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logaenhowlett · 3 months ago

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I THINK THEY CALL THIS LOVE - L.H.

Summary: A flat tire, a blinding snowstorm, and a mix-up leads you to Logan's cabin. Things happen after another, and before you know it, Christmas means being snowed in with a complete stranger.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: 6.0k of pure fluff, Mutual pining (even Logan isn’t immune to cupid’s arrow), Sickeningly sweet slow burn, Major ‘just kiss already’ energy, How the Grinch Stole Christmas reference (pretend it exists in the 80s)

A/N: Can this happen to me please? And yes, it's inspired by The Holiday. Title creds to Elliot James Reay. Enjoy and happy holidays everyone, may your dreams be blessed with this beautiful man!

MASTERLIST

Nestled amidst snow-kissed pine trees, our cozy cabin offers a serene escape. Simply a perfect winter retreat overlooking breathtaking valleys and stunning mountain ranges, where you can unwind or explore our charming town just a short drive away.

Light cascades over his features, the glow harsh and bright as he squints at your phone, reading the brief description. Gusts of wind whip past as you wait expectantly, shifting your weight from one foot to another to keep warm.

"You got the wrong place," he says, peering out from behind the partially opened door.

Mouth agape, cold breaths misting in the chilly night air, you stare at him in disbelief. "This is the address they gave me," you reply desperately. It's a pointless attempt, you're not sure why you even bother trying. Clearly, you've ended up in the wrong place and arguing with this stranger won't change that.

"Well, they made a mistake, alright?" Brows creasing in mild annoyance, he leans forward, "S'my house. I live here.” The words hang in the air, heavy and final, punctuated by the squelch of your boots slightly sinking into the snow.

With a defeated sigh, you shuffle away from his front porch, the biting wind nipping at your exposed skin. Gloved fingers stiff from the cold, you fumble with the near-frozen handle of your car, the metallic hinges protesting as you wrench it open with a grunt. The thought of finding someplace to at least spend the night fills you with dread. Surely, scrambling at the last minute is bound to leave very few and certainly overpriced options.

Glancing back, you trace his figure silhouetted against the amber glow radiating from behind. "You wouldn't happen to know if there's a motel around, would you?" you ask, blinking tiredly against the glare.

"Closest one's 'bout an hour away." His expression remains unreadable, though, a flicker of something - perhaps sympathy - crosses his face. Just as you're sliding into the driver's seat, his voice cuts across the distance. "Hey - wait," he calls out, emerging from his house.

The collar of his flannel flaps from the breeze, and glimpses of the dark curls on his chest peek through the unbuttoned top. You wonder how the hell he's not shivering as he trudges through the snow, hands merely shoved deep into his pockets. He stops near your window, breath fogging up the glass as he looks at you hesitantly. "S'not safe to drive right now," he murmurs, weighing his next words, "Look, why don't you stay here tonight and figure somethin' out tomorrow?"

His offer takes you by surprise. The memory of his earlier dismissiveness stings, making the shift more jarring. Incoherent murmurs tumble from your throat, eyes widening at the thought of spending the night at this stranger's house. A ridiculously attractive stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. Sensing your unease, he sighs softly. "I get it, you don't know me. But, you're not gonna find anythin' this late anyway," he shrugs, taking a small step backwards, "S'up to you, just sayin'."

The rhythmic tapping of your fingers against the steering wheel echoes within the car. Doubt creeps into your mind as you study him, and eventually, the faint, encouraging smile he returns draws a shaky exhale. With a slight nod, you kill the engine.

Logan - as you learn shortly after - is a rather simple man. The interior of his cabin is minimal, almost sterile in nature and devoid of any personal touches. Yet, the warmth of the fireplace bathes the space in a cozy, inviting light. Scattered beer bottles and a couple of well-worn paperbacks lay on the coffee table, along with a radio humming a smooth jazz tune. A vague scent of pine lingers in the air, mingling with the smokiness of the aged wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling. Shockingly, there isn't a single festive ornament in sight unlike the heavily decorated neighbourhoods you drove through to get here. And honestly, the longer you spend in his company, the more questions arise.

"Quiet night in, huh?" you note, trailing after him.

"Usually how it goes," he replies with a huff, the muscles of his back straining against his flannel as he wheels your suitcase towards the single door at the end of the hallway.

"Oh. I can sleep on the couch, you don’t need to–"

Despite your protests, Logan gestures inside, stepping back for you to enter. "Take the bed, I'll be out there." And there's absolutely no room for a debate; the set of his jaw and the determined glint in his eyes make that painstakingly clear. Still, he can't contain his amusement as you open your mouth again. "Don't fight me on this, alright?" he adds, fixing you with a pointed gaze.

You hold eye contact for a few seconds, the intensity slowly melting your resistance. Reluctantly, you nod and he flicks a switch, a soothing glow casts over the room. The bed, with its crisp white sheets and a pleasantly startling number of pillows, seems so comfy you almost sigh in relief. "If you need anythin', just ask," he continues, hand hovering over the knob.

The door creaks behind him as you call out his name. Pausing his motion, he turns around, eyeing you with patient curiosity. Now, in proper lighting, you spot the flecks of green in his eyes, the perfectly tousled waves of his hair, and the incredibly soft beard you suddenly want to stroke. "Thank you," you rasp, your voice inexplicably thick with surprise.

Logan nods once with a tight-lipped smile. "My pleasure," he whispers, bidding you good night. A beat of silence passes, then the muffled sound of his footsteps receding down the hallway. Grumbling in confusion, you slide under the covers, the blanket enveloping you in a much-needed embrace.

Today was a bad day.

A truly awful, no-good, very bad day. Last night, when you'd impulsively booked this getaway, the possibility of handling flat tires and battling harsh weather only to end up at the wrong place, all because of some mix-up never crossed your mind. It seemed like the perfect escape, a chance to relax and enjoy the Christmas cheer, a well-deserved break from the months of stress and the endless workdays. Unfortunately, luck - the heartless bastard - had other plans. Logan, however, managed to salvage your spirits, at least a little, with his unexpected goodwill.

So maybe, today was a slightly less bad day.

The smoke alarm is moments from a full-blown wail. Logan curses under his breath, beads of sweat trickling down his temple. He'd only wanted to make a simple stack of pancakes, yet the kitchen remains a travesty and the once-promising batter now a charred mess on the griddle.

It's all unchartered territory, having someone over, much less a complete stranger. Save for the rare visit from his lumberjack buddies, which involves more beer than conversation, or the neighbourly kindness of Diane, the elderly woman who regularly presses homemade meals into his hands in exchange for mending broken fences or leaky pipes, he's never had any real company. And so, he doesn't exactly know what compelled him to wake up earlier than usual and rummage through the sparsely stocked shelves to whip up something decent.

Tossing a quick, and almost furtive glance down the hallway, the steady cadence of your breathing filters through the bedroom walls. Logan shakes his head, resignation twisting his lips. Unimpressed with his terrible attempt, he scrapes the burnt food into the trash.

A restless energy thrums beneath his skin, his mind consumed by a nervous current since he'd made the impulsive offer last night. Moving through the cabin like a man possessed, he rearranges the perfectly stacked firewood, dusts the already pristine surfaces, and even opens the refrigerator for the fourth time only to stare blankly at its contents, having gained nothing but a momentary distraction. He's sure the carpet is dented from the sheer number of times he's paced the same worn track, each turn drawing him closer to the bedroom, then away again.

The quietness is deafening for a couple of hours until the soft thumping of your footsteps quirks his ears. Logan stops fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers, then straightens his posture to lean against the kitchen counter.

The fading smell of something wrinkles your nose. "I didn't sleep through a forest fire or anything, right?" you mumble, rubbing your eyes tiredly with the back of your hand.

His eyes involuntarily flick towards the stove, and for a fleeting moment, a sheepish smile touches his lips. "Don't worry 'bout it," he says a little too quickly, "Sleep well?" The steam from his coffee curls upwards as he takes a slow sip.

"I did, and thank you for letting me stay. You didn't have to do that." He nods in response, trying to downplay the gesture.

A charged silence stretches between you, crackling with unspoken thoughts and lingering awkwardness. There's a brief and almost hesitant exchange of glances before you speak at the same time.

"I should get going then–"

"There's a diner nearby–"

Stopping abruptly, a slightly embarrassed chuckle escapes your lips, mirroring the faint grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth. The shared laughter dissipates some of the tension and the atmosphere becomes almost comfortable. Only a second passes before Logan tries again, the words tumbling out a little faster than he intends. "There's a diner nearby if you're hungry."

He doesn't know why he just said that - the thought hadn't been consciously formed at all. Though he feels this strange pull, this unexpected urge to prolong the conversation, a subtle plea for you to stay. He eyes you with barely concealed anticipation, awaiting your reaction with bated breath.

"Okay, I have to ask. What's with the severe lack of Christmas decor?"

Logan watches you swirl the last of your milkshake, the metal spoon clinking against the glass. The diner's fluorescent lights, while unforgiving to most, seem to soften as they trace the delicate curve of your jawline, highlighting the pale flush of your cheeks courtesy of the winter air. Leaning back against the worn leather of the booth, a small smile spreads across his face as he considers your question. His gaze sweeps over the room, noting the strings of twinkling lights haphazardly draped around the tables, the paper snowflakes dangling from the ceiling and a rather lopsided Christmas tree tucked next to the jukebox.

"S'not really my thing," he admits, a faint shrug lifting his broad shoulders.

"Not even a little?" you tease, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement, his smile widening just a fraction. "Never had a reason," he says with an almost offhand casualness. But the flicker of curiosity, or perhaps even the touch of concern, in your expression doesn't escape him. Logan catches the way your lips press together for a moment, a subtle sign of contemplation as you piece together the sparse details you'd gathered about him. Clearing his throat, he shifts slightly in his seat. "Why'd you pick this town?" he tries, changing the subject.

"It was the cheapest option. Or at least, in comparison."

He chuckles as you groan, "So this was all a spontaneous decision."

"Hey, it's my turn to ask!" you interject, raising a hand in mock protest.

"Wasn't a question," he retorts playfully.

Nearly two hours slip by with this back-and-forth, lighthearted volley of exchanges. The diner empties out slowly, the hectic energy subsiding into a quieter hum as the two of you settle into a pleasant rhythm, taking turns to ask questions. Most of them are silly, designed to elicit a laugh or a quick anecdote - but the tone shifts here and there, venturing into deeper waters. The laughter doesn't disappear entirely, but it's interspersed with moments of thoughtful silence and understanding.

"So, what do you actually do? You know, besides running this bed and breakfast thing?"

Shaking his head, Logan rolls his eyes at your joke. "Work down at the lumberyard just like the next guy 'round here," he says with a vague gesture. "And what do you actually do?" His voice mimicking the same teasing tone you'd used.

The slight downturn of your smile takes him aback. "Journalist." It comes out strained, almost clipped. "I cover a bit of everything - well, whatever my boss throws at me anyway." The last part is delivered with a small, forced chuckle and he can't help but notice the change in your demeanour, the way your shoulders stiffen or how your jaw tightens. And despite not being the cause of it, regret fills him immediately, a sharp pang of guilt that settles in his stomach.

"Sounds... rough."

"Exactly why I needed a break."

Logan understands, with a surprising clarity, that pity is the last thing you want. And so, he steers away from anything of that sort, discarding the sympathetic expression that involuntarily surfaces. "Too bad your plans went to shit, huh?" he offers bluntly, his eyes, however, soften in the slightest.

Something akin to gratefulness shines in your smile, "Tell me about it."

The diffused light of the morning sun seeps through the frosted panes of the bedroom window. You stir awake, still incredibly tired as the remnants of a restless night hover like a persistent fog. Logan's bed had generously provided warm company for hours as you scoured for new accommodations in the area. Of course, with the holiday season, the internet had proven a frustrating dead end, most places booked solid during this time of year. Sleeping in your car was starting to feel like the only option until you stumbled upon a listing for a small lodge on the outskirts of town that had become vacant due to a last-minute cancellation.

The relief had been immense, a great wave washing over you as you secured the reservation. But now, as you slowly surface from sleep, the memory of that frantic search lingers, a dull ache pressing behind your eyes. Stretching out your stiff limbs, you squint at the alarm clock on the bedside table, wincing slightly at the early hour. And despite exhaustion weighing you down, a sense of purpose pushes you out of bed.

The wheels of your suitcase rumble against the wooden floorboards as you emerge from the hallway. Logan stands by the large window, his back a dark silhouette against the stark white landscape beyond. His gaze locks onto yours instantly, a look of sympathy - tinged with wry amusement - softens his features. "Hate to break it to you, but–" he begins, gesturing outside with a tilt of his head.

"Wha– oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me!"

A thick layer of fresh snow blankets the ground. The pine trees, a deep green last night, now laden with a heavy dusting, branches drooping under the weight. The scene is undeniably perfect, picturesque even. But the beauty is utterly lost on you in that moment. Everything is covered with a pristine white expanse that stretches as far as the eye can see. And there's simply no way in hell you can step out without sinking knee-deep, much less move your car even an inch.

"Happened overnight," his voice calm against your rising irritation. "Weather guy said it'll last a few days." Logan senses your distress, the dejected slump of your posture drawing genuine concern. "Listen, don't worry 'bout stayin' here. I don't mind at all, okay?" His reassurance eases your worries by a fraction, the sincerity and sheer honesty in his tone dispelling any hesitation creeping in. "'m serious," he adds gently.

"Thank you... so much, Logan. Really," you manage, the words catching in your throat.

And you are. Deeply, and truly grateful. Your carefully laid plans once again derailed by something beyond your control. Yet, it could have been so much worse. Thanks to Logan's unwavering support, his willingness to welcome a stranger, you're not completely shelterless while the snowstorm continues. The idyllic Christmas getaway you envisioned withers into a distant mirage. But in this moment, surrounded by the warmth of his presence, this feels more than enough.

Hours pass as you drift into a well-deserved nap on the couch, the hushed murmur of the wind outside lulling you into a peaceful slumber. The quiet doesn't last. A sudden bang echoes through the cabin, jolting you awake. "The fuck–" you murmur, disoriented as you stand up. Frowning at the interruption, you pad towards the noise, and eventually, stop dead in your tracks. "Holy shit."

Snow dusts his hair and shoulders, clinging to the rough fabric of his denim jacket. Logan, cheeks flushed red from the cold, wrestles a decent-sized fir tree through the back door. And judging by his grunts, it's evidently too wide for the opening. "Good, you're up. Hold the door, would ya?" he grumbles, muscles flexing against its considerable weight as he inches it further and further inside.

Shock momentarily freezes you in place, but his request snaps you out of your stupor. Rushing forward, you push the door with all your strength, the hinges groaning as you force it open at an awkward angle. With a final, mighty heave and a muttered curse, he manages to carry it fully indoors.

"What... is this?" you ask bewildered. A flurry of snowflakes and pine needles spread onto the floor, the crisp scent of nature filling the space. It's a wild and untamed thing, the sight of it so random and yet, somewhat festive.

"S'clearly a tree."

He doesn't cower from your glare. "Yes, I know it's a tree. What's it doing in your living room?"

Logan pauses briefly, and you can’t quite decipher if the deepening flush on his cheeks is solely from the lingering chill or something else entirely. He avoids your direct gaze for a second. "Figured since you're stuck here, might as well decorate a little." A studied nonchalance masks his attitude as if lugging a six-foot tree into his cabin during a raging blizzard is the most normal thing in the world.

Stunned doesn't even begin to capture the whirlwind of emotions churning within. Logan had already opened his home to you, and now, he's gone to the trouble of dragging this laughably enormous tree inside, all in an effort to cheer you up. Something spreads through your chest in an almost overwhelming capacity and the air suddenly feels intimate. And expressing the full extent of your appreciation feels too vulnerable, so you deflect instead. "Thought it wasn't really your thing."

"Yeah well, 'm runnin' a bed and breakfast as you said. Gotta keep my only guest happy, right?" His smile nearly melts you. The effect immediate and surprisingly potent. One that speaks of pure kindness and his quiet, unassuming warmth. One that makes the absurdity of a giant tree propped in the middle of his living room not only reasonable, but somehow perfectly right.

"I'll make sure to leave a four-star rating."

"Four?"

"I know you burnt something yesterday."

The evening comes quickly and time flies, surprisingly so, as you and Logan get to decorating. The lack of traditional ornaments proves to be only a minor obstacle because with a little creativity, colourful ribbons from old packages become tinsel, pinecones transform into rustic baubles, and even a string of spare light bulbs is carefully wrapped around the branches.

A natural rhythm falls into place as you work. You talk about random things: childhood memories, neighbours, and his startling lack of Christmas movie knowledge - a revelation that elicits a gasp of mock horror. There are moments when you stand close, brushing fingertips as you reach for the same thing. A shared look lasts a fraction too long, a breath catches in quiet air before one of you shyly steps aside. And strangely, despite the unusual circumstances that brought you together, despite the fact that you're practically strangers, it feels easy.

Fuck.

The shovel bites into the heavy snow with a satisfying crunch, lifting a thick slab that Logan heaves to the side of Diane's driveway. Earlier, her voice, tinged with desperation, had come through the answering machine, asking if he could possibly clear the mess in exchange for a warm dinner. He'd readily agreed, a gesture so typical in weather like this. But, in the course of the call, he'd let slip that he wasn't alone. And Diane, ever the hospitable and nosy soul, immediately insisted that you join in too.

He keeps a steady and even pace, breath puffing out in small white clouds in the fresh afternoon air. The muscles in his arms and back strain beneath his jacket as he clears a path through the deep drifts. You stand nearby - supposedly helping - bundled in your warmest clothes.

He's about to tease you for your lack of contribution, the words practically forming on his lips, when something cold and wet hits the back of his neck. Whirling around sharply with a surprised expression, he finds you grinning. The evidence is clear: melting remains of a snowball cling to your gloved hands, while a few snowflakes adorn your hair, creating a delicate halo of white around your face. With a few quick swipes, the snow is brushed away, his gaze not straying from yours.

"Now that was a mistake, darlin'."

Before he can retaliate, you turn and bolt. It's a comical attempt at an escape, a sort of waddling run rather than a sprint. Within seconds, he gains distance and tackles you gently, sending you both tumbling into a soft pile of snow. Laughter bubbles up and then fades, leaving Logan staring down at you. Inches apart, noses almost touching. A strange energy hangs in the air, pulling him imperceptibly closer.

"You kids'll catch a cold playing in that!"

He huffs a laugh, the sound a little breathless, a little unsteady, before pushing himself up. "Don't worry Diane, 'm takin' real good care of her," he yells back, extending a hand towards you.

"I'm sure you are," she mutters to herself knowingly. "C'mon in, dinner's ready!"

The kitchen table groans under the weight of the food: a glistening roast chicken sits proudly in the center, surrounded by steaming bowls of creamy mashed potatoes, green beans and thick slices of homemade bread. Diane bustles around the table, refilling your plates, urging you to try the gravy, her face beaming with satisfaction.

She shifts her attention to you, asking about your life, your hobbies, your family. Logan catches himself staring more than once, a faint blush rising as he diverts his gaze to the food. But the pull is undeniable; his eyes keep returning, hooked as if by an invisible thread.

Dinner passes in a warm haze of hearty conversation and fond memories. "Is this your son?" you ask, carrying the dishes to the sink. A framed photograph rests on the bookshelf near the doorway. Light falls onto the glass, reflecting a gentle glow on the smiling faces within.

"Yes, my Charlie. Real sweetheart that boy, calls every week to check in. He works down in the city, busy as can be. I haven't seen him in... it must be nearly two years now." The lines around her eyes crinkle slightly as she dusts the picture. "But Logan's been a blessing, I tell you. Always there for me."

"Don't go spreadin' that 'round. Can't have people thinkin' I give out special treatment," he retorts playfully, leaning against the counter.

"Oh, I think everyone can see who you're sweet on."

Logan shifts slightly, his smile faltering at the comment. A redness creeps up his neck, betraying his composure as he steals a glance at your stunned expression. Clearing his throat a little rougher than normal, he turns abruptly to the front door. "Gonna get some firewood."

A gust of wind, sharp and sudden as a physical blow, smacks against him the moment he steps outside. He gathers a few logs, the rough bark scraping against his fingers, but his mind remains stubbornly elsewhere. As he retraces his steps to the front porch, the gentle lilt of Diane's voice filters through the walls: "Could you get the door, honey?"

The door swings inwards, and his breath hitches immediately. Suspended just inches above, dangling from a slender crimson ribbon, hangs a sprig of mistletoe, its pale berries gleaming. Your gaze follows his, an embarrassed chuckle slipping out. From somewhere behind, Diane hums, a sound that resonates with blatant intention. The weight of the firewood in his arms increases tenfold as he meets your eyes. He can’t quite decipher the expression in them – amusement, a hint of nervousness, and something else he can’t quite place. "You don't... have to–" he mumbles.

Then, your attention dips down to his lips, a fleeting glance that sends a jolt of electricity through his body, momentarily stilling his heartbeat. He feels frozen, every muscle taut, the firewood heavy and forgotten. But at the very last second, you turn your head and press a kiss to his cheek instead.

The cherry of his cigar burns a steady ember. He leans against the rough-hewn logs of his cabin wall, the wood pressing into his back. The ghost of your lips on his cheek persists, a phantom touch that caresses his skin long after you’ve moved away. Logan draws deeply on the cigar, the smoke winding upwards in wisps, obscuring the stars above. He's only known you for a few days. So how could this feeling, this unsettling, foreign tinge of exhilaration, possibly exist?

"Hey."

The single word, soft yet distinct in the quiet night, floats like a whispered secret. Darkness traces the lines of your face, casting delicate shadows that accentuate your features. "Hey."

"Aren't you cold?"

"Run pretty warm," he replies, smoke escaping his mouth as he takes another drag. "Sorry ‘bout Diane. She can get a little–"

"No. That's alright." With a slight, almost languid wave of your hand, you brush aside his apology. "She's quite fond of you," you whisper, accompanied by a subtle upturn of your lips.

Logan huffs lightly as the silence returns. The moonlight, filtered through the branches overhead, creates dappled patterns of light and shadow across the ground. “So,” he begins, his gaze locking onto yours, “this... everythin' you hoped for?”

"No." Your response is immediate. A small, genuine smile blossoms on your face at his reaction, sending a wave of unexpected warmth surging through his chest - a warmth that has nothing to do with the slowly burning cigar held loosely between his fingers. "It's better."

He fights hard to school his expression, to maintain a neutral facade, not wanting to reveal how much your simple happiness affects him. A furrow appears between your brows, and your lips part slightly as if you’re about to speak, then hesitate. "What're you thinkin'?" he asks gently.

"Work. I don't wanna go back," you confess. The heavy sigh that follows speaks volumes. "It's just... not what I thought it would be. It's not what I want anymore." The dejection in your voice is palpable, a sadness that makes him ache to reach out and offer comfort.

Logan sees the weariness etched on your face, the way your gaze drifts towards the dark silhouette of the distant mountains as if seeking solace in the vast landscape. "Then what's keepin' you there?" he wonders aloud, an instinctive pull bringing him a step closer.

You pause almost abruptly, the flow of conversation halting as if it hit an invisible wall. The soft vulnerability that had been present just moments before vanishes, replaced by a guardedness that makes him instantly regret his question. "I should get some rest."

“Wait–”

“Good night, Logan,” you mumble, the door clicking shut behind you.

Hi, Mr. Grinch!

Cindy Lou?! What are you doing up there?

I came to see you. No one should be alone on Christmas.

The scene plays along as you and Logan sit beside each other on the couch. He’d suggested the movie, feigning a sudden interest in Christmas classics. But you knew the real reason. The insistent buzz of work emails had been plaguing your phone all day, and he’d seen the way your eyes kept flicking down to the screen, the shadow of worry that clouded your features. This was his quiet way of offering respite - a gentle distraction.

The light from the television flashes across his profile, illuminating the strong line of his jaw and the curve of his lips. He seems completely absorbed by the movie, but a stillness in his posture tells you he’s not as engrossed as he pretends to be.

A wave of drowsiness washes over you, your eyelids fluttering closed and then snapping open again in a futile attempt to stay awake. But the warmth of the fire, the muted hum of the movie, and Logan's comforting presence prove too much to resist. Your head lolls to the side, almost of its own accord, finding a soft landing against his shoulder.

The sharp clatter of pots and pans colliding rouses you from sleep. Then, a savory blend of garlic, herbs, and something undeniably rich and tomatoey, wafts through the air. As you round the corner to investigate, your jaw drops.

There, stands Logan, putting the final touches on a scene that looks straight out of a romcom. A small, round table has been pulled away from the wall and positioned near the window. Candlelight dances on the polished wood surface, reflecting in the delicate glassware he’d clearly unearthed from some hidden corner of the cabin. Two steaming bowls of pasta sit on either side.

His head lifts as you appear, some kind of hopeful affection shimmering in his eyes much like the flames themselves. He quickly steps back from the table, as if caught in the act of some grand romantic gesture. The glow from your makeshift yet charmingly decorated Christmas tree in the living room spills into the kitchen. It’s all so carefully arranged, so thoughtfully put together, that it takes your breath away.

"What's all this?"

"Nothin' special... just thought it'd be nice. Christmas Eve n' all."

"I'm... impressed," you stammer nervously, but the sentiment feels inadequate on your tongue.

Logan ducks his head rather shyly - a small almost boyish action that flushes his rugged features. He then moves with a newfound purpose, reaching for the back of the chair closest to you and pulling it out in a smooth motion. And in that moment, there’s no world where you’d say no. The thought doesn’t even cross your mind.

The meal had been delicious, but it was the shared conversation, the easy laughter that truly filled you. "Maybe I'll have to bump you up to five stars."

"Hm, that so?"

"I said maybe."

He chuckles, holding your gaze for a beat longer before rising suddenly. Static bursts into the room as he fiddles with the radio, a brief, crackling intrusion before giving way to fragmented voices and snippets of music. He continues turning the dial until a slow melody emerges. Spinning around, Logan extends a hand towards you, his palm facing upwards in a clear invitation. "C'mon, trust me," he whispers.

Hesitantly, you grasp his fingers - his touch gentle and firm. As you draw closer, the scent of woodsmoke and his cologne crowd your lungs. The movement feels surprisingly natural as if you’ve danced a hundred times before.

"This is... the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

At your words, Logan’s hand tightens on your waist. The subtle change in his posture, the slight tilt of his head, the way his focus lies solely on you, steal any semblance of logic in your mind, replacing it with a dizzying rush of anticipation.

"Yeah? You deserve it," he murmurs back, his voice low and husky. "I like seein' you happy."

You make me happy. The words tremble on the tip of your tongue, daring to break free. The distance between your lips is almost nonexistent, a hair’s breadth separating you from the building tension. Time seems to slow, each second stretching into an eternity as you both lean in, the promise of a kiss hanging heavy in the air. You can almost taste him, a sweet ache swelling in your chest.

But the jarring tone of an emergency broadcast shatters the moment. “The severe snowstorm warning previously in effect for this region has now been lifted. A true Christmas miracle! Tomorrow will bring clear skies and–”

As you walk side-by-side along a beaten-down path through the mountains, the crisp breeze nipping at your cheeks, he steals glances at you, drinking in the sight of your joy. The moon paints the world in silver, mirroring the pure happiness that had been shining in your eyes. Logan had spent the day showing you around town: the local bakery, the family-owned bookstore. You’d even braved the icy air for a short walk along the frozen lake, nearly slipping until his quick reflexes caught you just in time.

He stops as the path opens up onto a breathtaking vista. The town below sprawls out like a miniature constellation, each house a tiny spark of light against the dark canvas of the valley. Strings of colourful lights crisscross the streets, weaving a tapestry of festive cheer. Logan watches you, a quiet satisfaction settling in his chest. He can see the awe etched on your face as you absorb all the details.

"What'd you think?"

"It's... beautiful," you exhale.

"Thought you'd like it." He shifts closer, subtle yet deliberate as his chest brushes lightly against your shoulder. A wildfire courses through his veins, temptation burning away his doubts. He’d wanted to kiss you - countless times. The impulse had been a constant undercurrent for days, a silent hum beneath the surface of every conversation, every shared look. Leaning in, breath warm against your ear, he whispers your name. "Tell me 'm not crazy. Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop."

"Cause darlin', 'm runnin' out of reasons why I shouldn't," he murmurs.

And then, you turn. The sweetness of your lips becomes almost intoxicating and unlike anything he ever imagined. Logan's hand trails up your side, mapping the curve of your waist. With a soft sigh, he dips his head further, deepening the kiss. All the pent-up tension comes crashing down as you pull away. It's a rush, a torrent that sweeps through him, rendering him breathless and nearly disoriented.

His thumb caresses your cheek, a silent plea that echoes the longing in his tone. "Don't... don't leave."

"Logan... I can't." His heart sinks. It’s not a dramatic plummet, but a slow, agonizing descent. Regret stings your eyes as his hand falls away.

"Why not? You're not happy workin' that job. Stay here, you'll find somethin'," he tries desperately.

"Stop. Please," you whisper, choked with emotion. "Let's just go back."

Heartache keeps Logan tossing and turning all night. Sleep had offered no escape, only a relentless replay of yesterday's conversation. His eyes burn, gritty and heavy as he pushes himself up on his elbows. But a strange unease stirs in his gut. He can't sense your presence. The air feels empty, lacking your familiar warmth and energy.

Panic flares in his mind. Did he push you away? Did you leave in the middle of the night? A cold dread grips his heart. He throws the blanket off, feet hitting the cold wooden floor with a thud.

Nausea rolls over him. A hollow ache in the pit of his stomach inches through his entire body. His hands tremble as he rakes them through his hair, breath catching in his throat. He’s about to give in to the rising despair, the crushing weight of believing you’re gone when a faint scent drifts in through the slightly open window. Relief knocks him hard, so intense his knees almost buckle.

"Fuck, I thought–" he starts, heading towards you.

"I quit."

Logan freezes, his brows furrowing in confusion. "What?"

"I quit my job." The corners of your mouth curve into a smile, and his heart leaps at the sight. "Running out of reasons why I shouldn't," you chuckle softly, fingers lacing together at the nape of his neck, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. "But next year, we're getting real decorations," you add playfully, and he grins.

"I'll buy some today, sweetheart."

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ohisms · 10 months ago

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↪ 𝑺𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 , HISTORICAL 〳 FANTASY edition ! ( a collection of 25 settings based upon the period 〳 fantasy genres ; meant to inspire drabbles or be used as prompts . WILL be updated . )

001. the interior of an elegant carriage .

002. seated at a large dining table set with an elaborate meal .

003. the shadowy corner of a lively tavern .

004. the top of a light house during a raging storm .

005. along the dimly lit corridor of a large manor .

006. the damp , dark brig of a pirate ship .

007. the ruins of an ancient structure lost to time .

008. a theater hall brimming with attendees .

009. the bustling streets of a market town .

010. a sun - drenched vineyard .

011. along a boardwalk overlooking the sea .

012. a moonlit cemetery full of weathered graves .

013. on horseback , deep in the woods .

014. a luxurious drawing room smelling of tea .

015. a sprawling dragon roost , hidden atop craggy mountain peaks .

016. a war - torn battlefield .

017. a beautiful cathedral bustling with churchgoers .

018. within a crammed opera box during a performance .

019. an elegant tearoom serving afternoon refreshments .

020. a lakeside pavilion on an especially hot day .

021. a sprawling network of underground catacombs .

022. a hidden glade in the middle of the woods .

023. the deep , dark dungeon of a castle .

024. a market square full of fruit and fineries .

025. a baker's shop smelling of wonderful pastries .

026. the quiet stables of a large estate .

027. on the outskirts of a magnificent water fountain .

028. in a dimly lit library , hidden amongst the books .

029. among the high walls of a hedge maze .

030. at the front desk of a warm , homey inn .

031. under the protection of a gazebo as it rains .

032. on the landing of a busy train station .

033. a gambling hall alight with raucous laughter and drink .

034. a pristine infirmary , mostly empty .

035. on board a huge ship making a long voyage .

+ 20 more setting prompts : 6 / 01 / 2024

036. in a sunlit garden adorned with blooming flowers .

037. at the edge of a serene forest lake under a starry sky.

038. within a quiet corridor of a castle during a lavish ball .

039. in a bustling blacksmith's forge , sparks flying .

040. on a rocky cliffside overlooking a vast ocean .

041. in a quaint village square during a festival .

042. within a secret chamber hidden behind a bookshelf .

043. in the grand atrium of a luxurious hotel .

044. along a narrow brick alleyway in a crowded town .

045. within a busy marketplace in a desert town .

046. on a tranquil beach at sunrise .

047. in a cozy cottage with a crackling fireplace .

048. at the helm of a majestic airship soaring through the clouds .

049. in a grand library filled with ancient tomes .

050. on a bustling harbor dock as ships come and go .

051. within a magical forest where the trees glow softly .

052. in an apothecary's shop filled with herbs and potion .

053. at a secluded cabin by a dangerously quick river .

054. within the opulent throne room of a powerful ruler .

055. in an enchanted glade where fairies dance in the moonlight .

#rp meme #rp prompt #inbox prompt #ohisms #rp inbox prompt

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gam3r-girli3 · 14 days ago

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❛ i burn for you ❜

note: hope you enjoy anon! this is the longest imagine i've written to date!

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Arthur Morgan was many things: outlaw, gunslinger, collector of cigarette cards (since he learned from a man he met at the train station that a full set is worth money) - but he was also a fool, especially when it came to women.

The day he read that damn letter, eyes greedily drinking in the cursive writing and the faint scent of a sweet perfume he hadn't forgotten, he went running with his tail tucked between his legs. He was being played like a damn fiddle, he knew that, especially when she asked him to help her with her brother. All these years and she only gets in contact when she needs a favour and a fool like him to do it for her.

But seeing her again ... damn, if it didn't bring up a lot of feelings he'd tried to forget. Memories of happier days, of a love he once thought would burn bright and bold for a long time.

So, like the goddamn fool he is, he helps her. Rescues her younger brother from a strange cult in the mountains worshipping turtles. Brings him back to her. Drinks up her praise, her gratitude. Watches her board the train and continues watching until it's out of sight.

When he returns back to camp that evening, he notices your foul mood. Usually you'd greet him as you always did, a smile on your lips that gave him a strange, warm feeling inside - but this time, you didn't even look at him, face stoic.

What the outlaw didn't know was that when he'd read that letter that came for him and then taken off like a bat out of hell on his horse, you'd followed him, curious to see where he was heading to so eagerly.

You stayed a good distance back while he rode to a big house just outside Valentine, used your binoculars to see more clearly as he dismounts his horse, walks up the steps of the porch and knocks on the door. When the door opens, your heart drops.

It's her.

Goddamn Mary Gillis - well, Linton now, since she'd married a good few years ago. Regardless of her surname, she was still as pretty as a picture, and clearly, she still had a hold on Arthur's heart all these years later.

It stung, more than you'd care to admit. These past few months, before Horseshoe Overlook and Colter, before even the mess in Blackwater, you'd begun to notice a shift in your relationship with Arthur. You'd always been fairly close, having grown up together and taught by Hosea and Dutch, but the past few months ... something had changed. You aren't sure how or when but it had.

And now here he was, his hat in his hands as he stared starry-eyed at another woman, his old flame.

A sickly feeling rises within and you decide you can't watch anymore. Pushing your binoculars back into your satchel, you swing up on your horse and head back to camp with a heavy heart and tears in your eyes.

"Everythin' alright?" He asks uncertainly, concern in his eyes.

You still don't look at him, head down and eyes trained on your rifle as you smear gun oil over it to clean it. "Sure."

Arthur frowns, unconvinced. "Don't seem that way."

An exasperated sigh leaves you. "I'm fine, Arthur. Just not in the mood to talk."

Well then. He decides it's best to leave you to your own devices and turns, heading to his tent, bewildered by your frostiness.

It wasn't like you to be so cool with anyone, let alone him. The two of you had known each other since you were kids, grew up being taught how to read by Hosea and how to fire a gun by Dutch. There wasn't much you didn't tell each other.

And he'd lying if he said he hadn't felt a change between you lately. There was a warmth that bloomed in his chest when he saw you, a rush of air that left his lungs as you smiled at him. He'd spent countless hours sneakily observing you as he tried his best to sketch your likeness into his journal; the slope of your nose, the fullness of your lips, the gleam in your eyes, the light dusting of freckles across your cheeks and nose.

Every day he discovered something new about you he wanted to draw and soon he'd had to get himself a new journal, the previous one filled with pages upon pages of carefully drawn pictures of you.

Arthur didn't know what to make of these new feelings, didn't know what to do with them - so he buried them deep down, tried his best to ignore them and pretend they weren't there.

Acting on them was out of the question for two reasons: one, he was utterly hopeless when it came to women, and two, you were his closest and oldest friend which meant you were strictly off limits. He couldn't bare to lose you, not after everything you'd been through together.

You'd patched up his wounds from countless shoot-outs, helped him back to camp when he'd gotten so drunk he could barely see straight, sewn his favourite jacket when he complained about rips and tears in it. And after the death of his son ... you'd been there to pick up the pieces of his broken heart, seen him at his lowest and still stayed by his side.

Risking such a precious friendship he'd come to cherish was unthinkable. A life without you made less sense than Uncle pulling his weight and helping out around the camp instead of complaining about his 'lumbago'.

Days pass. The air grows a little warmer and the sun burns a little hotter with the coming of summer. The heat isn't the only thing that grates on Arthur's nerves.

You still hadn't spoken more than two words to him. When he'd tried to approach you and speak to you, you'd make some half-assed excuse about needing to go into town for a few supplies or going to collect a debt for Strauss and quickly left. You flitted around so much, in and out of camp, you were little more than a blur these days.

Arthur had had enough. He was tired of your strange attitude and quite frankly, if you didn't want to talk about whatever the hell was going on with you, too bad. Underneath the annoyance and frustration, there was concern. He didn't understand why you were behaving so unusually, why you seemed to be avoiding him.

He'd noticed you talking to other members of the gang just fine, joking and laughing as you often did - so why was it just him you seemed to be so frosty with?

One day, after another cold dismissal, Arthur's temper reaches a boiling point.

"Wha' the hells your goddamn problem, huh?"

You turn to look at him, eyes narrowing in defensiveness at his outburst. "Excuse me?"

He knows he should back off and calm down, he's far too worked up to speak rationally, but he's sick and tired of feeling like his closest friend has become a stranger. He misses you, damn it.

"You heard me. What's going on with you? Why're you avoidin' me?"

You scoff, trying to play it cool. "I ain't avoidin' anyone. You're delusional."

He returns your scoff with a bitter chuckle. "Oh, really? That why you scurry away like a goddamn rabbit whenever I try to talk to you?"

Heat burns in your cheeks. "I do not scurry."

"Well, ya sure seem to move pretty goddamn fast when ya see me comin'." He takes a step closer, face drawn in a tight glare. "So spit it out. What's goin' on with you? And don't you even try to deny it."

"How's Mary?" You ask suddenly, voice laced with venom and eyes sharp as Javier's knives.

The question throws him for a loop, his anger momentarily disappearing as shock registers. "Mary? The hell's she got to do with anythin'?"

"Oh, please," you roll yours eyes irritatedly, crossing your arms over your chest. "I saw you running off into town that day you got her letter. Saw you talkin' to her, lookin' like a lovesick fool. Did you forget how she broke your heart? How you weren't good enough for her? Or were you just thinkin' with your dick?"

Your words cut deep and fuel his anger even more. "You followin' me now?"

Ignoring his accusation, you press on, anger burning hot and bright inside your chest. "After everything that damn woman put you through, after the way her family looked down on you, after she rejected you because you weren't good enough, why in the hell would you go and help her?"

"What the hell has this got to do with why you've been avoidin' me?" He demands furiously.

You want to slap yourself in the face - and then him, and then Mary for good measure and because you're feeling a little petty.

How could this man be so oblivious and hopelessly clueless?

It was right there; you'd practically spelled it out for him and he still pretended like he couldn't read the words your heart had written for him.

Or maybe, he didn't want to. Maybe he didn't want to see how you felt for him because he didn't feel the same. Maybe he was still desperately in love with Mary after all these years and you'd imagined the closeness between you these last few months, foolishly deluding yourself into believing there'd been a spark.

From the way he was looking at you, angry and confused and so oblivious, you could only assume he hadn't felt the same heat from the embers you'd been nurturing inside longer than you'd care to admit.

So you swallow your anger, your hurt, your love. It's bitter and difficult, like trying to chew down Pearson's gristly stew, but you do it.

"Nothin'. It's got absolutely nothin' to do with it."

If the situation was different, you might have laughed at the absolutely bewildered look on the man's face.

But it wasn't.

And you didn't.

Instead, you did what you do best lately: you turn and walk away.

Days bleed into weeks and weeks into months. After robbing the bank in Valentine, you flee once more, packing up the camp and settling into a derelict mansion south of a town called Rhodes. Shady Belle, is the name of the new campsite.

Down here so close to the swamps, the air is much more humid and heavy, weighing down on everyone and clinging to them. The heat is almost unbearable, and everyone dresses in lighter layers to try and alleviate their overheated bodies from the warmer temperatures.

You hadn't spoken to Arthur in quite a while. Well, nothing more than a few words here and there when absolutely necessary, like for a robbery or when someone in camp said to tell him they were looking for him. Other than that, nothing. There'd been a large fracture between you, one that didn't go unnoticed by knowing eyes.

Having raised the two of you from young teenagers to hardened adults, Hosea could see from a mile off that something had happened.

Late one evening, when most everyone else had retired to their tents for the night, Hosea finds Arthur by the docks, a small lantern perched on an old crate illuminating his figure and the ever permanent scowl on his face these days.

"You know," the older man begins as he comes to stand beside Arthur. "When Bessie and I would get into a fight, she'd ignore me for days unless I apologised. Longest we went without talking was a week. Worst one of my life."

Arthur's surprised to see his older mentor up so late, but he doesn't show it, too confused by the meaning behind his seemingly random reminiscing. "Okay..?"

Hosea looses a tired sigh. "My dear boy, you were always a few branches short of a tree, weren't you?"

The outlaw scoffs. "You callin' me dumb, old man?"

"I'm simply saying that there was a time when I thought it was worth being right over being happy and I soon learned I was very wrong."

"I still don't know where you're goin' with this."

"Whatever you did or said, just apologise to her."

Arthur's face hardens as he realises now what Hosea's been getting at, the sly bastard. "I ain't got nothin' to apologise for."

"That hardly matters. You're upset, she's upset. The simple solution is to swallow your pride and say you're sorry."

"I didn't do nothin' to say sorry for!"

"You'll forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe, what with the way you two have been acting as of late."

"She jus' started freezin' me out and then one day she chews me out for goin' to help Mary out-"

"Ah." Hosea eyes gleam with a knowing glint as he begins to smile. "I see."

"See what?"

"She's hurt."

"Hurt? Why in the hell would she be-"

Oh.

Hosea says nothing as the realisation slams into Arthur, leaving him winded and reeling.

How did he not see it sooner? You were hurt. Upset. Because he'd gone to see Mary, his past love. Which meant that you ...

Arthur turns on his heel and marches toward your tent, faintly registering a call of 'good luck!' from Hosea.

He hopes that you're still awake and he isn't sure if he's more relieved or nervous when he sees light illuminating from within the canvas. He pauses outside, hesitant and second guessing himself. What if he got it wrong? What if you didn't actually have feelings for him? What if he's being delusional and wanting to believe you do have feelings for him because he has them for you too?

It had taken him so long to get to this point, to admit to himself he cared about you more than just a friend. To admit that he loved you. And now there was a possibility you might just feel the same.

A combination of the heat and nerves made his throat dry, his hands growing clammy. He was frozen in place, staring at the canvas, thinking that if anyone walked by and saw him they'd scold him for being a pervert, but he -

The canvas parted and your face appeared, sending his heart racing even faster. You appeared just as surprised as he felt, eyes widening at the sight of him stood outside your tent. "Arthur? What the hell are you-"

Before you can even finish your question, he surges forward, leaning down to cup your face as his lips capture yours in a searing kiss that steals your breath and sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. His mouth is hungry, insatiable as he devours you, tongue sliding into your mouth and caressing yours. It's like he's a man dying of thirst and he's just gotten his first drink of water in years.

When you both break away, panting and breathing heavily, lips swollen and faces flushed, there's no denying the palpable heat between you now, the roaring inferno too loud to silence or ignore.

"I'm sorry," Arthur rasps lowly, voice husky. "I should've - I didn' - she's not-" He takes a moment to catch his breath and gather his thoughts before trying again. "I did love Mary but that was a long time ago. I helped her because it was the right thing to do, not because I still had feelings for her. You... you've had my heart for a long time now, darlin'. Youre in my goddamn veins, you're - you're everythin'."

Your heart stutters at his heartfelt confession, tears springing to your eyes. You'd been waiting a long time to hear those words, so long that you'd become convinced you never would but now -

His hands are still cupping your face, calloused thumbs gently stroking across your skin as his eyes search yours, desperate and wanting. "I should'a said it a long time ago, I was a fool, a goddamn fool, but I love ya, darlin'. I think maybe I always have."

There it is.

You swallow the lump in your throat, your heart overflowing as you struggle to choke out the words you want to say. "I love you too, Arthur. I love you so much it hurts -"

Nothing else needs to be said, no further words necessary as he kisses you once more, further igniting the smoldering heat between you that had been burning for years, slowly growing from flickering embers to this.

And nothing, or no one, would ever extinguish it.

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#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 imagine #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 imagine #my fics

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cassimothwin · 7 months ago

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Which house will be you be assigned at Brackroot Academy??? Pause or Screenshot the gif at the top to learn your destiny!

Then "Keep reading" to learn more about your house!

Brackroot Academy is part of Tangled Blessings, a magical school horror roleplaying game that uses tarot cards to uncover your fate as a student.

If you like this fun exercise, learn more about the crowdfunding campaign happening now!

Learn more about your house further below! Does it suit you?

House of Celestials

The skies borrow from the elements to paint a backdrop for life. Featuring iconography of the sun, moon, and constellations, celestials are known for their inner glow. Still, they do not shy away from the dark surrounding them, understanding that all things require balance. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: discipline, passion, or indifference. This dorm overlooks the lake.

House of Dahlias

Dahlias rely on the energy of celestial bodies for growth and endurance. As a vibrant flower, dahlias are a symbol of elegance and devotion. The plant may seem abundant, but it requires careful nurturing in the wet and cold climate of Brackroot. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: creativity, perfectionism, or obsessiveness. This dorm is connected to the greenhouse.

House of Panthers

The panther needs a garden to rest from its daily stroll, and the dahlias always supply. The panther is a symbol of grace, athletics, and agility but still elusive and rare — a fierce creature of the shadows. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: observation, punctuality, or ruthlessness. This dorm is at the edge of the forest.

House of Spires

The spires are only safe in their tower because of the panthers who keep guard. The House of Spires represents the connection blades, pens, and spirituality share. While members of this house may only show interest or aptitude in one of the represented icons, they are a full member of the spire. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: empathy, isolation, or judgment. This dorm is in the high tower.

House of Elements

Elements are the wildest of the quintet, but they maintain control with help from the spires. The elements symbolize excess and power, but together, they represent the strength of unity. Students in this house often carry at least one or more of these marks: cleverness, hunger, or negligence. This dorm is under the school, but furnished with enchanted windows that overlook the neighboring mountains.

House of None

Accessible by only walking along the edge of a bridge in the right invisible spot, students in the House of None often think of themselves as beyond reality. These thoughts only worsen the more they understand magic on cosmic and atomic scales. Students in this house are often detached, cold, and fiercely intelligent Symbols commonly associated with this house include the number zero, a black hole, a vortex, lanterns, and knots.

House of Divines

Hidden beneath the campus Chapel and graveyard, this house was annexed centuries ago for blatant misuse of dark magic. Some stories claim this house serves as the birthplace for demons and vampires. Whatever the reason for the House's former eradication, blood stains remain in the foundation. Students in this house are often vengeful, patient, and not above harming others to get what they want. Symbols commonly associated with this house include blood, fruit, teeth, bones, claws, horns.

#dark academia #solo journaling #indie ttrpg #ttrpg #tarot #gothic horror #tabletop rpg #horror #journaling #dark academia aesthetic #two-player ttrpg #kickstarter #backerkit #crowdfunding

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oldermenlvrgrl · 8 months ago

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Filthy animal

Logan doesn’t regret much in his life but pushing you away is his biggest mistake.

Logan howlett x human! reader.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: hella angst to cry to, swearing, excessive drinking, loss & grief, his fighting era, dark themes, he’s an alcoholic, stalking, insecurities, depression, anxiety, memories of sex & sexual themes, kissing, talk of breeding/pregnancy, hormones, ovulation, mentioning of self harm, a/b/o themes, he eats raw meat like a feral animal.

A/n: to the one person that wanted me to write this, between when origins end and x-men begins era. He has a bike in this before he goes to the academy idc he’s hot when he’s on a bike

The house is too quiet. The log cabin stood on a mountain top overlooking the vast earthly landscape below. His fingers trace over the wooden bannister of the front door. Feeling every crevice and panel. His mind is numb to the feeling of longing. He doesn’t even know why he did it anymore. The pain in his chest that never yields is too unbearing. He sighs, locking the door and leaving it behind him, like he did with you. Locking away the love he had for you in a cage and leaving it behind.

He goes to the bar, the only place known to give him comfort is at the end of a whiskey bottle. A fat stogy lit between his fingers. The smoke dancing in the air. He doesn’t care that he’s told to not smoke. He nurses the glass, hunched over the bar. Aggression flaring up his face. A hungry dog with food aggression bowed over lapping at liquor. He clenches and opens his hand, feeling the metal under the skin gyrate.

For weeks this is all he has known. Lumber yard (when he shows up), fighting cage, bar and home. It wasn’t even home without you there. You were the only thing that was home to him. Now that you were gone he didn’t have a home.

“Now introducing…the Wolverine!”

Logan gets up staggering along the sea of people. Putting the head of the cigar in the drip of whiskey that resides in his glass. Shedding his flannel and his tank to his bare chest. His veins pulsing and his vision impaired. They open the fenced gate and his head is hung down as he focuses on walking straight. He never planned to win this fight. He didn’t want to. He wanted to get the shit beat out of him so he can feel something other than grief.

The man before him is about seven foot, a mutant with the way his skin is stretched. The bell rings and they size each other up. Walking around the cage. They don’t speak and he prefers it to be that way. He raises his fists and cowers his head behind them. The abomination swings and hits him in the side of his head where his ear is. The hit wasn't normal, the hit felt like he got his head run over by a train. He smiles knowing that this beating was exactly what he lusted after.

He staggers up against the side of the cage. The coldness of the metal burns his hot skin. His drunken eyes look at the crowd and he faintly imagines that he sees your silhouette. Another hit to his abdomen. He holds his arm over his stomach and holds onto the fence. He stares out with unsteady eyes to where he sees a mirage of you wearing his dog tags around your neck. Your pretty neck, your pretty hair, your pretty face. His pretty girl. He starts to smile wider, white bloodied teeth. The blood poured behind the crevices in his mouth. Down his chest. Speckling his skin with rogue.

His head rears back as the abomination throws his fist into his nose. Blood starts flowing down his nasal passages. The square part of his chin where it’s shaved is covered in fluid. Another, another, another. He’s surprised he’s not missing teeth as he’s sprawled down on the white plastic floor in a splattered bloody pool. His torso, bruised and battered. He’s laughing. It’s taxing as he feels his broken ribs poke into his lungs. He watches the man parade around him in a victory lap, money starts being handed to and fro. Cradling his ribs as he continues to laugh. He laughs at himself, at how much of a joke he is. How he doesn’t have any restraint or respect for himself. He’s a mockery of who he once was. He looks to the crowd once more to see your face and he doesn’t.

The usher lifts him up and shoves his balled up clothes into his chest. Telling him that he’s banned from the establishment. He’s a joke to the fighting scene and to the bar. Logan isn’t sure if it’s the concussion or the liquor that makes him hear “come back tomorrow.” So he pats the man on his shoulder with a bloodied grin and goes back home.

He drinks himself to sleep that night. If he doesn’t drink, he can’t forget and he’d rather go bankrupt with all the liquor he buys than to remember you. There’s a part of him that desperately latches onto your memory. The bits and pieces that were domestic.

He doesn’t even bother going to the yard. Deep down he knows he’s fired, he couldn’t care. He sits in his big empty wooden cage and just watches the sun change into the moon and stars. Fighting off war flashbacks and memories of you. The only cure is whiskey, and he hadn’t eaten in days. His hunger only grows with each passing day. He can’t eat anything after remembering those home cooked meals you made him.

Nothing suffices. His house was destroyed after he purged it. His couch was torn to shreds, his clothes, and walls. Everything. He didn’t have a television or radio.

So he sits in a leather chair overlooking the mountain in the loose boxers that hang loosely around his hips. His legs spread wide and out, his arms lazily laid over the rests. His bicep only flexes as he sips from the lip of the bottle. A lit cigar he lethargically puffs on occasionally, feeling the burn in his chest simmer down his stomach. The tendons in his neck bulge as his heart rate rises. Fuck, he thought about you.

He thought about the times he’s hurt you.

Once it was deep in his sleep, you cradled against his broad sweaty chest. The sheets scattered in the dark. One of your legs kicked over his torso. His arm around your back, pushing you closer. His body is rigid and tense. His body feverish as he perspires. Sweat drips along his brows and temples.

His face winces as he watches his brother dismember innocent people before him. The hopeless desperate yearning he feels in the pit of his stomach grows. He feels nauseous as his face twists in agony. He shouts and shouts to no avail. The metal between his knuckles, pushing out. He grows anxious.

He feels you shuffle and that’s when he slices your upper arm. Your breath staggers as you jolt awake with fearful eyes, he’ll never forget you pulling away from him. He stands from the bed, watching you with horror, stricken across his pale face. He watches your feeble hand touch the blood that welts from the wound. The sheets draped over your torso as you stood and walked to him. He doesn’t look into your remorseful eyes as your soft red painted hand comes to touch the hair on his face. Cradling his jaw in your palm. He doesn’t welcome your warmth, he doesn’t deserve it. As your touch lingers, his claws retract.

“It’s just a scratch.”

You whisper softly. He doesn’t listen.

“It’s just a scratch.”

He mutters to himself as he takes another drink from the bottle. It wasn’t just a scratch, not to him. That single cut meant that he couldn’t even protect you from himself. How was he supposed to protect you if he contributed to your harm? He thinks of another memory.

He was close. His abdomen tightening and his balls drawn tight. He feels your walls constrict around the thickness of his cock. Pulling and tugging with each bounce of your hips. His head thrown back into the pillows as he grits his teeth together, thick eyebrows furrowed as he concentrates on feeling your wet slick coating his wide thighs. The smell is brutalizing him. The smell of your cunt weeping for him.

He peeks and watches your breasts bounce and your nails dig into his hairy chest. The hair on his lower stomach glistening with your slick. He bucks his hips up into your core, hitting that spot deep inside your womb. He feels your heated breath on his neck. Your nipples brushing against his own as you lay on top of him, the metal of his dog tags pressed between each of your chests.

Allowing him to bury himself inside you. His strong hands hold your hips in place, your legs widening to let his aggression grow. He pours everything he has into breeding you. His heart hammers against his chest as he hears your whimpers. The silent cry of yours to breed you full of his pups.

He growls deep in the back of his throat. Jackhammering his thrusts, the filthy sound of your squelching cunt is music to him. The sweet smell of your ovulation makes him drunker than any whiskey. He can’t control himself anymore. He ruts and ruts against your puffy pussy as you squeal for him to slow so you can breathe. He doesn’t and continues to pound into your pelvis, rocking your entire body against his. It’s painful how hard and fast he’s pulling you down. His legs half bent as he pulls your ass down to touch his thighs with every thrust. He growls as he pushes all the way inside and releases his seed into your weeping cunt.

The pain from his bleeding knuckles is excruciating but not as much as the quiet squeak from your little mouth. He pulls his head up and sees the little slits he made on your thighs. He lays his head against the pillows with a long sigh. Knowing that he couldn’t bear hurting you anymore. He couldn’t have you baring his pups and risk hurting you.

He couldn’t even get hard anymore without you. He couldn’t smell your hormones, couldn’t smell how desperate you wanted him. It wasn’t the same without you. He drinks. The cigar burns the inside of his index and middle, he doesn’t care. He lets it scorch his tanned skin. If it burnt the entire cabin he wouldn’t care either. He remembers the night he ended it with you.

He was drunk to the point where he was a vegetable on his leather couch. Shirtless and only in his dirtied torn blue jeans. He waited until you got home after work. He made up his mind a couple days ago and he didn’t have the courage to do it sober minded so he drank himself to it. He smelled you before he watched as the door knob wobbled and you stepped forward. He hated how beautiful you looked and his stomach twisted. You had groceries and a pretty smile on your face. It turned into a frown as you saw him with the bottle.

You asked him if something happened at the yard and he said no. You took the groceries into the kitchen after kicking the door closed with your foot. You started taking the groceries out and putting them into the cupboards. The raw meat you had to get from the local farmers was bloody as you put it in the fridge. You turned to get another item and were met with his glossy eyes. His mouth turned into a snarl. His eyes glanced over your confusion and his heart weakened. He desperately wanted to comfort you, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t in his nature to. His chest heaved as he looked at the inscribed dog tags around your neck.

“I want you out of my house.”

His words were heavily slurred, but he knew you understood them as your brows pinched together and you stopped looking for things to put up.

“What?”

It was weak and it killed him. He stared at the wooden floor, taking another swig. He raised a thick eyebrow and looked down the curve of his nose at you with blurry hazel eyes.

“You heard me.”

You shook your head and placed your hands on the counter, trying to ground yourself. Your world was falling apart in front of you.

“You’re drunk.”

You say meekly, barely above a whisper. He doesn’t reply. That was true, but the saying drunken words are sober thoughts still apply. A wave of emotion hits you, and your eyes water. You sniffle and turn to him. Your Logan wasn’t there. His eyes were glossed over and he was a shell.

“You don't mean that.”

He watches your bottom lip wobble and tears fall down your face. His heart drops and he drinks. His lips polished over with alcohol. The tension is thick and restricting.

“What happened to our future together? Where you wanted me to be your wife and to have your kids?”

You look down at your feet as you cry.

“When you said you’d never leave and that I’d always be your girl?”

He doesn’t speak and resentment grows in your heart.

“Is there another girl?!”

He doesn’t know why but you insinuating that he’d be able to love another woman than you angers him. His snarl grows and he shakes his head.

“Answer me!”

You push his chest and he stumbles back. That enrages him, his claws push out. He puts the bottle on the counter and pins your hands together and pushes your hips against the wood. You try to move and get his grip to loosen but it doesn’t. He pins you with your hands together behind your back and his body pushed against yours. His hands pulled into fists as he attempted to control his anger. He smells like liquor and his musk. He smells your fear and sees the same sorrow he feels.

“No. There’s never been and never will be. If you come back to my house and if I ever see you again..”

He trails off and looks to the bottle of booze, not wanting to admit it but deep in his heart he knows it’s for the best.

“I’ll kill you.”

You frown and choke out a sob as he lets you go. He stands in the middle of the kitchen with his head downturned. He hears you weep as you gather your things. Dreading the sounds of hearing the wheels of your suitcase trail down the wood. He hears the door open.

“You don’t mean that.”

He listens to the door close and the scent of you leave. Fury rages through him as he destroys everything around him, it doesn’t matter if it’s handmade or expensive he ruins it. He destroys his entire house trying to defile the thought of you. Destroying everything you’ve touched or reminded him of you. He wanted to destroy himself.

He decided later that night he had to see you. Had to breathe in your smell and that’ll fix him, put his mind on track. He was still scared as hell to hurt you, but the agony of being without you is greater than the risk of hurting you. Logan was selfish and all he wanted was you.

He sat outside the building where you worked on his bike and waited. Perched like a predator waiting for prey. He was surprised that he was steady enough to even get there unscathed. He sat on the side of the road, not in the parking lot. The engine turned off and he listened to the birds chirp. He made sure to not let you see him. Digging into his pocket he takes the fat cigar out and places it between his lips. Taking the lighter and cupping his hands around the flame as he puffs it to life. The embers burn and the smoke swirls around his head. The evening slowly dying into night.

Raising his nose to the air and sniffing as he smells your hormones. Your car pulls out of the lot shortly after and passes him. He sees the side of your face through the window and his heart burns. Your face is puffy and gloomy, completely contrasting the sunshine you exude.

Chewing on the end of the cigar, he starts the motorcycle and turns behind you. A good couple cars between him and you to separate the distance. He follows you down the familiar path down to your parents house. The long pine trees and barren fields full of crops. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he’s doing or what he’s going to do. All he knows is that he needs to see you, something primal deep inside him tells him that.

He pulls into an open field, overlooking the farm house. Staring with foggy eyes as you pull in. Gazing at your car door as it opens and you step out. He leans forward to fully look at you as much as he can from the distance. Whistling low at the pretty sight. Then as if you were never there you leave his sight and enter the house. He sighs, leaning back on his bike. Looking to the sky he determines that night shouldn’t take no longer than an hour. He waits.

He waits with a cigar between his plush lips. His hands flexing on top of his thighs. Clenching and opening, enticing the burn of his knuckles spreading open. Observing with eager eyes as each light in every window turns dark, except yours. A wishful smile spreads on his face. Knowing the next thing you’re about to do before going to bed is cracking your window open, and without fail he sees your little hands opening the pane. His heart soars as he’s proud that you’re still his girl. Still, having the same habits and quirks he’s grown to admire.

With that, he takes the cigar from his lips and pushes the end into the palm of his hand. Snuffing the smoke and flicking it into the field. He swings one of his long legs over the bike and starts his trail down to your window.

Begrudgingly, he comes to terms with having to climb up the side of your family's house to your room. The ivy woven into the side provides a grip for his climb. The poor gutter he tried to climb groaned and cried as the hinges unscrewed from the roof as he tried to pull his body weight up it, so the ivy would just have to be adequate. As he climbs, your scent grows stronger and his head starts to get fuzzy. The toes of his boots stuck between some panels. The broad pads of his fingers stuck on the window sill.

Propping his head up, he watches you lay on your bed watching television. Some movie played that you weren’t too keen on paying attention to. If you looked over you’d be able to see his wild hazel eyes and his tufts of hair poking far above his head.

You move to lay on your other side and he wishes to see your pretty face again. Without fail and as overplayed as it is, you truly were a sight for sore eyes. He listens eagerly to your mother’s voice beckoning you to dinner. Like the good sweet girl you are, you obey. Getting up from your bed and walking over to your door. A hand outstretched and touching the knob, but hesitantly, you pause. Logan’s heart drops and the hair on the back of his neck perks up. Can you see him? Your beautiful eyes wander over to the window screen and he ducks his head. Almost losing his grip and falling into the grass below. Your mother yells your name again and he doesn’t pull his head back up until he hears the door close.

He takes one of his hands and summons the metal between his knuckles to grow out. Cutting open the side of the window screen, he pulls it to the side. Hoisting himself up and over into the other side of the window ungracefully.

He’s not as nimble as he once was. He falls on his hands and knees with a loud thud, similar to a cat. He stills, anxiety rushing to his face as he listens for a reaction. Only hearing the chatter of common conversation between your parents and you, he stands. Reality hits him with a rush of adrenaline. He’s in your room. What the fuck is he doing? Guilt crawls up his spine and he flicks his head, ridding the fear. He needs this. His fingers trail over various objects in your room. Wooden dresser, mattress, vanity. His slow saunter stops as he looks at your vanity closer, his dog tags nestled with a Polaroid tucked under the chain.

The weekend your parents took you both camping. He was supposed to propose to you on that trip but got cold feet.

You’re sitting in a little dress on one of his spread thighs in a lawn chair. The neck of a beer bottle was between his fingers over the side of the arm rest. You’re wrapped behind one of his big burly arms. The veins and muscle in his bicep flexed. Caging you to his strong chest as he holds you close. He’s only wearing his white sweat and oil stained tank. He just got done working on the bike, trying to figure out why it’s making a funny noise and arguing with your father about something. It’s evening time and the sun is shining between the maple trees. Everyone waited eagerly as your father grilled dinner. Your cheeks are rosy with a big precious smile as his face is shoved in your neck, pressing kisses into the tender area making you giggle. Your mother took that picture.

He swallows thickly as he sits with that feeling deep in his chest. Logan knows what he did was wrong and he feels like a reformed prisoner in his own mind. The duality is that he is also the police officer always beating him with a bat, constantly repeating the same behavior that has caused him to get in the prison. He loves to self sabotage and he fears that this fatal mistake was the end of it all. All he was and ever will be is an animal.

A strong aroma hits him all at once, he lifts his face and sniffs the air. Oh, god. It’s your clothes. Your smell is on all of them and it's surrounding him. Suffocating him. Something spurs him to start opening drawers. He pulls out various clothing, shirts, and jeans are too faint.

Pulling out another drawer, he goes to his knees. Panties. He grabs a handful, one of them being a devious pair of white cotton that has your name embroidered on the top and shoves them into his leather pocket of his jacket, closing the drawer. Stealing one of your dainty shirts that had your scent on it the strongest and holding that to his chest. He holds it to his nose and takes a long breath in, holding the smell deep in his chest. He almost moans as he exhales. He feels the front of his jeans tightening and his metal belt buckle poking his abdomen. He groans and adjusts the crotch of his jeans, trying to ease the discomfort, but it only makes his fervor grow.

He stares at himself long and carefully in your vanity mirror. An animal is all he sees, stealing your clothes because he can’t bear not breathing your scent. A pervert even. He smiles at the names, pride swelling in his chest. The pride is shot with a steady arrow as he hears a set of footsteps coming up the hall. Looking frantically for somewhere to hide, he figures your closet would be as best as he’s going to get. He makes sure that everything was in place as he first saw it and barricades himself inside your wardrobe.

This great and powerful Wolverine had fought in many wars and witnessed things that not even the most seasoned veteran can survive. Yet, he’s scared of the judgment of a woman he’s in love with. He’s sweating bullets, fat dwallops of sweat rolls down his hairline and neck.

Through the slits in your door he watches eagerly as the towel wrapped around the bust of your breasts falls. His breath stutters and he balls the shirt up and presses it against his mouth to stifle his hurried breaths. His almost green eyes roll back in his head, watching your bare breasts contort along with your body as you bend over to find clothes in your dresser. The smell is unbearable, the fresh scent of your dewy skin. The warmth of the water falling into every hidden crevice that only he can see.

His stomach growls. His starvation is growing worse. He palms his hard length. Raising your arms you put on one of his old hockey jerseys he gave you. He groans and his head thumps against the back wall. He can’t bear it. What if he jumped out and ravaged you? Would you be upset? He’d never forgive himself for it, but the need for release is far too much for him to withstand. You’re just a little woman, he couldn’t do that to you. Defile his sweet girl and breed her, only in his thoughts he entertains the thought. Stepping into some of his old boxers too. He’s been wondering where those had gone. Maybe he and his girl weren't too far off. Cut from the same perverted cloth.

You crawl into your bed with a deep sigh. Cuddling up with some childhood teddy bear. He watches your heavenly face twist as you cry into the fur of the bear. His heart breaks. He’s defeated, he hates to see you cry and it’s even worse when he can actually feel the sorrow fill his heart. He stands there for what seems to be an eternity watching you break down into a helpless little girl. Broken and distraught. In that moment he knows that you’d never love him the same.

He waits until your puffy eyes close and the soft snore falls from your parted lips to leave your closet. Closing the door behind him, he stands before your sleeping beauty. Admiring your face from afar. Logan is a hated man and he’s never cared, but he cares all too much that you do. He goes to his knees, quietly. Tucking your shirt into the waistband of his jeans. He tucks a fallen strand of hair behind your ear and kisses your nose gently. As gently as an animal like him could. Pulling up your blanket under your chin.

“I’m sorry.”

He whispers. He stands to his feet again, marveling at the memories he’s had with such a dream of a woman in the glow of the moon. Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t hear the wiggle of the door knob and your mothers breath of your name. He twists his body and jumps out of the window. Again, he lands on his feet and he runs. He runs on all fours. Dirt getting under his fists as the claws give him leverage to run faster.

Your mother places a gentle hand on your shoulder as she sits by your feet. Blinking your eyes open, you look at her with blurry vision.

“Logan?”

He’s panting and his eyes are wild as he flies down the road on his bike. Feeling as if he just robbed a bank. He’s a wanted man. You know that he was there. You had to. The deep pit in his stomach is too expensive for you to not have.

As soon as he’s up the mountain and parks haphazardly in front of the cabin, he’s stripping off his clothes. He’s burning alive. He’s left only in his tattered jeans. His stomach twists and turns and before he knows it, he’s pulling out every single meat he has in his fridge and tearing it open. He feasts like a wild animal. Tearing the plastic open and the blood dripping down onto him. His chest and jaw slathered in dead animals. Pork, poultry, cow it’s everywhere. He doesn’t care if it’s not cooked, his hunger is far greater than his rationality. He doesn’t even breathe as he devours. His hands were coated in blood like he murdered someone.

When he finishes he stares at his destruction. Only bones were left in various places. His torso was even coated in red. He groans, chewing the fat of some animal and swallowing with a gulp. He finds whatever beer he has in the fridge and pops the lid off with his claw. Taking a prolonged gradual swig. Your shirt, surprisingly, still hung sloppily and pure under his belt.

He roams to his trophy case, full of all his war memorabilia and opens the door. Taking the wooden case full of cigars out and putting one between his bloodied lips. He sets the bottle beside the case and lights the cigar. It’s almost as good as an orgasm. For the first time he feels full. His needs were almost completely met. The only thing missing was you. He walks sluggishly to his open front door, leaning his shoulder against the frame. Switching between smoking and drinking as he listens to the night's ambiance. Listening to the wild animals howl.

Just a game of hide and seek was all it was. It was Fall. The leaves were scattered like a carpet on the floor of the woods. It was a random day where both of you were off and rather going into town, he thought it’d be fun to teach you how to fish. After multiple failed attempts of you becoming bored, he decided to play a game with you.

The game was completely rigged. Who would’ve thought the man with insane primal senses would be great at finding things that didn’t want to be found. The adrenaline was catching up to you both as you sought after him. The widespread woods were winding and confusing, but you were determined to find the animal. The cold nipped at your face as you kept your perseverance. Suddenly, you stopped. Realizing that instead of you finding him, and him staying hidden he reversed the game and was trailing you. A peculiar feeling arose, the thought of him following you without you even knowing coiled your stomach.

All of your theories were proven right as his big arms wrap around your torso and pulls you down into the leaves. He laughs heartily against your neck as you push up, straddling his waist. You hit his chest softly.

“You filthy animal I was supposed to be hunting you!”

He shakes his head with a small smile, squeezing your hips as he stares up at you with childish eyes.

“Maybe you’re just not that good of a hunter.”

Your eyes widen and your mouth falls open.

“Hey!”

You hit his chest again, and he sits up. Kissing your nose.

“It’s okay, lil’ bunny.”

It sincerely unnerves him how unobservant you were. How oblivious you were to the world, but that same reason is why he loves you. He loves that you’re different, even if you were human you understood what it felt like to be a mutant. He flicks the end of the cigar down into the asphalt and closes the front door. The blood on his body is dried and caked on him. Stripping the rest of his clothes in the hall as he goes to the bathroom. His house is still trashed and he doesn’t care to clean it until his life is put on track again. Until you’re in his life again.

He turns on the faucet and lets the water warm. Looking at himself in the mirror while he waits. He looks righteously like an animal. His hair wild on his head, the blood goes from his mouth down to the v-line of his hips. It’s brutal and chaotic. He wonders if this is what life is going to be like for him for the rest of eternity. Nature made him a freak, man had made him a weapon, and god is making it last too long. The water blurs the mirror and he no longer sees himself in the reflection. He steps inside the scalding hot water and his thoughts don’t slow.

All he’s thought about is you, all he can think about is you. You’re the last thing that’s keeping his humanity. Without you he turns into this beast of regret. He watches the blood pool around his feet. The blood mixed down his chest and face and down the drain. He wishes to drown but knows he can’t. He wishes to die but that’s too humanly for him for it to be possible. Maybe even love was too human for him to obtain. He thinks about calling you and then it passes. He thinks about his mother for a minute and that passes. Every wave of emotion, feeling and thought passes through him as he cleanses his body. He stays in that sauna of a shower for an hour.

When he gets out he pats his skin dry from one of the towels you bought out of the cupboard and ties it around his waist. Pushing his wet hair back it slicks back and stays. He knows he’ll wake to the two tufts being straightened on his head in the morning, he doesn’t bother. Bending down, he picks your shirt up off of the hallway floor and holds it to his nose. Closing his eyes and breathing in your intoxicating bodily perfume. He can already smell it fading. It’s damp from the water still clinging onto his chest. He sits down on the leather couch that he’s shredded. Contemplating if he should call, it’s late and he knows you have work in the morning. He shouldn’t bother.

The smell of you gives him motivation. What if? What if she does misses me and wants me as much as I want her. That’s blasphemy, he thinks. Yet, he ponders it seriously. He breathes in your shirt once more and finds the phone he’s thrown against the wall a couple weeks before. He dials your number apprehensively. His nerves shot to hell as he holds the phone to his ear. The buzzing and monotone hum of service sends his perturbation to his chest. His stomach clenched tight with bated breath. He hopes that you don’t answer, but his soul wants you to. He almost thinks about hanging up and it continues to ring. What is he even going to say? He doesn’t know. He never knows. His eyes widen and he doesn’t breathe as he hears your sleepy voice.

“Hello?”

You whisper into the phone and he doesn’t say anything. He’s internally panicking, on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Hello?”

You whisper again and he doesn’t speak, his head is in a frenzy and his hand is shaking.

“Logan?”

When you say his name he drops the phone. Trepidation strikes him. He hadn’t heard you say his name for weeks and the sleepy softness of your voice sparked something in him. He’s scared of that feeling, petrified even. Logan Howlett’s only fear is love.

He fell asleep with your shirt cradled tight into his chest. The morning’s sun is the only thing that awoke him. He didn’t fall asleep that night until dawn. He was too paranoid and scared to fall asleep, the anxiety of possibilities kept running through him. He sighed and the feeling he felt was worse than any hangover. He knew he was broke in every way possible, he didn’t have any money, he didn’t have anything. He didn’t even have you. He groaned and cursed himself as he saw last nights doing in his kitchen. He honestly doesn’t remember anything after what occurred at your house. He didn’t have any food left nor any liquor. He had to do one of the things he hated the most, grocery shopping.

His strong anxiety was almost numbing to him now. He’s felt so high strung the past few weeks that he’s used to it. He strolled through the store with a shopping cart that had one of its wheels broken and he almost thought god did it purposefully to mock him. He wandered helplessly through the aisles, grabbing miscellaneous food. Knowing most of it wasn’t going to even last him the rest of the week, but he needed something to get by.

Most of his cart was filled with strong liquor. He wanted to forget you and move on, and maybe finally kick the bucket with alcohol poisoning. He’s reaching into the fridge to grab another case of beer when he feels a soft tap on his shoulder. His stomach drops. It couldn’t be. He stands and looks over his shoulder and sure as shit, there you are.

You have a little smile on your face and your cheeks are dusted red by embarrassment. Looking to your feet, you see a pair of cotton panties peeking out of his jacket pocket. Your cheeks grow a darker red as you see that your name is embroidered on the top.

“I- uh, I-,”

You shut your mouth tight, cursing yourself for the hurried stutter and if he wasn’t so nervous himself he’d think you being flustered was cute. You look up at him through your lashes. He takes notice of the flint of his dog tags around your neck and his heart soars.

“I’m cooking dinner tonight at my parents house and was wondering if you’d like to come,”

You scratch the back of your neck, uneasily. Beaming timidly.

“You don’t have to come of course! And it’s just if you’d like if you’re not busy, I’m cooking steaks and I know you like-“

“What time?”

Your rambling stops and you give him the best kid going to Disneyland look he’s ever seen.

“Six.”

He nods and you smile. The trajectory of his life seemed to be on track again. This was the right timeline.

“I’ll be there at five.”

You smile wider.

“Thanks, Logan.”

He gives you a small smile and nod of his head in response. You start to turn to leave before turning back, looking both ways before you whisper to him.

“If you wanted a pair of my panties, you could’ve just asked.”

You give his cheek a quick kiss and walk away with a bounce in your step. Leaving him blushing and blinking at the case of beer in his hand, trying to figure out what actually just happened. Those small moments that are just so humanly indescribable makes him feel much less like a filthy animal.

#xreader #fanfic #fluff #smut #logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine x reader

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sanswstrk · 2 months ago

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TO SANSA/JON FANDOM!

Hey everyone! I’m not sure how many of you remember this user, but lostlittlesatellites or batterydeaddotdot was a well-known Jonsa meta-writer in our fandom. Sadly, they deactivated, and as far as I know, we don’t really know why. A big chunk of their amazing work seems to have been lost, which was so sad for so many of us.

But here’s the good news: I recently discovered that some of their metas were saved on the "Way Back Machine" site! So, I put together a list of some of their pieces to share with all of you. My aim is to help preserve their contributions, spread the love within our fandom, and celebrate the incredible mind that has helped to shaped our fandom.

Quick disclaimer: I haven’t read every single meta, so I don’t necessarily agree with everything that’s written. My main goal is just to share this with you all. And I skiped GOT-related metas for this list. Enjoy diving into lostlittlesatellites/batterydeaddotdot’s work!

Some of their writings is already saved through some of those accounts: @/jonsameta & @/bookjonsa & @/esther-dot. Y’all can check! Here are the others:

BOOKS:

Sansa Stark: The Princess in the Tower

RLJ & Jonsa Payoff

Dragons, Snow and Armchairs

Can there be ONE ideal ruler?

Trojan War Literature influence on GRRM

The Red Comet: A Closer Look

Grey Dawn: Hour of the Wolf + Nightingale

To go forward you must look back: Dany’s tragic fall

Jon Snow as an Anti Hero

Val: A Subversion of BATB in Jon’s arc? + ��something off about Val”

The Resurrection Problem

The Cost of Weaponizing Dragons For a Cause: Doran + Jon

There is Power in Living Wood: Bran’s role in the War

Valar Morghulis: Could Arya kill Dany?: Part 1 & Part 2

Stark Girls’ connections: To go forward you must go back

Fathers and Daughters

Sansa Stark: A Winter Rose?

Sansa Stark: A Girl in Glass

Sansa’s Fairytale and Myth allusions

The Blindspot of FPTP thread: Oversexualisation and overlooking age

Ask: Does “begging for a stranger’s kiss” foreshadow Sansa/Hound?

Deconstruction of BATB figures: He’s even uglier than the Hound

The Unkiss: The War Spilling Inside

Sansa’s repression of Jeyne

Alysanne: Paralleling Sansa + Contrasting Dany foreshadowing

A Song to Dodge A Kiss With a Blade (Part 1): Sansa/Hound and Jon/Ygritte ACOK comparisons

The Innocuous Nature of Jon/Sansa Foreshadowing

Snow: Lover’s Kisses

A Son by Marriage

1. Like a Lover; 2. Like a Kiss; 3. Kissed by Fire; 4. Burning Light and Dark Woods; 5. Intruders in Winterfell; 6. The Heart of Winterfell; 7. Fire: Hearth vs. Weapons

Dance of Dragons + Pact of Ice and Fire

Jonquils and Blue Roses

Horses and Flowers

Some Willowy Creature Who Sits Up in a Tower

A Union of the Old Gods and the New: Importance of understanding the Seven

Ask: Thoughts on Bridge4’s Video “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell”

Theories:

Bran as the Valonqar

History is a Wheel: Jon’s Rebellion

Jon’s Resurrection Repercussions

Dead Man with the Head of a Wolf: A Re-look

The Heart Tree of Winterfell: Tolkien influence

Complicating the Fantasy Battle: War Factions in the War for Dawn

Trail of Scrolls

Lady and the Ghost: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3

Shadowbinders, Death and Sacrifice

Sansa, the Vale and Mountain Clans: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4

Seasons of My Love

Jon’s Survival: Beginning of Subverting Westerosi Classism

Child of Flame and Shadow: Not a living child but a shadow child?

Shadowbinders, Death and Sacrifice: Dany with Mirri and Melisandre

A Potential Wildcard Advisor: Bronze Yohn Royce and the Importance of the Vale

Why Ghost is unlikely to like Dany: Melisandre and Val in ADWD

Others:

Jonsa: Tolkien influences

Jonsa: A Good Endgame

Jonsa is happening because it's how GRRM's mind works

Jonsa’s Hints: On how antis ignore Jonsa foreshadowing

POV’S: Heros or not

House of the Undying and Quaithe for Dany & Mythology

Dany criticism

Other links: about asoiaf; asoiaf metas; asoiaf theories + part 2

Anyone who has some of their writing saved can feel free to share! I would be thankful.

#jonsa #sansa stark #jon snow #asoiaf #jonsa fandom #sansa stark fandom #meta compilation

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utterlyazriel · 2 months ago

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whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: can u believe we've actually made it to chapter eleven... 😲 i cannot! alas thank u so much again for being patient with me <3 i think i'm much better locked in now so MAYBEEE we'll see something other than longing glances soon ehehe <3 ok mwah thank u for reading, enjoy <3

word count: 4.5k

synopsis: Trouble sleeping leads you to wander the halls of the House of Wind, finding a friendly face. Azriel stews in his misery—but not for long.

CHAPTER ELEVEN :: FRIENDS (AGAIN)

You have a problem.

Despite the training and the fresh, rich and plentiful food—despite the bed that’s softer than anything you’ve touched in decades—it becomes rapidly apparent in the next week that rest does not find you easily in Velaris.

The first week it’s easy to chalk up the discomfort to your still healing body.

You weren’t high Fae by any means. The bruises that matted your skin were bone-deep and injuries of that kind took time to recover from.

Yet, as time rolled forward and the stiffness retreated, even as wounds turned to scabs, sleep did not claim you. In fact, it rather stubbornly avoided you.

You find you can only sleep after exhaustion kicks in, certainly no earlier than a couple hours of tossing and turning. It only takes a couple days of restless sleep to figure out the suspect.

The pillowy bed.

All your life, sleep has meant a hard surface, only differing from the ground in its protection against the chill of the mountains. But still, you’ve slept better nights on the ground than you have in this bed.

It’s so soft. It pulls you in and makes you feel as though you’re sinking into a cloud. Your pillows are plush and feathery, your sheets delicate and silky to touch.

It’s too soft.

So, when the aches of your injuries recede and the sleep still doesn’t come, you say to hell with it, even if a small part of you fears what the Highlord might say.

You keep the comforter but leave everything else behind — tugging it off the bed and curling up on the stone floors, bundled in the fleecy, warm blanket.

The sleep is better.

Still, as your days training with Cassian continue, it’s not a proven cure.

Some nights, like tonight, it evades you so severely that after a hour or two blinking at the floor, counting the spots on the ceiling, something stirs in you to move. You begin to wander.

Even with Rhysand’s assurance, it’s hard not to feel like an imposter as you creep through the halls of the house.

You’re silent on your feet. There’s only a whisper of your presence as you pass door after door, each of them ornately designed and firmly closed.

You’ve only done this wandering once or twice. The first time you got the itch to explore, you barely made it down the hallway you started in. Something dark had fluttered in the distance, taking you by surprise.

Heart pounding in a hair-raising chill, instinct forced you back into your room in a mad dash. Pressed up against your locked door, it had felt eerily similar to your old cabin.

But even so, you’ve haven't run into anyone else.

This time, your fourth time wandering, you take a different route, rubbing tiredly at your eyes with a hint of irritation. Even if sleep evades you, you’re tired, there’s no doubt of that.

Warm sandstone keeps you company. As you take a left where you’ve always taken a right, a pair of gilded glass doors you’ve never seen tucks itself behind an unsuspecting corner.

You have a rule not to open any closed doors.

This one, however, tempts you with a pool of pale moonlight cast through its windows. Besides, a quick glance through the glass tells you you’re alone.

It’s another balcony. Like all of them, you suspect as you open one door silently and step out, it overlooks Velaris. The city sprawls out from the foot of the mountain, glorious and alive.

The title of City of Starlight certainly seems fitting tonight. It glows, a thousand specks of light dancing across the air to you.

Beyond it, the blackness of the ocean calls out to you, a salty spring in the air. Seeing the edge of the continent, something stutters in your chest.

How big the world really is... How small it seemed to you not too long ago. You’re learning there’s much more than just frost and mountains.

Your gaze drops back to the city, its lights winking at you almost enticingly. Even from afar, you swear you can hear laughter carried on the warm wind.

How it is this lively when, based on the high and bright moon, it must be nearing morning baffles you. Tentatively, you approach the ornate railing and place your hands on it, leaning forward. How would it look from the skies, you wonder...

Someone clears their throat behind you.

Despite the gentle attempt to get your attention, it doesn’t stop you from startling violently, whipping around in a half second. Your heartbeat races, climbing up to too fast in a manner of moments.

It's Rhysand. That fact doesn’t help your panic but the sight of him reminds you to throw up the brick wall in your mind, just as he's been teaching you. The focus on the task ebbs away some of your panic.

“Can’t sleep?” Rhys’ asks, kindly ignoring your frenzied panic for your sake.

Taking a controlled inhale to calm yourself, your shoulders drop an inch. You nod slowly.

“Let me guess,” He says, taking a slow step in your direction.

He’s got his hands in the pockets of his sleek pyjama pants — a motion you now recognise not as arrogance, but instead to show that he means no harm. He tilts his head to the side, violet eyes narrowing as he hmmms.

“Bed too soft?”

It’s so spot on that you mentally check your walls, finding them still in tact.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t read my thoughts.”

Rhys smiles, giving a soft chuckle. He shakes his head. “I haven’t. You just…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully.

He glances up at the moon and then says, “Azriel was the same.”

The name makes your heart twist painfully. It's like pressing on an old bruise.

“Cassian too,” Rhys continues, giving a little shrug. “But Az more than anyone else. Spend enough time sleeping on the floor and anything else feels too wrong.”

Gingerly, you nod. Somehow, hearing about Azriel feeling the same as you— imagining him dragging the covers off his bed and burrowing on the floor— makes you ache a little bit.

Maybe you hadn’t realised how alike the two of you were.

“How did he…?” You wave an awkward hand and fumble for the right words. “Or Cassian—I mean, how did they get over it?”

Rhys gives another subtle shrug, his smile turning a little wry. “Not sure if Az ever did. I mean, he’s not big on sleeping for sleepings sake. Cassian on the other hand…”

He trails off and it makes you laugh softly, covering the noise behind your hand. Cassian has certainly let you know his distaste for early rising, even if he is always punctual. Though, you wonder if that’s more to with leaving his mate behind…

“I think,” Rhys starts, then stops. He clicks his tongue, mouth twisting to the side. “I think Azriel had trouble thinking he deserved it. As though he hadn’t earned it.”

The words pierce through you, panging painfully with the familiarity which they resound within you.

“I hope you know that nothing as essential as rest or food or safety—” Rhys stresses each word carefully. “—needs to be earned. Not here.”

Not here—because he’s vividly aware of where you’ve come from.

Because he’d come from it too. Because even though he’s an Illyrian male, at some point so were you, and that means he knows.

He knows. He chooses to be better.

You open your mouth, no clue what response is on your tongue, when the door opening behind him stops you.

Rhys turns and your eyes take in a Fae more beautiful than you could imagine, standing on the doorstep.

You hadn’t known females could… radiate as she does. Females in Exordor are more brutish, more hardened, as it's the only way they truly survive. This Fae is beautiful. She'd be torn apart in Exordor.

If Rhys is the night, she is a star within it. Glowing and warm, the spectacular sight to awe at.

Everything you’ve been leaning into since your arrival, the new identity, the idea of being a she for the first time properly, shrivels up suddenly.

You swallow thickly. You know without a doubt that you are not comparable to this Fae.

“Rhys?”

Cauldron, even her voice is sweet. She’s smiling softly, directed at the Highlord before you who has—what you can only describe as—melted at her presence. She steps down onto the balcony, draped in a soft, ashy nightgown.

“What are you—oh!” Her grey eyes lift as she notices that Rhys is not alone on the balcony.

The smile on her face shifts towards more friendly and welcoming. “Sorry, I thought I was just hunting down a runaway mate, not that he was actually busy.”

She reaches out and ribs Rhysand, as though he should’ve told her not to come looking for him somehow.

As they share a look long, you realise maybe she did mean that literally. She did say mate, after all.

“Who I am to deny myself the pleasure of being hunted down by my lovely wife?” Rhys drawls smugly, grinning as he catches her hand when she tries to rib him again.

He twists it and plants a devoted kiss on the back, evidently pleased when she brightens instantly.

“I’m coming back to bed now, anyways,” He says, murmuring into her skin before he restrains himself, straightening up.

You see his mate cast a quick, concerned glance your way but Rhys shakes his head. “She doesn’t need to hear any more of my blathering, I’m sure.”

He turns to you with a grin and a wink. You blink, perturbed, and completely unsure how to react.

“I hope at least some of what I said you'll find useful,” Rhys says, beginning to wander backward towards the door.

His arm finds the curve of his mate's waist like a magnet and a new emotion surfaces within you, tinged green. She steps back through the gilded doors first, waiting just inside for him.

“But more than that,” Rhys says, hovering on the doorstep. “I hope you’ll get some good sleep.”

He turns and disappears down the hallway, following his star into the darkness of the house. You watch them both go.

Somehow, you think he really means it.

—

Azriel's shadows appear to lose their penchant for mischief overnight.

Which naturally means there’s a healthy dose of suspicion that brews in his mind. As Azriel walks towards the training ring, he eyes the unusually calm blackened spirits. Gone is their frantic energy and instead, they laze about, content to curl up around his shoulders today.

Suspicious indeed. Azriel makes a mental note as he casts a glance out of the windows carved out of the mountain rock.

It's dusk. Night lingers, waiting to drape itself across Velaris in a glossy, inky blanket. Twinkles of light begins to burst forward in the darkness. For all the sour reasons he's making himself train at night, Azriel has to admit it has some perks too.

Like they do most days, his thoughts drift to you.

There's a slight hitch on the thread between you and Azriel and he feels his wings give a little involuntary shudder in response. Thanks to his pestering shadows, he's still being fed little updates about your whereabouts and wellbeing — still a perfect torture.

But you've graduated to training with Cassian.

No longer just cautious friends, no, you're standing up and fighting against him, as you had done with Azriel all those months ago. It had been another morsel of information dropped in his ear by his shadows that made him stumble in his motions.

He had hardly given you a choice, back in Exordor. Azriel remembers it now with a wince, wishing in hindsight that he had been kinder. He had exposed your secret of helping the girls in the camp, infiltrated your home, and all but enforced it on you.

It came from good intentions but if he knew what he knew now, he'd do it differently.

There's... lots of things he'd do differently.

But, with the past set in stone, it didn't matter. Cassian was about choice. Rhys was about choice — and Azriel knew there was no way either of them would've gone near you without your permission, let alone engage in combat.

Besides, he's fairly certain that his brothers were aware of how Azriel would tear them limb from limb if they threatened his mate in any shape or form.

Mate.

The word is still fresh on his tongue and Azriel has to swallow thickly around it, feeling clunky and wrong in his mouth. It doesn't feel as though he's truly earned it yet.

Funny how he spent so many years waiting for one, yearning for his mate, aching for the other half of his heart.

To now be here — travelling through the House of Wind during the evening, to keep his distance from you.

There's another hitch on the tie that binds you and Azriel raises a scarred hand to brush his knuckles along the tender ache in his chest.

He wasn't sure what the little tugs and pulls throughout the day meant. He wasn't sure if it was him or you that was responsible for them.

Even if it feels like a daydream more than anything, he lets himself pretend it means you're thinking of him.

"Give it time," He murmurs to himself, his voice a raspy whisper.

It was Rhys' advice, given to him after that last meeting on the balcony. Give it time. It's what you deserve, what he owes to you.

It doesn't mean it doesn't still sting.

His eyes track the tiles on the floor as he rolls his shoulders back, already preparing for the next couple hours spent training. He can hear the sounds of Cassian out in the ring already, the scuff of his boots against the hard ground.

"Give it time," Azriel urges himself again, under his breath, willing the words to give him some more of his desperately lacking patience. He steps down onto the balcony.

Then, he promptly freezes, because it becomes rapidly apparent that Cassian is not alone.

You... You're there.

In the ring, your wings stretched out in the lowlight of the rising moon, your face relaxed in a way he'd nearly forgotten.

Mother, he’d already thought you were the most beautiful Fae he’d ever laid his eyes on, even back in Exordor, but one short month in Velaris has transformed you.

You had always been strong—your muscles wiry and slender, but hardened. Not having to guess when your next meal is, sleeping with both eyes closed… the effects of being cared for is magnanimous on you. You look better.

To Azriel, you glow.

Then your head towards him and the easy expression of your face shifts to something he desperately wants to be able to read. Cassian has noticed his entrance too, hovering just behind you, but there’s nothing Azriel can look at other than you.

Your eyes meet his.

Stretched out between you, invisible and humming like a live-wire, the mating bond gives a pang.

Azriel feels it burrow beneath his skin, feels it through every nerve and even though he doesn’t deserve it, his heart still croaks forlornly tell me, tell me you feel it too.

The corner of your mouth tugs up and it takes Azriel a whole moment to realise it's almost a smile. Directed at him. Is he still sleeping? Is this some wondrous dream he wishes to never wake from?

He murmurs your name, his voice as rough as a thunderstorm.

"Az," Cassian responds instead and Azriel's hazel eyes snap up to his brother.

He's still frozen in place, paused on the edge of the balcony, even his wings stilled. The only movement is his rapid shadows, bursting forward and reeling themselves back in, like they want to cross the space but know they're not allowed to.

When Azriel doesn't say anything for a long moment, his name is spoken again, this time from you.

Gods, even your voice has changed ever-so-slightly. No longer are you straining it, leaning into the lower tones to sell your façade. There's a softness to it that hadn't been there before.

Azriel thinks he could drink the way you say his name, get drunk on it, and be merry forever.

He still can't move. Did you know he was training here during the evenings? Is that why you're here? Is this some forced intervention for the two of you, set up by his scheming brother?

His body sways forward, wanting, but he can't bring himself to move.

You step forward first instead, treading lightly til you stand before him. In the background, he can see Cassian turn and busy himself, evidently giving the two of you some time.

"Azriel," You say his name again — and it goes down like a shot of moonshine, burning fiercely, warming him from the inside.

He's still taller than you, forcing you to tilt your head back to face him properly and at this angle, he can see the sheen of moonlight reflected in your eyes. You’re utterly beautiful to him, furrowed brow and all.

His beautiful mate— and he left you.

Left you to be taken, to have your wings pinned down, to have their hatred carved into the scars on your spine.

And he left you to think he was right to do so.

Agony, like nothing he’s felt before, rips through him, a fierce hurricane, violent and betrayed. He will never forgive himself.

"I'm sorry." He says earnestly, his voice low but not quiet. The words burst out and he can’t contain them - not when it’s all he’s wanted to say to you these past weeks.

"Leaving you behind—”

There’s an audible shudder in his breath, his eyes fluttering as if admitting his mistake aloud causes him physical pain.

“It will never stop being the regret that haunts my every waking moment and every moment asleep.”

“Azriel—” You murmur, seeing just how deeply he cuts himself with his words. You can tell now that Cassian is right; the soldier before you would punish himself far longer than you ever deigned to.

“Please,” He cuts you off gently, swaying forward again and forcing himself to have restraint. His shadows barely obey, mere inches from you.

“Let me-” His voice is almost a whisper, his hands curling into loose fists before he releases them with a soft sigh. “I will spend every day of my life making it up to you, if you allow me to.”

For a long moment, you stare up at him, searching his eyes for something he doesn’t know. The bond between you thrums quietly behind his ribs.

“I know you will.” you simply say.

Not assuming but… understanding. As if your picture of him is suddenly clearer.

“But either way, I forgive you.”

The air in his lungs disappears, like a punch to his gut. Even as his face barely shifts, well-trained after centuries, his shadows betray him, exploding into a frenzy.

They dart forward, bating into your arms and neck with enough speed to surprise you, but your response is only a puff of air, almost a laugh. The edges of your mouth turn up. Azriel scowls at them, a flustered hue rising to his cheeks.

“…Why?”

You don’t seem surprised by his question, even though the moment it leaves him mouth, Azriel wants to stuff it back in. Who is he to question your forgiveness?

You take a weary breath in and for the first time, break eye contact, casting your to the ground.

“You… You made a mistake. You know that now.” Your eyes flash up to meet his. “You also came back. I think that’s maybe just as important.”

Azriel blinks, more surprise rearing up within him.

How are you so calm, so levelheaded? Where is the angry warrior forged in icy heart of the Illyrian Mountains? The ones who fight first and ask questions never?

Forgiveness, Azriel knows, is not a concept among Illyrian warriors.

His eyes glance up to the other occupant of the balcony. You surely can’t have got it from hanging around with Cassian, of all people. Hot-headed, easy to anger, grudge holder for all eternity Cassian?

Perhaps, Azriel thinks, he doesn’t give his brother enough credit.

“Besides, I also can only hope I’m treated with the same kindness when I make my next mistake.”

Your words soften him. As Azriel swallows the lump in his throat, he finds it in himself to take the forgiveness as easily as you’ve offered it to him.

He nods, then draws his hand from his side and holds it out, “I would hope then, that you wouldn’t mind starting over. As friends?”

Not allies, companions, or teachers.

You put your hand in his, setting the bond twanging between you, and nod. This time, when your lips curl up, it’s in a real, genuine smile. It’s small, but there — and it’s for him.

Azriel could probably fight the moon at this point.

“Friends.”

“You guys done over there? Friends yet?” Cassian calls out callously, having heard almost every word and trampling over the moment without regret. You drop Azriel's hand quickly, turning back with a somewhat flustered expression.

Azriel narrows his eyes at him and Cassian grins deviously in response.

“Great. Does this mean we can all go back to training together in the morning?” Cassian tilts his head to you, gesturing. “She’s been putting through the wringer. I think it’s your turn.”

The words make you grin fiercely and suddenly, Azriel finds he has no trouble with that idea in the slightest.

—

The trio of you train into the twilight, even with the agreement of tomorrow’s early training.

Like an old habit, you fall back into sync with Azriel so easily it’s nearly scary. While your training with Cassian has been about teaching you a variety of new techniques, with you and Azriel it’s always been one on one.

Tonight is no different. Squaring against him in the ring, your new strength and arsenal of moves makes you an equal match. No longer are you trailing behind by one second, stuck on the defence.

Steel of swords clash and you bare your teeth in delight. Just months ago, you were still like an apprentice to him.

Now, you hold your own, new scars and all. You’ve adapted to change in your wings and when you fight with Azriel, it’s fluid. It's a dance.

It also exhausts you like nothing else. When Cassian finally calls it, the fight unwon by either of you after nearly ten constant minutes, you feel tired in a way you haven’t in an age.

It feels good. You’d almost feel bad at Cassian’s exclusion if he wasn’t grinning as widely as you. The sight doesn't jar you but the realisation that it’s happiness for you does. You're still not used to having people in your corner.

As you pant and step out of the ring, Azriel speaks your name.

“May I walk you to your room?” He asks, still panting lightly. The nod in reply comes easily.

Azriel smiles, one of his real ones, teeth and all. His canines are sharper, giving him an almost fanged grin. You’ve never seen that smile before, as eased and relaxed as it is.

You wonder for a moment how much the Azriel you met in the mountains, the colder and harsher version, is the real one.

Here, in his home, you can see that every corner of him is softened.

And then whatever you’re thinking is wiped in an instant as he pulls his black training shirt to wipe the sweat from his face—revealing his glistening, tanned and toned stomach that ripples with every breath.

Cauldron. A heat you’ve never felt quite before burns through you, like a paper going up in flames.

Something strung between your ribs stings in the most perfect way. You feel your lips part instinctively, your heartbeat suddenly louder than it was a moment ago.

Smothering the feeling, you make sure to school your features into something neutral, your open mouth snapping shut.

You have no idea what expression you’d made but you don’t doubt it’ll be something Cassian can laugh at. A quick glance at the male shows you’ve gotten away with it this time.

Turning, you pad across to the weapons rack and lay your broadsword to rest, waiting for Azriel to do the same. He sheathes the sword with ease and then tilts his head towards the doors.

Together, you bid your friend adieu. Something glimmers in Cassian’s responding smile, his dark eyes watching you with a look that tells you he knows more than he says. You don’t give any reaction, not wanting to encourage him.

Besides, you’ve learnt that Cassian has that expression most of the time. You've just grown use to putting him on his ass afterwards though.

Instead, you turn and face the other warrior on the rooftop. He's watching you closely, his shadows, which had been banished during your fight, back and lingering around him in a relaxed way.

You lead the way. He follows. Neither of you speak.

It's something timid and new, trying out your friendship again. Despite how easy it was to fall back into fighting with him, you have to admit that your fragile friendship back in Exordor was founded on your lie.

He didn't know who you were, even if you did share many quiet evenings in your cabin. The ground you're starting on is new.

The quiet walk seems just the way to begin.

Something stirs in your chest, almost akin to a purr, warm and welcoming as you walk. Your arm brushes against Azriel several times on the walk, each time setting off a flare beneath your skin. You're too busy watching your feet to notice the fervent glances Azriel can't resist stealing.

You arrive at your room what feels like far too soon.

As you raise your hand to the knob, the silence continues, broken only when you begin to turn it.

"I wanted to say thank you," Azriel says, the words rushing out of his mouth. It makes you pause in your motions. You look back at him.

He seems hesitant but sincere, as though he feared bringing up your forgiveness in case you decided to revoke it.

His hazel eyes dart away, breaking contact briefly, before he clears his throat and meets your eyes. "For allowing me a second chance."

"You know Azriel," You say, your voice warm in a way he's never heard before. So, so different from the warrior in the mountains, in all the best ways, he thinks.

"I think you've been giving me a second chance from the first day we met."

Then, you bid him goodnight and slip into your room quietly.

Exhaustion drags you down to your pile of blankets and sleep is swift to claim you, not even giving you a moment to fixate on the tenderness of Azriel's last smile.

That night, for the first time since you've arrived in Velaris, you sleep the whole night through.

[NEXT PART: SHRIKE (TO YOUR SHY AND GLORIOUS THORN)]

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inky-writing · 1 month ago

Text

Valentine's Day Headcanons with the Cullens

Carlisle

Carlisle would spend Valentine’s Day making sure you felt absolutely cherished and cared for.

He’d surprise you with a handwritten letter in his elegant script, expressing just how much you mean to him.

If you have a busy day, he’d offer to take care of anything you need—whether it’s running errands, organizing your schedule, or just being there to support you (not that he doesn’t do it every other day).

He’d plan a candlelit dinner for the two of you (despite not eating himself), setting the table with roses and a small gift he knows you’ll adore, like a piece of jewelry.

Carlisle’s kisses are gentle but lingering, as though he wants to savor every moment with you. He’d end the night by holding you close, whispering soft reassurances about how deeply he loves you.

Esme

Esme is incredibly romantic, and she’d spend weeks planning a perfect Valentine’s Day for you.

She’d surprise you with a home-cooked meal. It’d be filled with all your favorite dishes.

Esme would also decorate the house with soft fairy lights, heart-shaped candles, and fresh flowers she picked herself, creating a dreamy atmosphere.

She’d love to spend time reminiscing, pulling out photo albums or sharing sweet stories of her past.

Her gift to you would be something handmade, like a custom piece of furniture or a heartfelt art piece that reminds her of your bond.

Esme’s hugs are warm and enveloping, and she’d end the night by telling you how grateful she is to have you in her life.

Edward

Edward would compose a song just for you and play it on the piano as a Valentine’s Day gift. It’d be hauntingly beautiful, full of emotion, and something he’d only ever share with you.

He’d surprise you with a late-night drive to a secluded spot, perhaps a meadow or a cliff overlooking the sea, where you could enjoy the quiet beauty of nature together.

Edward loves giving personalized gifts, so he’d likely gift you a first-edition book of your favorite novel or a handwritten poem.

He’s not big on grand displays, but his quiet, meaningful gestures, like pressing a kiss to your knuckles or tucking a stray hair behind your ear, would make you melt.

He’d spend the day asking questions about your dreams, genuinely wanting to know more about what makes you happy. He’d treasure every word you said.

Rosalie

Rosalie is more into grand gestures and would plan an extravagant Valentine’s Day to spoil you.

She’d take you on a luxury outing, maybe a shopping spree where she insists on buying you the things you’ve been eyeing..

Rosalie loves giving you things that make you feel confident and beautiful, so her gift might be a gorgeous outfit, jewelry, or something that makes you feel pampered.

Despite her tough exterior, Rosalie is fiercely protective and would use the day to remind you how important you are to her. She’d open up more emotionally, letting you see her softer side.

The night would end with her pulling you close, running her fingers through your hair, and saying something like, “I’ll always protect you, Y/N. You’re the most precious thing in my life.”

Emmett

Emmett’s Valentine’s Day plans would be fun and playful. He’d wake you up with breakfast in bed and maybe a cheesy Valentine’s card that makes you laugh.

He’d plan an adventurous day for the two of you, like a hike to a secluded waterfall, sledding in the mountains, or maybe an impromptu snowball fight (if there is snow).

Emmett is all about making you laugh, so expect lots of teasing, jokes, and maybe some playful wrestling (which you’re not winning).

His gift would be something playful but meaningful, like a scrapbook of your funniest and best moments together or a ridiculous plushie that reminds him of you.

By the end of the day, he’d tone down the energy, pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around you, whispering sweet but goofy things.

Alice

Alice is the queen of planning the perfect Valentine’s Day, and you’d wake up to a beautifully laid-out itinerary for the day (color-coded and all).

She’d take you out shopping for a new outfit in the morning, then whisk you off to a surprise destination, a picnic in a picturesque location or maybe even a spontaneous road trip.

Alice is big on surprises, so she’d likely gift you something she knows you’ve been wanting, even if you never told her directly (she’s seen it in a vision, after all).

She’d decorate the house with twinkling lights, rose petals, and everything in your favorite color, just to make it feel extra special.

Alice is incredibly affectionate, and she’d spend the whole day holding your hand, pulling you into spontaneous hugs, and peppering your face with kisses.

By the end of the day, she’d have one last surprise waiting for you, a private dance under the stars, with music playing softly in the background.

Jasper

Jasper’s love language is all about connection, and he’d spend Valentine’s Day focused on making you feel as loved and cherished as possible.

He’d use his gift to subtly calm any nerves or tension you might feel, making the day completely stress-free for you.

Jasper’s ideal Valentine’s Day would be a quiet, intimate evening together, just the two of you. He’d light candles, set the mood with soft music, and create a warm, inviting space where you could relax.

His gift to you would likely be a leather-bound journal or something classic and timeless, something that feels like him.

Jasper is a man of few words, but when he looks at you, his gaze says it all. You’d feel the full weight of his love in every small touch and every lingering kiss.

If you felt hesitant or shy about anything, he’d gently reassure you, his soothing voice and calm demeanor putting you completely at ease.

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yailtsv · 1 month ago

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KK with Introvert!Gf

mood board

• total opposites. she's a very energetic extrovert and your the biggest introvert ever

• she loves hanging out with her teammates but if you say your not feeling up to socializing, she will 100% stay home and do whatever you want to do

• she loves taking you to calm and quiet places in her free time - she knows you love the quiet and nature so she spends hours looking for new places to take you - even if it's 3 hours away

• a lot of the places she takes you to are like private beaches, lakes/lake houses, flower fields, basically anywhere overlooking water, mountains, or flowers

• she loves loves loves coloring with you! if she sees you somewhere coloring in your coloring book, she'll ask if she can join everytime (you obviously say yes everytime)

• she knows your not big on party's and big get togethers so you and her will either show up for 10 minutes tops or not go at all, it all depends on your social battery that day

• you're her top priority. she doesn't care about some party, large gathering or socializing with strangers more than you, so if you say no - she's telling the person that invited her no, if you want to leave even if you've only been there for 3 minutes - you both are leaving no questions asked

• if you both leave from somewhere early you guys always go to target and get the necessities (legos and tru fru) and then get whatever fast food you want and then have a movie date at home while building legos

• LOVES cuddling you

• if she comes home from practice and sees you cuddled in a blanket watching tv (basically everyday) she will immediately jump on the couch and cuddle you

lmk if you want more of kk w/introvert!Gf or if you want any of these to be actual fics <3

#kk arnold x reader #uconn x fem reader #uconn x reader #kk arnold #yailtsv moodboards—★

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agiiiiiiiiiiiii · 3 months ago

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The Proposal

Part 2 of Soon.

Your wish is my command @siennaluvshcky !

nico hischier x reader

Theme: fluff, proposal

Words: 2767

—————————————————————————

The fresh air of Switzerland greeted you as you and Nico stepped out of the car. You were in his hometown, visiting for a short holiday between his busy hockey schedule. He had been unusually quiet on the drive up to the mountains, but you chalked it up to the breathtaking scenery—snow-capped peaks rising against a blue sky, the scent of pine trees filling the air. It was serene, magical even, like something out of a fairytale.

Nico led you to a secluded hiking trail, a place he said was special to him. “I used to come here as a kid,” he explained, his hand warm around yours. “Whenever I needed to clear my head or just… think.”

The path wound through a dense forest before opening up to a clearing that overlooked a stunning lake. The water sparkled under the afternoon sun, perfectly mirroring the mountains and trees around it. Your breath caught at the sight—it was as though the world had stilled just for the two of you.

“This is beautiful, Nico,” you whispered, your voice tinged with awe.

He smiled softly. “It is. But it’s even better with you here.”

Before you could respond, Nico pulled a picnic basket out from behind a tree. “Surprise,” he said, grinning like a kid who’d just pulled off a great prank.

You laughed, shaking your head. “When did you plan this?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he teased, spreading out a soft blanket on the grass. “Just enjoy it.”

The two of you sat together, sharing wine, cheese, and chocolate—a quintessential Swiss experience, he’d said. You leaned against his shoulder, letting the peaceful silence wash over you. The cool breeze kissed your cheeks, but Nico’s arm around you kept you warm.

As the sun began to dip behind the mountains, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, Nico stood up and reached for your hand. “Come with me,” he said, his voice gentle but filled with a certain gravity you couldn’t quite place.

He led you closer to the edge of the lake, where the view was even more breathtaking. You turned to comment on how beautiful it was, but when you faced him, Nico wasn’t standing—he was kneeling.

Your heart stopped.

He held a small velvet box in his hands, his dark eyes locked on yours, filled with so much love it made your knees weak.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “From the moment I met you, I knew you were special. You’ve been my best friend, my biggest supporter, and the love of my life. I can’t imagine a future without you.” He opened the box, revealing the most stunning ring you’d ever seen—simple yet elegant, sparkling like the lake behind him.

Tears pricked your eyes as he continued. “I brought you here because this is where I’ve always come to dream. And now, my biggest dream is to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”

You couldn’t speak. Your heart was pounding so hard it felt like the entire forest could hear it. But you managed a tearful, “Yes!”

Nico’s face broke into the most radiant smile you’d ever seen. He slid the ring onto your finger, his hands trembling slightly. Then he stood, pulling you into his arms and kissing you with a passion that made the world around you disappear.

When you finally pulled away, you were both laughing and crying at the same time. “You really planned this all out, didn’t you?” you asked, admiring the ring on your finger.

“I wanted it to be perfect,” he admitted, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Because you deserve nothing less.”

As the sky turned darker, the two of you stayed by the lake, wrapped in each other’s arms, dreaming about the life you would build together. And in that moment, with the stars beginning to twinkle above and Nico’s heartbeat steady beneath your cheek, everything felt absolutely perfect.

—————————————

As you and Nico walked hand in hand back to the house, you felt your heart still racing from the magical proposal. The glow of the moment surrounded you, but nothing could have prepared you for what came next. When Nico opened the door, the warm, familiar sound of laughter and chatter reached your ears.

You froze in surprise. When you’d left earlier, only Nico’s parents had been in the house—but now it was full. Not just his family, but your family too. Your parents, your sister mingling with Nico’s brother and sister and family.

“What…?” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper as you turned to Nico, your eyes wide.

He grinned, looking immensely pleased with himself. “You didn’t think I’d let you celebrate this without your family, did you?”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you realized the extent of his thoughtfulness. Before you could say another word, your mom spotted you and gasped, rushing over with outstretched arms.

“Oh, sweetheart!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with emotion as she hugged you tightly. When she pulled back, her gaze dropped to your hand, and her breath caught. “It’s beautiful,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes as she cupped your face. “You’re glowing.”

Your dad joined next, pulling you into a bear hug. “He did good, huh?” he said with a proud smile, nodding toward Nico, who stood nearby with his hands in his pockets, watching the reunion with a soft, affectionate smile.

“He did more than good,” you replied, glancing back at Nico, who winked at you.

The room erupted into cheers and congratulations as everyone crowded around you, marveling at the ring and celebrating the big news. Nico’s mom pulled you into a warm embrace, whispering, “Welcome officially to the family, my dear”.

You didn’t even have to say a word. The way you beamed at her and held out your hand said it all.

Then, amidst all the excitement, his nephew toddled over to you, his wide, curious eyes fixed on your ring. Tugging gently on your hand to get your attention, he asked in his sweet, innocent voice, “So… you’re gonna marry Uncle Nico and be with us forever?”

The whole room fell silent, everyone smiling as they watched the exchange. You crouched down to his level, your heart melting at his sincerity. “That’s right,” you said softly, brushing a strand of his hair back. “Forever and ever.”

The little boy’s face lit up, and he threw his arms around your neck in the tightest hug, as if sealing the deal himself. “Good,” he said firmly. “I really like you.”

Everyone laughed, and Nico came to crouch beside you, ruffling his nephew’s hair. “I really like her too, buddy,” he said, winking at you.

The moment was so pure and filled with love that it made your heart swell. You looked around the room at the people who had become your family, feeling an overwhelming sense of belonging. Nico caught your gaze and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“This is everything I’ve ever wanted,” he whispered, and you nodded, your hand finding his.

“Me too,” you replied, and as the celebrations continued, you couldn’t help but feel that this was just the beginning of your forever.

—————————————

Later that night, after the laughter had died down and the house was finally quiet, you and Nico lay side by side in bed. The day had been nothing short of perfect, and the weight of everything that had happened started to settle in. The ring on your finger felt like a dream, and Nico’s arm draped over your waist was a comforting reminder that it was all real.

As you lay in the cozy silence, Nico broke it with a soft chuckle. “So… were you surprised?” he asked, his voice low but amused.

You turned your head to look at him, finding his eyes sparkling in the dim light. “I mean…” you hesitated, biting your lip playfully.

His eyebrows raised, and he leaned up on one elbow, giving you a mock-serious look. “Don’t tell me you knew. I planned so hard for this!”

You laughed quietly, tracing a finger over the edge of the blanket. “Okay, I had my suspicions,” you admitted. “But!” you added quickly, “I had no idea my family would be here. That completely caught me off guard.”

Nico let out a satisfied sigh and flopped back onto his pillow, a triumphant smile on his face. “Good. At least I managed to pull off something without you figuring it out. You’re impossible to surprise, you know.”

You turned onto your side, propping yourself up to look at him properly. “I might be impossible to surprise,” you teased, “but you did really good today. I was blown away, Nico. Everything was perfect.”

His hand reached for yours, his fingers gently playing with the ring on your finger. “I just wanted it to feel special for you,” he said softly, his voice sincere. “You deserve that.”

You leaned down to kiss him gently, your lips lingering against his for a moment. “It was better than special,” you whispered. “It was everything I’ve ever wanted. And having both our families there? That made it even more perfect.”

Nico smiled contentedly, pulling you closer until you were tucked against his chest. “That was the part I wasn’t sure I’d pull off,” he admitted. “But seeing your face when you saw them? Worth it.”

You laughed softly, resting your head against his shoulder. “You pulled it off,” you murmured, your voice growing drowsy. “And I’ll never forget it.”

As Nico pressed a kiss to your hair, his arms wrapped tightly around you, he whispered, “Neither will I.”

As you lay against Nico's chest, your hand rested lightly on his stomach. You couldn’t help it—your fingers kept shifting, twisting your hand slightly to catch the light of the room on your ring. Every time the diamond sparkled, your heart gave a little flutter.

Nico noticed, of course. He always noticed. “You can’t stop looking at it, can you?” he teased, his voice warm with affection.

You laughed softly, tilting your head to look up at him. “It’s not my fault. It’s so beautiful. You did this,” you said, holding your hand up for both of you to admire. “You picked this.”

“Of course I did - with the help of Emma,” he replied with a grin, his fingers brushing over your wrist.

You blinked, sitting up slightly to look at him. “Emma? She knew?!”

He grinned at your reaction. “Of course she did. I needed someone who knows you better than anyone, and she was perfect for it. She helped me make sure it was... well, you.”

Your eyes widened in realization. “Oh my God, I haven’t even told her yet! She’s going to kill me when she finds out I didn’t call her the second it happened!”

Nico laughed softly, clearly amused by your slight panic. “Well, you can fix that right now. Want to FaceTime her?”

You nodded eagerly, grabbing your phone off the nightstand. You clicked on her contact and hit the video call button, bouncing a little with excitement as you waited for her to answer.

When Emma’s face appeared on the screen, her curious expression immediately turned into one of shock. “OH MY GOD, IS THAT A RING ON YOUR FINGER?!” she screamed, nearly dropping her phone.

You and Nico both laughed, and you held your hand closer to the camera, wiggling your fingers. “It is!” you confirmed, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt.

“Finally!” Emma exclaimed, covering her mouth with her free hand as tears filled her eyes. “Wait, you are still in Switzerland right? Did he propose there? Please tell me he did it in Switzerland!”

“He did!” you said, practically bursting with excitement. “It was perfect. Everything about it was perfect.”

Nico leaned into the frame with a sheepish smile. “She said yes,” he teased lightly, as if it had been a question.

Emma rolled her eyes, wiping at her tears. “Of course she said yes! Look at her—she’s glowing. And this ring is stunning!”

“Thank you,” Nico said with a proud smile. “But I couldn’t have done it without you, Emma. You were a lifesaver.”

Emma waved him off, though she looked deeply touched. “Please, you just needed a little guidance. You had everything else under control.” She turned her attention back to you. “So, tell me everything! Every. Single. Detail.”

For the next hour, the three of you sat in bed, recounting the story and reliving every magical moment. Nico chimed in here and there, but he mostly watched you with a soft, adoring smile, his hand resting on your thigh.

When the call finally ended, you set the phone down and leaned back against Nico, sighing contentedly. “I think she’s even happier than I am,” you joked, though your happiness was undeniable.

“She’s just excited for you,” Nico said, pressing a kiss to your lips.

Moments later Nico’s phone began buzzing on the nightstand. He glanced at the screen and smirked. “It’s Jack,” he said, already reaching for it.

“Perfect timing,” you said, nudging him playfully. “Put him on FaceTime. I’ll tell him!”

He raised an eyebrow but complied, answering the call and turning the camera on both of you. Jack’s grinning face filled the screen. “Hey, lovebirds. Did she say yes, or am I calling to console a brokenhearted Swiss guy?”

You rolled your eyes, holding up your hand to show the ring. “She said yes,” you teased, grinning from ear to ear.

Jack let out a loud whoop, throwing his arms up in celebration. “I knew it! Congrats, you two! I’ve been waiting forever for this to happen.”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at the screen. “Wait, you knew about this too?”

Jack grinned, leaning back smugly. “Uh, yeah. Nico told me weeks ago. Someone had to approve the ring and the plan, obviously. I mean, I’m basically the mastermind behind the whole thing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. Meanwhile, Nico rolled his eyes, muttering, “Yeah, sure you are, Jack.”

You turned to Nico, feigning shock. “How many more people knew about this?!”

Nico laughed, looking adorably sheepish. “Not that many… just my family, Emma, a few of the guys... oh, and your dad.”

“My dad?!” you repeated, your jaw dropping.

“Of course,” Nico said, his grin widening. “I asked for his blessing before I even bought the ring.”

You blinked, overwhelmed but impressed. “And nobody let it slip? Not even a little hint?”

Jack chuckled. “What can I say? We’re a trustworthy group. Well, except me—I almost told you, like, ten times.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Honestly, I’m impressed. I thought I was good at reading people, but you all got me.”

“That’s the goal,” Nico said, pulling you closer. “It wouldn’t have been as special.”

You looked at him, still slightly in disbelief. “You pulled this off perfectly.”

Jack chimed in with a grin. “That’s my captain—always clutch when it counts.”

You and Nico both laughed, and after a few more congratulatory words, the call ended. Nico set his phone aside, turning to you with a satisfied smile.

“So?” he asked, wrapping an arm around you. “How does it feel knowing I managed to surprise you at least a little bit?”

You rested your head on his shoulder, looking at the ring on your finger. “It feels like I’m marrying the most incredible man in the world,” you said softly, and Nico leaned down to kiss your forehead.

“Good,” he murmured, holding you close. “Because you are.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned down to kiss him deeply. His hand found your waist, pulling you closer as if he never wanted to let you go. When you finally pulled back, breathless and smiling, you rested your forehead against his.

“I love you, Nico Hischier,” you whispered, the words spilling out effortlessly, just like they always did.

“And I love you, Mrs. Hischier,” he replied, the new title rolling off his tongue like it had been meant for you all along.

Your laugh was soft and filled with pure joy as you nestled against him again. Even as your eyes started to grow heavy, your fingers instinctively found the ring once more, twisting it gently on your finger.

And as Nico held you close, his lips brushing your temple, you realized you weren’t just staring at the ring—you were dreaming of the life that came with it.

#nhl imagine #nico hischier #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier x reader

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bogleech · 11 months ago

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I love the town of Port Deposit Maryland. It's all these incredibly old houses build onto levels carved into the side of a mountain overlooking a river and it's not actually "far" from anything else yet there's still a good few miles of little to nothing on all sides making it feel very much like an isolated bubble. I want to say it has never changed, but the residents are constantly building more stuff onto the homes as they deteriorate. They have been doing this since I was a baby, so does that mean it always changes, or does that mean it never changes, because constant change is its natural state?! It's like a bunch of different game assets clipping through each other, assembled by someone with a rough understanding of what a town looks like and how to make it look relatively normal from just certain angles.

Today there were all these vultures at a park there

Port Deposit also declared its own two genders, but they are both welcome to use any restroom they please

I grew up 20 minutes away from it but I never met anyone who lives there or works there. People definitely DO. We met a super nice lady today who owns her own little coffee bar there. But it is difficult to accept that anyone in Port Deposit really exists concurrently with the current timeline of this universe. It will blow my mind if there's a single person on tumblr who lives there. The population feels like it's just 20 or 30 aunts and uncles. I don't know whose aunts and uncles. But they are somebody's.

#maryland #port deposit

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redheadspark · 4 months ago

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hi!!! hope you're doing great. i was wondering if I could get Azriel from acotar with #15. thanks!!

A/N - This is beyond cute for Azriel, I hope you like it, anon!

Mattered

Summary - Azriel drinks in the morning while thinking of the peace in his life

Warnings - Just fluff

Azriel blinked awake, and the last bit of his dream escaped from him life fog through his fingers.

The dream seemed so real to him, not a nightmare but a dream. He dreamt of his mother, her long black hair that was always braided or in her face to frame her eyes. He remembered her smile, how big it was, and how it would lift his spirits. But even before he could utter a word, he was awake.

And she was gone.

The fireplace licked to life from the moment he took in a deep breath, instantly filling the room with warmth since it was a pinch too cold for Azriel’s liking. The room was still dark, the wallpaper and dark furniture keeping the room dark and dim as dark clouds still roamed over the sky at the House of Wind. He breathed in slowly, stretching a bit before realizing he was not alone in the massive bed. Looking to his left, he noticed you, his mate of over 400 years, curled up against a massive body pillow that you love to use every once in a while. Your own thick hair was fanned out behind you, your bareback showing the scattered freckles that looked like constellations to him, even the way your lips parted as you were in deep sleep, Azriel thought you of as beautiful.

He slipped the blanket back over you to keep you warm, kissing your neck lovingly before he moved out of bed. He grabbed a sweater that was tossed on the armchair from the previous night, ruffling his hair as he threw it on and tiptoed out of the room. Looking at you one last time as you mumbled and turned in your sleep. Azriel had to smile, you were a bit comical to watch when you were sleeping.

The rest of the House of Wind was quiet, only dimmed lights along the hallways were evident to show that the rest of the home was asleep. You and Azriel stayed over for the night since there was a massive snowstorm that hit Velris, Azriel wasn’t comfortable flying you both back to your own little place by the bay where the ships docked. Cassian offered one of the guest rooms for you two, to which you agreed and fell asleep with ease. The guest room you both were in was on the first floor, tucked near the main terrace that overlooked Velaris. Azriel figured, given the small amount of light that he could see creeping over the clouds that haunted its dump of snow, it was almost daw.

The temperature was cold, not too cold like the night before when Cassian suggested you both stay for the night, but cold enough for Azriel to see his breath. He shivered slightly, though the cold was also inviting as he closed the door behind him and wrapped his arms around himself to scan the area. Everywhere was blanketed in snow, from the tops of the mountains down to the docks and some even on the ocean water. It almost looked like a winter wonderland from his view, the small shops dead asleep and the little homes that were tucked away in peace and safety.

Something he wanted for this place for quite some time.

As some of the glimpses of sunlight started to come up to paint the sky a lighter blue, Azriel could think back to the plenty of times he would contemplate if he was doing the right things and making the right decisions for the sake of Velaris and Night Court, if hiding it away from the Other Courts and beyond was worth having his neck on the line. But then again, this place was the one true sense of home he’d ever had in quite some time. The found family he had, started with Rhsyand and Cassian, who never turned their backs on him. In fact, he felt more at home than he’d ever felt before.

But that sense of home grew tenfold when you came stumbling into his life and shook his world in the best way.

He never pictures himself to be the romantic type, not like a long shot given his track record as a Shadowsinger and a spy for Rhysand. He was too busy and occupied, too focused on certain things, even too complicated, to let someone come into his life and shift everything for him. Not that he didn’t think about having any kind of love in his life, he did from time to time. He was inwardly jealous that Rhysand and Cassian found their mates, and although he thought he had his own in Elaine which later turned out to be a mutual friendship, he had to wonder if he was ever destined to have someone of his own.

You were the calm shores to his crashing waves, the gentle breeze to his gusts of wind, the rays of sunshine on a bleak morning. From your smile that seem to make Azriel’s heartache, to the way you would twirl your hair while reading a book. Even in how you knew how to defend yourself when in a fight as you two fought side by side against Hybern, Azriel was memorized by you. But the one thing that drew him to you like a moth to a flame was your kindness. You were kind to all you met, helped those who needed it, and were never selfish. Not for one moment. It made Azriel want to be a better version of himself, and he worked on that once you two started courting.

Centuries came and went, growth and love blossomed between the pair of you, and Azriel was certain that he could no longer live this life he had alone. You were his guidance when he was lost, his comfort when he was struggling, and the love he’s been searching for since he lost his mother.

Another breath escaped his lips as he grinned at the view in front of him. The snow was sticking, and another wave of snow was going to come within the hour. But thankfully, Azriel and his mate had nothing planned for the rest of the day. Nesta offered the library for you to use since you loved to read as much as she did, whereas Cassian and Azriel were planning to spar and train together in one of the open rooms of The House of Wind. Mor and Armen were at their homes, as well as the High Lord and Lady a River House with Nyx. There was nothing really important to deal with, so it was now a time to have peace and reconnect.

“Can’t sleep?”

Your voice floated in the wind as Azriel turned his head slightly in your direction, hearing you sneak out onto the terrace where he was. He grinned, you floated over to him with one of the massive comforter blankets that you both used for your sleep. Dropping it over his shoulders and avoiding his wings, Azriel tucked you under his arm to keep you close under the same blanket, kissing your hair as you wrapped your arms around him lovingly.

“How could you tell?” He asked against your hair as you hummed.

“When you wake up early when you’ve had an intense dream,” You explained, squeezing him a bit tighter as you looked up at him with worry, “What was it about?”

You knew about his mother and how much he missed her from time to time. He told you all that he could remember of her, and how he could hear her in his dreams. At first, he thought it was silly to confide in you about his past it seemed painful and horrific. But you simply took his hands in your own, kissing the scars along his skin, and loved him for all he was. It almost seemed too good to be true for him, to have someone love him and all of him. Not just hard or a quarter, but everything. Azriel never felt insane love like he did with you, who would make sure he’d eat and sleep, who would make him feel heard and admired, and who made Azriel rethink his future. A future that involved a little home somewhere, maybe with a child or two or three, and to have peace.

You brought him that peace.

“Just my mother is all, and then of you,” He replied, you grinning from ear to ear as he kissed your forehead intimately, “It was a good dream,”

“That’s all that matters,” You reminded him, then patting his chest with your hand, “Let’s eat some breakfast and watch the sunrise before it snows again,”

“Sounds perfect,” Azriel hummed in agreement. You both walked back into The House of Wind, the sky getting lighter by the minute as a new day was coming through Velaris. He would follow you to the end of the earth and defy everything else, which sounded so strange coming from him but he never minded it. Not with the soul that saved his life in more ways than one and kept him sane.

He had you, and that’s all that mattered.

The End

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #fanfiction #writing #azriel x oc #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight

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