listening to all the whiny, almost pathetic sounding moans and whimpers that fell from your lips.

he stepped closer to you, the gentle metal clanking of his body finally alerting you to his presence. it was nearly comical how you jumped, pulling your hand away from between your legs like you were caught doing something wrong.

"b-boothill ?!" you stared at him with wide eyes, "y-you're home.."

boothill chuckled, a little smirk on his face, "well try not to sound too excited darlin'," he was standing at the edge of the bed now, staring down at you. his hands reached out, fingers wrapping around your ankles. he pulled you down the length of the bed, earning a surprised yelp from you. he pulled you down so your legs from the knees down dangled off the end of the bed.

he kept your legs spread open, arms hooked under your knees. "you don't gotta stop just cause i'm here, baby doll" he said, eyes fixed between your legs.

"boothillll" at your embarrassed whine, the cyborg's eyes moved up to your face. your lips were swollen and pink from biting and sucking on them, shiny from your drool. your cheeks were puffy from your pout, streaked with tears, and hot from embarrassment.

"alright, alright" boothill lowered your legs back onto the bed "i'm jus' kiddin', doll. don't gotta get all whiney with me" he wasn't really kidding all that much though. he wouldn't mind watching you for hours and hours if you'd be so kind as to let him. he climbed up onto the bed, body propped up over yours like he was doing a push-up over your body. he lowered his body, arms bent at the elbows, pressing firm kisses over your face. "did you finish ?" he asked, raising his eyebrow.

you looked up at him, brain still flustered from having been caught. you shook your head 'no'. boothill's bottom lip stuck out. "oh, you poor baby" the sly, confident smirk twitched at the corner of his exaggerated pout. "you want help, pretty girl ?" he asked

you nodded your head, a little too quick to react. a low and rough chuckle left boothill before he raised himself off the bed, and made his way to the bathroom. he could hear your frustrated whines, and the sheets moving on the bed as you shuffled around, as he turned the bathroom faucet on.

while waiting for the water to get hot, he undid the holster strapped to his thigh. he released the cylinder, pushing the last three bullets out so all the chambers were empty. when the water from the faucet got hot enough it began fogging up the mirror, he tucked the three bullets into his cheek, gnawing down on them as he soaked a wash rag in the steaming water.

he ran the soaked cloth up and down the barrel of his gun, rubbing away the build up of soot and gun powder off the carbon steel weapon. when he was satisfied with his work, he returned to the bedroom. you were still more or less in the same place he had left you, which filled him with a little more pride than he'd like to admit.

the galaxy ranger made his way over to you, setting the empty the gun on the bed near your head, he undid his heavy belt, falling on the ground joined shortly by his gun holster. he joined you on the bed, hand curling over the back of your neck to bring your face to his. the kiss he pulled you into was a little rougher than his kisses usually were, pushing his body impossibly closer to yours, hand firm on the back of your neck, keeping your mouth against his.

his sharp teeth bit and grazed against your lips, tongue filling your mouth like it was meant to be there. his free hand trailed down your body, stopping only once to slide under the loose fitting tank top to pinch at and brush his thumb over your nipple.

your hips bucked forwards, brushing up against his thigh. his hand moved down, pushing your hips back down onto the bed. he only needed one hand, and not much of his strength to hold you down.

"just be patient, baby doll," he mumbled. his kisses had left you out of breath, panting for air. not boothill, nothing ever left him out of breath. nothing ever would. "never not givin' you what you wanted" he added, though mostly to himself.

his hand trailed down your bare hip, moving to your crotch still warm and wet and ready for him. and his fingers slid in with ease, they slid back and forth without any friction or resistance. "there we go" he drawled, "there's a good girl"

metal fingers moved with a steady pace, pumping in and out of your hole, spreading and curling to rub against the special spot amongst your spongy walls.

your own fingers had made their way to your mouth, lips wrapped around your index and middle finger, sucking and drooling around digits, muffling your dirty noises. it was always like this, always had something in your mouth. his fingers, your fingers and, when boothill was feeling really nice, the length of a silicone cock.

the hand under the back of your neck slid out from under you, a motion you didn't even notice until it took hold of your wrist, pulling your fingers from your mouth. they left the suction of your lips with a wet 'popping' sound, followed by a series of whines, head straining to reach them again.

"stop it" boothill wasn't trying to be mean. he just had something better to fill your mouth with, you just had to wait a second. your struggles stopped, clinging to every word and order boothill gave you.

he reached out on the bed next to you, grabbing his recently cleaned and unloaded six shooter. "close your eyes for a sec" when your eyes fluttered shut, boothill brushed the muzzle of his gun against your bottom lip. the cold of the metal made you shiver, eyes almost shooting open to look. it was such a stark difference to how warm boothill usually was. but you kept them closed tight. "open up"

he used the muzzle to push your bottom lip down, opening your mouth. he slid the barrel in, careful not to grind the metal against your teeth. your eyes shot open, making brief eye contact before they shot down to the gun barrel in your mouth.

"calm down, calm down," like he read your mind, "just relax. keep breathin' baby"

you took deep, shaky breaths through your nose, jaw relaxing around the cylindrical steel. your slacked jaw gave boothill the leeway to move the barrel. with the fingers of his other hand still knuckle deep in your cunt, unmoving, his other hand slid the barrel of his six shooter over your tongue.

it didn't take long before he was comfortable enough in his movements, pushing the barrel back far enough that it caused your body to jerk and gag. he repeated the movement, moving the barrel back before pushing to the back of your throat again.

he did it over and over, unblinking as he watched your face. it was soaked soon enough, lips covered in slabber, cheeks puffy and streaked with tears and sweat. a symphony of gags and sobs were muffled by the gun.

it wasn't until you'd acquired so much drool and spit around the gun that it was running down your chin, leaving streaky lines all the way down your neck, did he decide he was satisfied.

boothill pulled the gun from your mouth, the motion simultaneous with him pulling his fingers from your cunt. you took a deep gasp for air the second the gun left your mouth, coughing and sputtering from the temporary lack of air. boothill revealed in the noises.

but he only let himself a few seconds of taking in the situation before moving on. he moved down, pulling your legs over his hips to keep them spread open. he brought the gun down to your crotch, metal still dripping in your saliva. he used the muzzle again, using it to trace circles around your hole, front sight brushing against your clit. your legs squeezed at his sides, instinctively trying to close your legs, blocked by his body.

"boothill" you whined "boothill please"

the man raised his eyebrow, his movements stopped. "please what ?" he asked. he knew exactly what. he just wanted to make you say it.

"boothill" you whined his name again

"come on, baby. i ain't a mind reader." his movements continued, so slow it barely did anything to relieve the hot pulsing sensation in your crotch. "you gotta tell me what you need"

you sniffled, whining through your words "i need ta... need ta cum"

boothill smirked, "look at you" his tone was proud, like he just successfully taught a pet a new trick. "see, it ain't so hard usin' your words"

he pushed the barrel into your pussy, moving it slowly until he couldn't push any more of it in. he held it still, watching your face as it scrunched and brow furrowed, waiting until it relaxed. "ya ready for me to move it ?" he asked

you nodded your head feverishly, desperately even. "please. oh please boothill"

that was all he needed. the motion went from zero to a hundred, using the barrel of the gun to fuck your pussy. the dull sound of clanking metal was quickly drained out by the noises that spilled from your lips. a series of moans, pleas, squeals, and whimpers that sounded like a gospel song in boothill's ears.

your feet kicked in the air behind him, fingers gripping at the sheets around you as boothill's movements never subsided, not even for a second. if anything, they got quicker, rougher. fucking you harder with his gun.

he could do it forever, he'd never get tired, never even lose his breath. he could go on forever, he wanted to. wished he could. maybe he could get kinda close to feeling like it.

your hips raised off the bed, meeting boothill's thrusts. your core tightened, legs shook and jerked in the air. you reached out, your hands desperately trying to grasp at boothill's arms. if for nothing else than to ground yourself, you couldn't do anything to stop him even if you wanted to. his strength outmatched your by leagues.

"b-boothill !" your mouth hung open, panting for air, eyes rolling towards the back of your eyes. you repeated his name through your gasps, fingers moving to grip the sheets again.

"yeah baby ?" he cooed, feigning sympathy. though it was only partially pretend.

your eyes shut tight, gasp hitched in your throat min-inhale. the moan you let out as you came around the revolver's barrel sounded unreal, like it came out of a film. it was definitely worthy of being in dirty movies. high pitched and squealing, legs kicking out straight before falling limp behind him.

the orgasm hit hard, and the overstimulation came soon after. boothill didn't stop his movements, still thrusting the gun back and forth, in and out, of your pulsating cunt. "n-no ! o-oh boothill ! boothill 's sensitive !"

boothill clicked his tongue, leaning down kissing and licking away the tears that streaked the fat of your cheeks. "come on, baby" he whined, almost teasing the whiny way you spoke to him, "you can do more. don't take this away from me"

[hy6erion]

Hiii! Could you write another piece about fem!artist reader x JayVik? LOVED it! xx

Imagine this. Viktor and Jayce are searching for something and they accidentally find her secret sketchbook. They open it and find it PACKED with nude sketches on them and all. And they tease her TO DEATH about it!

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 - 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫

✰⍣..𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲/𝐧'𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤- 𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

⇢𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐣𝐚𝐲𝐯𝐢𝐤

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

𝐢'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐬𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 (╥╯^╰╥), 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

It started with something innocent.

“I swear I left it around here,” Jayce muttered, rifling through the stack of papers on the workbench with increasing frustration.

Viktor barely looked up from his own search. “Have you considered the possibility that you misplaced it?”

Jayce groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t misplace things, Viktor.”

Viktor snorted. “Ah, of course. The esteemed Councilor Talis, master of organization.”

Jayce shot him a glare before turning his attention back to the desk. “It’s gotta be here somewhere. Y/n!” he called over his shoulder. “Have you seen the—?”

Silence.

Jayce turned to find the stool empty, Y/n nowhere in sight.

“She left, remember?” Viktor reminded him. “Something about running errands.”

“Oh. Right.” Jayce frowned, then shook it off, going back to his frantic search. “It has to be here. Help me look, would you?”

Viktor sighed but complied, leaning his cane against the table before pulling open one of the lower drawers.

A few moments passed.

“Oh?”

Jayce stilled, glancing up at Viktor’s tone. It was the sort of sound he made when he found something interesting.

“What?” Jayce asked, stepping closer.

Viktor tilted his head, lips curving into something amused as he pulled an unassuming sketchbook from the drawer.

“It would seem our dear artist has been hiding things from us.”

Jayce blinked. “Wait—that’s not mine.”

“No,” Viktor agreed, flipping it open. “It is not.”

Jayce leaned over his shoulder just in time to get a full view of the first page.

And immediately choked on air.

Viktor let out a low hum, flipping to the next page, utterly unfazed. “Well.”

Jayce was still too busy dying. “Oh my god.”

The sketchbook was packed—page after page of detailed, gorgeous charcoal work, and all of it was them.

Except not the casual kind of sketches Y/n usually showed them.

No. These were—

“Is that my ass?” Jayce demanded, pointing to a particularly bold sketch.

Viktor turned the book slightly, considering. “Mm. I believe so.” He flicked to the next page. “And here we have… you, shirtless. Ah, and here is another. And another.”

Jayce clutched his chest like he’d been personally attacked. “She’s been hoarding these.”

Viktor’s lips twitched, amusement creeping into his tone. “It would seem so.”

Jayce reached out, flipping wildly through the pages. “Oh my god, Viktor, there’s a lot of you in here.”

Viktor’s smirk deepened. “Naturally.”

Jayce shot him a look before turning back to the book.

“Oh.”

Viktor quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Jayce had gone very still, staring at a page near the middle.

Viktor leaned in to see what had finally shut him up—

Ah.

A new sketch. One far more intricate, more indulgent than the others.

All three of them.

Jayce, stretched out, half-draped over Viktor, completely at ease. Viktor, relaxed against him, fingers threaded loosely through Jayce’s hair, expression softened in a way that rarely existed outside of their quietest moments. And in the middle—

Y/n.

Nestled between them, bare skin against bare skin, eyes half-lidded with something unspoken, hands lost in their warmth, their presence.

It was—

“Damn.”

Viktor chuckled. “Indeed.”

Jayce flipped to the next page. Another. And another.

The intimacy in them was undeniable. Not just physical closeness, but the unguarded moments—the quiet affection, the way Y/n had captured them at their most themselves.

Jayce whistled low. “She’s obsessed with us.”

Viktor smirked. “Can you blame her?”

“I knew she liked drawing us, but this?” Jayce shook his head, grinning like an idiot. “She’s so down bad.”

Viktor hummed in agreement, tracing a finger along the edge of one particularly indulgent sketch. “And to think, she has been hiding these from us.”

Jayce clicked his tongue, mock disappointment lacing his tone. “How scandalous.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.”

A beat of silence.

“We have to tease her about this.”

Viktor chuckled. “Oh, absolutely.”

The sound of the lab door creaking open made them both snap their heads up.

And there she was.

Y/n, stepping inside, completely oblivious to what awaited her.

She only had time to blink before—

“Darling.” Viktor’s voice was smooth as silk, eyes gleaming with mischief. “We made a most interesting discovery in your absence.”

Jayce held up the sketchbook, open to one particularly bold page. “Care to explain?”

Y/n froze. Her eyes flicked to the book. To the pages. To them.

Jayce had never seen someone’s face turn red so fast.

“Oh,” she croaked.

Jayce grinned. “Oh, indeed.”

“I—” She swallowed. “That’s not— I mean—”

“Mm. So you didn’t spend hours sketching us in various compromising positions?” Viktor mused, flipping a page. “Ah, what a shame. And here I was, quite flattered.”

Jayce nudged him, grinning. “I told you she was obsessed with us.”

Viktor nodded sagely. “It is truly a remarkable level of devotion.”

Y/n made a noise somewhere between a strangled scream and a groan, burying her face in her hands. “I hate you both.”

“No you don’t“ Viktor deadpanned.

Jayce leaned against the table, chin resting in his palm, positively smug. “Come on, sweetheart, we’re dying to know—what exactly inspired these?”

Y/n shot him a withering glare. “You both walk around half-naked all the time! What did you think was going to happen?”

Viktor tapped a finger to his chin. “A fair point.”

Jayce smirked. “So you admit it.”

Y/n groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “I hate you.”

Jayce grinned, leaning in. “No, you love us. Very.”

Viktor smirked. “And, clearly, artistically.”

Y/n let out a sharp breath, shaking her head. “I should never have left you unsupervised.”

Jayce slung an arm around her, pressing a loud, exaggerated kiss to her temple. “Sweetheart, this is the best thing that’s ever happened to us.”

Viktor chuckled, flipping to another page. “I do wonder… what else have you been hiding?”

Y/n’s eyes went wide. “Don’t you dare—”

But it was too late.

Jayce and Viktor, now armed with knowledge and ammunition, were never letting her live this down.

[room-surprise]

It IS very vague and some of that is because of Japanese language, and some of it is because characters don't have names (his brother, his crush) and also there are a lot of information gaps where one could assume a lot of things.

We should note that when World Guide came out, Kui hadn't yet drawn the comics about Mithrun's recovery, or completed the manga. She may not have had the details fully worked out yet, or she may have wanted to make it as vague as possible to avoid telling readers too much information or writing herself into a corner. She just knew that Milsiril showed up and told Mithrun she saw a demon in Utaya, and that's what motivated him to get out of bed and return to the Canaries.

I always assumed that Mithrun was sent to join the Canaries as soon as he became an adult (like Pattadol, like many mandatory military services in the real world, including ancient Greece), and so was living in military barracks ever since he left home...

This assumption is also built on the fact that people getting their own homes and moving out just because they attained legal adulthood is a relatively modern idea, and usually even when people got married back in earlier eras, they would just move into the family home of one of the spouses, depending on the culture and time period. Living alone was uncommon and usually meant you didn't have anyone, or you had gone far from home for some professional reason (school, job, etc).

The only reason I could see for Mithrun leaving home would be if his family was trying to hide him, but I feel like Kui would have mentioned that if it were the case, since that would have had a big impact on him I think.

But you could also assume that the Canaries taking people that young is a new phenomenon and has only started since Utaya, and because we don't have a canon confirmation we can't say for certain! And you could assume that elven society is a lot more modern than the rest of the Dungeon Meshi world, and that single people sometimes live alone.

Hiring extra servants to take care of Mithrun after he was hurt, no matter where Mithrun was living, seems logical to me. Even if Mithrun was living in the family home, I can't imagine his brother (who is physically disabled, sickly, and also wealthy) personally giving him the physical care that he needs when he's bed bound. That kind of work is something servants would do, both because it's seen as menial and because it would be a 24/7 job for multiple able-bodied people.

I also always interpreted the servants taking care of Mithrun as being specialized servants, like healers or nurses (because of the way they're drawn and their matching outfits), since he doesn't need normal servant assistance (helping him dress for fancy parties, cooking fancy dinners for parties he is hosting), he needs medical help at that stage of his life.

And as for Milsiril... like you said, there's nothing about the scenes where they're shown together that tells us where it's taking place, it could be at a hospital, it could be at the Kerensil family home, it could be Mithrun's home... The only place it probably isn't is Milsiril's house, because she shows up wearing her Canary uniform and says "I'm visiting" and then mentions that "they" told her things about Mithrun's health... Implying someone is taking care of him and Milsiril learned about it from them.

Sorry this got a little bit long, my point is, I completely understand your assumptions and that's why I wanted to explain some of mine as well (and point out where I'm making assumptions as well, and why!)... But ultimately this is all speculation and assumption until Kui explicitly tells us more.

帰る does indeed mean come home. It can mean "return" but the implication is returning "home." いつでも is whenever and 帰って来い is the request "come return home" so in this case at least Yen Press got it right.

I see

Mithrun during his recovery would barely leave his bed so it wouldn't make sense for him to be the one to go visit

Smh EHScans can I trust nobody

[ranhaitanisbitch]

Mammon has nightmares after lesson 16

Spoilers for obey me lesson 16

- mammon x gn!reader

warning: angst with comfort (i think, i'm not good at this T_T), shirtless Mammon in a non-suggestive way

synopsis: mammon can't sleep because he keeps having nightmares about seeing mc die, he decides to pay them a nightly visit.

author's note: this is my first piece of creative writing ever, so please don't be too harsh on me hehe. hope you enjoy it! also would love more suggestions and ideas to write about, so i can practice some more ^_^ (also english isn't my native language, so i apologize for any mistakes)

word count: about 1.1k

3:24 AM. Mammon sighed. It was already the third time he had woken up from his sleep tonight. He had had another nightmare. Nothing unusual for the demon lately. Ever since that one particular day he had had trouble falling asleep. Whenever he laid back and closed his eyes the one memory, he tried so desperetealy to forget, kept replaying in his mind. On nights he was able to miraculously fall asleep he would be plagued by nightmares, being forced to relive that traumatic memory again and again. The demon would wake up from those nightmares drenched in sweat and repeat that process until he'd decide keeping trying would be a waste of time. Then he'd start with his daily duties, extremely sleep deprived, but at least he would have a distraction from the scenes that haunted him whenever there was a moment of quiet.

Mammon sighed again. He could feel his wet shirt clinging to his skin. He could tell he wouldn't get another second of sleep tonight, but the lack of sleep from the previous days were starting to catch up to him. During the past week he kept falling asleep in class (very much to Lucifer's disapproval) and even the photographer at his modeling gig sent him home, lecturing him about the importance of beauty sleep for models. The man told Mammon to come back when his eye bags, which were so dark they were impossible to cover, were gone. One week later the eye bags were still there if not even worse. "I can't go on like this", Mammon thought. He moved his blanket off of himself and left his room. He didn't even think about what he was doing or where he was going, but his own feet seemed to have a plan.

When he arrived in front of a door he knew too well, the demon stopped. "What am I doing? It's almost four in the morning. I shouldn't wake them up.", Mammon scolded himself as his hand was already reaching for the door handle and pushing it down. "This is so inappropriate!", "I shouldn't be here", "(M/C)'s gonna get so mad if they wake up.". Mammon's heart was pounding like crazy and suddenly stopped when he saw your sleeping face with your brows furrowed. The demon had seen you sleep once before, when he barged into your room a few months ago, in the middle of the night, to get you to sneak out with him. You looked so peaceful sleeping back then, but now your face looked all scrunched up, not peaceful at all. And now Mammon even noticed the small lamp, that was still turned on, on your bedside table. Where you having a nightmare? Were you being plagued by nightmares too? Were they the same ones he had? Were they worse? As traumatic as that day was for Mammon he couldn't even imagine how bad it must've been for you. You had literally... died. The thought alone was enough to make goosebumps rise on the demon's skin and the urge to touch and embrace you was getting stronger. He just wanted to make sure you were still there. Really there. His feet slowly approached the bed. Without thinking Mammon's hand moved to your face, softly caressing the crease between your eyebrows with one finger as if to smooth the lines. You suddenly opened your eyes and Mammon's hand shot back. Your face softened as you recognized Mammon's face and gave him a small smile, "You scared me". "Sorry", was all that the demon could come up with as he stared at your face like he couldn't believe you were real. "What are you doing here?", you asked softly. Mammon was acting unlike his usual self and that seemed to concern you. "I don't know". Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing here, but he would never admit that. Even if he wanted to, the words seemed to be stuck in his throat. You lifted your blanket up and gestured for him to slip in. Mammon immediately complied and laid down beside you. The blanket was too small for two people, so you two were practically smooshed against each other. "Mammon your shirt is drenched", you whispered feeling the damp shirt now cling to you too. "Sorry". You sighed, "Take it off. You'll get sick...". The demon blushed, but pulled his shirt over his head and let it fall down on the floor beside the bed, "is that really okay?". You just giggled softly at his shy demeanor. The skin of his cheeks turned an even darker shade of red and the demon quickly turned off the small bed side lamp, thankful you wouldn't be able to see the embarrassing color his face had taken on.

With his shirt off Mammon could feel even more of your warm skin. The feeling made him calm down. The anxious feeling he had when he first stepped through the door completely gone. You were real. You were still here. Suddenly Mammon had the strongest urge to hug you and never let go, so he carefully turned his body in your direction and put an experimental hand on your right arm. When you didn't protest he put his whole arm around your waist loosely. He felt a sensation on his arm and expected you to move his arm away. Feeling dejected he got ready to pull his hand away, but only felt your own hand caress his arm softly. Mammon let out a small sigh of relief and boldly put his head in the crook of your neck. Your free arm sneaked under Mammon's neck and started playing with his head. The demon relaxed completely. This was probably the most relaxed he had been in the past weeks since the incident. He could feel himself become more tired and was slowly starting to fall asleep. He muttered a last "good night" and drifted off to sleep.

[radioisntdead]

I have another one! Rosie, Velvette, Verosika, and Loona (respectively) x reader.

Reader 'dies' in a big heroic explosion/self sacrifice way. Then a day or two later, they get a text from reader that is legit just the "I lived, bitch." meme; them all bandaged up in a hospital bed giving the middle finger. How they react to the initial death and the surprise text.

(Cartoon violence rules are in effect, so don't be afraid to let any of them be angry if you see fit.)

THE WAY I LOVE THIS REQUEST??! THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE RARAR

Warnings: None but this isn't taken seriously at all, it's pure crack and silliness, some of these are a little short because I'm writing them while sleep deprived

Rosie

You died during extermination day, based off reports from other cannibals you saved one of the cannibal kids [who shouldn't have been there in the first place where the fuck are their parents?!?] In exchange for your own life.

You had a empty funeral, she cried whilst holding your portrait, she has a little memorial for you in her house.

Now I imagine Rosie doesn't have a modern phone, so imagine her surprise when she receives a letter from you??

You?? Her darling who died??? Was this some type of sick joke???!?

Inside the envelope the letter only contained a few words, no apologies just.

"Greetings Ro-ro!! I'm alive!!!!! Was in a coma but I'll be home soon!!! <3"

With a picture of you giving heart hands in a hospital.

[disclaimer your wounds are not as bad as Captain Curly's from mouthwashing.]

HOW ARE YOU SO CAUSAL ABOUT THAT??? WHAT THE FUCK???

You didn't specify where you were, so she had to play detective to find out where you were because WHAT IS THIS???

The moment she finds you, you are going to get SMOTHERED with affection but not before getting scolded because??? The letter??? You think you're cute being all "Teehee I was in a coma!! I'll be home soon teeheehee (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)"

AND NOT PUTTING YOUR LOCATION??? GET RECKED THE NURSES ARE NOT SAVING YOU FROM ROSIES WRATH.

On the bright side she feeds you soup until you're all better!!! It's chicken soup!!

Chicken sinners are still chickens.

Velvette

You!!! You!!!!!

Do you know HOW WORRIED SHE WAS WHEN SHE REALIZED YOU SNUCK OUT TO FIGHT WITH THAT HOTEL?!?

Do you know how she held her breath when you decided to sacrifice yourself?? And of all people you decided to sacrifice yourself for, an EGG?!? A FUCKING EGG WITH A TOP HAT!!?!?!?

The stupid camera filming it was knocked out of the way before she could see if you survived.

Do you know how she had to act nonchalant when Vox's drones returned telling her that there was no trace of you anywhere???

Do you know how she wept for you? Do you know the TRIBUTE POSTS SHE HAD DRAFTED??

She was arranging a FUNERAL FOR YOU!!!

and you have the nerve to text her.

"I lived, Bitch."

With a blurred selfie of you bandaged, WITH THE FUCKING EGG?!??

THE NERVE OF YOU????!?!

You are going to WISH you died because she's beating your ass!!

She's storming into the hotel finding you and beating you up with a selfie stick.

You'll be okay, eventually, she's dragging you back to the Vee's tower.

Verosika

Do you know how heartbroken she was when she heard you died? From Blitzø nonetheless? That you apparently died during a mission gone wrong?? Saving some other member of I.M.P?

She mourned you for 48 hours until she got a text from you.

"I'm alive!! I'm stuck here help!"

And you weren't dead, you were alive!!! And from the looks of it you were stuck in a fucking Walmart.

Turns out you didn't die! But you did get stuck in a Walmart for two days with a dead phone, hiding in the ceiling and sneaking food and other things when the lights were out.

You finally managed to snag a outlet and charge your phone to contact her!! And the rest of I.M.P to get you back to hell.

Afterwards she's not letting you out of her sight for AWHILE, tell Blitzø you're on vacation.

Loona

Hey so, what the fuck???

You DIED saving her, pushing her out of the way of something.

She cried, nothing Blitzø or anyone could do or say would cheer her up, your friends mourned you, they planned a funeral.

But YOU HAVE THE NERVE, THE NERVE TO SHOW UP, AT YOUR OWN FUNERAL?????

WHO DOES THAT??

you apparently

everyone's mourning you, saying speeches and you're just in the audience, and eventually you lean over to her.

"I should've asked this earlier but who's funeral is this?"

"WHAT THE FUCK?!?!"

After all the hugs and "You're alive!!!!?!?"'s

you get smacked because WHY WOULD YOU SACRIFICE YOURSELF??? AND THEY THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD???

Apparently no! You just got knocked unconscious, probably got some brain damage now, you got stuck on earth for a hot minute but you were back now!

GOOOOOOOD EVENIN' FOLKS!!!! THANK YOU FOR TUNIN' IN I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!

I'm working on a little animatic with my OCs rn and it's EHABGEEHSB I also got some fics cooking, speaking of cooking I'm hungry I should eat breakfast, which I normally don't despite it supposedly the most important meal of the day! Also I'm getting unwillingly dragged into another fandom, this time it's Sonic, Sonic underground got me when I was 11 and it's come back for me but this time it's the entire franchise wish me luck.

ANYWAYS have a wonderful rest of your night folks!!!

Psssssst!!!! Join our discord!!!! It's radio themed and any fandom is welcome!!

[benispunk]

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 20: Don't Ever Look Back

It seems that once again, Y/N is in urgent need of her knight in shining leather. Lucky for her, he's always there for her. And more.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W, slight fight/violence.

A/N: hello!!! guyyyyssss i want to cry...one chapter left....this is it...what you've (we've) been waiting for!!!! or is it???? nahh I'm kidding...unless??? anyway without mentioning anything from this chapter, I just wanted to say that after the last chapter I want to do an epilogue! so if you have any idea please feel free to share!!!! enjoy this chapter🩷

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist /Previous Part

The walk home felt heavier with each passing day.

Y/N clutched her bag strap a little tighter, her eyes on the pavement as she made her way back to the apartment. The streets were bathed in the dim orange glow of streetlights, the air cool but not cold. It wasn’t the kind of evening that should feel lonely, but it did.

She could feel his absence in every room, every routine they used to share. Breakfast felt incomplete without his gruff morning greetings. Dinner was quiet without his occasional grunts of approval at Wade’s questionable cooking experiments. Even passing conversations had changed into strained, clipped exchanges, if they even happened at all.

She thought she’d imagined it at first—that maybe she was overanalyzing things. But as the days stretched on, it became undeniable: Logan was avoiding her. He left before she woke up, came home after she’d retreated to her room, and spent his time at school holed up in his classroom. Their walks to work had stopped altogether, leaving her to trek to and from the school alone, the absence of his steady, silent presence gnawing at her more than she cared to admit.

Wade had noticed, of course. He’d even apologized for his part in it, guilt written all over his face as he tried to cheer her up with jokes and a promise to “fix things.” But there was no fixing this. How could there be? Logan had clearly made his choice. 

She couldn’t even call it friendship anymore—not when the lines were so blurred. Logan was more than her roommate, more than her colleague. He was... everything. And now he was gone.

Today was no different. The streets were quiet as Y/N walked home from work, the chill of the evening air nipping at her skin. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, her thoughts drifting to the empty apartment she’d return to. It wasn’t just Logan’s absence that weighed on her—it was the way it made her feel, like she’d lost something she’d only just started to realize she couldn’t live without. 

The school day had been no better. Colleagues had started asking questions—jokes at first, about why Logan wasn’t walking her to work anymore, why he hadn’t joined them for lunch. But then the concerned looks came, and she found herself fumbling for excuses. “Oh, he’s just busy,” she’d said with a forced smile. Or, “He’s probably working on something.” Lies she barely believed herself.

Her apartment building was just a few blocks away now, the thought of its familiar walls both comforting and suffocating. Home didn’t feel like home when the person who made it feel that way wasn’t there.

As she turned onto a quieter street, the faint sound of footsteps behind her pulled her from her thoughts.

She glanced over her shoulder, but the street was empty except for the shadow of a flickering lamp post. The faint echo of her own boots hitting the pavement mingled with the persistent rhythm behind her.

Y/N quickened her pace, her heartbeat beginning to match the steps in her ears. She told herself it was nothing—a coincidence, maybe someone walking their dog or heading home from work. But she couldn’t shake the prickling unease crawling up her spine.

When she reached the mouth of an alley, the hand on her shoulder came out of nowhere.

She let out a startled cry, but it was muffled almost instantly by another hand pressing firmly over her mouth. Panic shot through her veins as she twisted in the grip, her wide eyes darting upward to see who had grabbed her.

“Mark.”

Her heart plummeted at the sight of his familiar face. His dark eyes glinted under the dim light, his expression a mix of frustration and something darker. He gripped her tightly, ignoring her attempts to push him away.

“Finally,” he said, his voice low but sharp, as if he were trying to contain something simmering beneath the surface. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but you left me no choice.”

She jerked against his hold, her muffled protests spilling out uselessly. When he finally moved his hand from her mouth, she gasped in a shaky breath. “Let go of me!” she demanded, trying to wrench herself free, but his grip only tightened.

“Relax,” he hissed, pulling her farther into the alley, away from the streetlights. “I just want to talk. That’s all. You owe me that much.”

“I don’t owe you anything, Mark!” she snapped, her voice trembling but defiant. Her eyes darted around, searching desperately for someone—anyone—who might see her and step in. But the street was empty, and the distant hum of cars seemed to mock her helplessness.

“You don’t mean that,” Mark said, his jaw clenching. “You’re upset, I get it. But this isn’t fair, Y/N. I’ve been working on myself. For you. I’ve done everything I could to show you I’ve changed, and this is how you treat me?”

“You didn’t change,” she shot back, her voice breaking slightly. “You’re proving it right now. Let me go.”

His face darkened, and a bitter smile crept onto his lips. “You’re being dramatic. I’m just trying to fix things. You think I’m the bad guy because I won’t let you throw us away? That’s rich, sweetheart.”

She felt her stomach churn as his hand brushed against the pendant hanging around her neck. His fingers closed around the emerald necklace, lifting it slightly to examine it.

“This?” he sneered, holding it up as the faint light reflected off the gem. “Is this what you want? A fancy little trinket? I could give you a hundred of these if that’s all it takes to make you happy. Just say the word.”

“Mark—” she started, but the words caught in her throat as he stepped closer, the bitterness in his eyes morphing into something more dangerous.

“You’re not even listening to me,” he growled. “You never did. You act like you’re so much better than me now, but I know the truth, Y/N. You think this new life you’ve built makes you untouchable? It doesn’t. You’re still you, and I know you better than anyone else ever will.”

She tried to shove him away, but his grip only tightened as he loomed over her. “Stop fighting me,” he snapped. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

Her breath hitched as he leaned closer, his other hand brushing against her arm as she twisted in his hold. Fear and frustration boiled over, tears welling in her eyes as she pushed back harder. “Mark, please!”

But he didn’t stop. His face was too close now, his lips parting as if he meant to—

The force that tore Mark away from her was so sudden and violent that she stumbled back against the wall, gasping for breath.

When her vision steadied, she saw him on the ground, clutching his side, a shadowy figure standing over him.

Logan.

She blinked, momentarily stunned by the sight of him, his broad frame tense and his fists clenched at his sides. His eyes burned with a fury she’d never seen before, and for a moment, she almost felt sorry for Mark. 

Almost.

Logan grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him up with a single, effortless motion. Mark’s feet barely touched the ground as Logan slammed him against the brick wall, his face mere inches from his.

“You’ve got exactly three seconds to explain why you thought it was a good idea to touch her,” Logan growled, his voice low and lethal.

Mark froze for a beat, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, before his jaw tightened. He twisted in Logan’s grip, one hand coming up to shove at Logan’s arm. “Back off, man! This is none of your business—”

Logan didn’t let him finish. His hand tightened in Mark’s shirt, and with a surge of strength, he yanked him forward and slammed him back against the brick wall. The sharp crack of impact made Mark let out a strangled gasp, his bravado faltering.

“It became my business the second you laid a hand on her,” Logan hissed. His voice was a low rumble, the kind that sent chills racing down Y/N’s spine even as she watched from a few feet away, still frozen in place.

Mark’s hands pushed uselessly against Logan’s chest, his struggles growing weaker as he realized just how outmatched he was. “You can’t—she’s—” he stammered, but Logan didn’t give him the chance to finish.

“She’s not yours,” Logan cut in, his voice razor-sharp. “Not anymore. Not ever again. You come near her, you talk to her, you look at her the wrong way—” His grip tightened, and Mark winced, his fear now unmistakable. Logan leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “You’ll wish I’d ended you here. Do you understand me?”

Mark didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flicking nervously between Logan’s blazing eyes and Y/N’s tear-streaked face.

“I said, do you understand me?” Logan snarled, punctuating the demand by slamming him against the wall again.

“I—yes, I understand!” Mark finally choked out, panic flooding his expression. “I understand, okay?!”

Logan didn’t move for a moment, his eyes boring into Mark’s with a cold, unrelenting fury. Then, as if deciding the man wasn’t worth any more of his time, he released him with a hard shove. Mark stumbled and fell to the ground, scrambling backward on his hands and knees.

“Go,” Logan commanded, his tone sharp and final.

Mark didn’t need to be told twice. He stumbled to his feet, his steps uneven as he bolted from the alley, looking back over his shoulder in terror until he disappeared into the shadows.

Logan stood still for a moment, his chest heaving, the fury still evident in his stiff posture. Slowly, he turned to Y/N, his expression softening the second he saw her trembling form.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he stepped toward her. “Are you okay?”

She nodded weakly, but her tear-streaked face and the way she clutched her arms around herself told a different story.

“I’m fine,” she managed to say, though her voice was shaky and unconvincing.

Logan wasn’t having it. His hands hovered near her shoulders, hesitant but desperate to make sure she was okay. “Did he—” His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard before continuing. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” she said quickly, the word almost instinctive, but her voice faltered again.

He exhaled deeply, his brow furrowing as he scanned her from head to toe, as though he didn’t trust her answer. His hands finally settled gently on her arms, steadying her. “You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice softer, the edge of anger replaced by overwhelming concern.

That was when her composure shattered. A sob escaped her lips, and her knees nearly buckled as she covered her face with trembling hands.

“Hey, hey,” Logan said immediately, stepping closer and pulling her into his arms. His hold was firm but careful, as if he was afraid of breaking her. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

She clung to him, burying her face in his chest as sobs wracked her body. His hand rested on the back of her head, the other rubbing soothing circles on her back as he whispered words of comfort.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out between sobs, though she wasn’t even sure why she was apologizing.

“Don’t,” Logan said firmly, pulling back just enough to tilt her chin up so he could look into her eyes. His gaze was intense, filled with guilt and something else she couldn’t quite place. “You have nothing to be sorry for. This isn’t your fault.”

She nodded weakly, unable to form words, and he wrapped his arms around her again, holding her close like he was afraid to let go.

After a few moments, he leaned down slightly, his voice gentle but resolute. “Let’s go home.”

She nodded again, her head resting against his chest. He kept an arm securely around her as they left the alley, his presence a solid, unwavering anchor in the chaos of her thoughts.

———

The apartment was silent when they arrived. Y/N stepped inside first, her legs dragging beneath her as if the weight of the evening had sunk into her very bones. Logan followed close behind, the door clicking shut with an air of finality that felt louder than it should have in the stillness.

Y/N let her bag slide from her shoulder, dropping it quietly by the couch. She turned to Logan, who lingered near the front door. His posture was rigid, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. His eyes scanned the room briefly before landing on her, though he didn’t hold her gaze for long.

“Wade’s out,” she said softly, her voice sounding far away to her own ears.

Logan nodded, his jaw clenching. “Yeah.”

The air between them was thick, almost suffocating. Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, unsure of what to say or how to fill the silence. Logan was the first to break it.

“Sit down,” he said gruffly, his voice low but firm.

She blinked at him, surprised by the sudden command, but she obeyed without question. Lowering herself onto the couch, she perched on the edge, her hands resting awkwardly in her lap. Logan remained standing, pacing a few steps before running a hand down his face.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked, glancing at her. His tone was sharper than she expected, though it was clear the sharpness wasn’t aimed at her but at himself.

“I’m okay,” she replied with a faint smile, hoping it would reassure him.

It didn’t. His frown deepened as he turned away, his shoulders visibly tense.

“I should’ve…” He trailed off, shaking his head as though the thought itself was unbearable.

Y/N tilted her head, studying him carefully. “Should’ve what?”

“I should’ve been there,” he said, his voice tight. He turned to face her fully, his eyes burning with frustration. “I should’ve been with you, Y/N. And I wasn’t.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he kept going, the words spilling out as though he couldn’t hold them back any longer.

“I’ve been avoiding you,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I know you’ve noticed. I’ve been avoiding you because I’m an idiot. And if I hadn’t—if I hadn’t been so—” He stopped, raking a hand through his hair. “Maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

Y/N stood slowly, her heart aching at the sight of him, so torn up and angry with himself. “Logan, this isn’t your fault,” she said firmly. “He would’ve found a way no matter what. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

His eyes met hers, filled with guilt and something else she couldn’t quite place. He shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, almost to himself.

She stepped closer, her voice soft but insistent. “Then make me understand.”

Logan exhaled sharply, his gaze flickering to the floor. “I don’t know if I can,” he admitted.

Silence settled over them, the kind that felt louder than words. Y/N watched him carefully, waiting for him to say more, but he didn’t. He just stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, as though he were fighting some invisible battle.

Her heart ached, not just for him but for the distance that had grown between them in the past few days. She wanted to reach out, to close the gap, but something held her back.

Finally, she broke the silence. “I should… I should get some rest,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Logan nodded, though the tension in his body didn’t ease. “Yeah. You should.”

She turned away, her movements slow and deliberate. Each step toward her room felt heavier than the last, the silence behind her pressing down on her like a weight.

Her hand hovered over the doorknob as her thoughts swirled. She could feel his eyes on her, even from across the room. She didn’t have to look to know he was still standing there, watching her retreat.

For a moment, everything stilled. The air felt charged, like the world was holding its breath.

Then, without thinking, she turned around.

Her steps were tentative at first, as though she wasn’t entirely sure of what she was doing, but with each step closer to him, her resolve seemed to strengthen. Logan didn’t move, his body frozen as she came to a stop in front of him.

Her eyes searched his, and before he could say or do anything, she leaned in. Her lips pressed against his, soft and hesitant at first, but filled with a depth of emotion that made Logan’s mind go blank.

For a moment, he didn’t react, too stunned to process what was happening. But then instinct took over, and his hands came up to cup her face, pulling her closer as he kissed her back. The kiss deepened, raw and electrifying, like fireworks exploding behind his closed eyes.

Her hands found their way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt as though grounding herself. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly, afraid she might disappear.

Everything else faded away—the apartment, the guilt, the fear. All that existed was the two of them, and the overwhelming realization that this moment had been building for far too long.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other’s. Logan’s hands remained on her waist, his touch firm yet tender.

For a moment, neither of them moved, caught in the stillness of what had just happened. The silence between them was heavy, yet not uncomfortable. It was filled with unspoken words, emotions neither of them was ready to name just yet.

Y/N’s lips curved into a small, slightly bashful smile as she pulled back, her hands slowly releasing their grip on his shirt. “We got school tomorrow,” she said softly, the corner of her mouth twitching with amusement.

Logan blinked at her, the weight of everything lifting just a fraction. Then, unexpectedly, a low chuckle escaped him, followed by a soft, almost boyish laugh. “Yeah… we do,” he replied, his voice laced with warmth and something close to disbelief.

For a moment, they both laughed together, the sound filling the quiet apartment. And for the first time in days, it felt easy—like they weren’t two people carrying the weight of unspoken feelings and complicated histories, but just two people who had found something good in each other.

It was almost ridiculous, the way her words made them feel like teenagers sneaking around after curfew. But maybe that was the magic of it—the way they could find something simple and sweet in the middle of the chaos.

As the laughter faded, Y/N’s gaze softened. “Goodnight, Logan,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

His lips tugged into a small, lopsided smile. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

She lingered for a second longer, as though considering saying more, but instead, she stepped back, her hand brushing lightly against his arm before she turned and walked toward her room.

Logan stood there, watching her until her door clicked shut. He exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair as a mix of emotions swirled within him—hope, fear, and something he wasn’t ready to name.

In her room, Y/N leaned against the door, her heart still racing. She pressed her fingers to her lips, a faint smile tugging at the corners.

They both knew this wasn’t the end of the conversation. There were things that needed to be said, feelings that couldn’t be left unspoken forever.

But for tonight, it was enough.

And for the first time in days, it felt like maybe—just maybe—everything was going to be okay.

XXX

[speaknow-sw]

ok ok hear me out- sexting with hayden, when hes at a con

like you stayed home at the farm, while he went to like a con (not in cali otherwise you wouldve gone) but you send him a mirror selfie of you just in one of his plaid button down shirts with it buttoned up but with nothing else on and you just say "i really miss you", like youre not even trying to be "sexy" or anything and when he gets it he just smiles, but then he keeps staring at it and can see like the outline of your boobs and instantly gets hard and then like YA JUST GOES FROM THERE AHHHH

OMG SO GOOD UGHHH MY THIGHS ARE DRENCHED

Hayden stood in the bustling convention hall, surrounded by the noise of chatter and the flashing of cameras as fans and paparazzi alike vied for his attention. He flashed a charming smile and waved, signing autographs and posing for photos, all while his mind wandered to the quiet solitude of his farm back home.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced down at the screen, expecting the usual flood of social media notifications or messages from his team. Instead, he saw your name and a preview of a mirror selfie you'd sent. His heart skipped a beat as he tapped on the message, bringing it to full screen.

There you were, your beautiful face filling the frame, surrounded by the soft plaid of one of his old button-down shirts. It was obvious you weren't wearing anything else, the outline of your curves visible beneath the thin fabric. Hayden felt his breath catch in his throat, his pulse quickening as a wave of desire washed over him.

He glanced around, making sure no one was watching too closely, then slid the phone into his pocket. He couldn't stop staring at the photo, his mind racing with thoughts of you, the softness of your skin, the scent of his shirt mixed with your own, the way it would feel to slip his hands beneath the hem...

Hayden shifted his weight, subtly adjusting himself as he felt a stirring in his jeans. He knew it wasn't the time or place, but he couldn't deny the effect your simple, heartfelt message had on him. He missed you too, more than you could possibly know.

With a deep breath, he typed out a quick reply, his fingers trembling slightly as he tried to focus on the screen amidst the chaos of the convention.

"God, I miss you too, baby. You have no idea what that photo is doing to me right now. I can't wait to get home and show you just how much I've missed you. Love you more than words can say. Xoxo"

He hit send, already counting down the minutes until he could hold you in his arms again. Until then, your photo would be his secret treasure, a reminder of the love waiting for him at home.

“Why don’t you show me now, big boy ?” You replied naughtily.

Hayden's heart raced as he read your daring reply, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He glanced around the convention hall, realizing the risk of getting caught in a compromising position. But the temptation of indulging your request was too strong to resist.

Unable to hold back, he ducked into a nearby alcove, the dim lighting casting shadows across his face as he typed out a response with shaking fingers.

"Oh, you naughty girl. You're playing with fire, teasing me like this. I'm in the middle of a crowded convention, with fans and paparazzi everywhere… and all I can think about is pinning you against the wall of our bedroom, slipping my hands beneath that shirt you're wearing, feeling your bare skin beneath my fingertips…"

He paused, his breath coming faster as he imagined the scenario, his jeans growing increasingly tighter.

"I'd start at your neck, my lips trailing kisses down to your collarbone, my teeth grazing your skin. I'd work my way down, slipping a button free, then another, until your shirt was open and my mouth was on your breasts, worshipping them, tasting them, until you were writhing beneath me…"

Hayden's grip tightened on the phone, his heart pounding in his chest as he continued.

"I'd slip my hands around your waist, pulling you flush against me, letting you feel just how much I want you. I'd grab your ass, squeezing it, kneading the flesh as I grinded my hips against yours. I'd walk you backwards until your back hit the wall, my body trapping you there as my mouth found yours, kissing you deeply, passionately, claiming you as mine…"

He hit send, his chest heaving as he waited for your response, his body aching with need. He knew he was taking a risk, but he couldn't deny you anything. Not when it came to showing you just how much he loved and desired you.

Hayden's phone buzzed again, and he glanced down at the screen with bated breath. When he saw the preview of your new message, his heart stopped. With shaking fingers, he opened the attachment, and his eyes widened as he took in the breathtaking sight before him.

There you were, in all your glorious nakedness, the soft plaid of his shirt now pooled on the floor beneath you. Your skin glowed in the soft lighting, curves and valleys inviting him to explore every inch of your body. Hayden's mouth went dry, his tongue darting out to wet his suddenly parched lips.

He could feel the heat building in his core, his cock straining against the confines of his jeans as he drank in the exquisite image. The convention hall faded away, the noise and chatter dissolving into a distant hum, until all he could focus on was you, and the all-consuming desire coursing through his veins.

With a low groan, he typed out a response, his fingers flying across the screen as he poured out his thoughts.

"Fuck, baby, you're absolutely stunning. Seeing you like this, wrapped in nothing but my shirt, your beautiful body on full display… it's almost too much to take. I'm so hard it hurts, my cock throbbing and aching for your touch."

He paused, his breath coming in short gasps as he struggled to maintain some semblance of control.

"I want to worship every inch of your skin, to map out every curve and contour with my hands and my mouth. I want to kiss and lick and suck on your breasts until you're begging for more, until you're dripping with need."

Hayden's grip tightened on the phone, his knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to touch himself right then and there. But he wanted to save that pleasure for you, to make you watch as he brought himself to the brink of ecstasy, all for your viewing pleasure.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard when I get home, baby. I'm going to take you in every room of the house, on every surface and in every corner. I'll make love to you slowly and tenderly, savoring every moment, until we're both drunk on pleasure and exhausted from exertion."

[frozenjokes]

can you guys stop slandering the clowns. they’re not assassins, nuns, deities of corruption, victims, or anything of the sort, they’re just clowns in the circus called hermitcraft.

ao3 link

Mumbo had always held a distinct awareness of life, a sixth sense almost, and he wasn’t so sure anyone else was the same. He felt the roots of trees under his feet, the tender pulse of want eminenting from every living thing wisping up his ankles and sinking under his skin. He’d see dogs on walks and feel the scratch of their nails on the sidewalk like marks on his bones, he held their hot breath in his lungs, felt the sting of bright sunshine on their dark eyes. He did not have to see the fox to know its teeth in his own mouth, nor did he have to hear the squealing mouse to feel fangs in his own spine.

All the same sensations he shared with humanity, no weaker, no stronger. That had always been a point of distress for Mumbo; growing older, it seemed so clear that people shared an inherent connection with each other, stronger than their link with the rest of the world’s life. Species preference did not come naturally to Mumbo, it was a trait he had to learn, and it was not one he learned quickly.

He learned adults didn’t like when he hit other kids. Arguably, they were more horrified when he threw rocks at squirrels and sparrows and cats. Mumbo was not allowed to peel the bark off trees or gouge them with sticks, but this was not a crime deemed abhorrent, so he often found his caretakers would rather look the other way than fight with him.

Mumbo was always fighting, with adults, with other kids. He could not identify with them, and as a little kid, he did not understand cooperation was necessary for his own wellbeing. The world should bend around him, or at the very least he should be able to fight to make it that way- all the social hoops just got in the way.

Mumbo loved animals. There was one foolproof way for his many various caretakers to quell him, knowledge passed from one to the other, that Mumbo was partial to bribes, and payment by any nature related book or magazine would be acceptable. He wasn’t a particularly talented reader, but he didn’t need to be, not when the pictures painted worlds infinitely better than this one, when he had memorized his favorite passages to the point where his eyes only skimmed the words, lost in the scape of his own imagination. He watched the same documentaries hundreds of times, and in foster homes it wasn’t uncommon for one to always be playing, Mumbo’s only problem being that he wanted to be outside, and the TV could not come with him.

One of Mumbo’s favorite hobbies was running away, and faced with the smallest inconvenience he would be gone, out the front door without those pesky shoes everyone always wanted him to wear. Animals didn’t wear shoes, and humans were animals, so they ought not to be wearing shoes either! The local fire departments got to know Mumbo well, and honestly, were the source of most of Mumbo’s positive adult interactions. He was not a nuisance, he was never yelled at or scorned, he was Mumbo, running around without his shoes on again, we should probably make sure he doesn’t get hit by a car or abducted. Mumbo got to ride in multiple fire trucks, he got to wear their big hats and chase several firemen around the station while waiting for his guardians to pick him up. In elementary school, when Mumbo was not allowed to be a tiger shark or a jaguar or a peregrine falcon for career day, he relented to being a firefighter.

Sometimes Mumbo still thought about that. It felt too late, sometimes. He never went to college, didn’t have a clean criminal record, and had a history of job instability. He struggled with commitments, struggled being trapped inside. Maybe a career like that could work for him regardless. As far as physical fitness went, he could probably pass a test.

He kind of didn’t want to, though. He didn’t want any job at all. Though if he had to choose an animal, his answer would probably change. Little Mumbo had great ideas, sure, and adult Mumbo’s answer at the current moment would probably be something like an albatross, what cool birds, though his ideal animal could change on a whim. It didn’t matter too much, Mumbo was pretty sure he could be happy as anything so long as it wasn’t human. Maybe that was an exaggeration. But fuck, life would be a lot simpler, wouldn’t it.

Mumbo never understood why people had to do things so differently from the rest of the world. Like- he understood, he got it, but did no one else feel like something was so deeply, intrinsically missing, that if they could just beat the shit out of someone from time to time, everything would be better? To take a life in your fingers, feel it break, Mumbo felt crazy just thinking it, but there had never been a time in his life where he hadn’t been this way. He’d always been one of the bigger kids in foster care, he’d always been stronger, but physical violence always got him in trouble, even when the other kid clearly deserved it. The adults in his life were always appalled, as if not everyone in the world had that innate instinct to hurt.

Everyone in the world did not, in fact, feel instinctually driven to hurt others. That was not normal. They were not pretending.

That was a dizzying realization. Mumbo was nineteen, just before he was about to be forced to leave his final foster home. Now, maybe that was late, but late grade school and high school were easily the worst years of his life, and kids did not have to be physical to be vicious, so. Though, those ‘worst years’ were only the worst before twenty and twenty-one when he was homeless and lost, and ‘escaping’ to the wild didn’t really work out like he’d dreamed for so many years in foster care. At twenty-two, prison sounded deeply appealing, but he didn’t get the chance to go before being bailed out by a stranger pretending to be his cousin, promising to take him home.

And he did.

Mumbo was so fucking desperate, he didn’t care. He didn’t even ask his ‘cousin’s’ name. Mumbo was shown a room, of which he locked himself inside, determined never to leave. This stranger would either kill him, acceptable, or call the police and have him thrown in jail, also acceptable, but Mumbo would not spend another night on the streets.

Grian did neither of those things. He did not push when Mumbo refused to leave his room for over twenty four hours, not to eat, drink, or go to the bathroom. Mumbo was really animal now, and there was no world in which he imagined coming back.

Grian felt differently, it seemed. Sitting outside Mumbo’s door, talking through it, chatting like they’d known each other their whole lives. Traversing the house loudly, letting Mumbo get used to the noise. Going to work, trusting Mumbo in his place alone. Gifting him the power to stay, leave, hide, or poke his head out the door of his bedroom, peering into the living room down the hall where Grian sat reading on the couch, the TV on, but muted.

Mumbo wanted to know what he was reading. What kind of books he liked, the TV he watched, what job he had, and the other things he did in his free time. Those questions burned hotter than the ever-present bloodlust at the back of his mind, at least in those early days.

Grian was receptive. He wanted to know about Mumbo, too. It felt like a trick, but all these years later, Mumbo had to relent his suspicion. At a certain point, did it really matter if Grian had ulterior motives when he’d given Mumbo a life he could live at his own discretion for this many years?

He still didn’t know where Grian came from. He never asked, not even now, twenty seven and having grown into his own. Mumbo was afraid to ask, to question anything about this happenstance, like doing so would cause the illusion to crumble under his fingers. It had been almost a year ago when Mumbo suggested he move out; he had money, he had a job, even if he’d been planning to quit in favor of something new, something to suit his atypical needs. That violence, the drive, always crawling under his skin. That was the day he told Grian, craving his rejection.

Mumbo was going to be an assassin- however you went about doing that. He was going to kill people, an idea that was impossibly exciting, regardless of the life he’d lose in the pursuit.

Grian knew Mumbo was the one tearing up the leaves of the old oak in their backyard, stripping the bark with pocket knives. Grian had seen him pull up flowers and weeds alike. He had caught Mumbo with blood on his hands more than once, and turned the other way.

Grian knew.

Mumbo knew Grian knew, and he could not stand to wait for the blow of his rejection to land any longer, red hot and smoldering. Mumbo wanted it now. He needed it now, for his savior to see just who it was he’d picked off the streets, to see the mistake he’d made.

And Grian loved him anyway. Begged him to reconsider. If not to reconsider, just to stay.

Mumbo had never been wanted before. Loved, unconditionally. It was truly the most horrible, gut wrenching thing, like having sand thrown in his eyes, his windpipe being stomped on, a vice crushing his lungs. He cried so hard, chest heaving until he hiccuped, then wheezed, he truly thought he was going to die. He had never hated himself as much as when someone else loved him. He had never wanted to be truly human so badly, to feel that connection everyone else seemed to share. Maybe then he would understand. Maybe he’d be able to love Grian back.

It had only taken five months to be injured severely enough to kill Mumbo’s dreams, as well as most other work opportunities for the foreseeable future. Recovery had not been kind to Mumbo, the concussions leaving him with unbearable vertigo and nausea that kept him hunched over a toilet seat for hours at a time. It seemed like every form of entertainment was off the table when your brain was this fucked, and Grian enforced the hospital restrictions relentlessly, only allowing Mumbo old freedoms once he got the okay from a doctor. Even then, Mumbo felt lost. He was suddenly, unfathomably uninterested in everything that used to bring him joy, like his failure to chase what he really wanted hit so deep, he would never be fulfilled again so long as he laid to rot in bed.

The incident with Cub made month four of Mumbo’s recovery, and since then, Mumbo couldn’t stop thinking about him. How was he doing- bad by the look of it, but how was he doing at home, was he as restless as Mumbo, as miserable? That was assuming Cub liked being an assassin, that he was driven to hurt, and the time without had him spiraling in all the same ways, but Mumbo couldn’t help but project, not when Cub had been so helpless, just as frantic as Mumbo had been for so long.

He tried to talk to Grian about it. Tried to explain with none of the words he needed, since those words were dark and bloody, and the rate at which Mumbo was starting to want was enough to disturb even himself.

It wasn’t Grian’s fault he didn’t know how to help. Hopefully, he tried to suggest Mumbo ease back into working, just part time to ease the stir craziness of bed rest. That they go on walks despite Mumbo’s new disinterest in being outside at all, that they take a cooking class, or do yoga, or learn a random new hobby.

Mumbo got so frustrated with him. He didn’t know why, and it frightened him just how angry he was, how rage boiled over into hate some nights, laying alone in bed, wide awake, hyper aware of every sensation across his body, every brush of blankets, the draft from the old windows, his own hairs standing on end. Mumbo had always had violent impulses, he’d accepted them as part of himself, as thoughts he could not act on in accordance with the law, and he would not feel guilty for them, but it disturbed him how intensely they were starting to turn in on Grian, how detailed his fantasies would get if Mumbo indulged them, and nearing month six of his recovery, Mumbo did indulge them.

He isolated. What else was there to do?

The world was far too overwhelming, Grian was too much to face most days, and Mumbo didn’t think he could take being in his presence for too long. Grian was pushy, he was scared, he didn’t know what was going on, but even he relented dinner at the table together after Mumbo screamed he wouldn’t do it any more.

Mumbo wouldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t do this anymore.

///

Cub had run in to the grocery store around ten minutes before closing, not one of his finest moments, but he’d had trouble getting out of bed after his mid afternoon four hour nap, he was disoriented and a little weak, and he really didn’t want to go. Unfortunately, he’d run out of the frozen toaster waffles he ate most every morning for the past thirty years of his life, and he didn’t want to go tomorrow, so he had to go tonight.

Most people pushed their shopping carts at a walking pace, so while the banging of a high velocity shopping cart was unorthodox, Cub was far more focused on his waffle buying at the end of the frozen breakfast aisle. Did he go for the blueberry or the regular? He liked the blueberry, but he got them last time, so did he really want them again? Maybe he could just buy actual blueberries and put them on top, that was always good, but produce was all the way at the front of the store..

The rampaging shopping cart screeched as it turned into Cub’s aisle, the bull at the helm red and angry, Cub momentarily frozen in place before grabbing a random box and scurrying out of the way.

“AaAugh-“ came a belated noise of distress as the driver anchored the cart with deadly precision to block the easiest path of escape down the aisle, then abandoning their vehicle to trap the second path with their body, blocking Cub in. Recognition hit, and with it, terror.

“You.” Grian hissed, and despite being similar in stature to Cub himself, he looked twice as big, puffed up like an angry cat. “I owe you an apology.”

Cub was frantic in his brief search for any escape at all, but it seemed he and his waffles weren’t getting out of this one unscathed. “I’m sorry, then. I have to go.”

“No- I’m sorry, listen to me, won’t you?” Grian was still talking at Cub like he was mad at him, so this made nothing clearer.

“Why are you sorry. What is happening. You look like you have a lot of groceries, you should check out before they close.”

“I do not think I overreacted given the circumstances, but hindsight has made me believe you were probably more innocent than I initially gave you credit for. I know it’s not easy. This could happen to any of you, and it does, all the time, to no fault of your own. It’s not like you have anyone else to turn to.

“I- hey. You’re making a lot of assumptions about me. I have other people in my life.” Cub crossed his arms, a little awkwardly with the cast, to which Grian pointed, lamely.

“I only see one name.”

Cub looked down. Scar’s name was the only one visible, written large enough to cover the entire front of the cast. Cub had been so mad at him for that. He huffed, showing Grian the other side, covered in the names of most all the clowns in the clownvent. He had friends. Even if it was Scar that had made him go around collecting the signatures… and Cub didn’t know half their names… and he only talked to one or two of them a couple times a month…

Grian raised his eyebrows, looking more surprised than he had any right to be. “Other.. victims..?” he said, looking more disturbed than anything- come on!

“No! They’re the clowns! Do you guys seriously not know about the clownvent, it’s where the clowns live!”

“The. Clowns. Right,” Grian dismissed the subject as if the clowns were imaginary, and moved on before Cub could defend himself, “I need to know what it’s like.” The sudden switch in intensity caught Cub off guard, holding his waffles close as Grian suddenly advanced, “Mumbo’s sick, really sick, and I don’t know why or what to do. Scar-“

Cub snorted, “Well now you’ve gone and done it. He’ll be on his way now.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“He hears. If he’s given you permission, he’ll know every time you speak about him. His name, at least. He’s nosy, he always wants to know what the fuss is about.” Cub sighed, deeply relieved. Grian was on a timer now. “You have five minutes, ten at most, but coming from you, he’ll definitely want to know what you’re saying about him. You didn’t know?”

“No one- Fuck! We need to get out of here.” With one hand, Grian grabbed his cart, and with the other, Cub’s wrist. “What does he know, just the location I said the name, or will he be able to follow me?”

“What- What are you doing!?”

“Answer me!”

“I- Just the location you said it, I think- Let go of me?”

“I’m not done with you.”

Cub was too frightened to fight, too bewildered and still too unsure on his feet to put up a proper resistance, even if Grian was really as weak as Scar insisted he was. Grian hadn’t seemed incapable when he’d shoved Cub out on his doorstep, and his grip was like a vice, tight and determined. Grian maneuvered his cart with impressive dexterity, especially for how fast he was moving, and the way Grian bulldozed through the self checkout had Cub mesmerized, up until Grian snatched the waffles out of his hands, scanned them, and shoved them unceremoniously into his reusable shopping bags, taking all four in his arms and sprinting out the sliding doors without his receipt. His- He took his fucking waffles!

Panicked, Cub pushed the cart Grian had just left back to the return, and scrambled after him. Grian whipped back, already halfway in his car.

“Get in.”

“I don’t really-“

“Get in the fucking car!”

Cub wasn’t sure at what point in his life that he lost his spine, but he was starting to believe as he fell into the passenger seat of Grian’s car that it might be a problem. He considered calling for Scar, but with Grian in the driver’s seat, it was unlikely that’d do anything but piss him off. Given the maniacal way Grian screeched out of the parking lot, Cub wasn’t trying to test his luck.

“As I was saying.” Grian spoke through gritted teeth, eyes dead forward, “Mumbo is sick. And as much as I would like to suspect the corruption’s influence, I am not so sure it’s to blame. We, uh.. We have an arrangement-“

“I know about the sex.”

“He told you!?”

“He told everyone and their brother, so like, all the clowns and some of the other circus people. He’s kinda pissed. Mostly he’s pissed it was good. If it wasn’t good he would’ve eaten you, that’s what he usually does at least. I guess he might not have eaten you, not with Mumbo around. He’s just mad he agreed not to bother you for so long.”

“For fuck’s sake! Are the clowns all spawn of corruption?”

“No, they’re just clowns. He just doesn’t give a fuck. It’s pretty obvious to everyone but the ringmaster he’s evil incarnate, but he’s fun and makes good cookies and he’s a pretty good clown. They like him well enough.”

Grian snorted, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he crafted some kind of spell, curse, or otherwise on the whole circus if that’s the case.”

“No. They’re just normal clowns. They aren’t-“

“Whatever. Point is, I don’t think the corruption is behind this- not that I trust it to uphold its end of our arrangement, but I haven’t sensed his or your presence anywhere for months, and Mumbo hasn’t been speaking to ghosts or anything. I’m worried the concussions have messed with his brain chemistry, he has no interest in anything he used to care about, he sleeps all day, he’s miserable, he-“

“Oh, thank god.”

“Wh- What?”

“He looked so put together. Like, completely normal. Coping. Perfectly fine. I thought I was crazy. Like, I’ve been this depressed since I took my first steps, that’s just a given when you’re like us.”

“That- I know he’s depressed, Cub. But this is new.”

“For real?”

“Yes for real!”

“Fuuuuuuck.”

“Chronic depression isn’t uncommon mind you, unfortunately you’re genetically predisposed for failure in about a hundred different ways, but this isn’t the main issue- I mean- it’s the start of the problem, but ever since he’s stopped doing all the things he does to cope, his condition has magnified to a level I’m concerned is getting to be unmanageable- I can tell, I can tell by the way he looks at me, and I- I was thinking about hospitalizing him, but that’s a worst case for normal depression, and this is- I’m not into purity, Cub, I know he needs outlets. Antipsychotics aren’t going to fix him. I just. I want to do what’s best for him, but I’m.. It just got so bad, so fast. I don’t want him to suffer.” Grian trailed off, and even looking straight ahead, Cub could see him squint against panic, could hear him strangle the quiver in his voice.

Cub knew in some ways what Grian was, what he was here for. Scar was never very concrete in matters of the supernatural, but he’d dropped a few vague remarks in regards to the nature of Grian’s kind, old spirits, victims of the Earth’s scars. Scar framed their meddling as a matter of revenge, simplified to a war of ‘good versus evil,’ when in reality they were sticking their noses in business that didn’t concern them. Corruption’s spawn belonged to their fathers, their nature could not be changed, and trying to do so was an unnecessary cruelty, prolonging a miserable life that could instead be free. Scar dismissed them as spiteful. Selfish. Which was not to say Scar himself was not selfish and cruel, but in his words, he did not pretend to be anything else.

Cub believed him. Before Scar, most all of what he’d ever wanted was to die. At least now he had something to be. Mumbo as he was now was just suspended in a state of endless wanting, having inhuman needs left unfulfilled, stuck because Grian would not let him go.

He did not care about Grian. Cub did not want to help him. His allegiance was to Scar, and despite everything, it would always be to Scar. However, kinship with Mumbo drew a new line of loyalty, almost stronger, bound by the kind of shared agony that not even Scar could ever know. Cub did not want Mumbo to suffer like this, not if he didn’t have to, not if Scar was right there, when Scar could take his pain away, facilitate the violence that would ease Mumbo’s aching heart. Cub wanted Mumbo to feel that relief, that explosive, rushing weightlessness he himself had experienced when he’d curled his hands over his mother’s throat.

So that was that then. This needed to run its course. When Mumbo killed Grian, he would be free. If Mumbo’s state was as dire as Grian seemed to think, it could be a matter of days.

Good. Good..

Cub stared straight ahead, watching the yellow lines of the dark road blur past, Grian similarly fixed to the empty street, eyes glazed. Cub had no allegiance to Grian. His kinship was to Mumbo.

And Mumbo could not go to Scar.

“What’s your endgame.” Cub only breathed the words, yet the silence still shattered, Cub squinting against the discomfort. “What’s your plan with Mumbo? What are your intentions?”

“I don’t understand.” Grian’s voice was just as quiet.

“What do you want. Why are you here when you know he could snap and shred you on a whim? If all of this resolves, if everything goes your way, how does it end?”

For the first time, Grian took his eyes off the road, he looked at Cub for a long time, too long, only for the light of another car to catch his eye, in which he turned his attention back.

“Mumbo gets to grow old. He gets to live.”

Cub’s lips were gently parted, body rigid, but Grian didn’t see. He was too concerned with the road ahead, with his fingers trembling on the steering wheel. Cub might’ve forgotten to breathe, he certainly wasn’t taking in any air, chest taut, constricted. What a simple thing it was, that could bring his whole world crumbling down.

“You think that’s possible? For him?”

Something impossibly sad fell across Grian’s face, tensing his jaw, clouding his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

[the-unexplained-council]

Pillow; Gideon Coal

Legends of Avantris; Once Upon a Witchlight

Summary: Gideon is a lot more soft-hearted than you originally thought. You never would have imagined that the genasi would start letting more and more of his walls down the more the both of you seem to grow together. After he thrones himself as your personal pillow, you can’t help but fall for him as the days go on.

CW: Slight OOC Gideon(? I’ve never actually written him before, even as a side character, so please lmk if this is OOC or Canon leaning 🙏), Alcohol/Booze (no drunkenness; tipsiness), slowburn(?), slight Kremy x reader/poly coalecroux x reader but it’s mostly Gideon, kinda ass lmao.

Word Count: 7.9k

A/N: Thank you Anon for giving me this idea! I usually feel weird writing Gideon without Kremy or vice versa, and I’m not sure proud of this fic overall but I think I figured it out. <33 Again, thank you for the idea and hope you all enjoy!

-~-~-~-

The sounds of empty glasses clinking together, echoed laughter, and chatting about kept your ears stimulated. It wasn’t loud by any means, but it kept your senses busy. The whiff of whiskey and other booze wafted your way, filling your nose. You could almost taste it. It was a comfortable and relaxing setting.

You leaned into the soft corner of the bar couch, a glass of booze loosely in your hand. You watched as Frost sipped his drink at the bar counter, his goblin companion shotgunning some random alcohol someone gave him. Torbek and Twig were messing with the game machines in the corner, trying to figure out how to play without the coins required. Kremy was nowhere to be seen, the designated sober one of the group off doing god knows what for the time being.

Gideon sat beside you on the other end of the couch, laughing with the glass of whiskey and coke perked against his lips as a girl told him a joke. The little ember sparks erupted from his hair and beard from the tipsy joy, his ears wiggling at the ends. He took up a third of the couch just on his own, though the flirting girl sitting on the arm of it definitely made him look a bit bigger.

You listened to their conversation loosely, used to the shenanigans that often came with being with the group when alcohol was involved. You had only been traveling with them for a few months, four at most, and in that time you all had only had drinks together a handful of times. The tipsiness lightened the mood, coaxed muscles to relax and brains to muddle. It was nice when the group didn’t overdo it.

You felt a nudge and blinked, glancing towards Gideon who was empty of a girl glued to his side. His whiskey glass was gone, though the smell of it wasn’t gone. “Hm?”

“I was askin’ what you were starin’ so hard at,” Gideon lightheartedly inquired, nudging you once more in a joking tone. “Alcohol isn’t fryin’ ya is it?”

You smiled, shaking your head as you sat your beverage on the side table. “Of course not, I was just listening to everything going on.”

Gideon nodded, leaning back in his spot and looking out to the group like you had. At this point, Gricko was starting to get pretty drunk and Frost was pushing the goblin back to his seat with the other hand holding up the tabaxi’s salt rimmed margarita, gulping it whole. You thought it was amusing, smiling as you adjusted your position on the couch. You brought your legs up to your chest, feet dangling off barely, as you relaxed into the cushioning.

Gideon looked at you again, a small tipsy grin on his lips. “Hey, I’ve been wonderin’ what your favorite drink is,” he spoke randomly. You gave him a quizzical look and he shrugged, gesturing towards the bar with his head. “I was gonna get another one and thought I’d be nice and getcha one too.”

You playfully scoffed, rolling your eyes as you lifted your half-full beverage and rattled it around for him to see. “If you want to offer me a drink I have to be done with the one I have.”

He rolled his eyes playfully, a “psh” sound erupting from his lips when you held your drink up. “What, I can’t be generous for once in my life? C’mon, what’s your favorite drink? Even if it’s for future reference.”

“You first,” you toyed, smiling as you took a swig of your beverage. “I wanna know if you like that whiskey as much as you drink it.”

Gideon chuckled a bit, shrugging once more. “Whiskey’s a’right, but I prefer some fireball whiskey.”

“That’s literally just whiskey,” you chuckled out, watching as the genasi smirked at your response. “So your favorite is whiskey? I thought you’d surprise me and say strawberry daiquiris or something.”

“Fireball whiskey is better ‘cuz it’s cinnamon whiskey, it makes it better!” He insisted, crossing his arms in a playful defense. “Now you gotta tell me your favorite.”

You rolled your eyes, finishing your current drink with a refreshed sigh. Telling him your favorite, he hopped up and strode his way towards the bar. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you watched the genasi walk farther and farther away.

Over the months, you came to the conclusion that he was just a magnet for the ladies specifically. When in town he always had one around him, it was his thing. He seemed to enjoy it, it boosted his ego. While they were after his body more than anything, you found yourself always magnetizing to his personality. You wanted to know more about him more than anything. You grew more and more curious as the weeks went on, why? You never knew.

You’d noticed his observant eyes wonder group settings when he thought no one was watching. You’d notice his body flinching with sudden loud noises like metal on metal or glass on glass. You’d notice how the corners of his lips climbed his cheeks in your peripheral vision when you’d go back to your own tasks. You noticed how he’d always attempt to cheer the group up his own ways when Gricko wouldn’t. You wanted to know more about Gideon Coal. He was so interesting to you, yet to everyone else he was just an average brawn.

You found yourself watching Torbek and Twig play an equivalent to a pinball game, the sounds of bells chiming and bright lights flashing about. With Torbek in control (with a high amount of concerned and anxious groans and whines), Twig cheered him on.

“Here,” your attention was drawn back to see the genasi with your drink. You hummed with a smile and sipped it happily, sighing in refreshment. You thanked the genasi, who waved it off and sat in his spot with his new glass of what appeared to be rum. “Taste good?”

You nodded, sipping your drink again before setting it down. “Tastes like the best one I’ve had in a while,” you relaxed once more into the couch, watching the genasi swig a drunk of his rum without reaction. He sat his drink down on his own side table, draping his arm over the middle of the couch back. “Are you having fun?”

Gideon shrugged a little, nonchalant. “Eh, it’s nice and relaxin’ after a long ass day that's for sure. I guess it’s fun,” you laid your head against the back of the couch section, watching him. The heat of the alcohol grew on your cheeks and currently began growing to your head, making you a bit tired. “There sure ain’t many people though, that’s for sure. Not much of a party.”

You hummed in agreement, glancing around. The inn you all were staying in had a bar event going on tonight, free 2 drinks and the rest half off for the night only. There weren’t very many people staying in the inn anyways due to the storms outside and the inn being deep in the woods. Besides the group, there were only a handful of strangers that kept to their groups. You caught sight of the girl who had been all over Gideon talking to a human guy at the bar. It was nice nonetheless.

“Do you like parties?” You asked out of curiosity. You watched him, trying to imagine him dancing with a crowded room of people with loud music and people chanting for him to shotgun a cheap beer. You could see it, how he’d chug a beer and crush the can on his head frat boy style. You could imagine him being challenged to drink a lot of alcohol, but not so much the dancing after the loss of his groove.

Gideon shrugged, looking over to you. “The closest party I think I’ve been to I think was a full bar with a bard playing some type ‘ah music I didn’t pay attention to,” his eyes observed your face. “I went with Kremy years ago, we stayed enough to play a few rounds of Black Jack and Poker for some money then dipped out.”

You nodded, your head still against the cushion. You reached around for your drink and brought it to your lips, drinking. “Well, it’s better than the closest party you went to being some lame one.”

“Yea, I guess you���re right,” he looked towards the bar again, his face relaxing to a comfortable smile. After a moment of silence, you felt your eyes start to droop a bit. You hummed in content, trying to keep your eyes open as you listened to the environment around you. “Tired?”

Your eyes shot open, meeting the golden eyes of the fire genasi beside you. You nodded a little. “I think I’ve drank enough,” you admitted with a small laugh, rubbing your eyes from the strain they had. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Gideon laughed, shaking his head as he gently took your drink from your hands and sat it securely on the table. “Shit, I don’t care that you’re dozin’,” he nudged your arm gently. “We’ve got some walkin’ to do tomorrow an’ I don’t think you’d want a hangover for that.”

You groaned, realizing you forgot about that fact. You perked yourself up, rubbing your head and sighed. “I think I should get some water then, or some food.”

Gideon stood up, stretching his arms up into the air, his back and arms popping in release. “No problem, be right back.” and he walked off without another word.

You smiled, watching the genasi walk back to the bar. You never understood the kindness the genasi expressed to you. He seemed to accept you into the group pretty fast, though Gricko was by far the fastest. Gideon was a good second. You noticed his gestures towards you since the beginning, and you began to cherish them.

You began to admire him, and you weren’t complaining.

Gideon returned with water, giving you the cup (which was lidded and strawed) and made sure you held it with both hands. As you sipped it, your head started to pound in a dull manner. You laid your head back in the cushion of the couch back, watching Gideon adjust in his seat, then pat his lap.

You looked at him confused, furrowing an eyebrow before he patted his lap again. “Lay down,” he said, catching you off guard. “If you want to, I won’t force ya.”

“You want me to lay down on your lap?” You asked, letting the genasi carefully take your tipsy proof cup. Was he drunk? The imagery of his pillow-like thighs were comforting to you, and warm too, and you liked that. The fighter nodded, patting his lap for a third time. “Why?”

“Until you sober up a bit so I can help ya to your room,” he said. “That way you ain’t trippin over yourself and everything.”

Too tired to think of any other ideas, the idea of soft padded warmth sounded amazing. You happily rolled to your face, which Gideon laughed aloud. You laid on your side, your head laying on the fighter’s lap. He laid an arm over your shoulders, holding your shoulder that touched his outer thigh and rubbed it in a circle with his thumb. You hummed happily, closing your heavy lidded eyes.

“If you fall asleep do ya jus’ want me to carry you up?” Gideon asked, his voice calmer than before. All you could do was hum in acknowledgement, too sleepy and comfortable to give a proper response. You heard the genasi chuckle as he patted your shoulder and then returned to his circled motions. “A’right, don’t get too comfortable down there.” He joked with you innocently, making you smile tiredly.

The warmth of his body, and the alcohol, soothed your body completely into relaxation. Everything was drowned out as the sound of Gideon against your ear filled your ears, the smell of campfire charcoal with a dash of whiskey and rum filled your nose, and the feeling of warmth enveloped you.

You could get used to this.

-~-~-~-

Laughter erupted from your mouth as you attempted to escape the playful ambush of the fire genasi. He easily stopped the attempt, hands cupping your middle and lifting you up. He sat you on his shoulders, buckling you in place by holding your shins before spinning around.

You clutched his head, laughing hysterically as he sped up. “Gideon! You’re gonna make me throw up!” You cried with laughter, tucking yourself in as the genasi stopped spinning.

Gideon patted your shins, looking up the best he could against the cushion of your abdomen. You felt the shrugs of his shoulders, which made you giggle as you catch your breath.

“I don’t think you have that weak of a stomach, you’ve watched us do worse things to people,” he playfully retorted, starting his adventure forward with you hitched on his shoulders. “‘Sides, I bet you have a damn good view from up there.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting against him and holding a grip on the genasi’s head. “I think this is what Torbek sees everyday, and I think the top of your head is balding.”

“What?” He let one leg go to reach up and feel his head immediately, which immediately started your episode of laughter again. Once Gideon caught on, he let out a huff and returned his grasp to your leg. “Ha ha, very funny.” He playfully retorted.

You smiled, letting your fingers run through his soft thick hair. The frizzed ends were crisp with warm ember glow, heating your hands. They lit up slightly, sparks popping through his head as you ran your fingers through. You brushed his hair back down, still giggling as Gideon continued his new found taxi service to the inn. You hummed happily, enjoying the texture of his hair.

“You don’t worry about split ends, do you?” You asked randomly, sure that they were burnt off constantly from the ignited ends. The ends of his hair were crisp from the burnings, but the heat kept it bendable and flexible with the rest of his hair as well. It was such an odd discovery, but made for a perfect hand heater.

“Not really,” he responded, readjusting his grip on you. He neared the inn door and reached up to hold you just above your hips. “A’right fun’s over, hold tight.”

You did as told, holding his arms as he lifted you up and sat you down in front of him. You spun around and reached up to fix the genasi’s hair after your ride. He kept his head tilted down slightly to let you, which made you smile happily.

“All fixed, big guy,” you patted his arm and he stood up straight again. “Now let’s get some dinner, I’m starving!”

Gideon cracked his knuckles and playfully pushed you aside, marching up to the door and opening it wide. “Ya don’t have to tell me twice!”

You giggled to yourself, following after the genasi. He left the door open for you as he waited inside, which you thanked him for. Gideon made his way towards the inn kitchen, leading the way with his mental mission commanding him. When you found the stairs, you turned towards them and started to hop up.

“Hey, where are you going?” Gideon asked, spinning around as soon as he heard the creak of the stairs. “I thought we were gonna eat dinner?”

You leaned over the stair railing, smiling as the fighter walked over and looked up at you. You reached over and playfully patted his head to tease him. “I will, I’ve gotta put things away first. Don’t wait up for me, but save me a plate at least.”

Gideon slumped, his arms falling and his shoulders arched. He was so cute, it made your chest flutter. He always grew so animated when he’d pout. “A’right, but don’t expect any dessert saved.”

You waved him off, laughing a little and hopping up the stairs again. “Fine by me!”

Reaching the top of the stairs, you turned the corner and saw a familiar lizardfolk leaning against the wall, cigarette in mouth as the lighter lit the end. He took a long drag, staring at the wall in front of him as he put his lighter away, exhaling smoke through his nostrils before taking the cigarette out of his mouth and loosely holding it between his pointer and middle fingers. You stopped, watching as the lizardfolk lazily blinked before turning to you and looking you up and down.

“Have fun in town?” He asked calmly, arm crossed over his chest while the one that held the cigarette was propped on the wrist. Legs crossed as his torso leaned against the wall, his body relaxed. He wasn’t wearing his tailcoat, just the undershirt and an untied bow tie with his dress pants.

Kremy was, and is, the very last person to accept you into the group. You notice how he always watches you closely whether you pretend to notice or not. He doesn’t let you stay too close to him, and he seems weary of you. He is by far much better than at the beginning, and you’ve gained his trust significantly over the year of travelling with the lizardfolk. He cooks your meals, you’ve slept in the group pile many times, you both have had your own moments together on your own time. If there’s one thing he hasn’t changed, however, is his protective manner towards his bodyguard. It was kind of funny, the one who had the bodyguard was guarding the bodyguard. It was much less funny when it was directed towards you, though.

You inspected him, a little nervous you might have done something wrong. You shifted your feet, playing with your fingers. “Um, yea, Gideon and I explored the town and went around some shops. We got some things while there. I got you something, hold on,” you turned to the satchel that hung over your torso. Kremy’s eyebrow quirked in curiosity as you dug in the bag, taking a drag of the cigarette and blowing smoke as you brought the item out. “It’s not much, but I wanted to give you something as a thank you for.. well.. letting me stay.”

Kremy’s golden eyes lit up a bit, placing the cigarette between his maws. He held his hands out as you sat a small amethyst carved unicorn into his claws. It was glossy, almost sparkling. You noticed the end of Kremy’s tail swish in joy, something you knew he couldn’t control. He began to inspect the unicorn, feeling the crevices and the smooth curves.

He held it in one hand, using the other to drag the cigarette again and blow smoke. He placed the carving into his pant pocket carefully, returning to his previous position before nodding.

“Thank you,” he said, a little softer. He didn’t say anything for a moment, staring at the wall ahead of him as his cigarette burned away. You weren’t sure if you could leave, feeling as though Kremy wanted to talk to you. You took a moment before you nodded and started to walk by him. You started to walk towards the room at the end of the corridor, the room the entire group was sharing for the night, before your stopped to the sound of Kremy’s voice again. “You two are talkin’ and stayin’ around each other an awful lot lately. More than with anyone else.”

You slowly turned back around, watching as Kremy’s eyes slowly turned from the wall to you. His eyes were half lidded, as if the things on his mind weighed them down. His eyes were baggy, looking tired. He stared into your eyes, the rusted gold digging into your skin.

“I guess we have,” you admitted, looking down in guilt. Over the course of the last month or two, Gideon and you both went everywhere more and more. Exploring the towns, Gideon claimed you needed a ‘professional’ bodyguard by your side. Whenever you’d enter a room, Gideon would find his way by your side to playfully mess with you. You sat beside each other for meals, and Gideon would offer an extra bread roll for you whenever they were made. And every night, without fail, the both of you ended up falling asleep in one or the other’s lap or stomach. You felt your breath hitch, realizing that it probably upset the warlock that you might indirectly be straying his best friend away from him. “I am sorry if it upsets you, I can talk to Gideon about it so that-“

“You don’t need to say a thing,” he stopped you, taking another drag of his cigarette before he crushed the end against the stair rail post to kill the burn. He stuffed the butt into the pocket opposite of the unicorn. He adjusted his rolled up shirt sleeves, walking towards you in precise strides. You gulped, intimidated by the warlock with his seriousness. Kremy stopped in front of you, crossing his arms. “I just want to make sure you ain’t fuckin’ around with Gideon just to break his heart.”

“Wha-?” You were so confused. You blinked a few times, Kremy’s muzzle inching closer as an attempt to intimidate you.

“Gideon has been my friend for a very long time, I’ve seen many people try to slip in and leave time and time again. I know when Gideon gets himself attached to people,” Kremy narrow his eyes on you, looking you up and down again before surrounding you. “He means.. a lot to me. I’d do a lot of crazy things for that man. Maybe even give up my life.”

He stopped in front of you, reaching into his pocket again for his cigarette holder and his lighter. You fumbled with your satchel as the warlock lit another cigarette, dragging it in, and exhaling through his nose. He held it between his fingers before continuing.

“But I ain’t his sitter, he’s a grown man,” his hard eyes soften, the snarl that built on his muzzle disappearing before he turns his head away. “I trust him with everything I have, he’s a great man. I see how the two of you look at each other, I know y’all ain’t messin’ around. It ain’t my business, but when it comes to Gideon it kinda is my business.” There was a small edge to his voice you couldn’t quite identify.

“I’m sorry, I’m confused,” you shifted, blinking at the ringleader as he turned to meet your eyes again. “I know you and Gideon are close, I don’t want to take that away from either of you at all. Did I do something wrong?”

Kremy lifted his head, another drag of a cigarette, another exhale. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” his voice was soft again. “Gideon cares a lot about ‘cha, I see it in his eyes every day. I trust his judgement of people. I trust that you won’t use him. You make him happy, and I can see he makes you happy too. I jus’ don’t want the person closest to me to get hurt. Do we understand each other?”

You blinked again, slowly nodding at his quiet request. Kremy cared for Gideon more than anything, that was clear for everyone to see. He was worried that Gideon would get hurt through your mutual shenanigans, physical or emotional, and you understood all Kremy wanted was for Gideon to have someone other than Kremy to feel that security with. Kremy didn’t dislike you, he was only weary of the situation.

Kremy, who was already half way through the new cigarette, nodded and closed his eyes to let the situation sink in. You felt the fabric of your satchel, thinking about how to approach this from here on.

“I care about you too,” you said softly. The lizardfolk turned his eyes towards you again. “Maybe not in the way that I care for Gideon, but I do. I trust you to have my back, and I trust you to lead me. I trust you with my food,” you both chuckled a little at that. “No matter what, Kremy, I respect you.”

Kremy observed your eyes, searching for any signs of insincerity, though found none. He took another long drag, taking the cigarette away as he swallowed the smoke down to his lungs, then exhaled again slowly. “I think I can say the same.”

Dinner went smoothly, as usual. While there wasn’t any dessert (as expected), you were saved a plate and a half of food for dinner. Gideon saved you some bread rolls, plopping one on your plate when you thought he gave you the last one. Kremy sat on the other side of Gideon, at the end of the table. He would catch your eye a few times, a soft smile on his mouth.

With the start and fall of dinner, the day in the town caught up to you easily with the full stomach. Everyone had decided it was time for sleep, talking about the room arrangement. Nibbling on your last bread roll, you listened to the group.

“Well I think Hootsie should at least have the bed tonight with me! We don’t mind someone else in the bed, but she’s a growin’ girl! She needs some cushion sometimes,” Gricko insisted, petting his daughter behind the ear who cooed.

“I think that whoever didn’t have the bed last time should have it this time,” Frost nodded in partial agreement. “That way it is fair for all of us. So, who all had the bed last time?”

“Torbek believes it was Mister Kremy, Gideon, {y/n} and Twig,” Torbek pointed out, looking at the ones he mentioned. “So Torbek thinks that Torbek and Frost, Gricko and Hootsie should have the bed this time! Just like Frost suggested.”

Everyone seemed to agree with one another, chattering about how the bed arrangement would work. You didn’t mind either way, the couch that was in the room as well made up for the situation. It was rather comfortable from when you sat on it previously, as well.

You stayed in your seat as the group of four marched upstairs, all tired and ready for bed. Twig stayed behind, cleaning up from the dinner since she was the one who cooked it tonight. You didn’t say anything, listening to Gideon and Kremy chat for a bit together.

The conversation with Kremy lingered in your mind. You seemed to have been given his approval. At least, that’s how you interpreted it. You were sure that was what Kremy meant by the conversation. You respected the warlock, however, and felt like it would be better to wait for a good time.

Gideon was important to you. He lit up the room, figuratively and literally, whenever you were gloomy. He always cheered you up, gave you butterflies with his simple gestures towards you. You felt pure joy and happiness every night as the genasi let you huddle up to his side for warmth, Kremy on the other.

“Ya ready?”

You blinked from your state, looking up to the now standing Gideon Coal. You nodded and stood, finishing your roll before yawning. Gideon led the way towards the stairs, hands on his head for his full stomach. Kremy joined your side, gently nudging you to go up and join the genasi.

You smiled at the lizardfolk, who returned it back.

You skipped a step to meet Gideon’s side, who greeted you with a pat on the back.

It didn’t take any time at all before everyone was ready for bed. The four were all cuddled in bed, Torbek on the very edge and half hanging off, Hootsie laying on the foot of the bed in Gricko’s area, and Frost and Gricko comfortably nestled. They all fell asleep rather quickly, soft snores filling the room.

The couch was a pull out, which Twig securely made for the four of you to lay on. Gideon laid in the middle, taking the most space. His arms were spread to the sides, Kremy on his right side on the edge of the bed while you were tucked into the middle with Twig on your other side. It was comfortable, but mostly because of Gideon being your pillow.

You were having a hard time sleeping, however. You were overcome with loud snores throughout the room, and the mattress below you was very uneven. You kept tossing and turning, unable to fully relax like you wanted. Once you did find a position, your back was towards the genasi and you were sprawled out in an odd position.

You hummed in tiredness, sleepy from all of the events of the day. You let your eyes droop, relaxing your body to finally fall asleep, as hard as it was.

Right before you did, you jerked up at the touch of a small rattle of your shoulder. You tiredly opened your eyes and blinked, sleepily yawning before turning to look over your shoulder. Kremy’s head laid on Gideon’s chest, looking at you while Gideon’s half lidded eyes looked at you too.

Gideon smiled at you and gently patted his stomach, murmuring to you just loud enough to be heard over the snores. “C’mere,” he pet his belly in a tired daze, clearly previously asleep at some point. You slowly sat up, blinking in slight confusion before the genasi patted his belly once more. “Pillow time.”

You giggled a little at his sleepy talk, slowly shifting over as he yawned. You climbed over his leg, adjusting on the genasi as he sleepily held your shoulder to balance you. Once you found a comfortable position, you laid on his warm stomach happily. Kremy readjusted on Gideon’s chest, shifting more into his side. Now you were all warm and cozy.

Twig took this chance while she slept, sprawling herself out like a starfish and snoring louder as if it was a sigh of relief, then returning to her soft snores before. You giggled at it, yawning as you relaxed into the body of Gideon Coal.

You felt the familiar hand of Gideon run to your upper back, gently rubbing it in a sleepy massage. He muttered something before falling right back asleep, his gentle grip holding you with him. You felt an unfamiliar hand wrap around your middle back, which made your lazy eyes peel open just slightly to see Kremy holding you as well.

“G’night, {y/n}.” The lizardfolk whispered, sleep overtaking him.

You hummed in acknowledgement, eyes closing completely. “G’night.”

-~-~-~-

The cool breeze blew around you all. The damp ground squashed beneath every step. You huddled next to Gideon, rubbing your arms as an attempt to keep yourself warm from the winds. It was silent as everyone traveled, only the sounds of wet leaves and mud and the whistle of the wind. The trees above swayed, dancing along with one another in unison.

You looked up, looking past the leaves to study the greyed skies. You frowned, realizing that this was most likely more than a dull day. You knew a storm was coming, though not knowing if it was snow or rain, you looked forward to look at Kremy.

Kremy had been leading the way, Gideon just slightly behind the lizardfolk as always, guarding him from the mystery of the woods. You looked slightly back from the genasi, thinking about the day so far.

Behind you, Torbek slumped in slow yet large strides. His arms hung low, his claws tracing the wet ground now and again. If it wasn’t for the almost constant state of sadness on his face, he’d easily make for a terrifying body guard to anyone. Twig sat on his shoulder, happily knitting away on a new project she was determined to finish. Frost, Gricko and Hootsie were in the back, Gricko riding on Hootsie’s back as the tabaxi and goblin quietly conversed amongst themselves.

You felt a gentle tug on your shirt, which made you look behind your shoulder to meet the bugbear who consistently looked over you. He bent down, much more than usual, trying to meet your height more comfortably without accidentally throwing Twig off. He tucked his arms in, crossing them loosely.

“What is it Torbek?” You asked quietly, slowing your pace a bit to leave the vicinity of Gideon and Kremy. Torbek tapped his fingers together in a nervous motion. You noticed Gideon glancing back at the loss of your presence, though paid no mind once he noticed you and Torbek conversing.

Torbek’s ears flattened against his head slightly, as if slightly ashamed. “Um, well Torbek was wondering if Mx. {y/n} knew how long it would be until the next town?”

You smiled softly at the bugbear, attempting to ease his worry. “Oh, well Kremy said that about an hour ago that we should be there before sundown.”

Torbek nodded, glancing up towards where Kremy was. “Okay,” Torbek’s eyes wavered to the surrounding woods, which you followed absentmindedly. “Torbek doesn’t want to be stormed on is all.”

You nodded in agreement, gently patting his hand. “I don’t think Kremy would let us, I trust he’ll make the call on that.”

Torbek nodded again, smiling slightly before standing back up to his usual slouch. You skipped back up to Gideon’s side, careful not to step on Kremy’s evenly swaying tail. Gideon looked down at you, quirking an eyebrow in quiet inquiry.

“Torbek was just wondering when we’d be at the next town,” you told him with a shrug, laying your head onto his bicep as you walked. Gideon reached an arm around and patted your shoulder in acknowledgement. He gave a small squeeze of a side hug, which gave you a boost of warmth.

Suddenly, Kremy stopped in his tracks. You and Gideon almost ran into his back, stopping just in time before you did. Torbek, however, fumbled and bumped into both you and Gideon before catching himself. You consequently bumped into Kremy, who turned around and crossed his arms. You gave a small guilty smile, comedically wiggling your fingers as hello.

Kremy paid no mind, looking up to the sky and taking his pocket watch from his tailcoat pocket and opened it to look at the time. Without looking up, he hummed. “We’re gonna have to camp here tonight,” Kremy said as he clicked his pocket watch closed. “We’re about two hours from town, but the storm is about to hit. We will set back out in the morning when the storm is gone.”

Torbek whined a little, which he stopped as Gricko immediately cheered him up with positivity. You nodded, escaping Gideon’s side hug to properly stand beside him. “Should we set up the big tent? Or prepare a shelter?”

Kremy put his pocket watch away, tapping his claws along the skull of his cane. “This storm might be a doozy, I think we should have a quick roof built between these trees here to keep the area we’ll be sleeping on drier.”

Gricko and Hootsie bounced about, Gricko jumping onto Torbek’s arm and pulling the poor bugbear towards the trees. “C’mon Torbek! Let’s make that platform! Hootsie and I will teach you how to do it!”

With a groan of slight defiance, Torbek followed his goblin companion and his daughter into the woods. Twig flew off of Torbek’s shoulder and joined Frost. Frost dropped his bag, rummaging through his items and setting the usual camp supplies down. Everyone always had their designated chores when it came to camping, which was never necessarily assigned, but willingly done due to the skills the groups had.

Torbek was tall and could reach the thick, large branches or small yet tall and thick trees that he could tear out of the ground. He could also carry a lot of things in his arms, even if they were quite hefty. Along with this, Gricko was the carpenter of the group. While it wasn’t like his wood widdling, he still grew to learn the right woods that worked best in shelter and learned to make efficient mini shelters with just the environment around them. Hootsie loved helping her father, doing anything she can to help out when she wanted.

Frost was the ‘architect’ when it came to the shelters, calculating the best and proficient ways to structure the shelters for the night. He made the guidelines and Gricko and his group did the rest. Frost would then set up other shelter things after that, such as the cooking ware. Once the cooking ware came in, either Kremy or Twig got to work. They’d start the food while the others all worked, having the food ready by the time the shelter was finished.

Kremy looked at you and the genasi, beginning to take his tailcoat off. “Gid, can you go and get some firewood please? If ya find some berries along the way please pick some. Oh, and {y/n} better go with you, the more firewood the better.”

Kremy smiled at you softly, folding up his tailcoat neatly and setting it on an elevated rock. Gideon nodded and nudged you, grunting out an “on it” to the lizardfolk before walking into the woods. You followed in tow, looking back towards Kremy who was rolling up his sleeves then turning to talk with Twig.

You caught up to the genasi, looking around for good wood that didn’t appear as damp as the ground. Gideon did the same, reaching up to yank on an already dead branch.

“Is it just me or is Kremy in a weird mood?” You asked suddenly, mostly out of curiosity than anything. You saw the genasi shrug, inspecting the branch he just tore off before tucking it under his arm.

“I’d say he kinda is, but he’s probably just tired more than anythin’. I think some things are weighing on his mind, but I don’t blame him at all after the whole Remy Garou shit.” Gideon grabbed some branches he saw, inspecting them and then tucking them under his arm again as he spoke.

“I guess that’s fair,” you nodded, grabbing some sticks and dried leaves that you figured would be good fire starters. “I hope he’s alright.”

Gideon snapped a long stick to break it down. “He’ll be a’right, if it gets to be too much I’ll help him out,” he turned to smile a bit at you. “How about you, eh? You’ve been actin’ strange too after the last town we were in. Somethin’ happen?”

You blinked in surprise, adjusting your grip on your bundle of small branches and sticks. “Well, not anything bad no,” you admitted, handing Gideon a broken branch for him to hold in his occupied hand and heat up. Gideon quirked an eyebrow, quietly asking what you meant by that. You gave a nervous smile. “Kremy and I talked a bit, it wasn’t anything bad, it was just a little confusing I guess?”

Gideon shrugged, taking your answer. The branch stud in his hand had burned to charcoal, which he stuffed in the small bag around his belt. “Well, as long as ya both don’t hate each other.”

You laughed a little, shaking your head and waving your hands. “No no, of course not!”

There seemed to be relief in his expression, the worry of the possibility no longer weighing heavy on him. Was he really worried that you and Kremy hated each other? Was there something that the both of you did to instill that worry into him?

“Good, I don’t want my two favorite people hatin’ each other. That would be pretty rough, haha!” He had a tinge of a hidden worry in his tone, though he sighed and released it. He grabbed some more items, not so much looking at them as in depth as he did before.

You paused your collecting, looking at the genasi as he continued forward. His back was turned towards you, bending down every now and then. You gripped your bundle just barely, watching his back for a moment.

“Hey, Gideon?” You asked cautiously, watching as the genasi carefully straightened up and partially turned to you. He watched you carefully, head slightly tilted in wonder. “What do you mean by that? Favorite people being me and Kremy, I mean.”

Gideon fully turned to you, only just realizing what he said. He took a minute to think before he stumbled over his words, trying to figure out what to say. He then sighed, his shoulder slouching a bit in semi-defeat.

He stepped towards you, keeping his grip nice and still on his own bundle. You opened your mouth to speak again, either in question or to take back your previous question, though Gideon started before you did.

“Kremy an’ I have been traveling together for years, about ten. We’ve gone through a lot of situations, thick and thin. We learned a lot about each other, and we learned that we can’t be without each other after it all. I wouldn’t want it any other way, I owe Kremy that,” Gideon’s smile softly appeared, his eyes half lidded as if something on his mind weighed them down once again. “An’ I’ll be honest, despite traveling with you for only a year, I’ve felt similar with you.”

You blinked in surprise, not expecting those words at all to come out of him. You knew that Kremy and Gideon were close, practically inseparable. You didn’t know just how important they meant to each other until now. You finally realized just how much they downplayed their relationship with one another to everyone. You shifted in your spot, glancing down at the realization. Everything made sense now.

Gideon sat his bundle down, noticing your face. He placed the side of his finger below your chin, making you look up at him. There was a sheepish look on his face, the other hand scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. “A’right, look, don’t get all sad on me now,” he tried. “I ain’t good with words, I’m sorry if that came out wrong. Look, uh,” he cleared his throat and awkwardly placed the hand that tilted your head up on your shoulder, patting it. “I care about you a lot, like I care about Kremy. Don’t get sad, c’mon, this ain’t some love triangle or nothin’ I promise.”

You blinked, trying to understand what he was trying to say despite the confusion of it all. “You like me though, don’t you?”

Gideon nodded, taking your pile from your arm and setting it with his own. He took your hands in his, slight embarrassment still on his face. “I like you, hell I think I love you,” he confessed, rubbing the tops of your hands with his thumbs in a soft massage. “I wanna be that warm pillow for ya every night, basically.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, snorting at the cute yet slightly awkward confession. You smiled up at him, squeezing his hands in content. “Mr. Coal, you’re the best pillow I’ve ever had,” you half joked, which made him snicker. “I really like you, I haven’t really been trying to hide it at all, so I’m surprised you’re just now confessing.”

“Me? Confess? You’ve got the wrong guy,” he joked, which you laughed softly to. You felt the softness in his tone, in his hands as he held you. “I usually wait for the one givin’ me the doe eyes to come up first.”

“Well that’s where this all got screwed up then,” you joked, laying your forehead on his chest. The genasi wrapped his arms around your back, holding you close. “But you can make it up to me if you give me extra dessert next time.”

Gideon laughed, his chest falling up and down in glee from your arrangement. He rubbed your upper back, patting it before leaning into you happily. “A’right, fine, extra dessert.”

You hummed in joy, relaxing completely into his warmth.

He’s so stupid. It’s all you could think of towards the genasi with a smitten smile on your face.

You heard the hiss of singed ember fill your ears. Then another. You felt Gideon sigh and pat your back again, the texture of his beard rough against your forehead as he pulled away to kiss your forehead. Your face heated up, listening to the singed hisses as rain drops began to fall from the sky, evaporating once they hit the embers on his head.

“Let’s get back to camp, we need some fire started before all of this firewood gets wet,” he said, quickly and easily scooping up the conjoined firewood you both had gathered. “We don’t wanna be late for dinner.”

You smiled up at him, taking some of the pile for yourself to carry.

-~-~-~-

The soothing massage on your abdomen lulled you awake, groaning in response. The hand that held you rubbed circles into your stomach now, the genasi’s face buried into your hair.

“Mornin sunshine,” he chuckled softly, which you hummed in response to. He kissed the back of your head before he sat up. He stretched, yawning. “Kremy made some breakfast in the inn kitchen.”

You turned to your back, watching the genasi get out of bed. You sleepily admired his bed head, chuckling at how disheveled he looked as he woke up. You were sure you were the same, but it was much funnier on Gideon.

“Didn’t he say he was making waffles?” You asked, sitting up and yawning just as your boyfriend had. He put on his clean shirt, looking around for his comb.

“Think so,” he replied, finding his comb and beginning to fix his hair. He sat back on the bed by your feet, itching his beard. “I want some chocolate chip ones if he did end up making them.”

You chuckled, crawling out of bed to get ready for the day. For once, the group was able to have seperate rooms for pairs. You and Gideon shared a room, while Torbek and Twig shared another, Gricko and Hootsie in a third, and Frost and Kremy in the last. Everyone enjoyed each other's company, and it was very comfortable overall.

As you found your clothes to change into for the day, you felt muscular arms wrap around your middle from behind. You straightened up, leaning yourself into the chest of the fighter. He buried his face into your neck, humming as he swayed the both of you side to side. “We don’t have to rush, it’s pretty early still.” He murmured into your neck.

You hummed in agreement, swaying with the genasi. In an instant, you were lifted and playfully tossed onto the bed. You giggled, rolling onto your back as the genasi held you down by your shoulders gently. He then proceeded to try to tickle you, which made you erupt into squeals.

You struggled against his grip, his assault on your sides and neck too much to bare. Once you had an opening, you went to jab at his ribs, knowing he was ticklish there. He was caught by surprise, tucking himself in in defense at the attack. You continued to poke and prod, tickling him. You weren’t expecting his next attack on you, holding your wrists and pinning them to your sides.

You struggled against him, still laughing. “Hey! That’s no fair!” You whined, a fake frown on your lips. Gideon smiled wide at that, inching closer to your face.

“I think it is,” he pecked your nose, his grin widening. “I think I win.” He pecked your lips, which you huffed when he pulled away. He chuckled then kissed you, which you happily returned.

What a goofball.

[lcvebuckley]

a recipe for disaster (and love)

written for @bucktommyfluffebruary

prompt : day 2 - cooking together | word count : 1.6k | rated : G

a little late but this prompt is the first one i've worked on and it's been in my drafts since mid-jan so i was so excited to share this!! it took a bit longer to edit cus it's my first attempt on a crack-ish fic and i'm a little skittish about it hhh also might be a little ooc for tommy but let's just pretend he can't cook 👍

enjoy! ♡

“Babe, I don’t think this is right,” the older muttered, frowning at the bowl. “How many cups of salt did you say it was? Two right?”

Silence.

“Tommy,” Evan said slowly, walking over like he was approaching a wild animal. “I said two spoons, not cups.”

Or in which Buck's cooking lesson had gone wrong.

full version below or read on ao3

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It started with a complaint. Not the typical “I’m hungry” complaint, but the kind that simmered just below the surface, coming after a long shift, a bruised shoulder, and precisely zero decent meals. Tommy had been running on caffeine and protein bars all day, the kind of combination that made him cranky enough to snap at his own reflection if it looked at him wrong.  

By the time he got back to his place, he was a walking embodiment of exhaustion and mild annoyance. Evan was already home, cheerful and relaxed, humming to himself as he moved around the kitchen with ease, a pan sizzling on the stove, the scent of garlic and something buttery filling the air.  

Tommy’s stomach growled aggressively, which he thinks was quite obvious since he noticed how the younger froze before turning around, flashing that annoyingly perfect smile—like he wasn’t out here casually committing acts of culinary excellence while Tommy was out there fighting for his life with a vending machine that ate his dollar earlier.  

“Hey, babe!” Evan greeted, wiping his hands on a dish towel, his curls slightly damp which Tommy assumed is from a recent shower. “I made dinner.” 

The older dropped his bag by the door, kicked off his shoes, and trudged over, not forgetting to lean in for a quick kiss. Having Evan to come home to has been the perfect antidote for his bad days and today was no different.

The plate Evan set down was a work of art—some kind of roasted chicken with golden, crispy skin, surrounded by perfectly seasoned vegetables. It looked like it belonged in a magazine. 

He picked up a fork, took a bite, and nearly groaned out loud. It wasn’t fair. Nothing should taste this good.  

And that’s when it happened. The words escaped before he could stop them.  

“You know,” Tommy started, casually enough to pass for nonchalant—except it wasn’t. Not even close. Evan looked up, attention snagged instantly. “I’m jealous the 118 gets to eat your cooking every day while I have to wait two days just to see you, let alone have dinner together.”

Evan blinked. Once. Twice. Then a slow grin—the kind that made Tommy’s stomach flip in that irritating, lovesick way—spread across his face like Tommy had just issued a personal challenge. 

“Oh,” Evan said, leaning against the table, arms crossed in the way that made his biceps look unnecessarily good. Tommy tried not to think about that because, apparently, his offhand comment had intrigued his boyfriend more than intended. “Is that the problem?” 

Tommy realized what was happening a second too late. He could’ve backtracked. Played it off. But no, his pride wouldn’t let him. 

“Yeah,” he muttered, stabbing another forkful like it had personally offended him. Which it kind of did in a way. “Must be nice, having a personal chef at work. Meanwhile, I’m over here with dry sandwiches and sad granola bars.”  

Evan’s grin only grew. “You could just… learn to cook, you know,” his voice was dripping with amusement, his eyebrows arching like he was already imagining the thought of Tommy cooking.

Tommy shot him a look. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, if it bothers you that much, I can teach you.” Evan’s voice was annoyingly casual, like he wasn’t shattering Tommy’s fragile ego with a single sentence. “That way you won’t miss my cooking so much when I’m not around.”  

Tommy couldn't help but to feel a little offended. “I can cook,” he protested. Sure, he wasn’t exactly Evan-level in the kitchen, but he’d made eggs and bacon before. Perfectly edible eggs and bacon. There was also that one time he tried stir-fried rice… but he preferred not to talk about that.

Evan bit down a chuckle. “I didn't say you can't,” he replied, his face morphing into that smug look Tommy secretly loved—but also knew meant he was about to get teased within an inch of his life. “I just think you’re… a little amateur.” he finished, his hands waving around as if they could make his words feel less like a stab.

Tommy’s mouth opened, then closed. He couldn't even deny it.

“Which is why I’m willing to teach you,” Evan added. “I’ve perfected my skills over the years thanks to Bobby, and I think you’ve got potential—as long as you follow my instructions,” his grin stretched wide, all gleaming teeth and overconfidence.

Tommy, of course, could never say no to Evan.

And that’s how, two nights later, he found himself standing in their kitchen, sleeves rolled up, apron on (which obviously comes from Evan’s apron collection), and he's glaring at a box of spaghetti like it owed him money.  

Evan’s so-called “lesson” started off easy enough. They were making pasta carbonara—simple ingredients, simple steps, Evan had said. Foolproof.

The younger moved around the kitchen like he belonged there, confident and effortless. He cracked eggs with one hand, diced pancetta with precise flicks of his knife, all while humming some random tune. He assigned Tommy the “easy” tasks, which felt suspicious.

“Just start boiling the pasta and mix the seasoning for the sauce. I’ll handle the pancetta,” Evan said, flashing a grin like this wasn’t a setup for failure. Well, Tommy's failure specifically.

Tommy nodded like he understood the assignment. In fairness, it sounded easy. Boil water. Season the egg mixture. No problem.

Except now the mixture looks odd and Tommy felt like he did something wrong. “Babe, I don’t think this is right,” the older muttered, frowning at the bowl. “How many cups of salt did you say it was? Two right?”  

Silence.

The kind of silence where you could hear Evan’s soul leave his body.

“Tommy,” Evan said slowly, walking over like he was approaching a wild animal. “I said two spoons, not cups.”

Tommy froze, the whisk dangling from his hand like a weapon of culinary destruction. His brain short-circuited. Embarrassed? Yes. Stupid? Extremely.

The younger burst out laughing and started wheezing as he clutched to his sides and Tommy groaned, dropping his head onto the counter in defeat. “I feel like an idiot.”

Still laughing, Evan slid behind him, wrapping his arms around the older’s waist in a warm back hug. His laughter softened as he pressed a gentle kiss to Tommy’s shoulder, resting his chin there. It was supposed to be comforting, probably. But it was distracting. Evan’s warmth pressed against him, his breath brushing against Tommy’s ear, and suddenly the bowl of regret salt mixture didn’t seem so important.

“You’re not an idiot,” Evan murmured, though his voice was still shaking with amusement. “You’re just… aggressively enthusiastic about salt.”

The older groaned louder, trying to bury his face in his hands. But Evan was relentless, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of Tommy’s neck and shoulder, his arms tightening in comfort. “You’re doing fine,” he murmured, even though he was still chuckling. “Seriously. Look at you, whisking that mixture like a pro.” 

Tommy huffed, turning slightly to glare, but the younger just smiled and stole a quick kiss, all soft and sweet like he wasn’t still laughing internally. Tommy wanted to laugh along so bad but instead he groaned, dropping his head back against Evan’s shoulder. “I'm still an idiot.”  

“You’re my favorite idiot,” Evan whispered, punctuating the words with quick kisses along Tommy’s jaw, peppering them like little apologies for laughing. “Plus, you’re way too hot to be bad at anything. It’s honestly kind of comforting that you have flaws.”  

God, Tommy felt both flustered and annoyed. He swatted at Evan’s arm half-heartedly, but the younger just laughed and kissed him again, this time lingering a little longer, soft and warm against his cheek.  

The chaos didn’t stop there. In the distraction of affectionate teasing, the pasta water boiled over dramatically, sending a hiss of steam into the air like it was personally offended by their public display of affection. Tommy panicked, knocking over the pepper grinder, which rolled off the counter dramatically like it had somewhere better to be.

Eventually, by some miracle, they salvaged the dish. Somehow.  

The carbonara wasn’t perfect. Slightly too much salt—even when they redid the egg mixture that was Tommy’s salt disaster mix, the sauce a little thicker than Evan’s usual. But it was edible. Decent even. Good enough to stop Tommy from complaining about not having Evan’s cooking every day. For now.  

They collapsed at the table, Tommy stabbing his fork into the pasta with exaggerated exhaustion. He tasted it cautiously, then nodded. “Okay. It’s not as good as yours, but it’s not terrible.” Evan also took a bite, chewing thoughtfully before smiling. “Told you. You’ve got potential.”  

“Remind me to not ever do this again,” Tommy muttered, shoving his plate aside and reaching his hands toward Evan. After the day he’d had—culinary disasters and enough salt to season an entire city block—all he wanted was to hold Evan’s hands and forget about the embarrassment.

The younger grinned, propping his chin on one hand like he wasn’t responsible for half the chaos. “One dish isn’t gonna keep your mouth shut, baby.”

Still, he reached over with his free hand, letting Tommy intertwine their fingers. His grin softened as the older absentmindedly played with his fingers, tracing the lines of his knuckles like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Tommy rolled his eyes, squeezing Evan’s hand gently. “Can’t you just cook for me?” he asked, practically begging. He even tried to do one of those wide-eyed looks Evan always pulled whenever he wanted something—big, dramatic, puppy-dog eyes. But judging by Evan’s snort, it wasn’t nearly as effective. Mental note: work on that.

The younger shrugged, casually smug. “Maybe when we’re married and I become your househusband, sure,” he said with a wink. “But for now, you’re on your own.”  

Tommy blinked, pretending to be caught off guard. He forced a laugh, but inside, his heart did a somersault. Little did Evan know, there was already a ring hidden in Tommy’s sock drawer.

Yeah, Tommy thought, stealing one more look at Evan’s soft smile, maybe not for long.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

Veilguard Ecology Part 1

I have decided to channel the ways I am insane by cataloguing the plants, animals, rocks, geography, and what have you we see in Dragon Age, starting with Veilguard. I am starting this with the acknowledgement that all of these things largely exist just as "assets" and "textures" placed around the landscape to the devs rather than thought out inclusions (unlike some of the specific diversity of ecoregions & their contents we see in DAI), so I'm making it my problem instead.

who is this for? me. it is not going to be interesting to most other people beyond a vague "i didn't know that was something you could look at" or a "i like to read about other peoples weird hobbies" thing for everyone else probably. anyway

PROLOGUE PART 1: Minrathous

jumping into the game and what do we have here. two beloved companions we've known for years? no. ignore them. time for grass.

I'm going to use the fieldwork unknown ID naming conventions for plants that aren't referred to by species/common name in these games, though I will speculate as to what they're based on via imported textures. So this will be Grass1. You can see both yellow and green tissue, implying it's either a perennial or an annual that grows multiple rounds in a single season. My bet is perennial. The stems and leaves are both upright and rigid, the leaves angling sharply upward from the stems. This game is nowhere near detailed enough to see ligules, auricles, or trichomes (AND SHOULDNT. to be clear. i can't even imagine how hot my computer would be running) which are like my #1 way to ID grass family in absense of seed head (which these also don't appear to have) so not gonna bother guessing taxonomy. Although visually the shape reminds me of a Muhlenbergia perhaps. note if you google any of the plants i mention you'll only see highly watered versions which are Not how most grasses look in their native wild habitat, where they are much more resource limited, so keep that in mind.

And now on the other side of this little platform we have Grass2. Taller than Grass1, appears to be entirely senesced (gone dormant / all brown above ground / roots probably still alive--if aboveground tissue is yellow rather than grey you generally assume the plant isn't dead just not photosynthetically active). we have what MIGHT be now bare seedheads but no seeds left on them. the dry leaves tend to be more curly than rigid although the overall habit is still fairly upright and tall. This is too tall to be a Boutaloua or Hilaria jamseii but not spiky enough to be Hilaria rigida (although that one might be another contender for Grass1 now that i think about it), and the leaves are flat rather than rolled like an Achnatherum. probably its based on something outside my wheelhouse of dryland or great basin grasses so if i narrow it down better I'll come back to it later.

In this section we also see a pile of dead weeds all grouped together, in a few spots. however the lighting here is shit and i remember seeing these somewhere brighter later so I'm skipping them for now.

Here we have Shrub1. Look at that! finally something green in Minrathous (YES i know there is 1 single green herbacious something or other in the grass/weeds pile in the last spot but again it's in a group asset so we're saving it for somewhere with better lighting. also it just looked so sad there on its own). anyway this is an upright shrub with redish stems and some sort of dark berry in clusters. I'm guessing this is based on some ornamental which aren't my wheelhouse, but the leaves are opposite branching, leaf margins smooth and entire (though some are browning at the tips which is a nice visual detail), and the fruits form in small groups but not large enough cluters that would indicate an umbel type flower. I have NO proof to back this up but when i look at it i feel like it's vibe is evergreen rather than deciduous. maybe because the light on the leaves makes them seem waxy... however this is not a plant you are meant to look at up close as it's entirely flat textures layered together so i'm concluding analysis there until i pull up an ornamental shrubs list and figure out which one it's been scanned off.

ENOUGH WITH THE PLANTS, LETS TALK ROCKS: Solas' Hideout Cave

Ok there are some more senesced and dead grass/weed textures here too that aren't exact copies of above. but the lighting is even more abysmal so i'll skip for now and come back if i don't run into them elsewhere in the game i guess. also i'll be honest i can see an aspen leaf in the pile and there's NOT aspen trees here so it will just annoy me to put them in this section rather than Arlathan which is up next. let's look at the cliff instead.

Here we have some sort of chunky weathered yet clearly very stratified rock. you can see all those narrow horizontal lines that indicate this is a sedimentary rock, so at one time Minrathous was a depositional environment, which i'm not getting into right now but am making a note for my now 10-year-old tectonic plates map of Thedas. We're right on the sea without much beach and the rocks look more chunky than crumbly, as well as this darker grey color, so i'm leaning sandstone/siltstone rather than something softer like limestone. maybe some shale but Minrathous has been built so large I can't imagine the region is predominately shale or it'd be way more structurally unsound after all these centuries.

Now when I first played Veilguard this was one of the first places i stopped and went "ohhh, nice" while looking around because I do think they did a fantastic job with the ground surface textures. we have a sort of sandy patch on top of a rock base which makes sense for an area people are walking in/out from but the edges are clearer, which if they're being slapped by waves now and then would indeed drive the sediment either in or out. We have different grain sizes for the sand and gravel as well as different colors. The ground-rock is kind of way lighter in color than the walls-rocks but i am attributing this to the needs of seeing your character when running around vs stratigraphy change. anyway this is just chatter the funny part is actually when you go inside the cave

aaaand now we're leaving realistic critique behind and are entirely within the realm of game design. But i do want to point it out because i think this is one of those things that, unless you spend a lot of time thinking about geology/geography, you wouldn't ever consider. I've even bothered to adjust the lighting in these screenshots (why are games all so DARK) so you can see what I'm talking about.

Here in the hideout we first see on the floor some cobblestone/brick on the floor, partly obscured by sediment, and leading right up to and implied underneath the rest of the stone wall. In the second screenshot you can see the remains of elven brickwork in the wall and archways leading further in, both in various stages of crumbling. whats wrong with this? Well, the rock is growing on top of them. Which is not how rock works--rock can distort, warp, crush, etc buildings housed inside it but it does not grow over things the way plants do. Yes, even if ancient Elvhen empire was 10,000 years old, sedimentary rock cliffs need millions of years to form, not thousands, and if they WERE forming new rock it would happen in even layers from the bottom up, not growing over the wall like a parasite (I would allow for stalactite growth too but that's not what we are seeing in this cave).

What has happened here is: environment designer made an uneven wall, then took a brick wall asset, and sank it halfway into that wall so the rock shows through. This is WAY faster than designing a brick wall that is falling apart and showing rock from behind the places it's crumbled away. I don't blame them for doing this, it would be very silly to put that much extra work in for something only me and probably 4 other people will ever notice. but! perhaps now you will notice it too the next time you play a cave or underground section of a game and go "heehoo the fantasy Rock That Can Grow Over Things" the way I do.

That's all for this section--up next will be the Arlathan Forest part of the prologue, eventually.

[just-a-carrot]

IT COMES OUT TOMORROW GOD HELP I have nothing more to say besides I hope people will like it ahhHHHHHHHH 💦

Oh yeah and a final fact—when Genzou bought his shop, it was the first time all of them had gotten together in over a year.

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: before the nightingale sings

---------

for my batdad blood blossom au, the one where Vlad poisoned Danny with blood blossom extract and Danny ran away from him and ended up tumbling into the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman :). A quick oneshot telling the tale of the tragic deaths of the Fentons

TW: Major Character Death Warning

-------

Not all deaths are created equal.

That is a valuable lesson in life to learn. One that Danny learns when he is eleven years old, standing in the pit of his parents’ creation; the culmination of their life’s work. The portal to the other side, the realm of the dead. To the infinite. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, in a hazmat suit that sags on him, and boots that clunk when he walks because the only ones that fit are his mom’s, and even those are too big. In gloves that he has to clench his fists in because otherwise they fall off. In goggles that slide down his nose even when he’s tightened them the farthest they can go. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, choking on giggles that harmonize with the laughter of his friends’ who stand at the mouth of the tunnel. Sam’s holding a polaroid in her hand. They’re just being kids. 

They’re not laughing when Danny’s hand hits the safety lock — the one with faulty wiring, the only one in the tunnel. The only one he could possibly hit. They’re not laughing when the portal buzzes to life, and the lights inside switch on row by row as the generator begins to rumble and hum. 

They’re not laughing when Danny dies. They’re screaming. They’re not screaming when he comes back.

Not all deaths are created equal.  

Some are poetic, beautiful. The satisfying close of a book as it comes to an end, of the hardback thumping soft against the pages like the sound of a door closing. A train run its course.

Some are violent; unsatisfying; unfair. The unexpected shattering of an egg as it rolls off the countertop when nobody is looking, the unmistakable crack as it falls to the floor. It is abrupt and messy. 

But most are just… unremarkable. Unintentional. Clumsy. 

Danny’s family dies one night in late January. He is thirteen years old, barely a month away from fourteen. It is unforeseen. It is preventable. It happens. 

It happens like this: 

Their water heater breaks one Monday in January. It’s old, sitting in the garage, and has dealt with nearly sixteen years of Fenton-grade chaos and shenanigans. Of parents tossing scraps and junk into the garage as brief storage to come back to later. Of illegal tune-ups on their vehicles that result in something exploding. Of little children running around and knocking things over, playing with poles and sticks they find on the ground, on the shelves. Of being lived and used.  

Something had to give. 

Jack Fenton notices it immediately when he comes upstairs that very afternoon — his children at school, his wife downstairs — to grab something from the garage. The very same scrap and used material they store like squirrels to use later. 

He stops what he’s doing to fix it.  

It wasn’t supposed to be permanent. 

Despite what many believe, Jack Fenton is not the idiot people make him out to be. He knows what he’s good at, he knows what he’s not. He knows he can be passionate and obsessive and single-minded about things. He knows that he is a scientist, an inventor; an engineer. 

He knows that he is not a plumber. That fixing water heaters is not something he knows how to do, not safely. And he loves his family. What he does is only meant to be temporary — a fix meant to only last a few days until they can call someone in who can fix it for them. 

So Jack Fenton futzes with the water heater, gives it a temporary stitch to last a short while, and reminds himself to call a plumber later that day to come in and fix it. He turns and leaves the garage with the part he came for —  a sheet of metal for his wife to melt down — and disappears back downstairs. 

He does not make that call; it slips from his mind. 

It is not his fault. 

One day passes, then two, then suddenly it is Thursday. The water heater has still not been fixed, the water heater has been forgotten. It is nobody’s fault.  

Danny asks his parents at breakfast if he can stay over at Tucker’s house for the night. Just one night. They’re going to study for their math test and then play video games until midnight, but he only tells his parents that first half. 

He’s been doing well in school. Really well — better than he has in a while. There’s been a delightful lull in ghost appearances for the last few weeks. The living don’t know why, but Danny does. The Winter Truce always calms the dead down for a while, something about how the Zone cleanses itself twice a mortal year and that fresh wave of ecto clears out the old and brings in the new. 

This year Danny got to participate. He’s feeling the effects of it too, and he’s been sleeping consistently well for the first time since the accident. 

It’ll never happen again. 

His parents agree under the condition that he doesn’t stay up late, and Danny harmlessly lies through his teeth and agrees. He goes and throws overnight clothes into his school backpack, and when he leaves for school with Jazz his parents are already departed into the lab. 

The last conversation he has with his sister is in her car on the drive to school. Inane, mindless conversation to fill the air and pass the time. Jazz comments on how relaxed he’s been lately; Danny tells her about the Winter Truce. She listens in rapt attention. 

She tells him that she’s glad to see him so well-rested. She thinks her little brother’s been growing up too fast these days. She thinks he’s been too tense. Too caught up with the spinning of the world around him that he forgets about himself sometimes. 

When they reach school, before Danny can get out of the car, Jazz looks to her little brother and says; “I love you.” 

Her little brother’s cheeks turn an embarrassed shade of red. He makes a scrunched up, grossed-out face, but can’t hide the smile pulling across it. “Don’t be a sap, Jazz. I’ll see you later.” He tells her, yanking his hood up over his head. She hears the bashful, ‘love you too’ before he walks away. 

That is the last conversation she ever has with her brother. 

Thursday is unremarkable, passing by in its normality as it always does. There’s one, maybe two ghost sightings; shades lurking around in curious infancy that are easily spooked away by the presence of a greater being. Danny doesn’t even have to go ghost. 

Thursday evening is even less so. Danny goes to Tucker’s house — Sam has a prior arrangement with her slam poetry club — and the two of them study for an hour before they toss their textbooks aside and reach for the game console. 

Danny sleeps in Tucker’s room with one of the extra blankets on his bed, curled across the room in one of the bean bag chairs. It shouldn’t be comfortable, but to Danny it is. He sleeps throughout the night, the portal shut down by his parents before they’d gone to bed. 

Early Friday morning, before the sun has even risen yet, before it’s even so much as a concept to grace the horizon, the water heater breaks again. It was supposed to be fixed. 

Carbon monoxide is a silent killer. Odorless and scentless, it kills within minutes. It fills the house like a shadow casting over the ground, creeping into the rooms. 

Danny’s family die in their sleep; painless and unaware. 

It’s not Jack Fenton’s fault. He didn’t mean to.  

Nobody wakes up with their alarms. 

Danny wakes up to Tucker Foley’s alarm on Friday morning, and he turns his head intangible and shoves it into the beanbag chair like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. Tucker gets up before him, and throws a pillow at him as he reaches for the alarm. 

There’s laughter, messing around. The both of them get dressed, and Danny has breakfast with the Foleys that morning. He takes the bus to school with Tucker, and they meet Sam by their lockers. 

To him, everything is as normal as it should be. There are no ghosts for him to fight right now, school is as school does, and he’s on top of all his schoolwork. 

He does not see Jazz at all that morning, he doesn’t notice. Their schedules are so different, their routes on different paths, that it’s not uncommon for Danny to not see Jazz until he gets home some days. That’s if there’s no ghost attacks. 

At lunch, he gets approached by her friends. Worried creases between their brows, they ask him if he’s seen Jazz. She hasn’t shown up to any of her classes. She’s not answering their texts. It’s unprecedented of her; unheard of. 

Danny doesn’t admit to the concern that swells in his gut when they tell him this. He shrugs at them, and says he hasn’t seen her either. But it was probably nothing to worry about; she might just be sick and sleeping it off. 

He offers to text her and let them know if he gets a response, and that seems to ease her friends enough that they shuffle away in uncertainty. He keeps his word, and does exactly that. He pulls out his phone and opens her contact, and shoots her a message.

‘Where are you?’ 

He doesn’t get a response back, Danny is left on sent. He puts his phone in his pocket, and with a sense of unease creeping in the back of his mind, goes on with his day. He gets no response by the time the final bell rings; and he tries not to be worried. 

The house is quiet when he opens the door. Unusually quiet. He drops his backpack to the floor, it lands with a hearty thunk, and begins to take off his jacket. “Mom! Dad!” He yells. He hangs it up, and slips his shoes from his feet. “Jazz skipped school today!”

A laughable untruth that would get his sister all riled up normally; she should be able to hear him from the front door if she was in her room. The house just stays dead silent. 

He can’t even hear the usual banging and crashing from the lab. His unease returns. He reaches for the intercom that leads directly down to the basement, and presses the button to turn it on. A burst of static, and then he speaks;

“Mom? Dad?” 

Danny lets go, and waits for a response. He gets none back. That never happens, not when the house is this quiet. Not when he knows they should’ve heard him. 

Something sickly and fearful borns in the pit of his stomach, and begins to snake upward. He heads for the lab. The cool metal of the door is familiar in the grooves of his hand, and he doesn’t even need to think about the code as he punches it in;  he simply lets muscle memory guide him. It’s been the same since he was little. 

The door hisses as the pressure is released, and he swings the door open. He takes the stairs down two at a time. Something is wrong. His parents aren’t answering him. His feet pound against the metal. 

“Mom? Dad?” He calls again, more worried, more frantic. More scared. His voice echoes down the stairwell, and he reaches the bottom before it’s fully faded. The lab is empty. The portal is still shut down. 

It was four in the afternoon, they should still be down here. 

Danny races back upstairs, fear-raised nausea coiling in his throat. “This isn’t funny you guys!” He yells when he reaches the top, shoving open the door with more force than necessary. His head swims, his voice cracked. 

He checks the garage, the car is still there. 

“Mom!? Dad!” His voice bellows out throughout the first floor, loud enough that it bounces back at him and rings against his ears. He’s never raised his voice this much — mom would scold him if she heard him. But she doesn’t show up. “Jazmine!” 

Finally, he goes upstairs, and he can’t tell if what he’s feeling is anger or terror. Something is very, very wrong. 

He swings the door of his parents’ rooms open first, and there they are, with the lights still off and the curtains still drawn. As if they hadn’t left their bed all day. Some of Danny’s fear lifts from his shoulders just by the sight of them, but he’s still trembling. Something is still wrong — the room smells… off. Not good, not bad. Just… off. 

He swallows dryly, his throat still thick, and steps into the room. “Mom, dad?” They do not stir. “Didn’t you guys hear me yelling?” 

There is only room static. Danny’s heart shrivels in his chest with a tenfold return of terror, he feels ill. He remembers, just now, that they’re not heavy sleepers, and his dad should be snoring like a freight house. 

Danny reaches their bedside in seconds, hand outstretching for the covers, “Momma? Dad?”

Not all deaths are created equal. 

But many of them are accidental. Unmeditated. Shocking.

Danny Fenton finds his family dead in his childhood home. He runs to his neighbors in hysterics, inconsolable, in tears. Nine-one-one is called, but there is nothing that can be done. They were dead for hours by the time Daniel Fenton returned home. 

He sits on the front steps of the neighbor’s house beside FentonWorks, his jeans slowly becoming wet from the snow that was unable to be scraped off, and watches the paramedics cart out his family beneath white sheets. There are police cars blocking off the street, yellow tape blocking off his house, red-blue lights lighting up the block, an ambulance on the scene. He is wrapped in a shock blanket, and he is missing his jacket and his shoes. His tears are freezing onto his face, he can’t feel the chill. 

Not all deaths are created equal

But all of them are unforgettable.