#keeping the old one on here too but just this once

[monstersholygrail]

Yandere!Work Colleague

Male Yandere x Fem!Reader ||

Your colleague forms a new crush on you once you tell him you like his special coffee and now he won’t stop giving you more. He’ll give you everything

Yandere!Work Colleague tries to act normal but is way too shy to ask out his office crush. He’s seen them around the office, always looking so confident. But he can never get up the nerve to talk to them, ask them out. Even when working on a project with them, the most he’ll say is, “Here’s y-your tea— your coffee, I mean!” And hand it to them before scurrying off. Of course making sure to put his ‘special cream’ into the drink beforehand.

But only now as he heads back to the tray of drinks, his brows furrow, not seeing your drink in the tray. He swore he had just moved it a second ago. His face drops as he realizes there must’ve been a mix-up. He whirls around only to watch in horror as you drink the coffee with his personal ingredient in it.

He swears he’s not breathing as you take a few long gulps. He hopes to every God there is that you won’t notice anything off about it. Sweat dots at his brow as you place the coffee down and lick your lips in a way that curiously has his cock twitching.

“Hmm. This is better than usual, thanks,” you comment, so casually, as if you hadn’t just turned his entire world upside down.

Everything was different now, he saw everything in a new and shiny bright light. And all those lights always came back to you. His whole world now revolving around you. The way you talked to him so effortlessly, smiled at him, acknowledged him. He’d never experienced anything like it before. Not from his old office crush or anyone. You were… special.

Since that day he’s been chasing after you like a dog with a bone. Always offering to carry your stacks of paperwork from meetings to your desk. He makes sure to linger so that everyone in the office will gossip and wonder if you two are together. If he’s asked he’ll say yes, if only to live in the possibility that one day you will be.

He does everything he can for you during group assignments. Getting done work you might’ve not gotten too. You were tired and you needed your sleep. And he just so happened to glance at your computer as you were signing in one day. So signing in himself to get some work done for you was simply just a kind thing to do from one colleague to another. Of course he’d never do it for anyone else besides you. No matter how much his coworkers complained about all he does for you around the office.

Most of all though, he still always makes sure to bring you your morning coffee every day. The way your face lights up at the sight of him with the cup, your smiles and happiness just for him. No one else would dare, they know by now you’re basically his. Besides… no one else can make it like him. You’ve said so yourself.

He makes sure every morning to prepare his special ingredient with extra care. Images of you flashing across his mind as he slowly pumps his cock. Imagining how you’d look all pretty and split open on his length. How you’d call out his name and ask why he didn’t do this sooner. Squeezing his cock and pretending it’s you milking him for all your worth.

When he finally cums straight into your coffee he fantasizes it’s his thick ropes of cum shooting straight into your womb. A low raspy groan rips from his throat, his hips jerking as he just keeps coming to the thought of you. The coffee is nearly overflowing by the time he’s done.

He knows you’ll be grateful for the extra bit of drink, your lips pulled into a bright smile. He wonders how bright it would look wrapped around his length and he shudders as he hands it to you.

If he didn’t have to get to his desk, he’d watch you drink every last drop of it. Relishing in the fact that for now, at least, he’s inside of you in one way. Knowing soon he’ll be inside you in every way humanly possible.

But for now he’s content to simply bring you your coffee every morning and anything else you need handled. He’ll gladly take care of you in any way possible. Someday he’ll take care of you in every way. And nobody will be able to stop him.

[bizarrelovetriangel]

missing you.

mdni. 18+ only. not for the kids, pls look away. male masturbation. panty sniffing. pillow humping. pervy caleb. caleb and reader/mc are in a relationship.

hello i'm joining caleb-the-panty-sniffer club and this is my contribution. please enjoy.

inspired by these arts: x, x, x

You were out of town for hunters business, and Caleb volunteered to check up on your house. While he's at it, might as well do some cleaning too.

But he gets a little distracted.

Last week, during your video call, you mentioned to Caleb that your team has been requested to go to a certain city that's been having Wanderer problems. The mission is estimated to last for about five to seven days, and you expressed concern about your newest plants that require to be watered at least every two to three days, which might die without your care.

So of course, Caleb is there to take away your worries. He promised to go to Linkon City in the middle of the week to make sure your plants get the nutrients they need.

Now here he is, inside your apartment's living room, putting away the objects that you'd left scattered all over the place. He imagined you putting things in your luggage at the very last minute before leaving for your trip. You've always done that when you were younger, and it seems old habits die hard.

Back when you were little, once you finish shoving plushies in your bag, deeming them to be absolutely necessary, you'd come to him so he can help you close the zippers.

This time, you didn't forget to take your plushies either. The Sunny Apple that he won with you at the claw machine was gone, which means it's probably keeping you company right now. The thought of you cuddling with the grumpy-looking apple puts a smile on his face.

After watering your plants, Caleb moved on to cleaning the kitchen. Your place isn't really messy; there are just several objects that were out of place, so there's not much work for him.

The last area that he took care of was the bedroom, where he will be sleeping for the rest of the week. The moment he entered your room, he was consumed by the smell of your signature perfume. If he were to close his eyes, it would feel as if you were there.

The scent also made him feel lonely. It's been days since he last saw you, as both of your jobs robbed you of each other's physical presence. Fortunately, once you return from your hunting trip, you two get to spend a few days together, so he's looking forward to it.

Caleb studied the collage of personal pictures you have on the wall, not too far from your nightstand. A lot of them are you and him from various age, a couple are of you and Zayne, plus a recent one with Caleb between you and the doctor.

There are also photographs of you with your coworkers, including the silver-haired guy that you're often partnered with. In all the group pictures, he's always, always next to you.

He's the one that's seeing all the cute expressions you're making right now.

Caleb shakes the jealous thoughts out of his head and lies down on your bed. It's the afternoon, just around the time for the sun to set. He's not sleepy at all, but the warmth and softness of your bed, combined with your fragrant scent, is just so alluring, his body was obligated to sink into it.

"Hmm? What's this?"

Caleb's left hand got a hold of something that you'd forgotten to either put in your luggage or put in the dirty laundry.

Something soft.

Something red.

His fingers grasped the material and held it above his face so he could see what it is.

"Ah...."

His face instantly feels warm at the sight of your underwear. Red panties.

He had seen you wear this before. He also remembers, quite vividly, him sliding it off your legs before pressing his lips and tongue at your core like a starving predator.

He rememebered how you felt. How you tasted.

His mouth watered.

His cock hardened.

His fingers twitched as he lowered his hand towards his face. Caleb closed his eyes and pressed the panty against his nose.

"Fuck..."

His other hand rose to his chest as heat from his rushing blood spread across his body, down to his stomach, through his hips, and pooled between his thighs.

His mind replayed the memory of you resting your back against the bed's headboard, your fingers tangled through his hair while his face is buried between your thighs.

Caleb rubbed his cock over his gray sweatpants, thinking of the face you make as his tongue drives you on edge.

He took another whiff of the red underwear and stained his own boxers as he become even more aroused.

His hips thrusted up as he stroke himself faster, pretending it was your hand that was touching him.

He pictured your mouth around his cock, cheeks flushed, eyes filled with lust as they flicker back to his, making sure he was feeling good. Your eyes would get teary when he'd lose restraints and put himself deeper in your mouth.

A groan comes out between his lips. He pulled down his sweatpants and boxers, smearing his pre-cum all over his aching cock before running his hand up and down, slowly, just like how you like to start and finish.

He needed you, so bad. But you weren't there.

He was surrounded by your scent.

He was on your bed.

Licking his lips, Caleb turned over and buried his face on one of your pillows.

He grinds his cock on your bedsheet, imagining that you were underneath him, crying out his name with pleasure with your honeyed voice that he'll never get tired of hearing even in the after life.

"N- not enough.... it's not enough..." He was pumping his cock while humping your bed, yet he was only getting harder.

It feels like he was going to burst but couldn't.

Caleb threw off his shirt as the sweat from all his movement and body heat made his clothes uncomfortably stuck to his skin.

Despite his tensed body, his hold on your underwear was gentle, as if it was your actual body.

He sniffed the red panty once again before moving it down to his lips. His tongue ran over the crotch, and his cock throbbed. He could almost taste you, as if you were actually there.

He whispered your name with desperation, right hand grasping the bedsheet, needing to feel you against him.

Letting out a ragged breath, he took another pillow and placed it under his hips. Caleb closed his eyes and a moan escapes his lips at the friction.

He immediately set a brutal pace, rutting against your pillow while his closed eyes sees your figure, taking him in deep and tight. You're scratching his back and mewling against his ear as he pounds into you so hard that the world is shaking.

Sweat causes his body to glisten while your bed quakes from all of his movements.

He didn't - or rather, couldn't, silence his moans as the red fabric was wrapped around his cock. He ran it up and down before spreading it over the pillow and grinding against it.

It wasn't you, but it still felt heavenly.

"Fuck. fuck.... so good..."

He was close.

Faster. Harder.

Caleb increased his speed on humping your bed, feeling his body tightening up.

Ring ring ring.

"W- what?!"

He jumped at the sound of his own phone ringing. Someone was calling him. More importantly, it was the special ringtone for you.

Luckily, it wasn't a video call. He'd usually prefer a video call so he can see your lovely face, no matter the time of the day, but today.... might not be a good idea.

"F-fuck." He was absolutely not in the right state to talk to you clearly.

Decline?

No, he couldn't.

He could never.

"Heya, pip-squeak," he breathes out slowly, carefully, as if his heart isn't racing. "Missed me already?" he asks playfully, as if he wasn't the one that was fucking your panties right now.

"Yeah, I do. I have to hold my bags by myself because Caleb isn't around."

"So nice to hear that you're thinking about me." He grins, while his hips continued to move with caution so you wouldn't detect any of the lewd noises he was making.

"Well, yeah.... I do miss you, Caleb." you replied softly, setting the jokes aside. "I'm so far away from Linkon. It's so different here, and it just feels lonely. I guess I'm just feeling homesick..."

You're feeling homesick and you're thinking of him. It's just like when he goes to Skyhaven. He was always thinking of you. The one that he comes home to.

"Caleb..."

The way you said his name caused his stomach to flutter, and his cock to twitch.

Fuck.

Your voice.

"Caleb."

"Mhmmmm..."

With your panty wrapped around his cock, he thrusted deeply into the pillow as if was you. Over and over and over again.

"Caleb..."

He's so close.

Faster.

Deeper.

"Caleb?"

The bed was shaking and screeching from how hard he was going. He'd forgotten about everything.

"Hnnngg,,,"

"Caleb!"

Not a second after you called out his name, Caleb reached his climax. The panty was shoved in his mouth to muffle out the whimpers that fell from his drooling mouth.

He came hard, all over your pillow and spilled onto the bedsheet, some in his hips and stomach.

"Caleb?"

His eyes opened widely as if he'd just woken up from a trance. "Yes, honey?"

"Are you okay? Did you hear what I said? Are you busy?"

He gulped. "I'm good, pip-squeak. I'm already at your place, just... cleaning up, so that it's all nice and pretty when you get back in two days. You should hurry back or else your plants might die from missing you too much."

"Just my plants? You don't miss me?"

On, you have no idea.

"Hmph. I guess I won't give you any of the souvenirs I bought for you."

You are so cute and so precious.

He wants to kiss you so badly.

"Why don't you come home so you can see out how badly I need you..... next to me..." he adds the last part quickly.

Caleb could practically hear you smile at the other line, causing the ends of his own lips to curl up with joy, eyes brightening as he thinks of your face.

"I'm coming home soon. Wait for me, Caleb."

"I'll wait for as long as you need me."

Once the call ended, Caleb sighs loudly and slumps on the bed, wincing at the wet mess he made.

Now he has even more cleaning up to do.

///////

You paused as you entered your bedroom after enjoying the brunch that Caleb cooked for you upon your arrival at your sweet home.

"You changed my bedsheets?"

"It was starting to get a little dusty. You're welcome."

[sparklingblu]

Eroverse

Pt.7 - Trial & Error

ft. Julie, Natty, Haneul and Chaewon

You’ve never owned a pet before.

But it’s not a bad experience at all.

Especially if your pet’s an immortal goddess who’s addicted to your cock.

It has become a somewhat normal occurrence to wake up to Chaewon choking herself on your morning wood, serving herself breakfast even before you have woken up.

It’s not a pretty sight. Not at all. A goddess who has once treated men like pests has been reduced to nothing but a cock hungry slut, all her resentments and fury replaced by lust. If the old Artemis could see what she have become, she would have committed suicide on the spot (yeah, she’s immortal, alright. just me exaggerating). But it’s too late now. You don’t know what becomes of her hunters but the mark has rewritten Chaewon’s entire personality. 

And talking about the mark, you haven’t had the chance to use it again since your encounter with Aphrodite. You’re not sure how long it has been. It’s difficult to tell the time here. Especially with the storm shrouding everything in darkness.

It seems to be raging on even more since you have regained consciousness. Rain pounds steadily against the glass walls, thunder growling low like an ancient beast. The lightning, when it strikes, is bright enough to momentarily bleach the whole room white.

The world beyond isn’t stable either. At least the world you are allowed to see. One moment, you’re staring at a familiar New York skyline, neon lights shimmering beneath the rain. Then, in a blink, you are staring at the Eiffel Tower. Another, and you would see the Colosseum. You know the properties of the building to choose what it shows to its occupants, but it has never shifted this quickly before.

On the other hand, Eros remains calm. Almost too calm.

He hasn’t assigned another task for you yet, though you’re not sure if that’s a good thing. He’s unusually quiet. If anything, he’s been…patient. Watching. Waiting.

What he’s waiting for, you have no idea as usual. So, you decide to make the most out of this strange, uneasy peace - no matter how short it lasts.

A literal god can’t afford wi-fi in his place so using the phone is out of the question. The TV is, as usual, useless. Eros hasn’t changed his mind about setting every channel to play either romantic comedies, sappy dramas or dating shows. It’s as if the entire entertainment industry is curated by Aphrodite herself. You would last at most five minutes before shutting off the TV with a groan.

Kazuha has no interest in entertaining you either. You guess she’s somewhat affected by the death of her fellow angels, but it’s not an easy job to see through her cold, indifferent mask. She brushes off your attempts to make conversation, instead resorting to staring at the shifting landscapes amidst the storm, like it’s her favourite thing to do.

Luckily, you have a pet goddess.

A pet who’s so eager to grab your attention through your favourite spot - your cock.

So, it’s not really a surprise when you wake up once again, with your cock blocking Chaewon’s airways. She’s so busy attending to your morning(or night) hardness that she doesn’t even notice you stir. She keeps bobbing her head, devouring your cock like it’s her favourite lollipop.

“Chaewon” you call, trying to alert her of your awakening. She looks up at you through half lidded eyes, mouth still full of your cock. She mutters a muffled ‘morning’ and instantly goes back to sucking you off.

“Chaewon” you call again, this time a bit louder. She stops blowing you and meets your eyes, though she still has no plan to take your dickout of her mouth. So she waits there, eyes expectant and mouth full of cock.

You tangle a fist in her hair, pulling her lips off your cock. It comes off easily with strings of drool stretching in the path. Chaewon stays with her mouth gaping, like she can’t wait to swallow your dick again.

“Eager, aren’t you?” you ask, still holding her hair firm. It surely burns her scalp, but it’s nothing compared to what she has done to you before getting brainwashed into a cock depraved slut. Perhaps, she doesn't remember. But the fact remains true.

“Yes, master…” she mutters, voice hoarse from god knows how long she has been deepthroating your shaft. “Chaewon can’t help herself. Chaewon misses master’s cock so much and…”

That earns a slap across her face. “You lying bitch. It hasn’t even been a day since I fuck a load into your cunt, and you miss it, already? God, you really love cocks, don’t you?”

“No, master. Chaewon only love master’s cock. Chaewon can’t live without master’s cock. Chaewon needs it in all her holes everyday” 

You laugh, almost like a madman. Is this what they call karma? One moment, you dread men. The next, your life source has become a cock.

“You are such a slut” you say, rubbing your drenched cock across her face, smearing it in her own saliva. She doesn’t complain, letting you violate her like the toy she is. Who knows a goddess can look even more pretty painted with her own drool?

“Yes, master. Chaewon is master’s slut. And Chaewon wants to make master feel good. Chaewon is a good slut”

The way she repeats her name reminds you of the house elf from Harry Potter. What’s his name again? Dobby? This one does cleaning too, just in different places. 

“I can’t deny that. But you do have to prove it, don’t you?” 

At your question, Chaewon wriggles her raised ass like an eager dog. She has stayed bare so far, and you are not complaining. Not with how easy it is to just squeeze a handful of her ass or bend her over a surface and fuck a load into her whenever you feel like it.

“Yes, master. Chaewon will prove to master how slutty she can be. So please..” she tries to go to town on your cock again but you tighten the grip on her hair, causing her to pull back.

“Listen, you little slut. I’m your master, got it? You don’t do anything without my permission” 

“Get- get it, master” she whimpers, flinching at the pain in her scalp. You almost feel sympathetic. But then, you remember Artemis hasn’t shown you any sympathy. Why would you show it to her?

“Good” you muse. “Now stays just like that and open wide when I fuck your slutty mouth, got it?” 

Chaewon nods feverishly, though it’s hard with how hard you are gripping her head. She opens her mouth anyway, lolling out her tongue like a pet asking for food. And you will feed her very soon. A really hard, really big pet food.

“Open wide” you warn and shove your thick cocks past her lips, groaning as her hot wet mouth envelopes you. She gags and sputters as you force your way in, not caring about her discomfort. All it matters is your pleasure, you need to use her like a cheap fucktoy. 

You start thrusting into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat with each buck of your hips. Lightning flashes and thunder strikes again, but it can’t be as loud as the steady glug glug glug echoing the room as you use Chaewon’s throat like a fleshlight. Streams of saliva drip from the corner of her lips and stain the bed sheet, but it doesn’t really matter. You have found out long ago that the thing cleans and folds itself. Though you doubt it would like having blowjob drool on its sheets.

“See, Artemis? That’s what happens when you talk too much. You get a cock shoved into your mouth” you say, effectively showing her how right you are.

You stop fucking her face for a while, just to make an act of slapping your cock on her tongue multiple times before you shove it back into her warm wet heat. Things have become really messy now, tears flow in a steady stream and mix with the drool, turning her face into a filthy mess of bodily fluids. 

But she plays her part of the slut perfectly. Not complaining at all as you continue to use her throat for your own pleasure. You press your tip to the inside of her cheek, making it bulge before doing the same thing to the other side of her face. It makes her look even more like a slut, if that’s possible.

“Fuck, this mouth does more than taunt and complain. You should have sucked cocks since the beginning. Then, your pretty mouth wouldn’t have gone to waste for millennia”

Does she understand you? You doubt it. Even if she does, her brain is full of nothing but cocks by now. She would have gladly agreed.

You let your eyes wonder and drink in the sight of her magnificent ass. She still has it up in the air, as if beckoning another cock or two to fill her holes. You know she’s more than capable of using that round, juicy ass to her advantage. You have watched enough ‘Smart’ fancams to see the proof. It’s the kind of ass  that begs to be grabbed, spanked and fucked hard. You can already imagine those plump cheeks jiggling as you rail her from behind.

But for now, her mouth would have to suffice. You set a brutal pace, slamming into her throat over and over. Your heavy balls slapping against her chin with every thrust, your shaft stretching her jaw wide. She continues to make obscene gurgling noises, spit and drool dribbling down her chin as you wreck her mouth.

“Fuck, your throat feels so good,” you grunt, picking up speed. “Such a perfect little cockwarmer. This is all you are good for, aren’t you?”

You reach down to grope her tits, squeezing and twisting her erect nipples as you continue to rail her mouth. She moans around your cock, sending delicious vibrations through you. You know you wouldn’t last long, not with such a tight, wet heat wrapped around you.

You pull your cock from Chaewon’s mouth at the last moment, a string of saliva connecting your swollen tips to her bruised lips. She looks at you with bleary, lust-filled eyes, panting heavily as she waits for your command. 

“Beg for it,” you growl, fisting your shaft. “Beg me to paint that pretty face with my cum”

Chaewon obediently parts her lips, tongue extending and ready to catch your load. “Please master,” she whimpers. “Please cum on Chaewon’s face. Chaewon need it, Chaewon needs her face covered in master’s hot seed”

Her vulgar words send a thrill through you, your balls tightening with impending release. With a grunt, you aim your cock at her face and stroke faster, relishing the obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh.

Then, you are coming, long ropes of thick, pearly cum erupting from your cock and splattering across Chaewon’s eager face. You pump load after load, painting her from forehead to chin, watching as your seed drips down her flushed cheeks.

She moans with delight, eyes fluttering closed as you coated her in your essence. When you are finally spent, she’s the perfect picture of a cock drunk slut, marked as your property by the mess on her face.

Chaewon opens her mouth, letting a thick glob of cum drip onto her extended tongue. She swirls it around, savoring the taste before swallowing it down with a satisfied sigh.

“Thank you, master” she purrs, scooping up some of the cum from her cheeks and sucking it off her fingers. “Chaewon will always be your personal cumdump. Please use Chaewon whenever you want” 

And that’s how your mornings go lately. 

🖤 🖤 🖤

Your peace comes to an abrupt, violent end.

And at the worst moment.

You have Chaewon pinned against the wall, her wrists trapped above her head in one of your hands. With the other, you keep a tight grip on her waist, slamming your cock into her soaking cunt rapidly. 

“Fuck, you are so fucking tight” you grunt, leaning down to bite at her neck. “Always wet and ready for me, aren’t you? Begging to be filled and used like a sextoy”

Chaewon moans, pressing her ass back against you desperately. “Please master, Chaewon needs your big cock. Need it inside me, stretching me out. Please use Chaewon like the slut she is”

Her vulgar words resonate around the room, serving only to get you even more riled up. And that’s saying a lot, with how throbbing hard you are already. 

And that ass. That ass that sways and jiggles and bounces with each thrust. If Chaewon’s whorish face - rolled up eyes and lolling tongue - isn’t enough, the sight of her tight ass is an additional luxury.

“Fill me up, Master. Fill Chaewon with your load. Knock me up with your seed” Chaewon continues to beg, lost in the pain and pleasure of your cock. She may be an immortal goddess but at this moment, it won’t be so hard to believe she needs your cum to survive.

You can feel the approaching finale, your cock throbbing with anticipation. Just a few more thrusts, maybe even fewer and you will grant Chaewon her wish - a nice, big, hot load.

Then, the door opens with a deafening slam.

“Well well look what we have here”

You forget about cumming.

Eros stands in the doorway, one hand still on the handle, the other stuffed into the pocket of his jeans. His golden hair is an absolute mess, his shirt crumpled, like he has just rolled out of bed. He studies you with a flicker of amusement in his eyes, like it’s his favorite form of entertainment to break into rooms when people are having sex.

“There’s something called ‘knocking’, you know”

Eros shrugs his shoulders.

“And ruin the fun? No way. And it’s not like you would have heard me with how loud your little ‘pet’ is begging for your cock”

Before you know it, a wave of embarrassment wash over you. You have never meant your activity with Chaewon to be made public but it’s not like you have been secretive either. You have hoped the walls were thick enough to drown out the sound. Seems like it wasn’t the case.

“Look. I-”

Your attempt to reason fails miserably. What does one say when their boss walks in on them having sex? ‘Sorry’? ‘Let me empty my balls first and then we’ll talk’? And the fact that you are still balls deep inside Chaewon makes it even worse. 

Eros makes an exaggerated expression of rolling his eyes. “Finish this up and then come to the living room”

And just like that, he’s gone.

The orgasm is not at all satisfactory. You are too busy pondering what Eros has in store for you this time as you pump Chaewon full of your load. At least the slut gets what she wants in the end.

You hastily change into a sweatshirt and khakis, ignoring Cahewon’s pleas to fill her ass next, pocket your phone and exit the room.

As you step into the circular hall, the first thing you notice is the statue. Eros - marble wings spread wide, that signature smirk carved into his face. The hunters had sliced it clean in half but now, it has been restored to its full glory. Not a single crack remains. If anything, it looks even more smug, as if taunting you personally.

You snort and keep walking, footsteps echoing against the marble floor as you move down the corridor leading to the living room. 

As soon as you step inside, they are already there.

Eros and Kazuha.

Kazuha leans against the pastel-pink kitchen island, arms crossed over her tank top and watching you with that unreadable expression of hers. Meanwhile, Eros is seated on the couch, tossing a lollipop between his fingers like it’s a dagger.

Behind them, the glass walls reveal a cityscape that looks ancient - stone structures, towering columns, remnants of an empire long gone. You don’t recognize it, but the storm still rages on outside, thunder crackling through the sky like a war drum.

Something tells you that whatever comes next is not going to be good.

Eros glances up, pops the lollipop into his mouth and grins.

“Finally! Our guest of honor!” He spreads his arms like he’s welcoming a long lost friend, his grin widening around the lollipop in his mouth. Thunder rumbles, casting flickering shadows against the glass walls, but he doesn’t seem concerned.

Eros gestures to the brand new couch across from him, one that definitely wasn’t there before. It’s upholstered in plush, wine-red velvet, looking way too luxurious for your taste. You half-expect it to swallow you whole once you sit down.

Still, you take a seat.

“So,” you say, stretching your legs. “What’s the occasion?”

Eros leans forward, golden eyes glinting. “I’ve got a quest for you”

Of course he does.

You don’t bother responding. Instead, you let your head fall back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like it holds the patience you no longer have.

Eros grins. “Oh, come on. Don’t look so dead inside. You are gonna love this one”

That gets a laugh out of you. “That’s what you said last time. And I end up dying”

Eros waves a hand. “Details”

You let out a sigh. “Just tell me what you want”

Eros stretches out on the couch like a cat and flashes you his iconic grin that usually precedes horrible news.

“Tell me, Michael,” he says, popping his chin up with one hand. “Do you know Wonder Woman?”

You stare at him, oblivious to why the god is asking if you know a comic book character. “...Yeah?”

He spreads his hands, as if presenting you with a grand mystery. “And what is she?”

You frown. “A superhero?”

“Yes, yes. The one in the skimpy outfit. But what is she?”

You narrow your eyes. “A woman?”

He lets out an exaggerated groan and flops onto his back like he’s personally offended by your answer. “Michael, Michael, Michael. Yes, technically, but you are missing the essence of the question”

Kazuha, who has been silently enduring this nonsense with the patience of someone who has clearly had enough, finally chimes in. “Just tell him already”

Eros shoots her a scandalized look. “Kaz, please. Do you know how dull life would be if we all just gave answers immediately?”

She glares. “Do you know how much less annoying you’d be?”

“Harsh” Eros comments, before turning back to you. “Come on, Michael, give me another guess”

You sigh heavily. “A goddess?”

He clicks his tongue. “Colder”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “A warrior?”

He gives you a so-so gesture. “Warmer, but still missing the key element”

Kazuha rubs her temples. “Eros.”

“Fine, fine.” He sits up properly, stretching his arms overhead before finally, mercifully, giving you the answer. His golden eyes gleam as he smirks. 

“She’s an Amazon”

You stare at him, dumbfounded. “The company?”

Kazuha looks like she wants to strangle you. Eros slumps his shoulders so dramatically you’d think you just told him Santa Claus isn’t real. 

“Kazuha, you are gonna have to sit him down and teach him the basics one of these days,” he mutters. “This is getting painful.”

Kazuha lets out a slow breath like she’s mentally preparing herself for this. “Amazons, Michael. And no, this has nothing to do with Jeff Bezos. They’re a race of warrior women. Fierce, highly skilled in combat, and they don’t take kindly to men”

You blink. “So they’re just another version of the Hunters?”

Kazuha shakes her head. “Not at all. The Hunters of Artemis swear off men entirely. Well….though you kinda ruin that. The Amazons don’t hate men - they just don’t see them as equals. To them, men are tools, something to be used and then cast aside”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sounds like fun.”

“Oh and that’s not everything,” Kazuha continues, a slight chuckle in her voice. She’s enjoying this way too much. “They are the daughters of Ares, the god of war. That means they’re not just some regular warriors - they’ve got divine blood in their veins. Strong, fast, nearly impossible to beat in a fight”

“Wonderful,” you remark. “Let me guess. I have to try to fuck them so that I can grow even more powerful and help Eros impress his mom”

“Well, that’s your job. And you are very good at it” Eros says. If that’s supposed to make you feel better, it doesn’t. “Plus, it’s not the only task at hand”

Another task apart from trying to get into the pants(or armor, whatever) of deadly female warriors? This is just wonderful. 

Eros leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I want you to steal the Belt of Hippolyta”

You blink. “The what?”

“The Belt of Hippolyta. A divine artifact once gifted by Ares to the Amazons’ greatest queen. It increases the strength of its wearer tenfold”

You rub your face. “First, Hades’ helmet, now, this. You sure you don’t need me just to smuggle goldy artifacts?”

Eros grins. “A thief with a charm is just a gentleman rogue”

You pause, frowning. Last time, you barely managed to steal the Helm of Darkness before the servants of the underworld came crashing in. Even then, you have to struggle with a single goddess - Persephone, before she gave in. This time, it’s a whole army of women you have to deal with and you are pretty sure their weapons won’t be vegan-friendly like Persephone. You are starting to hate this job.

“Ok. How exactly am I supposed to steal something like that under the nose of women who will probably try to kill me? Walk up and ask nicely?”

Eros ignores your sarcasm. “Come on, Michael. After all those adventures, you, of all people, must surely know that I always have a plan”

‘Plans that push you closer to the brink of death each time,’ you think. But you keep your mouth shut.

“So, here’s the deal,” Eros starts, biting down on the lollipop with a loud crunch. “The Amazons have this little event every year - big tournament, lots of fighting, lots of blood, real Spartan stuff. A test of strength and skill. And the grand final is always overseen by Ares, who happens to be my dad. 

‘Whose wife I happened to rail,’ you think again. But Eros doesn’t need to know that. 

“And,” Eros continues, his grin widening. “Ares is a little busy at the moment.” He gestures at the storm raging outside. “You know, with everything going on”  He winks. You scoff. “So, being the generous and ever-helpful god that I am, I offered to go in his place”

You stare at him. “And he just let you?”

“Of course,” Eros says, feigning offence. “Why wouldn’t he? I’m a god. I’ve got credentials”

“Like you didn’t use charmspeak on him,” interrupts Kazuha.

Eros shrugs, clearly pleased with himself. “A little push in the right direction. Nothing serious. Besides, the Amazons don’t question it. As long as they get to watch people wrestle, they don’t care which god oversees them”

“So, that’s it?” you ask. “I’m supposed to sneak in and grab this belt or whatever while they are too busy with the tournament?”

Eros chuckles, shaking his head. “If only it were that simple,” he flips the remaining plastic stick of the lollipop, making it vanish.”See, the Belt of Hippolyta isn’t just some fancy accessory you can snatch off a dresser. It can’t be stolen, at least not directly. It can only be given away - willingly - by the Queen herself”

Of course, it’s not supposed to be easy. Those tasks never really are. You groan. “Oh, come on”

“Yep,” Eors pops the ‘p’ smugly.

“So I have to convince an Amazon Queen - one of the deadliest warriors to ever walk the earth - to hand over her most prized possession?”  You scoff. “Right. I’ll just ask really nicely. Maybe throw in some chocolates”

Eros flicks his wrist and a golden pocket watch appears between his fingers. He clicks it open, eyes scanning the time before snapping it shut. “Anyway, I’ll explain the plan later. We’ve got somewhere to be”

You frown. “Wait, what?”

Eros grins. “It’s almost time”

Your frown deepens. “Time for what?”

“The tournament, of course.” He tosses the pocket watch over his shoulder like it’s trash and stretches his arms. “And we’ll need to make an entrance”

You blink. “Wait - hold on - we’re going now?”

“Well, yeah.” Eros gestures vaguely. “I figured we could ease into it but since someone’s too occupied trying out his new pet-”

“Oh, screw you”

“Too late for that darling.” Eros claps his hands. “Point is, we are going undercover. It would be suspicious for me to bring a mortal. So you, my friend, will be posing as one of my angels”

You stare at him. Not the craziest thing you’ve heard but still, you are baffled. “And how do I pose as an angel?”

“Easy enough,” Eros shrugs. “Keep your head down and don’t talk much. Just look at Kazuha”

That earns a glare from her but Eros either doesn’t see it or care.

“Come on. We’ve got places to be”

🖤 🖤 🖤

Eros leads the way back into the circular hall, his boots clicking against the marble. The massive statue of himself is still standing smugly at the centre, looking like it’s laughing at you. You are starting to suspect Eros rebuilt it just to mess with you.

He stops in front of one of the many doors lining the wall - this one looks ancient, dark mahogany with strange swirling symbols carved in its surface. 

You eye it warily. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Themyscira,” Kazuha answers before Eros can drag it out with another dramatic monologue. 

“Themuh-what now?”

“Themyscira,” she repeats, arms crossed. “The island of the Amazons. Hidden from the mortal world, ruled by Queen Hippolyta. It’s been their home for thousand of years”

You blink. “And we’re just walking in?”

Eros smirks. “With style”

Yeah. You are definitely going to die.

Eros pushes open the door with ease, its strange symbols glowing faintly as it creaks. A blinding light spills through the gap, washing over the room like a wave, and without waiting, Eros steps forward, disappearing into the light. You follow, hesitant, but Kazuha gives you a reassuring nod.

As you cross the threshold, the air shifts. Gone is the artificial luxury of Eros’s penthouse - now the sun beats down on your skin, the scent of salt and wildflowers filling your lungs. Before you stretch an island of gleaming white marble, lush green hills, and endless blue ocean. Towering statues of warrior women line the cobbled streets, and in the distance, a grand palace rises above the city, its golden banners catching the wind. The sound of clashing swords and fierce battle cries echoes all around.

You barely have time to take it all in before movement catches your eye.

A group of warrior women, all dressed in tank tops, jeans and sturdy boots strides toward you. They all hold edgy expressions, like they are expecting something bad to happen.

The woman leading them, taller than the rest, seems awfully familiar to you. But it doesn’t take long for you to realize why.

It’s Haneul.

From Kiss of Life.

With the same sharp jawline, the same piercing gaze, the same presence that demands attention.

At this point, seeing divine beings take on the forms of idols should be normal. It’s happened too many times already. And yet, you are mesmerized. 

Haneul sweeps her eyes over your group, then settles her gaze on Eros. “We’ve been expecting you,” she says, voice steady. “Ares has given you his blessings. But don’t think that means you can do whatever you want”

Eros grins, the picture of innocence. “Me? Never”

Haneul nods towards the distant city. “It’s nearly time. Follow me”

You walk after her, along the stone path that leads into the heart of the city. The place is a strange blend of the ancient and the modern - marble columns rise between sleek, contemporary buildings, the glass reflecting the golden light of the setting sun. Women pass by, dressed in almost similar ways to Haneul. Some carry swords at their hips, others have pistols strapped to their thighs. 

Ahead, the city opens up into a vast coliseum, its stone arches weathered yet imposing. Even from here, you can hear the roar of the gathered crowd, a mix of anticipation and bloodlust thick in the air.

“This way.” Haneul leads you up a flight of stone steps, weaving through the gathered Amazons until you reach a reserved section at the very top of the coliseum’s seating. From here, you have a perfect view of the massive arena below.

The arena itself is a circular pit of sand and stone, gleaming gold under the sunlight. The towering walls are adorned with ancient carvings of the amazons in different battle poses. 

Women fill the stands, some standing with their arms crossed, others leaning forward in anticipation. The energy is electric, the air thick with the scent of sweat and dust. 

You and Kazuha take the seats on either side of Eros. Haneul studies you three like a new species of pest . “Wait for me after the tournament,” she says before leaving to join her fellow Amazons.

“Whatever,” Eros grumbles. “It’s about to begin.”

Suddenly, a voice booms across the arena, amplified by unseen means. All the Amazons fall silent at its emergence.

“Sisters, the time has come! The final battle of this year’s tournament is upon us!”

A deafening cheer erupts from the crowd, fists pounding and boots stomping against stone.

The voice continues, “And today, we welcome a guest of honor in place of our great god Ares. The one who embodies passion and war in his own way - Eros, the god of love!”

Not much applause follows the announcement. Nevertheless, that stupid grin is back on Eros’s face, looking every bit as smug as you’d expect. You can already tell he’s enjoying this far too much.

“Now, let’s welcome our champions!” the voice calls, and the crowd explodes into cheers once more.

“First, the challenger - Natty, the Bronze Tempest!”

You watch a figure step into the arena, and your breath hitches.

Natty.

Another idol. Another member of Kiss of Life. Seems like the Amazons are big fans.

She strides forward with confidence, her body bare save for the simple loincloth tied around her waist. Her skin gleams under the sun, polished like bronze, and you realize why she’s called ‘The Bronze Tempest’. 

Your eyes are automatically drawn to her tits - round, full and shining with sweat. Not to mention her half-exposed ass under that little bit of clothing she’s in. You are getting too distracted. 

The Amazons pound their fists against their chests, chanting her name. If they keep this up, you are turning deaf very soon. 

Eros leans in and whispers. “See? I told you you are gonna love this one”

You don’t answer. You’re still trying to wrap your head around the sight before you. And desperately trying not to get hard and failing.

“And now, the reigning champion, our queen - Julie, the invisible!”

The crowd roars even louder this time. You shift in your seat, already knowing what to expect but still taken aback when you see her.

Julie.

Yet another idol. Yet another face that belongs on a stage, not in an ancient battleground. But here she is, striding into the arena with the same effortless confidence as Natty.

Like her challenger, she wears nothing but a simple loincloth - tits out and ass flashed. Muscles coil and flex with each step, her body honed to perfection. Her hair flows behind her like a lion’s mane, framing sharp, battle-hardened features.

The Amazons chant her name, voices reverberating like thunder. She lifts a single hand in acknowledgement before her gaze locked onto Natty with a predator’s focus.

You glance at Eros, who looks far too entertained by all of this. 

“So, do they always fight half-naked, or is this just a special occasion?” you mutter.

Eros smirks. “Would you rather they wore full plate armor?”

You roll your eyes but say nothing, attention back to the arena where the two contestants now stand. The match is about to begin.

“Let the final battle commence!”

The announcer commences and for the millionth time, the crowd cheers. You start considering shutting your ears. 

But Natty and Julie have started circling each other, muscles taut like coiled springs, eyes locked and unblinking. Neither rushes in blindly. Every step is calculated. The air between them hums with tension. 

Then, like a flash of lightning, Natty strikes first.

She closes the distance in an instant, her fist cutting through the air with brutal precision. A blow meant to end things quickly.

But Julie is faster.

The Amazon queen tilts her body just enough for the attack to skim past her, letting momentum carry Natty forward. 

The crowd roars at the display, but neither woman acknowledges it. Their focus is solely on each other.

You exhale. “Alright, that’s pretty cool”

Eros eyes glint with amusement. “Oh, we’re just getting started”

Natty doesn’t let up. She strikes again - then again - then again. Each blow is faster than the last, her movements a blur of raw power and precision. She’s relentless, a storm given form, her fists cutting through the air like bolts of lightning.

But Julie remains true to her title - invisible. 

She shifts effortlessly, her body weaving through the attacks like water flowing around jagged rocks. A slight pivot, a step back, a turn - each motion calm and calculated. Her eyes remain unwavered on Natty, reading her moves before she has executed them.

The crowd watches in stunned silence, captivated by the contrast. Natty, all fury and speed and Julie, an immovable force, unbothered, untouchable.

You lean forward, growing impatient. “Is she gonna dodge forever?”

Eros chuckles beside you. “Patience, my dear. The queen knows what she’s doing”

Natty lunges forward, her fist aiming straight for Julie’s ribs. It looks just like her last attacks - predictable, easy to dodge. And Julie moves accordingly, twisting her body to the side to evade.

But it’s a trick.

At the last second, Natty shifts her weight  pivoting on her foot, and drives her other fist straight into Julie’s stomach. The impact is solid, the sound of knuckles against flesh echoing through the arena.

Julie exhales sharply, her body jolting from the force. It’s the first real hit of the match. The crowd erupts, Amazons roaring in excitement at the shift in momentum.

Eros smirks. “Oh? She got her”

You glance at him. “You sound impressed”

“Of course. It’s not everyday someone lands a hit on the queen”

In the arena, Julie doesn’t stumble. She doesn’t fall. Instead, she straightens, rolling her shoulders. Then, finally, she smirks.

Natty tenses, realizing too late - Julie let her land that hit.

Before Natty can even process what has just happened, Julie moves.

It’s like a switch has flipped. One second, she’s composed and steady. The next, she’s a blur. Her fists fly, striking from every angle - left, right, center - so fast that Natty barely has time to register them, let alone dodge.

A punch crashes into her ribs. Another glances off her shoulder. Then a sharp one lands square against her jaw, snapping her head to the side. The crowd erupts again, but this time, the cheer feels heavier, almost reverent.

Natty stumbles, her feet skidding slightly against the ground as she scrambles to recover. But Julie isn’t done. She presses forward, her movements relentless, every strike perfectly placed, precise. There’s no wasted motion, no hesitation. It’s overwhelming.

Eros lets out a low whistle. “And that’s why she’s the queen.”

Natty grits her teeth, forcing herself to steady her stance. She knows the gap between them is widening, yet she refuses to back down. She lunges forward, trading blows with Julie, but each strike is growing slower and weaker. 

‘That was Julie’s plan’ you think. ‘Try to exhaust the opponent first before striking.’

And it works perfectly.

In a split second, Julie sidesteps Natty’s next desperate strike and sweeps her leg out from under her. Before Natty can react, Julie is already there, catching her throat in the tight grip of her arm.

The crowd roars as Natty struggles, her body twisting in a last attempt to break free. But Julie’s hold is ironclad, not allowing a single breath enter Natty’s lungs. 

Natty claws at Julie’s arm but that just makes Julie tighten her grip farther. Natty starts growing limp. The match is all but decided.

For a moment, it seems like Natty would fight to the bitter end - but then, with a sharp inhale, she slaps Julie’s arm twice in surrender. 

The arena falls silent for a heartbeat before the voice booms across the space. 

“The challenger has yielded! The queen reigns supreme!”

A deafening cheer erupts from the gathered Amazons, their voices blending into a victorious roar. Julie releases Natty, letting her drop to her knees before stepping back with an air of effortless dominance. She raises her arms, basking in the glory of yet another victory.

Suddenly, the crowd cheers start to rise into chants. You have no idea what it means but it sounds something like - “Diaper!?”

Kazuha, noticing your confusion, turns toward you with her usual stone cold expression. “It’s diapernó,” she explains. “Greek for ‘penetrate’”

“And it’s the best part of this whole tournament,” Eros chimes in, eyes fixated on the arena with mad glee.

Before you can ask what he means, another Amazon steps into the arena, carrying a ceremonial plaque. Your gaze locks onto what’s placed atop: a golden object, gleaming in the harsh light. At first, you can’t place it. But as she lifts it higher, you can’t deny the unmistakable shape.

A golden dildo.

The crowd erupts in loud chants, their excitement growing as the object is presented. The Amazon hands it to Julie with a bow, who grabs it with a smirk.

With a single movement, she gets rid of the loincloth, revealing her whole body in its full glory. You don’t even bother hiding your boner now. 

For a moment, she studies Natty, bruised and broken, cowering at her feet. Then she straps on the dildo. 

Once again, the crowd erupts.

“It’s not just an ordinary dildo,” Eros cries above the roars. “It’s enchanted to behave like a real male sex organ. The wearer feels like she has a real dick”

Will the surprise ever end?

In the arena, Julie pushed the stap-on dildo into Natty’s pussy, who’s on all fours now and bare. To your surprise, a loud moan echoes through the arena.

“Oh, they amplify the moans too,” Eros smirks. “Lucky mf Ares. Watching this every year”

Natty continues to moan loudly as Julie rails her, the sand shifting beneath them with each powerful thrust. “Oh god!” she moans, arching her back to take more of the dildo inside her. All her exhaustion and pain seems to be gone now, replaced by pure pleasure.

Julie grips Natty’s ass tightly, pounding into her with a strength that equally matches the one in combat. “Fucking slut,” shs snarls, spanking Natty’s ass hard. “Thinking you can beat me”

You have a hard time (no, not that ‘hard’ time) believing that these women  were at each other’s throat just a while ago. Now, all their vigour have been poured into this one on one fuck session.

It’s like they have never been opponents at all.

Natty cries out in ecstasy as Julie hits deeper into her with the dildo. “Yes, yes, fuck me harder!” she pleads, pushing her ass back to meet each thrust. 

Julie obliges, slamming into Natty with brutal force, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the coliseum. Natty’s ass jiggles with each brutal thrust of Julie’s, the sand clinging to their sweaty skin. Somehow, it’s really hot.

“Fuck yeah, take that cock,” Julie growls, spanking Natty’s ass hard. “I’m gonna fuck you till you can’t walk”

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Natty moans, quivering with pleasure. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

Julie pounds away, her expression determined. She reaches around and rubs Natty’s clit hard, sending her over the edge.

With a final, powerful thrust, Natty came hard, letting out a guttural scream that washes over the coliseum. Julie keeps fucking her through her orgasm, drawing out her pleasure, until she’s a quivering, filthy mess of cum and sweat. 

The Amazons explode with applause, some wearing dazed, blissful expressions on their faces. For a race who despises men, they do enjoy manly pleasures.

You think Julie’s done. Apparently she’s not.

As Natty comes down from her high, Julie pulls out of her pussy and slaps her ass hard. “Wake up, slut,” she commands, giving Natty’s ass another sharp spank. “We’re not done yet”

Natty groans, the sand grinding against her skin as she rolls over onto her back. She looks up at Julie with bleary eyes, her body still shaking from the intense orgasm. 

Julie grabs Natty’s ankles and pushes her legs up and apart, exposing her tight asshole. “Time for the next hole,” she growls, pressing the tip of her strap-on against Natty’s puckered hole.

Natty tenses, realization washing over her. “Wait, not there,” she pleads, trying to squirm away. “I’ve never-”

But Julie isn’t listening. With one brutal thrust, she shoves the dildo into Natty’s ass, splitting her open. “Fuck yeah, take it!” she cries, slamming into Natty’s ass hard.

Natty cries out in pain and pleasure, eyes rolling back as Julie pounds into her. Her tits bounce with each thrust, putting on quite a show. 

Julie grips Natty’s waist, fucking her ass with wild abandon. The sand flies around them as she slams into Natty’s body, grunting with each brutal thrust.

Meanwhile, Julie reaches down with her free hand, sliding two fingers into Natty’s wet folds.

“You like this slut, don’t you? Having both your holes filled and fucked,” Julie growls, pumping her digits in and out of Natty’s cunt while she pounds her ass.

Natty moans loudly, her body writhing from the intense double penetration. Julie’s fingers curl inside her, stroking her g-spot as the dildo stretches her ass.

“Oh god, oh fuck!” Natty cries out, her eyes rolling back in pleasure. It’s too much, I-”

But the queen of the Amazons show no mercy, fucking her harder. Juice spills each time she thrust her fingers, betraying Natty’s arousal.

“Fucking cum for me again, you little slut,” Julie commands, rubbing Natty’s clit hard with her thumb. “Cum on my fingers while I fuck your ass”

Once again, Natty cums. But this time, a fountain of juice squirts out of her hole, drenching Julie and earning another roar from the crowd.

“How many times is she gonna make her cum?” you ask, glancing at Eros who seems too absorbed in the show.

“What?” He turns, looking dazed and dreamy. “Oh! It’s gonna be ending soon. Look”

Down below, Julie yanks Natty up by her hair, forcing her to kneel in front of her.

“Time to put that slutty mouth to work,” Julie sneers, slapping the strap-on against Natty’s cheek. “Open up and show me what a good little cocksucker you are”

Natty whimpers, but obediently opens her mouth, sticking out her tongue to receive the dildo. Julie shoves it in roughly, pushing past Natty’s lips and lodging it deep in her throat.

“Take that cock, you slut!” Julie growls, gripping Natty’s hair and face-fucking her hard. 

Natty gags and sputters around the thick dildo, tears streaming down her face. But she doesn’t resist, letting Julie use her mouth like a fucktoy.

Julie buries herself in Natty’s throat, pressing her nose against her crotch as the girl struggles to breath. “You love choking on this cock, don’t you, slut?” Julie taunts. “God, you are such a slut”

Julie pulls out of Natty’s mouth, the golden dildo drenched and shiny in the sun. And then, she begins stroking it, the tip aimed at Natty’s whorish face.

“Open wide, slut,” Julie orders. “Get ready to bath in your queen’s cum”

Natty obediently opens her mouth, tongue lolling as she obediently waits to be painted in Julie’s load. 

Of all the strangeness you have encountered today, this one might be the strangest yet. The dildo pulses in Julie’s hand and with a final squeeze, it erupts, sending thick ropes of cum splattering across Natty’s face and body. Natty closes her eyes, the warm liquid coating her skin.

Julie laughs as she seals her victory against Natty, who kneels covered in cum. “Fucking pathetic,” she sneers, giving Natty’s hair a final tug before letting her go. “Take her away”

At the queen’s command, a group of Amazons strides into the arena. They move like well-oiled machines, wearing stony expressions as they lift Natty, who’s still panting like a bitch, to her feet and guide her away. She lets herself be carried away. You doubt she has the energy to resist

Julie stands tall in the center of the arena, her strap-on dildo still hard and gleaming in the sun. She takes one last sweeping look at the crowd, then dips her head low in a slow, regal bow before turning on her heel and exiting through the opposite archway. 

At that moment, the unseen voice emerges once again. “That concludes this year’s tournament! Let us celebrate the strength of our sisters and the honor of our queen. 

For the final time, the crowd erupts in cheers and applause, the colosseum vibrating as their feet stomp the stone. You, on the other hand, are still frozen in place, staring at the now-empty arena in a dreamlike trance.

Because, honestly? You’ve seen some weird stuff since falling into Eros’s mess. But this? This was something else entirely.

“Well, that was fun,” Eros says, a satisfied grin on his face.

You aren’t sure what part he finds entertaining - the brutal beatdown, the dramatic chanting or the part where Julie turns Natty into a complete slut - but you aren’t about to ask.

Instead, you just exhale, still trying to process everything. The Amazons were nothing like you expected For one, they weren’t running around in bronze skirts and wielding spears. For another, they seem very committed to their traditions. Maybe a little too committed.

Kazuha, who doesn’t seem a tad bit mesmerized by the whole thing, turns to Eros. “So? What now?”

He dusts off his shirt like he has just finished a casual brunch instead of witnessing the strangest event. “Now,��� he says cheerfully. “we go meet the queen.”

You blink. “Wait. Just like that?”

Eros claps you on the back. “What, you think I’d throw you into a lion’s den without at least saying hi first? Come on.”

“But I thought Haneul tells us to-”

But Ero is already leading the way out of the arena, weaving through the crowd of Amazons, who are still cheering and exchanging bets on the fight. As you walk further, you are given a deeper glimpse into the city’s architecture - sleek marble streets, white stone buildings and towering statues. The place is ancient yet modern at the same time, like Themyscira has an unlimited budget for historical preservation and urban development.

At the heart of it all stands the palace - a grand structure curved into the side of a cliff, overlooking the sea. It’s massive, its pillars stretching up so high they practically scrape the sky, banners of deep crimson and gold hanging from the balconies.

Just as you are mentally preparing yourself  for whatever nonsense Eros is about to pull, a sharp voice cuts through the air.

“You were supposed to wait for me!” 

You turn to see Haneul storming toward you, her followers right on her heels. Her earlier composed expression has been twisted into a frustrated, furious glare, her arms crossed over her chest like a disappointed teacher catching a student sneaking out of class.

Eros, of course, looks completely unbothered. He just tilts his head, offering his usual smirk. “Oh? Were we?”

Haneul’s eye twitch. “Yes. You were. We are responsible for escorting you, and instead, you took it upon yourself to march straight to the Queen’s palace without permission.”

Kazuha lets out the quietest sigh, like she has expected this from the very beginning. You, on the other hand, are impressed that Eros has managed to annoy people this quickly.

Eros gives a nonchalant shrug. “Well, you found us, didn’t you? No harm done.”

“No harm-” Haneul inhales deeply, probably resisting the urge to strangle him. Instead, she turns on her heels. “Follow me. Properly this time.”

With that, she leads the way up the steps into the palace, her warriors flanking your group like a very fashionable prison escort. The inside is just as impressive as the exterior - gleaming marble floors, gold and silver sconces lining the walls, giant braziers casting flickering light across the high ceiling. More statues of the Amazons stand in neat rows along the corridor, their carved gazes watching you with every step.

You walk in silence until you reach a set of massive doors adorned with intricate carvings of warriors in battle. Haneul pushes them open and steps aside.

“Wait here,” she says, her tone making it very clear that you don’t have a choice in the matter. 

Then, without another word, she and her warriors disappear beyond another hallway, leaving you alone in the throne room. 

You exhale. 

“Anyone else feeling like a prisoner right now?” you mutter.

Eros just grins. “Relax. We’re guests.”

Yeah. Sure.

With nothing else to do, you let your eyes wander around the throne room. It’s grand - because of course, it is - but in a way that’s more imposing than decorative. The walls are lined with banners depicting various Amazon victories, the fabric deep crimson with gold embroidery. Towering columns stretch up to a domed ceiling, where an enormous mural displays a battle scene so intense it looks like the figures might leap right off the plaster. 

But the real centerpiece is the throne itself.

It sits atop a white marble platform, carved from dark stone that shimmer faintly under the torchlight. The armrests are shaped like roaring lion heads, their jaws open as if ready to bite. The backrest is tall and slightly curved and embedded in the very center of it is a large, gleaming ruby - the kind of thing that screams touch me and die.

Yeah. No pressure at all.

Just then, Julie strides into the room, now dressed in a more formal attire - flowing crimson robe fastened at her shoulders with golden clasps. Her hair, still damp from the battle, is slicked back and somehow, she looks even more intimidating this way. Behind her, Haneul follows in that sharp suit of hers and somehow, against all odds - Natty is back on her feet, dressed in something similar. There’s no sign of the bruises and exhaustion she should have sustained after getting thrown around like a ragdoll and fucked senseless. Either Amazon healing is on another level, or she just wants to look unfazed.

Julie ascends the platform and lowers herself onto the throne, one leg draped casually over the other. She doesn’t say a word, just rests her chin on her knuckles and looks at Eros expectantly, like well?

Eros, of course, steps forward with his usual effortless grace. “Your majesty,” he purrs, pressing a hand to his chest in an exaggerated bow. “I must say, witnessing the tournament firsthand was a privilege beyond measure. A true display of strength and honor. The stories hardly do your Amazons justice.”

Julie raises an eyebrow. She does not look flattered. If anything, she looks about five seconds away from throwing something at him.

“You’re a replacement, Eros,” she says flatly. “Not Ares.”

The words hung in the air, blunt and dismissive. Haneul and Natty stand motionless on either sides of the throne, their gazes unreadable, but you’re pretty sure Natty’s trying not to smirk.

Eros remains unfazed. He tilts his head, a knowing smile curling at the corner of his lips. “A harsh way to put it,” he muses. “but accurate. And yet, here I am, standing in his place. Doesn’t thay make me just as important?”

Julie exhales sharply, leaning back against her throne. “Cut to the point.”

Eros chuckles. “Straight to business - I admire that.” He steps forward, gesturing dramatically. “I come bearing gifts.”

Julie doesn’t react. She just stares at him, waiting.

You start to feel the realization sinking in. Whatever Eros is about to say, you just know you are not gonna like it.

There’s a beat of silence before Eros gestures grandly in your direction and declares, “I present you a most precious gift - one that will ensure the prosperity of the Amazons for generations to come.”

You blink. Wait.

Eros smiles. “Behold my offering: an angel!”

You whip your head toward him so fast you nearly get whiplash. “I’m sorry - what?”

Julie raises an eyebrow, finally looking mildly intrigued. “An angel?

“Indeed.” Eros nods, clearly pleased with himself. “Not only is he a capable warrior, but with his divine lineage, any offspring would be stronger, faster - even immortal”

Julie examines you like she’s considering a new warhorse. “And he’s aware of the risks?”

Eros places a hand over his heart, all mock sincerity. “Oh, absolutely. He understands the sacrifice and has chosen to offer himself willingly for the noble cause of Amazonian strength.”

You stare at him. Stare at him so hard you hope your eyes burn a hole through his skull.

Julie tilts her head, unimpressed. “He doesn’t look very willing.”

“Ah,” Eros waves a hand, “he’s just overwhelmed by the honor. If I can just have a word with him…”

He grabs both you and Kazuha by the shoulders and pulls you into a corner of the throne room, just out of earshot.

You rub your temples. “Let me guess. You want me to act like I’m totally on board with being served up on a golden platter?”

Eros sighs like he’s dealing with a difficult child. “Michael, at least pretend you knew all about this. You are making me look bad.”

“You didn’t tell me you were going to offer me as an Amazon breeding stock!” You keep your voice low, but it takes everything in you not to start strangling him.

Kazuha crosses her arms, ever the voice of reason. “The Amazons need men to reproduce. But once the deed is done they kill them.”

You freeze. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” Kazuha nods. “That’s how they’ve survived for centuries. They keep their bloodline strong and their society untouched by outside influence.” 

You whirl back to Eros. “You’re handing me over to get murdered?”

Eros rolls his eyes. “Ugh, obviously not.” Then his lips curve into a knowing smirk. “That’s what the mark is for.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course. The mark.” You say, trying to sound as sarcastic as possible. Just one of the many situations Eros has put you into a situation that has zero chance of survival with the same excuse - ‘Hey! You have the mark! Use it to get yourself out! And don’t forget my order for a godly artifact!’

“Use the mark to overwhelm her. Make her your bitch. You know the drill by now,” Eros continues. “Then  ask for the belt. Like you did to Persephone.”

You stare at him, then at Kazuha, then back at him. “You’re insane.”

Eros grins, taking the insult like a compliment. “Why, thank you.”

You sigh, rubbing your face. “Okay, let’s say I actually managed to succeed and get the belt. How am I supposed to get out of here? Just walk out of the front door like, ‘Oh hey, thanks for the hospitality. Let me just grab your most prized possession and I’ll be on my way’?”

Eros’s grin doesn't falter. “That, my dear Michael, is where the Ero app comes in. When it’s time, I’ll send you a little extraction method through your phone. So keep it close.”

You stare at him, feeling the last of your sanity slips away. “I hate you so much.”

“I know”

🖤 🖤 🖤

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the ornate walls of the room they left you in. The flickering torchlight casts long shadows across the carved stone, the faint scent of burning oil filling the air. 

Eros and Kazuha were gone. Back to the comfort of their little penthouse. How fair.

Your hands grip the sheets, clammy with sweat. You trust the mark of Asmodeus. It’s saved you before, pulled you out of countless near-death situations. But right now, sitting alone in this dimly lit chamber in the heart of an island full of warriors who could probably snap you in half like a toothpick, you feel something gnawing at you, clawing up at your throat like bile.

Panic. 

You swallow hard, running a hand through your hair. The plan - if you could even call it that - was insane. Risky. Just plain stupid. The norm. 

Your phone sits on the bedside table, Ero’s stupidly named ‘Ero App’ presumably waiting for some kind of signal. You eye it like it might suddenly spring to life and tell you this was all just a joke. 

It doesn’t.

You take a deep breath, exhaling shakily. Okay. Just keep it together.

Before you can even attempt to calm yourself down, the door creaks open. You jerk upright, heart pounding as Haneul steps inside. She studies you for a moment, as if checking how high your panic meter is. 

“Come with me,” she says simply.

You blink. “Uh…what?”

She tilts her head, clearly unimpressed. “You heard me.”

You hesitate. Weren’t they supposed to —? Isn’t this where it’s supposed to happen? You don’t exactly want to go through with it, but you were kind of bracing yourself for…whatever nightmare Eros had just thrown you into.

Haneul sighs, as if she can read your mind. “It’s a special occasion,” she says.

Your stomach knots. That doesn’t sound good. “Special how?”

She doesn’t answer, just gestures for you to follow. You grab your phone off the bedside table, clutching it like a lifeline, and trail behind her out the door.

The walk is long, twisting through endless tone corridors. The deeper you go, the quieter everything feels. The only sound is the echo of your footsteps and the occasional flicker of torchlight along the walls. 

Finally, Haneul stops before a rounded stone archway. She pushes open the door with a single touch and leads you inside.

The room is circular, carved of volcanic rock, which gives the room an eerie atmosphere. The air is cooler here, almost reverent. Above, there’s a perfect circular hole in the ceiling, like an open eye to the sky. Moonlight streams through it in silvery beams, bathing the room in a dim glow. You shudder, reminded of the similar setup in Artemis’s verse.

A strange scent lingers in the air - herbs? Incense? It’s faint but oddly calming, like something meant to dull your senses. 

You swallow hard, glancing at Haneul. “So….are you gonna tell me what this special occasion is?”

“You talk too much for an angel,” Haneul says, crossing her arms. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Then she leaves.

‘Angel my ass’ you think. You seriously need to start considering giving Eros a taste of his own medicine. This is getting out of hand.

Your eyes wonder about the chamber, considering a million ways this special occasion could go. If this place is where they perform the Holy Amazon breeding ritual or whatever, it doesn’t look so comfy. With all the hard surfaces, it would be a pain to roll around. 

“Welcome,” The sudden greeting startles you. You blink, searching for the source. But it’s no easy task when half of the room is pitch black.

But you don't have to search for long. Because the speaker makes herself known. 

From a dark corner of the room emerges Julie, like she has been molded into one with the darkness and has decided to separate for a moment.

“Look how surprised he is,” says another voice and you whirl around just in time to find Natty emerging from another corner. 

This isn’t on the plan. Two Amazons? You are not prepared for this

But that’s not the worst part yet because another voice comes from right across the room.

“Thought he only has to deal with Julie. Poor boy.”

And the darkness breaks apart to reveal Haneul, smirking at your obliviousness. 

You didn’t sign up for this. Not one. Not two. But three Amazons? They should just skip to the part where they kill you. 

As the three women step fully into the moonlight, you are made aware of their outfit choice. Their bodies were bare, not a piece of clothing present. Every inch of their skin glistens under the silvery beams of light and you realize, they have oiled up. Your eyes roam over their naked forms, taking in every curve and cervice. Their tits are full and perky, nipples hard in the cool night air. Their hips are wide, asses firm and round. In normal circumstances, all those sparkling tits and asses would have gotten you an instant boner. But now, you are too busy thinking of a way to survive to care.

“Strip,” Julie commands, snapping you back to attention. “We want to see what we are working with.”

You hesitate only a moment before complying. It’s not like you have any other choice. You get out of your clothes, putting them in a neat pile. And most importantly, you shove your phone under. It’s the only way of escaping. Better keep it safe.

Their eyes drop to your crotch, widening in surprise. “Well well,” Natty remarks, licking her lips. “I didn’t know angels could be so big.”

Julie nods in agreement, her gaze still fixed on your hardening cock. “Mmm, a shame we have to kill him after. But better enjoy some real cock while I get the chance.”

Haneul grins mischievously. “Then what are we waiting for girls? Let’s put this boy to work.”

She gestures to the chamber’s floor. “Lie down, stud. On your back.”

You are not a big fan of back pain but you obediently lower yourself to the ground. The cool stone sends a shiver through you but it's surprisingly soft to touch. At least that’s a win.

The three women surround you, the moonlight caressing their oiled-up skin and making them look like goddesses descended from heaven.

Julie and Natty exchange a glance, a silent communication passing between them. Then, without warning Natty straddles your face, her massive ass engulfing your vision.

“Mhmm, smell that,” she purrs, grinding her cheeks against your nose and mouth. “That’s the scent of a real woman, bitch boy.”

You can’t breathe, can barely think as he soft flesh smothers you. All you can do is inhale the musky aroma of her most intimate parts, feel the slick oil coating your face.

Meanwhile, Julie and Haneul turn their attention to your cock. They kneel on either side of you, their heads dipping down towards your groin.

You feel a hot breath against your shaft, then a wet tongue lapping at the base. “Fuck, he’s huge,” Julie gasps, her voice muffled by your flesh. “It has been so long since I have tasted a proper cock. The last one was limp as hell. And he cries like a bitch when I put that sword through his chest.”

You don’t know if you should be proud or terrified. Maybe both. But it’s hard to think with Natty’s ass blocking your airways.

Julie takes you into her mouth, sucking hard as Haneul joins her. They take turns swallowing your cock, working in tandem, slurping and licking at your cock like it’s the tastiest treat they’ve ever had.

Your hips buck involuntarily, pleasure coursing through your veins. But there’s no escape - Natty just grinds harder against your face, locking you in place.

Left with no choice, you start licking, running your tongue along the slick folds of Natty’s pussy. She tastes musky, a bit salty from the oil, but underlying that is a sweetness that makes your head spin.

“That’s it, bitch boy,” Natty groans, crushing your face with the whole weight of her ass. “Eat that cunt like you mean it. Get me nice and wet.”

You do as she commands, delving deeper with your tongue, probing her uncharted depths. She’s hot and tight, her walls clenching around you as you lap at her juices.

Meanwhile, Julie and Haneul are working overtime on your cock. They suck you off in harmony, their lips stretched around your girth. They spit on your shaft, jacking you off with hands sticky from saliva and oil.

“He doesn’t even fit in both of my hands. This is what I call huge,” Julie says as she works your cock with both fists wrapped around your length. Haneul makes sure to spit and drool to make the movement slicker. 

“I know, right? He would feel so good stretching me out,” Haneul agrees as she takes control of your cock back from Julie, pumping you with both hands just like her queen. But her hands are smaller, which gives Julie the chance to suck the tip while she works the base.

The dual stimulation is almost too much to bear. Your balls tighten, your cock throbbing with need. You’re so close to the edge, teetering on the brink of release.

But just as you’re about to explode, Julie and Haneul pull away. They grin down at you, your cock bobbing obscenely between their chins, dripping with their saliva.

“Not yet, stud,” Julie purrs. “That was just a warm up.”

With a wicked grin, Haneul swings a leg over your hips and lower herself onto your throbbing cock. She’s so wet, so ready, that you slide in easily, her tight pussy gripping you like a vice.

“Oh fuck yes,” she moans, her head falling back in ecstasy. “This cock feels so fucking good. So fucking huge.”

She starts to move, bouncing on your shaft with wild abandon. Her tiny perky tits jiggle the slightest with every movement, drawing your gaze like a magnet. You would have reached out to palm them, tweak those nipples between your fingers, if Natty’s ass has kept you imprisoned.

Natty’s getting even wilder, her movement frantic and her clit rubbing against your nose with every thrust. “Don’t forget about me bitch boy,” she snarls. “Get me off with that tongue.” 

You comply eagerly, lashing at her clit, sucking on it greedily. She rides you harder, her juices flooding your mouth, coating your chin with her essence.

Julie watches from the sidelines, fingering herself to the sight of you being used so thoroughly. “Mhmm, look at you,” she purrs, her voice dripping with lust. “Such a good little toy, pleasing two pussies at once.”

Her words spur you on, making you thrust harder, deeper into Haneul’s tight heat. She meets your thrust with each bounce, trying to take you in even deeper.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” Haneul screams as you start pistoning into her, the sound of flesh against flesh echoing in the chamber. “Don’t stop! Oh my god!”

There’s no way you would. Her walls squeeze you like they never want to let you go, making sure your cock stays buried deep until you have filled her nice and full.

But that doesn’t mean your service on Natty’s slit is in any way affected. If not, you devour her pussy even harder, specifically targeting her clit.

“Just like that, bitch boy. Don’t you fucking dare stop!” Natty moans, voice frantic. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum”

Haneul pussy clenches around your cock, her walls fluttering as she cums hard on your shaft. “Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming!” she screams, her nails digging into your chest.

Her juices gush around you, drenching your balls, your thighs. She milks your cock with her muscles, writhing on top of you as the waves of pleasure crash over her.

Natty follows soon after, her pussy gushing like a fountain as she grinds against your face. “Yes, yes, make me cum, you little bitch!” she shouts, her thighs trembling around your head. 

You lave her through her orgasm, swallowing every drop of her sweet nectar. The combined scent and taste of their pussies  is almost too much to bear.

And then, with a final thrust, you erupt inside Haneul. Your cock jerks, pulsing as it pumps thick ropes of cum dep into her waiting womb. She moans at the sensation, grinding down on you to take every last drop.

Julie watches the whole scene with hooded eyes, her fingers buried deep in her own pussy. “Mhmm, what a good little boytoy,” she praises, pulling her digits out of her folds. “No way you didn’t knock her up.”

You pull out of Haneul’s well-fucked pussy with a wet plop, your cock slick with her juices and your own cum. Despite the huge load you have stored in Haneul, it’s still rock hard and ready for more.

That’s when you realized. The mark has not made itself known yet. Yet, you can feel its effect present. It’s not as strong as when it’s in full glory but nevertheless, it’s there. Either the mark considers Amazon not worthy of its presence or it's waiting for the right moment to strike. But that would mean the mark is alive. 

You shrug off the thought. There’s more important things at hand.

Julie wastes no time, wrapping her lips around your shaft and sucking hard. She moans around your flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. You watch as she slurps the mixture of your cum and Haneul’s pussy juices, savouring the taste.

Haneul rolls onto her back, spreading her legs wide. Her pussy is a mess, dripping with your seed. “Look at that,” she purrs, running a finger along her slit. “You filled me up so well. I’m going to be leaking for hours.”

But there’s no time to admire your handiwork. Natty is already positioning herself on her hands and knees, presenting her ass to you. “Don’t think you are done yet, bitch boy,” she growls, looking at you over her shoulder. “That fat cock is going deep in my ass.”

You have no idea how fucking her ass would help her continue the glorious Amazon lineage or whatever. But with an ass like hers, there’s only one place your cock’s going in. So you decide not to complain.

You kneel behind her, gripping her ass tightly. Your cock nudges against her puckered hole, seeking entrance. She’s tight, so tight, but you push forward, breaching her with a grunt of effort.

Julie presses against your back, her naked body slick with sweat and oil. She wraps her arms around you, her fingers finding your nipples and pinching them hard. “Fuck her good,” she whispers, breath hot against your ear. “Make her scream.”

You do as she commands, starting to buck your hips and easing your way slowly into her tight grip. It’s no easy task with how tight of an ass she has but it gets easier with each thrust.

You grip Natty’s hips tighter, your fingers sinking into her flesh as you slam into her ass over and over. Each thrust is harder than the last, your cock pummeling her tight hole mercilessly.

“Fucl, fuck, fuck!” she shrieks, her face contorted in a mix of pleasure and pain. “You’re stretching me so wide, you fucking bastard!”

Julie continues her assault on your nipples, twisting and pinching the sensitive buds. The pain mixes deliciously with the pleasure of Natty’s ass gripping your cock like a vice.

You can feel her relaxing, her muscles giving way to your relentless pounding. Her hole opens up for you, letting you sink deeper with each thrust. “Take it, you dirty slut,” you growl, punctuating each word with a harsh snap of your hips. “Take my cock in your ass.”

She cries out, her fingers desperately trying to find something to hold onto only to graze the hard floor. Her ass jiggles with each impact, the flesh rippling under your hands. You pulls back your hand and deliver a sharp slap to each of her cheeks, leaving red handprints on her tan skin. “Ow! You fucking prick!” she yelps, glaring back at you over her shoulder. But you can see the glint of pleasure in her eyes, the way her ass clenches around your cock. Despite all Amazon pride, she loves this degradation, this treatment like a cheap whore.

Julie chuckles darkly, her lips brushing against your ear as she continues to whisper filthy suggestions. “Keep spanking her, make her ass nice and red. Look how she’s squealing like a slut.” Her hand slides down your chest, gripping your balls and giving them a gentle squeeze. “Stretch that ass nice and loose.”

Natty whimpers, her hips bucking against you, desperate for more of your brutal thrusts. Her pussy is sopping wet, her juice running down her thighs. You slide your hand between her legs, rubbing her clit in rough circles. 

She cries out, her body trembling as you bring her closer to the edge Julie’s fingers wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you lightheaded. “Go on,” she urges. “Finish her off.”

The pressure builds at the base of your spine, your balls drawing up tight. With a guttural groan, you bury yourself to the hilt in Natty’s ass, your cock throbbing as you unload spurt after spurt of hot cum  deep inside her. She screams, her body convulsing as the sensation triggers an explosive orgasm. Another waterfall of squirt erupts from her pussy, staining the dark floor even darker as her ass clenches down on your pulsing cock, milking you for every last drop. 

Julie laughs darkly, the sound echoing off the stone walls. “What a filthy fucking slut,” she mocks, head on your shoulder. “Her holes won’t be closing for a while.”

As you pull your rod out of Natty’s ass, you scan the chamber. Haneul lies unmoving. Her legs still sprawled out and leaking a steady drip of cum. Wait, is she snoring? And of course, before you is the slut who just gets her ass fucked loose - Natty, who lies with her ass up in the air, eyes rolled up and tongue lolled out in a picture perfect ahaego.

However, there’s still one left for you to take on. The queen herself - Julie, who has watched her subjects getting their brains fucked out with amusement.

“No time to lose,” Julie says as she positions herself on her back, spreading her legs wide in a clear invitation. “Come and fuck the last pussy you will see in your life.”

This is a pretty uncomfortable spot.

You can go two rounds in succession but three? You are not built for that.

If the mark is waiting for the right moment to emerge, this is the time. Both Natty and Haneul are far from conscious and Julie is the only one left to deal with.

Please emerge.

You stare at your pelvis. A second passes. Then two. Nothing.

You might be fucked.

“If you are thinking about backing out now, it’s too late,” Julie warns, impatient. “So make the most of the last moments of your life.”

You try. You really want to. But there’s nothing much you can do with a limp spent dick.

“I thought you would be better than this,” Julie sighs as she gets to her feet. “I guess this is the end. Goodbye, angel.”

Before you can react, she throws a punch at your stomach and you double over, clutching your abdomen in pain. Your thoughts turn hazy and your vision blurred as agony spreads through your body. You try to scream but the sound gets stuck in your throat, leaving you wheezing like a wounded animal.

The mark has failed you.

You are going to die like this. In the hands of the Amazon queen.

The Ero app might save you but there’s no way you would make it to your phone in time. 

It’s over.

“Huh. You are a tough one, I’ll give you that. Most would be dead by now,” Julie muses, circling you like a predator. “But it doesn’t matter. We’ll see how many hits you can take. Wanna make a bet?”

Her foot strikes you hard in the ribs with a sickening crunch and you roll over, gasping desperately for air as pain floods your veins. How many bones has she broken? It doesn’t matter. You are going to die anyway.

Your vision starts to turn murky, the darkness growing wider as you stare at the blue moon from the open ceiling. At least you would pass away with a view to die for. That’s something.

“Not so strong at all, are you? Eros baffles too much,” Julie says but her voice seems to grow quieter and quieter, like she’s moving away from you the more she speaks.

Then, as darkness has consumed almost every single frame of your sight, you start to see a glowing light. 

Is that it? Are you finally permitted to enter heaven? Are the angels coming to bring you over?

Are you even good enough to enter heaven?

The light grows brighter, clearing the darkness until you can see clearly again.

Then you realize the light is not coming from anywhere.

It’s coming from you.

You sit up groggily and stare down at your pelvis, at the golden, glowing upside down pentagon of the mark of Asmodeus.

It’s back.

Once again, you have ascended godhood.

You feel your veins flood with power, your fractured bones healing. All the exhaustion has been washed away, replaced by pure, insatiable lust. And most importantly, your cock is back to its full length, every vein humming with energy like it can’t wait to fill a hole.

And fill a hole, you will.

“What the fuck?” Julie exclaims in terror as you rise to your feet, cracking your neck. “It can’t be….that filthy mark. No way it’s-”

You grin sadistically at the Amazon queen, who’s staring at the mark like it’s the most horrible thing she has seen in her whole life. Her face is pale, drained of color, without any of the initial cockiness.

“Oh, it’s very much real,” you answer her as you take slow approaching steps towards her. “And I will show you how ‘filthy’ it can be.”

Julie opens her mouth like she wants to protest but no sound escapes her vocal chords. Her eyes stay fixated on the brilliantly glowing mark.

“Stay away from me you fucking bastard!” she cries, raising her fists like they would be any effective. “Take one more step and I will kill you for real, this time!”

After countless encounters, it still comes to you as a surprise how those immortal beings - no matter how powerful they are - become scared out of their wits whenever they see the mark. It’s like a mutual phobia.

You chuckle, rejoicing in Julie’s fear as you continue to move towards her. Nothing can stop you now.

“Come on. Don’t be like that. You know there’s only one way out of this.”

“Die! You filthy animal!” Julie moves like lightning, bringing down a fist to your jaw. But there isn’t a need for you to dodge. Because the mark does more than required. In a combustion of energy, Julie is thrown back sprawling to the hard floor. 

She grits her teeth, staring at you with eyes blazing with pure fury and hatred. You can see her face contorted with pain from the impact but it would be unlike a queen to back down so easily.

“If you think you are going to get away with this, you will be very wrong. Ares will come for your head!” she yells, along with a string of ancient curses you don’t understand.

“Well, he’s not here now, is he?” you chuckles. “So much for threatening me with your big daddy.”

“You fucker!” Julie pounces again with fists raised, bringing down their full might in another attempt to unalive you. But as usual, the mark conveniently throws her off.

You sigh, staring as she lays panting on the floor. “Come on dear, stop resisting.” Wait, did you just call her ‘dear’? God, Eros is such a horrible influence.

“You little-” She tries to throw one last fist to your stomach but her legs give out, and she falls on her back with a thud.

You shake your head in mock disapproval. “What a pity. The Amazon queen losing to a dick? That would make a pretty good joke, don’t you think?”

Julie still shows no sign of relenting, teeth bared in unspoken fury. But her body is too worn out to protest.

You stare down at her pathetic, helpless form before you plant your kneels on the cold floor. “What was it that you said? ‘Come and fuck the last pussy you will see in your life’ ? Well, you are correct for the most part.”

Julie tries to close her legs, trying to expel your cock, as if she wasn’t begging for it just a moment ago. But with a tight grip on her thighs, you spread them open with ease to reveal her glistening wet folds.

“Seems like your pussy doesn’t quite agree with you,” you muses. “What a lying bitch.”

You grip her neck, pinning her to the floor as you position yourself at her entrance. With a sharp thrust, you bury yourself inside her, stretching the tight channel around your thick shaft. The mark shines even brighter, bathing her body in gold and silver.

“Fuck, you are even tighter than those bitches,” you grunt, immediately setting a fast hard pace. You squeeze her throat, cutting off her air supply as you pound into her. There would be no mercy. None. This slut of a queen has it coming.

Julie tries to say something but her muffled sound is lost beneath the slap of flesh on flesh and the wet squelch of her pussy being ravaged. Her face twists in a mixture of pleasure and pain. 

“Still snappy, are we?” You ask as you give her a particularly hard thrust, making her jolt in a strangled cry. This bitchy queen is still trying to protest but it’s evident her resolve is slowly wavering. 

With each brutal thrust, some of her fury gets replaced by mind-numbing pleasure, the kind nothing but the mark can provide. You can see the hunger for your cock growing in her eyes, once alight with fury.

It doesn’t take long for her to succumb, though it’s still longer compared to her godly predecessors. But there’s no women that the mark can’t turn into a complete cock crazed slut.

Soon, her eyes roll back, her mouth falling open in a silent scream of ecstasy. Her body arches up to meet your thrusts, her hips bucking shamelessly against you. You can feel her pussy clenching around your cock, her juices flowing freely as she loses herself to the sensation.

“That’s right, you filthy whore,” you growl, pounding her deeper, harder. “Take my cock like you were made for it.” Her pussy is a hot, slick heaven around you, gripping you like a velvet vice. “You act all great and mighty but deep down, you are just one big slut, aren’t you?”

She lets out a strangled cry, her body shaking as a powerful orgasm crashes over her. Her pussy flatters around you, the walls fluttering and squeezing your shaft. The sensation is exquisite, pushing you closer to the edge. But you’re not ready to cum yet. You have more plans for this desperate little slut.

You flip Julie over, roughly manhandling her onto her hands and knees. Without missing a beat, you sink back into her dripping cunt, gripping her hips tight. The new angle lets you plunge even deeper, your cock kissing the very entrance of her womb. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck!” she wails, her slutty cries echoing off the chamber walls. Her cunt clenches around you, still sensitive from her recent orgasm. “Please, don’t stop! Fuck me harder, ruin my fucking pussy!”

There. The queen of the Amazons has become yet another one of your cocksleeves. One more addition to your collection of mythological sluts.

You continue to pound into her with animalistic fervor. The wet slaps of your pelvis against her ass fills the room, punctuated by her deep cry and whimpers. You can ravage her like this for hours, even days, with the mark active. As much as you would like to, that’s not what you come here for. 

You grab a fistful of Julie’s hair, yanking her head back to force her to meet your gaze. Her eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with lust. Her tongue darts out, licking her lips as she pants heavily. You can see the desperation in her expression, the need for you to keep fucking her, keep using her like the cock-hungry slut she is.

“Give me the belt,” you command, voice low and threatening. Your cock continues to piston in and out of her sopping cunt, but you slow your thrusts, keeping her on the edge but denying her the release she craves. “If you want me to keep filling this pussy, you better hand it over.”

“Please,” she whines, her hips bucking back against you, trying to take your cock deeper. “Don’t stop fucking me. I’ll do anything, just please keep going.” Tears of frustration gather in the corner of her eyes. 

You chuckle darkly, tightening your grip on her hair. “Then give me the fucking belt of Hippolyta, slut.”

(It takes a while for you to memorize that name by the way)

Julie raises a hand, pam open and in a swirling mist of gold, something slender manifests out of thin air.

The belt.

It isn’t a belt in the modern sense - not some leather strap with a gaudy buckle. It’s a wide, intricately woven girdle, shimmering under the moonlight with golden threads that seems to shift and ripple like liquid metal. Ancient Greek inscriptions coil around it, each glowing faintly in steady pulses of energy. It wouldn’t take a genius to guess it’s extremely powerful.

You quickly snatch the belt from Julie’s grasp. She whimpers at the loss, her cunt clenching needily around your still-hard cock. You hold the belt up, admiring its craftsmanship before setting it on the floor, out of Julie’s reach.

“Good girl,” you praise, running your palms along her back, slick with sweat and oil. “You’ve been such an obedient little slut for me. Now I’m going to give you what you want.”

With a growl, you turn the pace of your thrusts back up. The chamber echoes with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, Julie’s wanton moans and your own grunt of exertion. You can feel your orgasm building, your balls drawing up tight as you chase your release.

“Cum for me,” you command, pistoning into her furiously. “Cum on my cock like the desperate fucktoy you are.”

Julie’s body trembles and convulses as her orgasm crashes over he like a tidal wave. Her pussy clenches around your cock, the walls fluttering and spasming as she cums hard on your shaft. The sensation is too much, pushing you over the edge.

With a roar of ecstasy, you bury yourself deep inside her, your cock pulsing as you empty your load into her willing cunt. Thick, hot ropes of cum shoot from your cock, flooding her pussy and filling her to the brim. Your seeds overflow, dripping down her thighs as you pump her full.

“Fuck,” you groan, grinding against her ass as you milk every last drop into her hungry cunt. You pull your cock out of her cunt and a gush of your combined fluids leak out, trickling down her thighs. She collapses face-first onto the stone floor, too spent to move, her body quivering with the aftershocks of her intense orgasms. 

You stand up, taking a moment to admire your handiwork. All three Amazons, who had threatened to take your life, have been reduced to pleasure-drunk wrecks at your feet. The chamber is filled with the heavy scent of sex, a potent mix of sweat, cum and feminine arousal. The smell riles you up, filling your head with new ideas. 

The mark finally dims and vanishes as it finally fulfills its purpose. Thanks to Karina, the gut-wrenching nauseous and fatigue aren’t there but you want nothing more than to get out of here as quickly as possible. You really hope Eros holds onto his promise for an escape route.

You grab the belt tight and scramble towards the pile of discarded clothes, your hands fumbling desperately under the fabric until your fingers find the cool surface of your phone. You yank it out and tap the screen, heart hammering in your chest.

A notification pops up.

“Houdini Act: One-Way Ticket to Freedom, Courtesy of Yours Truly ♥️”

Leave it to Eros to name an escape route like it’s a magic trick.

But before you can even press it -

BOOM.

A violent force erupts through the chamber,  sending you flying backwards. You crashes onto the stone floor, the force through your bones. The air crackles with something dark and furious, and when you look up, you see a swirling mass of shadows coalescing in the center of the room. 

Then, from the depths of the void, a figure emerges. 

Glowing red eyes lock onto you, filled with raw, seething rage.

“You!” it growls.

As your eyes come back into focus, you take in the figure before you - a towering warrior clad in ancient Spartan armor, the kind that looks like it belongs in a museum exhibit titled “How To Die In The Most Brutal Ways Possible”. But where there should be a face beneath the helmet, there’s only darkness, a swirling abyss with nothing but two burning eyes set upon you.

Your stomach twists. You know who this is.

“Ares,” you mutter.

The war god doesn’t answer. Instead, he lifts a hand, and from the void, a spear manifests - long, jagged and pulsing with dark energy.

You don’t even have time to think before the spear comes hurtling towards you. You throw yourself to the side, rolling over the stone as the weapon smashes into the ground where you have just been, sending cracks spiderwebbing through the floor.

Clutching the belt tightly in one hand, your fingers desperately fumble with the phone.

“Come on, come on-”

Ares yanks the spear from the ground and lunges again. You barely manage to scramble out of the way, heart pounding as you desperately try to tap the notification.You duck, roll and scramble across the stone, fingers slipping on your phone screen. 

“Just tap it, tap it-”

Easier said than done when you are butt naked, gripping a belt in one hand (you are starting to notice how heavy this thing is) and a phone in another, and the god of war us trying to turn you into a kebab.You really wish you still have the mark.

The next attack comes too fast. You twist, but the spear’s tip scales your side, tearing through flesh. Pain erupts as warm blood gushes down your skin. Your vision blurs, but through sheer adrenaline, your thumb finally slums against the notification.

Instantly, a column of light bursts down from above, engulfing you in a golden glow. Relief floods through your veins - you’re getting out -

But then Ares moves.

The war god’s spear slashes through the light.

A deafening crack splits the air. The world shatters in an explosion of blinding energy, and you are hurled backwards, your body weightless, your mind slipping. The last thing you register is the roar of chaos and the taste of blood before everything turns to black.

🖤 🖤 🖤

Everything aches. 

You feel like you have been trampled by a band of horses and then set on fire for good measure.

You can feel something soft beneath you - silk, maybe. It cushions your aching body but the relief is fleeting, drowned out by the cold breezes drifting through the space and brushing against your skin. Somewhere distant, you can hear the rhythmic chirping of birds. The scent of salt lingers in the air.

Are you back in Eros’s place?

You force your eyes open, blinking against the blur clouding your vision. Everything is hazy, shifting, the world refusing to come into focus.

Then a shadow moves above you - a figure, tall and poised. A woman.

“You’re finally awake,” she says, her voice carrying a lazy amusement, as if she’s been waiting for this moment. Then, after a beat, she tilts her head and smirks.

“You’re lucky I haven’t turned you into an animal.”

🖤 🖤🖤

This is the first time I write multiple idols at once. Hope you like it.

Have a Chaewon to suffice for the lack of Chaewon pic in the cover.

[lubdubology]

Come A Long, Long Way

SYNOPSIS: His days are long and his nights are longer. He comes to you during those hours when the rest of the world stills, lured in by something almost like fate. 

PAIRING: Old Man Logan x fem!reader 

WC: 12.2k

WARNINGS: smut 18+, mdni; angst; swearing; non-explicit mentions of wounds, scars and healing; gratuitous sexual tension; mentions of alcohol/alcohol consumption; dirty talk; frottage; nipple play; surprise appearance by Charles; oral (f receiving); fingering; unprotected p in v; sex with feelings; cowgirl; mating press; creampie; brief mentions of Laura; happy ending because I said so

A/N: The idea for this story came to me through a song--My Fair Lady by Kaleo. I was struck by this verse: I'm weary from my travels // I've come a long, long way // I haven't felt a woman // Since last that I was here // Oh, won't you bring me whisky // And run your fingers through my hair? // Oh, won't you whisper sweet words // Oh, so softly in my ear? I thought, "Wow, that's so Old Man Logan" and this is what I birthed from that. This may be one of my favorite things I've ever written, and I sincerely hope you think so too. Huge, huge thank you to @yxtkiwiyxt for betaing this for me and making the final draft what it is; you helped end this in such a beautiful way. Thank you to @saradika for the use of her graphics. And as always, I hope you enjoy this and any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

He shouldn’t care about the car pulled over on the side of the road, hazard lights blinking as the rain pours down. 

For three days, Logan’s entertained a rowdy bachelorette party, chauffeuring them from bar to bar, dinner to dinner. The scent of cheap perfume and desperation still linger inside the limo, the drunken, whispered advances still burn against his skin. 

He’s tired. Exhausted down to his very marrow and he wants nothing more than to crawl onto his sagging mattress and steal whatever amount of sleep his shattered mind will give him. 

So, no. He shouldn’t care about the car. 

But he finds himself easing off the gas, the limo starting to slow as he nears. He feels drawn, like a month to a flame, as if some unseen force has wound itself around his sternum and is pulling him forward. 

Pulling him to you. 

As the limo approaches, he spots you crouched down by the front left tire, struggling with a lug wrench, the tool slipping in your rain-soaked fingers. He can almost hear the curses spilling from your lips as you glance up and look towards where he’s sitting. 

Logan knows you can’t see him, not well anyway with the headlights shining directly upon you and the rain pouring down in sheets, but he swears you find his gaze, your eyes seeming to pierce down directly to his soul. He feels the flutter of something deep in his chest and he feels exposed, like a raw wound that hasn’t quite healed. 

For a moment, he hesitates, and wonders if you’re a siren, out here in your element to lure him to his death. Then your gaze drops and the thought dissolves but only just. Before he can talk himself out of it, Logan’s throwing the car in park and opening the door. 

The rain is frigid, the cold biting at his skin as the downpour soaks him down to the bone. You glance up at him as he approaches, your fingers loosening around the wench but still keeping it firmly in your grasp. Straightening up, you push wet strands of hair out of your face, your fingers trembling from the cold. 

“Need a lift?”

He doesn’t know why he asks. What he should do is swap out the old tire for the spare and let you go on your way. But those eyes of yours are piercing him again, the hook you’ve sunk deep in his sinew pulling taut once more and Logan feels compelled to take you home. 

For a few moments, you continue to silently assess him, your gaze flitting between your car, the limo behind him and back to his now soaked frame. Then, you stand and open the driver’s side door, tossing in the wrench and pulling your purse close to your chest. You follow him to the limo and climb into the backseat as Logan slips back in behind the wheel. 

He glances back at you through the rearview mirror, watching as you lean back into the seat, your wet clothes clinging to every curve of your body. Which is another thing he shouldn’t care about and yet…

Clearing his throat, he turns up the heat. “Where you headed?”

“North. About twenty miles or so.”

Logan nods and shifts the car into drive, heading back down the road as the rain continues to come down. Several minutes pass in silence, save for the rhythmic thump of the windshield wipers. Finally, your voice breaks through the silence, soft and lilting. 

“Got a name?”

“Who’s asking?”

A half smile tugs at your lips as you slide from the seat and slip into the row directly behind the partition. Logan can feel the damp of your skin as you lean into his space, the scent of rain flooding his nostrils almost intoxicating. You say your name and wait for him to respond in kind.

“Logan,” he answers, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“Life hasn’t been kind to you, has it, Logan?” you ask, his name dripping from your lips like honey and just as sweet.

Logan stiffens, his grip tightening on the wheel as your words cut through the night. There’s no pity in your tone, which he’s silently grateful for, but an unsettling mixture of curiosity and understanding.

At the best of times, he doesn’t like anyone trying to scratch below the surface, to worm themselves into all the soft and vulnerable bits he tries so desperately to hide away. Now that he’s older and feeling every bit of his age, the weight of his bones threatening to drag him down with each step, he likes it even less.

“It’s not kind to anyone,” he answers, turning his head just enough to glance sideways at you. 

You tilt your head slightly, a wordless noise humming in your throat. “Maybe,” you concede, voice soft, like you’re mulling over his words. “Except your life has carved itself into you a little more than most.”

He wants to be annoyed, to slam his foot on the brake and send the limo careening into reverse back towards your broken down car. But something stirs in him, thrumming in time with the pulse beating in his veins—a spark of irritation mixed with that pull that’s been gnawing at him since he first saw you. 

“You a therapist or somethin’?”

You chuckle softly, the sound low and intimate, as you lean back into the seat, finally putting some space between you. “No. Just intuitive.”

“Yeah?” He looks up at you through the rearview mirror with a scowl. “Intuit less. Just tell me where I’m goin’.”

A soft, chiding “tsk” falls from your lips and you shake your head, but Logan doesn’t miss the smile playing on your lips. You give him directions to your house and for moment you both sit in silence but the air remains heavy with unspoken tension. 

Logan pulls off the highway, beginning to wind through the smaller streets of the town as he gets closer to your place. The thought of this ride ending, of you leaving this car, both thrill and disappoint him. 

“You believe in fate?”

The question cuts through the silence, pulling Logan’s focus back to you. He glances at you briefly, your expression thoughtful as you wait for him to answer. 

“No,” he finally says, voice flat. 

A soft hum escapes your throat. “Unsurprising. But don’t you think, Logan,” you begin, leaning back into his space, “that maybe fate is what brought us together?”

You have that knowing look in your eye again, a sly smile tugging at your lips. As if you’re in on some cosmic secret he’s not privy to. It unnerves him. 

But it intrigues him, too. 

“I think a broken down car brought us together.”

“Or maybe life decided to be kind to you,” you challenge. “To bring me to you.”

Logan turns into a quiet subdivision as your words rattle around in his brain. The rain has mostly subsided, but is still falling in a gentle drizzle as he pulls up in front of your house, a single porch light illuminated in welcome. It looks small, yet homey, the kind of place he could have seen himself in once if life had been kinder to him. 

“You should come in,” you say as you gather your belongings. “Get out of those wet clothes.”

Your eyes meet his again through the review mirror, a mischievous glint in your gaze and an even more sinful smile on your lips. 

It’s been a while since he’s been with anyone. The thrill of finding a partner for the night having lost its luster around the time his bones started to ache. More often than not, his sexual escapades involve his own calloused hands and memories from when he was a younger man. 

“Think about it,” you offer as you open the door and slip out of the limo. “Door’ll be open.” 

Logan sits, hands gripping the steering wheel, contemplating whether or not to follow you into the house.

Your offer is tantalizing, ripe for the picking, and the baser part of himself wants to accept—follow you into sin. You’ve already injected yourself into his veins, he might as well see the high through. 

The rational part of his brain knows he should leave, throw the limo in reverse and tail it back to the life he’s carved out for himself in the desert. Experience has hardened him, left him unable to, or maybe unwilling to, open himself to others. He doesn’t need whatever it is you think you can offer him, no matter how alluring and sweet your words may be. 

The weight of his wet clothes against his skin begins to feel almost suffocating and with a low curse under his breath, Logan steps from the limo and follows the path you took up the porch and into the house.

A trail of water leads from the front door to a small laundry room just off the foyer and then damp footprints lead deeper into the house. He can hear the low rumble of a dryer as he steps further into the space, the squeak of his shoes against the hardwood doing nothing to hide his approach. 

Logan finds you in the kitchen, lights dimmed low, standing in only a pair of mismatched underwear, the damp fabric barely concealing what’s underneath as you gently swirl a glass of whiskey. A second, untouched glass sits next to your hip on the counter. 

“You seem like a whiskey man,” you say, your smile curving around the glass as you take a slow sip. “Did I get it right?”

Stopping in the doorway, he flexes his hands at his sides, and wills himself to move—forward, backward, he’s not quite sure. The muted light catches along your curves, the damp sheen of your skin enticing, the dark outline of your nipples and curls between your thighs acting like a beacon. Logan can feel himself hardening against his slacks. 

He can smell you—bright and earthy and wholly intoxicating. Your heartbeat echoes in his ears, quick, but steady, betraying no fear. 

“If you wanted to hurt me, you would have done it by now,” you say and he has half a thought to wonder if you can read his mind. 

A sly smile spreads across your face as his eyes finally meet yours, a knowing edge to your expression that further sets him off balance. 

“What’s happenin’ here?” Logan finally rasps, his voice low and rough. 

You give a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders as you grab the glass next to you and take a step towards him, your movements slow yet deliberate. He doesn’t move, rooted to the spot as you approach him. 

“That’s up to you,” you reply, handing him the glass. “You can get out of those wet clothes and enjoy this whiskey with me, or,” you pause to step closer, “you can walk back out that door and pretend like you weren’t curious about what’s waiting for you here.”

Logan’s fingers grip the glass in his hands just a little too tight as you stare up at him, holding his gaze a beat longer than necessary. You’re challenging him, daring him to act, and he knows the minute he breaks, he’s done for. He won’t be able to stop. 

You risk another step closer, leaving barely a breadth of space between you. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, can smell the rain on your skin, as your closeness overwhelms his senses. He wants to drown in you. 

“What’s it gonna be?” you ask in a whisper, your fingers trailing along the edge of his belt buckle. 

Your touch and proximity ignites something primal in him, something he thought long extinguished. Logan can feel pure want, need, surge through his veins and lick flames along his skin. His free hand moves on instinct, wrapping around your wrist, halting your teasing fingers before they venture any further. His restraint is hanging by a thread, fraying and threatening to snap.

“You sure this is what you want?” His voice is low, all gravel and grit as he stares down at you, his eyes darkened by a hunger begging to be fed.

Your lips curve into a slow, knowing smile as you press yourself fully against him, soft and warm. Rising up onto the balls of your feet, you drop your gaze to his lips before flicking your eyes back up to his and ghosting your mouth along his jawline. “Stay with me,” you whisper, sliding your hand up his chest. “Just this once.”

Logan’s restraint snaps. The glass tumbles from his hand, shattering against the floor, but neither of you seem to notice. His hand moves to the small of your back, wanting to press you impossibly closer as his lips crash into yours, hot and demanding. 

You respond in kind, a whimper dying in your throat as your fingers tangle in his damp hair, urging him closer. A growl tumbles from his lips as he trails his mouth down your neck, nipping and tasting as he goes, his tongue finding your pulse point and sucking. His hands roam freely, his calloused fingers sliding over your smooth flesh, palming your hips and gripping you as if you’re the only thing grounding him to earth.

He feels alive. Every cell in his body hums beneath your touch, the constant aches and pains temporarily erased. You’re a balm to his very soul, smoothing the ever deepening cracks and making him feel whole. 

You gasp as he nips at a spot just below your ear and he smirks against your skin, the sound spurring him on. “Tell me where your room is, or I’m fuckin’ you right here on the table,” he husks, his voice thick with desire, breath fanning over the shell of your ear.

Pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your lips swollen and eyes dark, you reach for his hand and wordlessly lead him past the living room and down the small hallway to your room. Once inside, he pulls you back towards him, mouth slanting back over yours, stealing the very air from your lungs. 

His cock is almost painfully hard as he walks you towards the bed, only pulling his mouth away from yours as your knees hit the edge of the mattress. Instead of sitting back on the bed, you reach for the buttons on his shirt, easing them open before sliding the fabric from his shoulders. There’s an eagerness to your movements, your fingers fumbling with his belt buckle as he sheds his undershirt and tosses it somewhere behind him. 

Logan watches with a hooded gaze, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, as you shove his pants down his legs, barely getting them past his knees before you’re reaching for the waistband of his boxers.

His fingers curl around your wrist, halting your movements and you gaze up at him, licking your lips. “Slow down, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “We have all night.”

A shiver runs through you and then his mouth is on you again, hungry and all-consuming. He drinks you in like a man parched, lips and teeth mapping the curve of your jaw, the solid edge of your collarbone as your pretty little moans and gasps fill the air. You tilt your head back and offer yourself to him, your hands grasping at his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle to keep him close.

His hands are rough against your skin as he slides them up your sides, tracing the soft, damp skin below the band of your bra. Unfastening the clasps, he trails the fabric down your arms, his eyes darkening as he finally takes in your bare breasts.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice dripping with raw want.

Any final restraint he has evaporates and he kicks the last of his clothes off before tightening his hands around your waist and setting you down on the bed. Logan steals the gasp from your mouth as his body covers yours, easing himself between your thighs and thrusting once against your clothed cunt.

He cups your jaw, thumb stroking over your bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to wet the skin. “Last chance,” he husks, his breath fanning across your lips. “Last chance to stop before I ruin you.” 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just hard enough to elicit a growl, his teeth bared. A sinful smile spreads across your face. “Oh, Logan,” you coo, “who says I’m not going to ruin you?”

Logan lets out a deep, guttural sound, something between a growl and a groan before he slots his mouth back over yours and follows you into temptation.  

“Figured you’d try and sneak out.”

Logan whirls around at the sound of your voice, claws slowly unsheathing from between his knuckles. Blood wells up from the wounds, dripping between his fingers as he finds you dressed in an oversized shirt, the hem just concealing the edge of your panties. Your expression belies no fear as you take in the metal jutting out between his skin, your eyes alight with an acceptance he’s not use to. 

Fear, disgust, repulsion, but rarely acceptance. 

Slowly, he retracts his claws as you move further into the kitchen, stopping at the sink to grab and moisten a washcloth before coming to stand in front of him. Logan instinctively pulls away from your touch, but you’re undeterred, taking his hands in yours and wiping the blood away from his skin. Your movements are gentle, taking care to avoid the still healing slits.

Washed of blood, you finally glance up at him. “You can stay, you know.”

“I’m not the stayin’ kind, sweetheart,” he mutters.

One of those slow, knowing smiles tugs at your lips as you release his hands and Logan actually mourns the loss. “We’ll see,” you say with a shrug, stepping back just enough to put space between you. “I don’t think fate is done with us yet.”

Your words hang in the air like smoke, curling around him and pressing into his skin. He wants to argue, the words burning on his tongue, but he doesn’t. Because despite his earlier claims that he didn’t believe in fate, he can’t deny the unnatural pull you have on him. A pull Logan doesn’t necessarily dislike.

At his silence, you lean up and press the faintest of kisses to the corner of his jaw. “I’ll leave the light on for you,” you whisper into his skin.

It’s then he knows—he won’t be able to stay away. 

Logan shows up at your door again two weeks later. 

He’s been driving around some bigwig CEO, chauffeuring him from conference to conference during the day and dropping him off at random hotels during the night. When he gives Logan the address to tonight’s hotel, Logan knows instantly he’s in trouble. Just his luck the hotel is in your town. 

Pulling off the freeway, he feels that familiar tug behind his ribs. His hands itch with the want, the need, to turn the wheel towards you instead of the address on his GPS. Since that night, you’ve haunted him, your face showing up in his dreams, waking with the sensation of your softness burning into his skin. 

Logan knows he could stay at the hotel or sleep in the back of the limo like he’s done so many times before. But as he slowly inhales at his cigar and waits for Mr. CEO to stop fingering his mistress in the back seat and get the fuck out, the need to be near you only grows stronger. 

And damned if he knows why. 

He doesn’t need a relationship, or whatever the hell this is. Enough of him has been spread to others, for better or worse, and he’s already worn thin. The last remnants of any family he has are hanging off a very precarious ledge and he can’t bear the heartache of more loss if he opens himself to you. 

But as much as Logan keeps telling himself he’s closed off, fortified against anything new, he can feel himself bleeding through the cracks. 

By the time he finally turns down your street, it’s well past a respectable visiting hour. Most houses are dark for the night, but not yours. The front porch light illuminates just like it did two weeks ago and the dim lights of the kitchen shine through the pulled blinds. You’re up and a frisson of anticipation shoots through him. 

He parks the limo and stamps out the cigar before walking up your driveway. As he approaches the door, he hesitates. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. While your final words to him were open ended, did that give him the right to just show up in the middle of the night? 

You open the door as he contemplates and when his gaze finally focuses on you, he relaxes. A well worn robe is tied around your waist, your hair tied up in a messy bun, your face cleaned of makeup and yet you’re more alluring to him than you were that night in the rain. 

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he confesses, stepping just a bit closer towards you. 

A slow, soft smile spreads across your face. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually,” you reply. You open the door to allow him entrance and he steps in after you. 

Logan follows you into the kitchen, where you already have a glass of whiskey ready for him. Handing him the glass, you nod your head towards the living room. “Come. Relax for a bit.”

He follows you into he living room, the single lamp casting a soft glow within the space. You settle onto the sectional, tucking your legs beneath you and turning yourself towards him as he joins you. For a moment, neither of you speak, but the silence isn’t awkward—it’s comfortable, like it always is around you. 

“You look tired,” you say, finally breaking the quiet. Your voice is soft, a sense of familiarity laced in with your words, as if you understand the magnitude of his fatigue.

Logan huffs as he swirls the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light. “Honey, I’m always tired,” he replies. “Comes with the territory.”

You give a small hum, your head tilting to the side as you assess him. “You’re in pain, too.”

Logan freezes at your words, his eyes flicking up to your face. His gaze locks with yours, sharp and guarded, like you’ve peeled back a layer he wasn’t ready to expose. And yet, you’ve been doing this since the beginning. Finding the cracks in his facade and wedging yourself in until the gap widens, uncovering the raw nerves underneath.

“What makes you say that?” he asks, his tone challenging.

You gaze remains steady and calm, holding a softness that unnerves him more than the question itself. “Because it’s written all over you,” you say simply. “I see it in your scars, in the way your hands are always clenched, as if steeling yourself against a blow that’ll never come.”

Logan exhales a low, humorless laugh before taking a long sip of whiskey, relishing the burn as it slides down his throat. “Don’t even notice it anymore,” he lies, shifting in his seat. 

Your mouth tugs into a gentle frown as you shift, crawling closer to where he sits. You pluck the glass from his fingers, swallowing down the rest of the whiskey before setting it on the coffee table. Logan watches as you swing your legs over his lap, your robe riding up to reveal the smooth expanse of your thighs. 

The weight of you against his lap sends a rush of arousal down his spine and he can feel his cock stir in his slacks. If you notice, you ignore it, instead reaching for a small bottle of lotion on the end table and squeezing a dollop into your palm. You rub your hands together twice before reaching for his right hand. 

Your thumbs dig into the meat of his palm, a low groan slipping from his throat before he can stop himself. You bite your lip, but Logan can see the sly smile beneath. 

“You help take care of everyone else,” you begin, rubbing the lotion further into his calloused palms. “Who helps care for you?”

Logan feels flayed open, that pull that spins him into your orbit only growing stronger as you see down to his very soul. Caliban swore you weren’t a mutant but Logan still couldn’t shake the idea that you were something more. 

“What are you?” he asks, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, watching you concentrate on his hand. 

You slide your fingers along the pink, puffy lines between his knuckles, a slow hiss escaping between his teeth as you massage the tender flesh. He wonders if you know how sensitive his skin is now, how each time his claws come out it hurts just a little bit more than the last time. 

“I’m human,” you reply, positioning his hand to focus on the back, tracing the fine scars there. “Same as you.”

“I ain’t human.”

Your eyes flick to his as you drop his right hand and reach for his left. “You’re human where it counts,” you say, beginning to massage his hand. 

Logan scoffs. “Yeah? And where’s that?”

You release his hand and place your palm in the center of his chest, your fingers splayed over his heart. “In here.”

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to where your fingers are resting against him. You touch him like you’re unafraid, undeterred by the metal in his bones and the sometimes primal rage that courses through his blood. His killed—for the sake of war, self preservation, and for reasons not so innocent—but you can somehow still see past that, to some soft part of him that still lingers. 

Logan itches to touch you, to pull you closer and—

“You can touch me,” you say, as if pulling the thought from his head. “I like when you touch me.”

Logan slides his palms up your thighs and around your hips, pulling you flush against his lap, your clothed center pressing against the fly of his slacks. He doesn’t miss the gasp that falls from your lips or the shift of your hips as you try and press closer. 

That thrum of aliveness begins to churn in his veins as he slowly unties the sash of your robe, allowing the fabric to fall to the side. You’re bare underneath and Logan can’t help but lean forward and press a kiss to the center of your chest. 

“You dress like this jus’ for me?” he asks, dragging his lips towards your breast and pulling a nipple into his mouth, working into a taut peak beneath his tongue.

Your fingers wind themselves into his hair, holding him close. “Yes,” you breathe, a whimper falling from your lips as he moves to your other breast. “Only for you.”

A surge of possessiveness rushes through his veins and Logan can feel the prickle between his knuckles, his claws threatening to unsheathe at the thought of you with another man. Instead, he doubles his focus onto you, his beard scraping against your skin as he licks a hot stripe across your nipple. “Damn right, only for me,” he growls. 

You shift your hips in response, seeking more friction against the hard length of his cock pressing against you. Logan groans, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your hips, urging you to move against him. The soft, wet heat of your cunt through the thin fabric of your panties and his slacks sets his control on a razors edge. 

Logan leans back slightly to lock eyes with you, your pupils blown wide with want, your skin flushed with desire. You find his gaze, hazy with pleasure, but focused and then you smile at him, bottom lip pinned between your teeth. 

“And you, Logan,” you whisper, your hands sliding down the column of his neck, “you’re only for me.” 

That hook you’ve lodged in him sinks deeper and he’s too far gone to care. The mystery behind your presence in his life is one he’s willing to spend the rest of his days unraveling so long as you stay right here, continuing to bewitch him with the beauty of your soul. 

Your allure was more potent than any pheromone, more intoxicating than any aphrodisiac. In his waking moments, Logan found his thoughts drifting to you more often than not and the frequency between his visits grew shorter and shorter until he found himself lured into your embrace almost every night. 

He was good at lying to himself, writing off these visits as nothing more than comfort—the need to find warmth in a world that so seldom offered him that luxury. But that lie grew bitter, warped in the liminal space between midnight and dawn where you stripped him down to his very bones, saw through the gruff and grit he wrapped himself in. Saw him as something more than the sum of his sins. 

Logan couldn’t hide from you and he didn’t know if he wanted to. Those carefully crafted walls that surrounded him cracked and crumbled, turning to dust at his feet. In that mysterious way of yours, you always knew what he needed—a warm meal; your tender, healing touch as you helped him stitch the worst of his wounds; the soft, pliant feel of your skin on his as you kissed him deep, the kind of kiss that burned like wildfire and whiskey.

God help him as your gravity pulled him in closer, your orbits circling tighter and tighter, destined for an inevitable crash. 

“What am I to you?”

Those five words root him where he stands, flaying him down to his very marrow. Logan should have expected this question, should have known that eventually you’d ask. 

He wants to tell you the truth, speak those words that burn against his tongue, begging to be said.

He wants to tell you of his need to find you when the days are long and the nights are longer. When the weariness he feels in his bones aches more than usual and seems to bleed into his very soul. 

When he needs to feel something more than the hollowness that seems to grow inside his chest. The slow carving away of his humanity that’s been scraping closer and closer to emptiness for years. 

When he needs to be wrapped in warmth and set afire by something almost like love. Like home. 

But he says none of this as he gazes over at you sitting at the kitchen table, one knee pulled up to your chest. You look small sitting there, vulnerable in a way he hasn’t seen before. 

And instead, he remains silent, praying you’ll let the conversation slide. But he knows better. 

You glance up at him, your gaze piercing straight through the heart of him and then you devastate him with three simple words. 

“I love you.”

The air punches from his lungs and for a moment it feels like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Your words tear through him, cutting deeper than any knife, and his hands curl into fists as you slice him open. 

“Don’t,” Logan rasps, his voice rough, barely more than whisper. He avoids your eyes, knowing that if he looks and sees the sincerity in your gaze, it’ll be his undoing. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Your voice cracks with emotion as you push away from the table, your arms wrapping around yourself. “What about those words can’t you hear?”

His jaw clenches and for every step you take closer him, he takes a half step back, as if he’s trying to distance himself from the truth beginning to swirl between you. You can’t love him. Loving someone has brought him nothing but misery and pain, loss and suffering and he’ll be damned if he drags you down that road. 

So, instead he lies, the words bitter in his mouth. 

“This ain’t love, sweatheart,” he says, gesturing between the two of you, “This is fuckin’.”

You inhale sharply between your teeth and your expression twists into disbelief, the beginning of tears welling in your eyes. “Fucking?” you bite back, your voice trembling but still firm. “You think after all these months that this is just fucking?”

Logan doesn’t answer. And he doesn’t move. He simply stands there, jaw clenched so tightly he could shatter bones. He can’t say yes. If he does that, if he voices that lie into existence, he’ll have to spend the rest of his days remembering the look in your eyes right now—destroyed. 

Your breath starts to shudder as you continue to step closer towards him. And he can feel you, warm and comforting, even though you shake with barely contained anger. “Look me in the eye and tell me that’s all this is,” you demand, your voice thick with emotion. “Tell me that when you come to me in the middle of the night, broken down, bloody and bruised, it’s just fucking. Tell me that when I touch you, hold you, love you, that it means nothing.” 

He remain silent. 

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “God, for someone with heightened senses, you’re blind to what’s right in front of you.” Your trembling voice matches the shake to your hands, your fury pouring off you in waves. “You really are a coward, aren’t you?”

Logan nostrils flare at the insult and he can feel the prickle of his claws between his knuckles. He knows his rage isn’t with you, but himself. And yet he can still feel his lips curl into a snarl. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he growls. 

“Oh, fuck you, Logan,” you seethe, your voice now raw, pain bleeding through every syllable. “You can’t even look me in the eye when you lie.”

His jaw clenches impossibly harder and he swears he can taste bone. Then, he finally meets your gaze head on, eyes flashing. “You think this ends well between us? You think I get to have somethin’ like this? Like you?” Logan’s voice cracks in a way that he loathes. “I can’t—”

The crack of your palm against his face is deafening. He barely moves from the impact, but emotionally you’ve landed him on his ass. Your eyes are wide as you stare up at him, unblinking.

Logan stands there, immobile, as he processes the sting of your slap. It doesn’t hurt, not physically. It’s the fact that you did it, the fact that you’re standing in front of him, chest heaving from the effort of your breathing as if you just ripped yourself open for him.

“Get out of my house,” you seethe, your voice softer than before, deflated.

Your words shouldn’t sting as much as they do. They shouldn’t wreck him and make him feel like he’s been ripped apart limb from limb. He should relish them, the push, the shove. He should revel in the confirmation that you’re finally seeing him for what he truly is—something undeserving of all the warmth and love you’ve given him. A stray animal that never should have been fed.

Logan swallows, his throat tight as he gives you a small nod. And then he does the only thing he knows how to do. 

He turns. And he walks.

His legs feel like lead, each step a feat and his brain is screaming at him to turn around. To fight. To beg. To plead. To say something, anything. 

But he doesn’t.

Logan exits the house, the front door slamming shut behind him. As he steps off the front step, the porch light above him clicks off, plunging the house into darkness. Your guiding light is gone, lost in the storm of his destruction.

Of all the wounds he’s ever taken, of all the scars that mar his skin, nothing has ever bled quite like this.

Charles watches with sharp eyes as Logan enters the old water tank and shuts the door behind him. The older man is in his wheelchair, tending to his plants as Logan walks around the place, picking up random bits of trash and the tray from breakfast. 

A soft “tsk” falls from Charles’ lips and echos in the small space. “Will you ever learn, Logan?” Charles’ voice seems tired, weary. 

Logan pauses and looks over at him, irritation already prickling along his skin. “Stay outta my head,” he snaps, slamming the tray down on a nearby table. 

He doesn’t need this, doesn’t want Charles sifting through his mind, seeing those pieces of you he so deeply cherishes. Pieces he doesn’t deserve. Pieces he doesn’t know if he’ll ever have within his grasp again. 

“She loves you,” Charles continues, seeming to ignore his request. 

Logan strides over to where Charles is sitting, unable to keep the ire from boiling over. He wants to sweep all the plants to the floor, destroy the one creative outlet Charles has, retaliate for the way he presses into the fresh bruises on his mind. “I’m begging you, just—”

Charles lifts the spray bottle beside him and directs the spray in Logan’s face, showering him in a fine mist of water. Logan freezes, water dripping from his face as his lips tighten in a thin line. He grits his teeth, an ache already blooming in his jaw. 

“What the fuck was that for?” he growls. 

“Are you a cat?” Charles asks, lowering the bottle. “No? Then stop being such a pussy.”

Logan stares at Charles, the vulgarity of the of man’s words leaving him temporarily speechless. He scrubs a hand down his face, wiping the rest of the water off with the sleeve of his shirt, scowl deepening. 

“You’re pushin’ it,” Logan warns. 

Charles simply smirks, finally setting the bottle down on the table. “Someone should. God knows you won’t push yourself. Not when it comes to matters of the heart.”

Logan sucks in a sharp breath and steps back from Charles, sitting down on the bed across from him. The old metal springs groan beneath his weight. He wants a bottle of whiskey, to quiet the thoughts in his head, at least temporarily, and fall into a drunken stupor. Anything but flaying open his feelings, especially his feelings about you. 

“What are you so afraid of?” Charles asks gently. “That she’ll see all your broken pieces?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Charles raises his eyebrow. “No? Logan, she’s already seen them. She knows what you are and she’s still here.”

“That’s not the point!” Logan roars, his voice echoing off the metal walls. His breathing comes out in short gasps and he knows he needs to rein himself in. Not only for himself but for Charles. It doesn’t take much to trigger a seizure these days and he doesn’t need the stress of this conversation to become a catalyst. 

Charles remains quiet, expression calm and Logan hangs his head, his voice softening into something raw. “It’s not about what she knows. It’s about who, about what, I am. I don’t deserve her.”

Bracing his elbows on his legs, Charles leans forward, a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. “She knows all that, Logan. And she chooses you. Every night you come to her, she chooses you. How can you not see that?”

Logan doesn’t respond, but the weight of Charles’ words hang heavy against his shoulders. He looks down at his hands, seeing the callouses and crisscrossing scars. His body is a physical map of violence, each faded pink line a story of pain, regret and death. 

But you’ve never seen them that way. You’ve only ever looked at them with reverence, traced your fingertips along each one and wondered about their stories. Made him feel whole instead of broken and used. 

“You have a choice to make, Logan,” Charles says, interrupting the silence. “Let her in…or keep running. Don’t make her choose for you.” 

For days, Logan’s mind is plagued by replays of his last moments with you and his conversation with Charles. His already sleepless nights are further tormented by dreams of you, the devastated expression on your face haunting him.

The memory of your face, the crack in your usually steadfast voice, the tremor in your hand after you struck him. They all play in a nauseating loop in his brain, punishing him in a way he’s never felt before.

His life reverts to autopilot—drink, fight, drive, but nothing quells the gnawing ache in his chest. He couldn’t stay in the smelting plant with both Caliban and Charles staring at him, watching his every move as if he were a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Charles was running out of medications, a few days supply left at most, and Logan knew he was better off leaving Charles in Caliban’s care than his own.

Now, he sits on the edge of a dingy motel bed, the scent of cheap whiskey and cigar smoke clinging to his clothes. His eyes are dry and heavy with exhaustion and his skin is itching with that familiar want to be near you. It started as an annoying tug, but has now grown into a maddening want.

He knows he should ignore it. But he was never that strong.

Before he can talk himself out of it, convince himself that this is an astronomically stupid fucking idea, he’s on his feet, keys in hand and driving down those lonely roads towards you.

It’s late when he reaches your house, like it usually is, and he half expects the porch light to remain dark, a cold, bleak reminder of how badly he’s fucked up. Instead, he finds that single porch light illuminated, shining like a beacon of hope. Logan walks up onto the porch, but you don’t open the door like you’ve done so many times before. 

He contemplates leaving, turning around and getting back in the car and drinking himself into a semblance of sleep. But then he hears you, your heartbeat echoing beyond the wooden frame, as steady and as comforting as it’s always been. Logan pauses, wondering if he should try the knob and come inside—if you’ll even let him.

If you even should.

With a sigh, he lowers himself to the ground, his joints aching in protest as he rests his back against the door. “I’m not good at this,” he finally says, hoping you’re listening. “I’ve been alive for too long. Seen too much shit.” Logan pauses, his words burning in his throat. “I’ve lost too many people.”

He hears you shift behind him, your head thudding softly against the door as you listen. His relief is almost palpable knowing you’re there, that you’re at least willing to listen to him. Leaning back, Logan closes his eyes and exhales a heavy breath. “The only way I know how to keep people safe is to push ‘em away. And I need to keep you safe.”

The words feel foreign leaving his mouth, as if they’re uncovering a truth he’s long kept secret. He feels exposed in a way he’s not used to, raw and honest, and the truth of his words burns. Logan can still hear you on the other side of the door, your breathing slow and steady, yet laced with something—hesitation, maybe, or hurt. It makes his chest ache in a new and unfamiliar way. 

“I’m tired,” he continues, his voice softer. “I’m so fuckin’ tired, sweetheart. Tired of fightin’ when all I want—” Logan swallows hard. “All I want is you.”

The porch light hums above him, the night is alive with the chirping of crickets, but the silence that follows is almost deafening. 

Logan doesn’t deserve you, he knows that. You should turn him away, tell him to leave, to kick him back to the desert to lick his wounds alone. He doesn’t know how to be someone’s partner, their lover. He’s not sure if he ever has, really, too hung up on all the ways he paints himself as a bad man. Someone unworthy. 

Except with you, he finds himself wanting to fight. To prove he’s not as hard and unyielding as the metal bones inside him. That somewhere deep inside him there still lingers warmth and affection and the capacity to love. 

He’s bracing himself for the worst when he hears the faint sounds of the lock turning. The door creaks open and he shifts to look up at you. One of your well used blankets is wrapped around your shoulders, your hair tousled from sleep and your eyes are red and wet with unshed tears. Logan’s heart thuds heavily in his chest as you stand there and he turns to face you, pushing up onto his knees. Your expression is carefully masked, betraying little of your underlying emotions, and he carefully crawls forward, testing the waters of how close you’ll let him get.

His knees ache as he kneels on the hard concrete, but he’d crawl through glass if you asked him to. Slowly, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to him as he nuzzles his face into the softness and warmth of your belly. Your comforting scent floods his senses as he waits for your anger, your rejection.

Instead, you sigh, a long pent up breath released in a steady exhale and your fingers sink into the disheveled hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close to you. “You’re an asshole,” you finally say, though your tone lacks any venom or spite.

Logan feels it then, the tension slowly easing from your body as you allow him to sink further into your frame. His heart lurches his chest, the faintest flicker of hope fluttering against his ribs.

“Yes,” he mumbles into your shirt.

“You hurt me.”

He pulls back as you gently push at his shoulders and sink down to the ground in front of him. But you don’t push him away any further and instead, lace your fingers through his. “I should tell you to fuck off,” you continue, your eyes focused on where you’re touching him. “But I can’t.”

His voice comes out in a whisper. “Why?”

Your eyes meet his and your gaze pierces straight through his soul. “You know why.”

And he does. In truth, he thinks he’s always known, long before you ever spoke those three little words out loud. Words so simple, yet so profound. Words he rarely speaks, while others casually toss them around. Words he has rarely felt, but with you feel as natural as breathing, as the sun rising in east.

Words he’s still afraid to say, despite everything, despite every cell in his body screaming at him.

You look at him like you know, because of course you do. You’ve always known him, in that uncanny way of yours since he first saw you standing in the rain. So instead of ire or disappointment at his lack of response, you simply squeeze his hand, grounding him to your reality. 

“You don’t have to say it,” you whisper, your voice soft and steady. “Not yet.”

Logan looks at you, his brows furrowed. He can’t fathom what he’s done in this life to deserve you, your patience, your unwavering belief in him. “You make it hard not to,” he finally rasps, his voice rough and uneven. “Love you, I mean.”

The admission hangs heavy in the air, raw and jagged, much like him. It’s close to what you want to hear, but not quite. And yet he sees something warm and bright blossom on your face. 

You lean in, raising your free hand to lightly trace the curve of his jaw, scratching at the scruff there. “You’re a man of action, Logan,” you say, pressing in closer, your breath mingling with his. “Wanna show me instead?”

This—this is a language he’s fluent in. 

Using his lips, tongue, hands and cock to write on your body all the words he cannot say. He’s mastered your shape, the way your hips curve beneath his palm, the softness of your belly and breasts, the heat between your thighs stoked hotter only by him. He knows exactly where to press, where to nip and suck and tease to elicit all those pretty little moans and gasps of pleasure. 

Logan’s already drawn one orgasm out of you, his fingers still thrusting against you as you ride out your high, your thighs shuddering against his forearm. You’re flushed and breathy as you reach for him, urging him up from between your thighs.  

You pull him close, fingers sinking into his hair as you lick into his mouth, not caring that your slick still stains his beard and lingers against his tongue. He swallows your gasp as he knocks your knees apart and slots himself between your legs, his cock heavy against your belly. 

He wants you. In all the ways he can think of and not just like this, naked and pliant beneath him. He wants your sleepily whispered hellos each morning and your softly murmured goodnights each evening. He wants the warm, weighty press of your body against his as you sit on the couch beside him sipping whiskey. 

He wants, he wants, he wants. 

As his kisses grow more fervent, you grow impatient and push at his chest, urging him back. “Lie back,” you command softly, your breath damp against his lips, “Let me take care of you.”

He wants to protest, deny you this request. This is supposed to be about you, about using his body to show you all the things his words can’t say. He’d spend the whole night between your thighs, using his mouth, tongue and fingers to worship if you’d let him. But there’s something in your gaze that forces him to comply and he gives in, rolling onto his back. 

You straddle his thighs, your slick cunt sliding along the length of his cock. Logan groans and his hands reach for your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh as he encourages you to move. “This is s’pose to be about you,” he husks as you slowly begin to rock your hips back and forth. 

“Oh, it is,” you answer, licking your lips as you brace your hands on his chest. “Who else can get you hard and needy beneath them?”

A low growl escapes from his throat. “No one.”

A wicked smile curls at your lips as you drag your heat along him, the blunt head of his cock nudging your clit with every slow, deliberate rock of your hips. The sensation has his control unraveling and he slides his hands along your thighs to palm the curve of your ass. 

You press into his touch, continuing to roll your hips as you lean forward to press an open mouthed kiss to the corner of his jaw. “You see,” you murmur, “this is for me.”

Reaching between your bodies, you grasp him in your hand and line him up. Slowly, almost tortuously slow, you sink down on his cock, taking him inch by inch until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. A sharp inhale escapes him as your warm, tight walls surround him and Logan knows this feels different. 

This isn’t merely fucking anymore, the melding of flesh for the pure sake of pleasure, of briefly escaping the nightmare of his life, of finding solace in sin. You’ve somehow managed to bleed yourself into him, to wrap yourself around his heart. 

You feel as if you’re a part of him, lodged deep between his ribs and that if he were to try to remove you, he’d kill himself in the process. A part of him knows this feeling has always been there, back when you first entered his limo. The feeling threatens to choke him, to fill his love soaked lungs until all he can breathe is you. 

He loves you. 

Pure and unfiltered and it terrifies him. 

“I—fuck, I,” he chokes out, the words caught in his throat. “I feel—”

Your hands run over his chest, up along his collarbones, your fingers blazing a trail over his skin. “I know, Logan,” you whisper, your hips rocking languidly against his. 

He grips your thighs, almost tight enough to bruise, helping guide your movements, but also prove to himself you’re real. Logan’s chest heaves as he watches you ride him, your hips rocking harder, faster, dragging moans out of both of you. You lean back just enough to change the angle, driving him deeper and he bucks his hips, meeting your thrusts with a force that has you crying out his name.

And yet it’s not enough. He needs to wrap himself around you, twine his fingers through your hair and hold your mouth to his until he’s completely consumed you. His hands slide up your back towards your waist and he pulls you down against him, mouth hot and insistent against your neck as he continues to fuck up into you. 

In one fluid motion, Logan grips your thighs and flips you onto your back, pinning you beneath him, cock still sheathed deep within your cunt. You arch beneath him as he sets a brutal, devastating pace, the raw intensity of his movements stealing short, gasps breaths from your lips with each thrust. A shiver ripples through you as he draws a nipple into his mouth, his name tumbling from you like a prayer.

“Fuck, there it is,” he growls. “I love all those little sounds you make.”

His choice of word isn’t lost on either of you and your eyes meet his as your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving faint red crescents as you cling to him. “Logan,” you gasp, your voice trembling as he hits that soft spot deep inside you. “More.”

“You want more?” he rasps, gripping your thighs and pulling them higher around his waist. The new angle has you crying out, the sound echoing in the room as he continues to slam into you with a force that has the bed creaking beneath you.

“Ah, fuck, yes,” you moan, your head tipping back. 

Logan takes advantage of your offering, his lips and teeth marking a path down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin in a way that’s sure to leave a burn come the morning. There’s a possessiveness to his touch, a need to claim you, to prove to you that this is all he needs—your embrace, your warmth, your love.

“You’re so fuckin’ good to me,” he growls against your skin, his hand sliding down between your bodies and finding where you’re joined. He can feel himself pounding into you, your combined arousal coating his fingers as he finds your clit and begins to rub in tight circles. “So goddamn perfect. You were made for me, sweetheart, you know that?”

Your cunt flutters around him and he knows you’re close, your thrusts against him growing erratic. He feels his own impending release, but he needs you to come first, needs to feel you shatter against him. His fingers press more firmly against your clit and with a breathy moan, your body tenses, back arching off the bed as your orgasm crashes into you.

“That’s it,” Logan groans, his own thrusts faltering as he feels you tighten around him, pulling him in deeper. “Look at you, comin’ so pretty for me.” He slows just enough to prolong your release, his thrusts deliberate as he draws out every ounces of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him. 

It’s overwhelming—the sensation of you beneath him, around him; the cling of your fingers to his shoulders; the warm, damp breath against his neck; the absolute perfection of this moment right now. In all his years on this earth, he’s never experienced anything like this. The desire to completely consume someone, body and soul, and be consumed return. He wants his dying breath to be your name.

Something inside of Logan snaps, and as you try and catch your breath as you come down from your high, he presses your legs higher, folding you beneath him in a way that has his cock pressing deeper than before. The change has you whimpering and he looks down to find your expression as wrecked as he feels. He pauses his thrusts just long enough to grasp both your wrists and pin them above your head before he picks up his pace again, fucking into you with an almost ruthless intensity.

“I love you,” he growls, his thrusts growing erratic, his control quickly unraveling with every whimper and cry of his name. “God, I fucking love you.”

For a few moments, he doesn’t even realized what he’s said. Then he looks down at you, your gaze trained on his face and that soft, knowing smile of yours on your lips. “Logan,” you gasp, “I know. I’ve always known.”

Logan lets out a rough, shuddering breath, his entire body trembling with the weight of his confession. Any response he has dies in his throat as he presses his forehead to yours, his entire body wound tight. He’s so fucking close, can feel his orgasm coiling hot and tight in his gut, but it’s more than your warm heat drawing him in—it’s everything. 

“Tell me,” he grits out, his hips chasing, chasing, chasing that release.

You lean up as much as you can with your hands still pinned above you and lick an open mouthed kiss against his lips. “I love you, Logan.”

And that’s all it takes. He groans into your mouth as he finally lets go, his body tensing as his release crashes into him. He spills himself deep inside you, shallowly thrusting into your cunt as his rhythm slows.

Logan releases your hands, and for a long moment, there’s only the sound of heavy breathing, of heartbeats slowing, the two of you tangled in the aftermath.

Logan’s restless and unable to sleep despite your smaller frame tucked alongside him, the weight of your head resting against his chest. From his periphery, he can see his phone illuminating with unread texts, no doubt from Caliban urging his return. Charles has been deteriorating faster than Logan cares to admit, his mind gone more often than not, raving about new mutants. He needs drugs faster than Logan can procure them.

His mind churns, the reality of the outside world looming closer and he contemplates slipping from your grasp when you shift, curling yourself further into him. You don’t speak, not yet, but he can tell you’re alert, floating somewhere in that space between sleep and full wakefulness. Your fingers start to move of their own accord, the gentle pressure of your fingertips tracing over an old scar along his ribs, mapping out an old battle he no longer remembers. 

Beside him, his phone buzzes again and Logan sighs.

“Sounds important,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep.

He wants to keep ignoring it, stay wrapped in the quiet cocoon you’ve thrown around him, but Logan knows he can’t. It’s a cruel reminder of the chaos that plagues him beyond the sanctuary of your embrace. 

“You can go to him, Logan,” you continue, fingers never stopping their slow path along his skin. “I know you’ll be back.”

“How,” he starts, licking his dry lips, “how do you always know?”

Logan’s asked versions of this question before. You’ve always brushed him off, given a coy answer and steered the conversation towards something else. For a moment, he thinks tonight will be the same.

But then you answer.

“I can feel you,” you answer softly, your breath warm and damp against his skin. “I just—” You pause and turn to look up at him and then disentangle yourself from his embrace. “Stand up,” you urge, nudging at his side until he complies.

He blinks at you in confusion, but you just smile at him, soft and sleepy, and gently cup the side of his face. “Now, close your eyes.”

Logan does as he’s told, chasing after your touch as you step back from him, settling somewhere beyond him on the bed. “I’m going to move and you tell me where I am.”

The soft rustle of bedsheets follows and then, stillness. You’re quiet, but he can sense you, just off to his right, but too far away to touch. “My right, but farther back in the room.”

You move again, keeping your movements light. Again, he pinpoints you, this time towards his left, closer, but still too far away to grasp. “Left.”

A final movement, this time even closer, your proximity flooding his senses, sending a rush of warmth down his spine. Logan reaches out, finding the curve of your hips, hands tucking underneath the shirt you had slipped on earlier in the night, splaying his palms against your back. He opens his eyes and meets your gaze, alive in the predawn glow.

“How did you know?” you ask, looping your arms around his neck.

Understanding dawns on him, the answer so simple, yet so profound. Pinpointing where you were had nothing to do with his heightened senses and everything to do with just you—the way you’ve molded yourself to him like a second skin. “I could feel you,” he answers. “I could—I just knew.”

You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses against the corner of his mouth. Logan sighs into your mouth, his eyes fluttering close as you press your forehead to his. “It’s like that,” you whisper. “This undeniable pull, an invisible string that connects me to you and it tug, tug, tugs, until…there you are.”

His phone continues to buzz, growing more insistent as the soft blues and grays of the morning bleed into more golden hues. With a reluctance you both feel, Logan peels himself away, finally answering the phone with an irritation he doesn’t bother hiding. 

You watch him go, standing on the porch with the light casting a halo around your head. Your smile is gentle, but stained with worry and yet you remain stoic, the steady pillar holding up the fractured remains of his life.

As he drives away, he catches one last look at you in the rearview mirror and he’ll spend the next few months wishing he told you—he feels you too. 

The last one hundred miles have dragged on for eons, the road before him stretching into an almost infinite distance. Logan finds himself darting his eyes towards the dashboard clock, growing increasingly frustrated when the numbers move only a few minutes at a time, the slow passage of time seeming to taunt him. 

It’s been months since he saw you last, though no fault of his own. His memories are hazy—a swirling fog of confusion, pain and burning fever. He’s not even sure how he survived, whether it was modern medicine or sheer stubbornness. Or something more. 

You believe in fate?

Your words echo in his mind, soft and sweet, and he feels a familiar pang of longing in his chest. 

Fate or not, something kept a spark alive in him, pulsing through his veins with each sluggish beat as he slowly and painfully healed. His wounds are still pink and tender to the touch, more of his skin marred by death and destruction. 

As he turns into your subdivision, the night quiet, a cold, creeping anxiety snakes along his spine. What if you’ve given up on him? Figured this last absence was the real deal, all his idle promises of staying away finally coming to fruition. 

But as Logan drives down your street, he sees it—the single porch light illuminating in the night. Acting like the beacon it’s always been, leading him safely to land. 

To you. 

Logan pulls into the driveway and shifts the truck into park. Turning in his seat, he glances back towards the young girl curled up on the backseat. Laura’s face is relaxed in sleep, her hands tucked protectively under her chin. She fell asleep several hours ago, the soft rhythm of the tires against pavement lulling her to sleep. 

Logan’s been many things in his life. Son, brother, fighter, friend. Lover. He never thought he’d add father to that list. While he can’t quite find it in him to call himself that just yet—even though Laura readily and easily calls him dad—he no longer denies the protectiveness he feels towards her.

Easing the door to the truck open, Logan steps out and gently shuts it behind him, loathe to disturb her just yet. 

Here he is showing up at your door like he always has—late, quiet, and carrying a heavy weight he feels only he can shoulder. His hand is poised to knock, knuckles clenched, but he pauses, unsure if he even has the right to be here. 

But then there you are, the front door opening to reveal your tired but relieved face, months of worry etched into your skin, your eyes already brimming with unshed tears. 

“Logan,” you breathe, pulling him gently by the wrist and leading him inside. You don’t ask why he’s there. He suspects you already know. 

The air inside the house is just as he remembers. Warm and inviting and laced with the faint, comforting smell of you. Logan inhales deeply, letting the scent settle somewhere in the parts of him that still feel alive, that thrum with the memory of your touch. 

Your fingers still linger against his wrist and he can feel the heat radiating from your body, but you’re not close enough. And yet, he’s afraid to reach out, pull you into his arms. Afraid of the pity or obligation you’ll feel to comfort him, to allay all his fears.

As if reading his thoughts, you gently cup the side of his face, your nails scratching along his jaw. Logan flinches slightly, his body so used to pain these past months he’s almost forgotten the tenderness of your touch. But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he closes his eyes, a ragged breath falling from his lips and his head dips forward. 

“C’mere,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

For a moment, he doesn’t move, but then he slides his arms along your back, pulling you against him. You feel real and solid and alive pressed this close. Never one for overt physical touch, Logan’s surprised by how much he missed this—the simple act of just holding you. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he inhales deeply, his breath warm and damp against your skin. 

He doesn’t say anything, unsure where to even begin. The weight of his grief, his weariness, feels heavier than any burden he’s ever shouldered before and it’s almost desperate the way he clings to you. Like you’re the only thing tethering him to the earth. If you were to let go, he’d fall apart. 

Logan doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he feels the hot trail of tears against his cheeks. You run your fingers through his hair, murmuring soft reassurances as you hold him. 

“I couldn’t feel you, Logan,” you whisper into his neck. “Several days of just…nothing. I thought that—”

The words lodge themselves in your throat, but he knows what they are just the same. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you, your eyes glistening with tears that match the ones rolling down his weathered face. Your expression is marred with pain, raw and unfiltered, but also with a bright flicker of relief. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, voice rough with emotion. “I got dragged into some bad fuckin’ shit. I almost…we—”

You quiet him with a soft brush of your fingers against his lips. “It’s okay, Logan,” you whisper. “Tell me about it later. I’m just happy you’re home.”

Home. 

Logan gaze softens at your words, but guilt gnaws at him. He doesn’t deserve this—your unwavering faith in him, the patience you’ve shown him, the light you’ve been in his dark, endless nights. But here you are, giving him everything he’s never asked for but so desperately craved. 

“C’mon,” you murmur, dragging him from his thoughts, “Let’s get you settled.”

It’s well past two in the morning by the time Logan finally carries Laura into the house, tucking her comfortably into the guest bedroom. Turning from the bed, he finds you there, leaning against the doorframe. You reach for him, in that soft, gentle way you always do, and lead him into your bedroom. 

He doesn’t protest when you sit him down at the edge of the bed and begin undressing him. Kneeling before him, you unlace his boots and peel off his socks, setting them aside. With a slight press to his knees, you force his legs wider, slotting yourself between them. 

Despite the late hour, the weariness and fatigue tugging at his bones, Logan feels his cock twitch as your fingers brush underneath the hem of his shirt. 

It’s been so long since he’s felt you. 

He dreamt of you, in those fevered moments where he didn’t know where one part of his body began or ended. When his entire existence had been boiled down to raw nerves and sluggishly knitting flesh. Through the haze of pain, he wondered if he’d ever feel your kiss again, feel the frantic press of your fingers into his shoulders, feel the warm, wet heat of your cunt stretching around him. 

You toss the shirt aside and he can feel your gaze lingering over the new scars, the pink, raised lines of flesh that are still healing. With a reverence he’s not worthy of, you trace your fingertips along the three jagged scars from where X-24 had ripped into him. 

“What happened to you?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper as you move to trace more of his scars. 

Logan tells you then about Pierce and the Reavers, about Laura and the other mutant children. His throat grows tight as he continues, relaying the loss of Caliban, Charles and the Munsons, and the final confrontation between himself and his clone. 

He tells you how Laura saved him. How her and the other children brought him to safety over the Canadian border. How he spent the next months fighting with every fiber of his being to knit himself whole. 

For you. 

You lean into him as he looks away, jaw tightening as he tries to shove down the memories of everything he’s lost. Your touch is light against his face as you trace the angle of his jaw, and reach up to press the lightest of kisses against his lips. 

Logan exhales into your mouth as you kiss him again, soft and tender and warm. You seem to breathe him in, imbue life into his weary flesh and reignite the spark he’s kept alive for you. 

He wants to do more—to pull you into his arms, to taste you, to fuck into you until he can’t breathe. But exhaustion pulls heavily on his bones, threatening to sink him. 

Logan knows you can feel his hesitancy because you keep kissing him softly, punctuating each press of your lips with whispered reassurance. Your fingers card through his hair as you lean back. “Just let me hold you?” 

Your voice cracks at your request and Logan can only nod, unable to deny you. You help him shuffle out of his pants before coaxing him further into the bed. He moves slowly and he knows you don’t miss the creaking of his joints, the soft groan of discomfort. 

Coming to rest on his side, you tuck into him, throwing a leg over his hips and pulling him close. He sighs into your touch, the weight of the last few months pressing just a little bit less as you press a kiss to the hollow of his throat. 

“Don’t leave me,” you whisper into his skin, soft and damp. 

Logan feels his heart clench at your words. He’s hurt you. He knows that. Not just inadvertently with his most recent disappearance, but all the other times, too. Those times when he ran, afraid of what your words and touch meant. Afraid to accept what you’ve always so freely given. 

His hand slips under the hem of your shirt, fingers splaying across your back. “You kept the light on,” he husks, unable to keep the break out of his voice.”

Your lips quirk into a soft smile. “I always will, Logan.”

[wizard-of-interesting-failure]

A stern-faced woman peeks around the edge of the shelves.

"AHA! So you're the one who's been tracking mud through my library! Just what do you have to say for yourself, mister?"

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, miss," comes a voice from the ground; small and high, apologetic and lost and hollow all at once. "I've been a garden gnome for fifty years now and all of a sudden I find I can't stand it any more; didn't even know that could happen, really. Just wandered off the job in a daze this morning, no idea what to do, walked past this book repository here and figured there might be some answers inside. Must not have been thinkin' straight; my apologies again, miss. I'll carry me dirty boots and be out of your hair."

The librarian's expression softens as she listens, turning thoughtful, then mischievous as the gnome awaits a response. As he reaches down uncertainly to unfasten his footwear, she speaks with a teasing lilt.

"Don't think you're getting away that easy, buster!" she says with a smile. "We're gonna bag up those booties and send them to the cleaners, and you're not getting them back until you've helped me scrub every last particle of mud out of this carpet! And you'll have to listen to my old lady rambling the whole time! I'll talk your ear off about every subject imaginable; things you've never even heard of! Careers you'd never even considered! I used to be a farmer myself, you know. And a scholar, an adventurer, a dancer, a cobbler, a builder, a priestess, a journalist, a lawyer, a manager, a merchant, a maid, a mage, a knight, an oracle, a fool...yes, sonny, I've done it all and you're gonna hear about the lot! And if any of it interests you we're gonna drag you off into the stacks and you won't come out until you've got a solid foundation for it! Why, I might even keep you here until I can find one of my old contacts to introduce you to, just stay right there while I grab the supplies..."

As she rounds the corner the poor fellow looks more befuddled than anything, eyes wide as he tries to take it all in, but when she returns with an armful of cleaning chemicals, a sturdy leather bag and a rolodex, the gnome is smiling just a little bit too.

Local garden gnome is tired of what he does and wants to be something else. What could he be searching?

[marscardigan]

family line, part vii

ellie williams x fem!reader

family line masterlist

summary: falling in love with ellie was easy. it was harder to hate her once you knew she was the one hunting your sister.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: this fic doesn’t follow the original plot of the last of us part ii. canon typical violence. no use of y/n.

The world felt distant.

Your body was heavy, your head throbbed, the steady pulse of pain syncing with the dull ringing in your ears. Every breath was shallow, slow, like your lungs had forgotten how to work properly.

It took effort just to open your eyes.

The theater’s dim lighting made everything look hazy. The room smelled like old wood, and dried blood.

Your sluggish gaze dragged to the figure sitting nearby. Ellie.

She was hunched over in a chair beside the couch, elbows on her knees, fingers threaded through her hair. The moment she saw you stir, she sat up straight, her breath catching.

"You’re awake," she whispered, like she didn’t quite believe it.

You didn’t respond.

She leaned forward slightly, like she wanted to move closer but didn’t know if she should. Her green eyes swept over you, scanning for any sign of pain.

"You—uh, you lost a lot of blood," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "But I stitched you up. I'm not as good as you, but—uhm, you should be okay."

Silence.

Ellie exhaled through her nose, rubbing the back of her neck. Her fingers were still stained red in places, dried and cracked against her skin.

"You need to eat."

She reached down, grabbing a can of food from the floor. When she opened it, the soft scrape of metal felt too loud in the quiet room.

She scooped up a small bite with a spoon and held it toward you.

Nothing.

Her hand hovered in the air, waiting.

"Come on," she tried again, her voice quieter. "Just a little."

You barely had the strength to shake your head, but you did. The smell made your stomach churn, and you could still taste the metallic flavour in your throat.

Ellie swallowed. She didn’t lower the spoon right away, like she was waiting for you to change your mind. But you didn't.

She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back as she sat there, staring at the ceiling.

"We can’t stay here," she said finally, voice tight. "Tommy and Dina already left. It’s just us."

Still, you said nothing, your lower lip trembling as you remember Dina's bloodied face.

Ellie shifted in her seat, restless. You could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers flexed against her jeans. Like she was holding something back.

"You’re gonna have to talk to me at some point," she muttered, not looking at you.

Your throat felt tight. You kept your gaze locked on the floor as if it was the only thing keeping you sane right now.

"Right. Okay." She stood up abruptly, pacing the length of the room before stopping at the doorway. For a moment, it seemed like she might leave. But she didn’t.

She just stood there, gripping the doorframe tightly.

"You saved my life," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just—I don’t get it. Why would you do that?"

You shut your eyes, and Ellie didn’t push for an answer.

She just let the silence hang between you, before finally turning away.

When the door clicked shut behind her, you exhaled shakily, curling in on yourself as the weight of everything pressed down all over again.

Hours passed, and even if neither of you slept, you were still weak, and Ellie was restless, moving like she was running out of time. You didn't seem to react to anything, your head numb as you looked at your shaking fingers.

"We need to leave." Her voice cut through the silence. You barely proceeded the information.

She was already grabbing supplies, checking weapons, shoving things into her bag like it was her last day on earth. Like she was expecting someone to come through that door and finish what the world had started.

You didn’t move, and her jaw clenched. "I know you can hear me."

Still, you said nothing.

A heavy exhale, and then she crouched in front of you, green eyes searching your face. "You’re in no shape to walk, but we don’t have a choice." A beat of silence. "Can you stand?"

You swallowed, your throat raw.

You should shake your head. You should say something.

But you did neither.

Ellie’s expression twisted. Maybe she was angry. Maybe she just didn’t know what to do with you.

"Okay." She nodded once, "then I’ll carry you."

You barely had time to react before she was crouching, looping one of your arms over her shoulder, and hoisting you up. Your legs nearly buckled the second your feet touched the floor, but Ellie held you up, her grip firm but careful.

She was warm. Too warm. She felt like safety, and you hated that.

Ellie sighed, shifting your weight against her. "Let’s go."

The first few hours were unbearable.

Every step sent bolts of pain through your body. Ellie stayed close, letting you lean against her when you needed to, never saying anything about how slow you were moving.

She should've left you behind. It would've been so much easier. But she didn’t.

It wasn’t until the sun was beginning to set that Ellie stopped.

"Okay, so, we’re taking a break."

She helped you lower yourself onto a fallen log, dropping her bag to the ground. You watched as she pulled out a can of food, a water bottle, and a few crumpled ration bars. She opened one and held it out to you.

You didn’t take it.

Ellie’s fingers twitched, her voice tense. "You need to eat."

Nothing.

"You haven’t said a single goddamn word since you woke up, and now you’re not even eating? What, are you trying to die?"

You didn’t flinch, didn’t react.

Ellie exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her face before crouching in front of you again. "Look. I know you’ve been through shit. I get it. But you need to eat something. Don't care if you don't even speak to me ever again, just want you to get better. Please."

Something in her voice made your chest ache.

She was trying, really hard. And you knew you weren't doing things easy for her, and she still hadn't left you.

You swallowed, your voice hoarse from not using it. "I’m not hungry."

Ellie froze. "Jesus. I was starting to think you fucking forgot how to talk."

You shifted uncomfortably.

She didn’t push you again. Just handed you the food and muttered, "Try." And so you did.

The sky was dark by the time you found the cabin.

It was small, tucked between the trees near a lake, long abandoned, but intact.

Ellie scouted ahead, checking for infected before calling you inside.

The second your legs gave out, she was there, easing you onto the old couch near the fireplace.

"We’ll stay here tonight," she murmured. "Maybe longer."

You didn’t argue. Ellie sighed, rubbing her face. "I’ll set up some traps outside. Get a fire going."

You barely heard her.

The theater was behind you. Abby was behind you. The scars, the wounds, the ghosts—they were all behind you.

But they still felt so close.

You curled into yourself on the bed, arms wrapped tightly around your legs as silent tears slipped down your cheeks. Muffled sniffles filled the quiet space, but then, you felt warmth. Two arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. When you didn't push her, she started pecking you small kisses on your back. You stopped crying moments later.

Abby’s breath was ragged by the time she reached the theater. She scanned the room, eyes darting from the old furniture to the bloodstained ground where she had left Ellie gasping for air.

Then, her gaze landed on it. Your Spider-Man comic.

It sat abandoned on a nearby chair, slightly bent at the corners, worn from the way you used to flip through it over and over again.

She swallowed, throat tight, as she reached for it with unsteady hands. The second she lifted the cover, something slipped out and fluttered to the ground.

A folded piece of paper.

Abby knew what it was before she even picked it up.

Her fingers trembled as she unfolded it, breath catching as her eyes scanned the words written in your familiar, messy handwriting.

Abby,

If you’re reading this, it means you came back, but I already left.

You don’t have to look after me anymore. You’re free now.

I will always be grateful for you; for your protection, your unconditional support, and the love you’ve given me for as long as I can remember. Thank you for shutting down my nightmares, for holding me until I stopped crying, for being my safe place when the world felt too cruel.

We’ve always been different—opposites, really. But no matter what, you’re my sister. You always will be. Our paths have been pulling us apart for a while now, and as much as it breaks my heart, I know we both have to move forward. You deserve to chase your dreams, your ambitions. And so do I.

Even if our lives take us in different directions, I know we’ll find each other again. One day, when we’re both okay.

I'm okay now. I’ll be okay. And I hope you will be too.

I love you so much.

—Bug

No. Abby’s vision blurred, the ink smudging as a single tear splashed onto the page. Then another. She sucked in a shaky breath, her fingers gripping the paper so tightly it crumpled in her grasp.

How could you say that? How could you accept this?

How could you be strong enough to walk away when she wasn’t?

She had spent her entire life making sure you were okay. She had promised to protect you, to keep you, and now… now, she was grasping at nothing.

The realization hit her in full force, a broken sob tore from her throat as her forehead was pressed against the crumpled letter as if it could somehow bring you back.

As her chest ached, she allowed herself to crumble.

The cabin smelled like pine and woodsmoke, warm and safe against the crisp autumn air outside. The morning light spilled through the window, catching the dust motes that floated lazily through the air. Outside, the lake stretched endlessly, its surface rippling with the gentle touch of the wind.

It was peaceful here. Safe.

And, for the first time in what felt like forever, home.

You stretched beneath the thick quilt, blinking against the golden sunlight as warmth pressed into your side. Ellie’s arm was draped over your waist, her breath soft against the nape of your neck. She always slept like this—like she was afraid you’d slip away if she didn’t hold you close.

You shifted slightly, feeling her stir behind you. A soft groan left her lips as she buried her face into your shoulder.

"Mm… too early," she muttered, voice thick with sleep.

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut again. "You say that every morning."

She hummed in response, pulling you impossibly closer. "And I’m always right."

You let yourself sink into the warmth of her, savoring the slow, quiet morning.

It hadn’t been easy to get here.

The first few weeks had been… rough. You barely spoke. Eating was a chore, sleep was filled with nightmares, and the weight of everything that had happened clung to you both like a second skin. But Ellie never pushed. She just stayed. Kept the fire going, made sure you ate at least something, and waited.

And then, one day, the silence cracked.

It was over something small. A comment about how she sucked at fishing. And then, a quiet laugh—your own. It had been a weak, broken thing, but Ellie had looked at you like you’d just given her the goddamn world.

And after that, things got easier.

Now, eight months later, you were here. In this tiny cabin by the lake, tangled up in Ellie’s arms like it was the only place you were ever meant to be.

You turned in her arms, facing her. Her hair was a mess, auburn locks sticking out in every direction, and her face was soft, relaxed in a way that made your heart ache. You reached up, brushing a few stray strands away from her freckled cheek.

Her eyes cracked open, sleepy and hazy, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. "S’not fair, waking me up just to stare at me."

You rolled your eyes. "You’re the one who came back to bed."

"Because it’s warm," she murmured, tucking her face into the crook of your neck. “And you’re here.”

Your chest ached in the best way. You knew it hadn't been easy for Ellie either. After all, you were Abby's sister, you shared blood with the one who ended Joel's life. And even if you didn't look alike, Ellie could sometimes see traces of Abby deep in your eyes. She tried to fight the image away, tell herself that it was you who was by her side, not her, but sometimes you do needed to give her some time. Because healing took time. And so did forgiveness.

You pressed a kiss to the top of her head, fingers tracing lazy patterns against the bare skin of her back. "You wanna go fishing today?" you asked.

Ellie groaned dramatically. "Ugh. Do we have to?"

"You need a shower, you kinda stink, baby."

That made her pause. Then, with a sigh, she nodded. You grinned, pressing another kiss against her hair before slipping out of bed.

Ellie groaned at the loss of warmth, but followed soon after, stretching her arms above her head before pulling on one of her flannels—yours, actually. She stole them all the time. But so did you.

The two of you fell into the rhythm of morning, moving around each other with practiced ease. Ellie stoked the fire while you grabbed your boots. She handed you a steaming mug of tea with a lopsided smile, and you swore it tasted better just because she made it.

The plan was simple: clean some clother by the lake, as Ellie tried to catch some fish. But, as always, Ellie had a way of turning even the most common tasks into something ridiculous.

You had just started washing some clothes in the metal basin outside when Ellie came up behind you, arms snaking around your waist as she rested her chin on your shoulder. "You know, we could just let the rain wash our clothes," she mused.

You snorted. "That’s disgusting."

"Survival, baby."

You flicked some water at her, making her yelp and jump back. "Alright, now you’ve done it."

Before you could react, Ellie scooped up a handful of water and flung it at you, soaking the front of your shirt.

"Ellie!"

She cackled, dodging as you swiped at her. “Now you look good.”

"Oh, you’re so dead."

You abandoned the laundry entirely, lunging at her. She tried to escape, but you were quicker, tackling her to the ground. She groaned dramatically as she hit the dirt, laughing breathlessly as you pinned her down.

"I surrender, I surrender!" she wheezed between chuckles, her hands coming up in a weak defense.

You squinted at her, pretending to consider it. Then, leaning down, you pressed a quick kiss to the tip of her nose before rolling off of her with a satisfied hum.

Ellie blinked, momentarily stunned. "That’s so unfair."

You smirked. "Tough luck, babe."

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away.

The lake shimmered under the afternoon sun, gentle ripples distorting its glassy surface as Ellie stood knee-deep in the water, her makeshift fishing spear gripped tightly in her hands. She was focused, brows furrowed, every muscle tense as she waited for the perfect moment.

You sat on the shore, leaning back on your palms, watching her with a fond smile. Ellie took everything so seriously—even catching a couple of fish for dinner had turned into some epic hunt in her mind.

Then—quick as lightning—she lunged forward, the spear slicing through the water. A second later, she yanked it back, grinning triumphantly as a decent-sized fish flailed at the end of it.

"Would ya look at that!" she called, holding it up for you to see. "Told you I’m a pro now."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Baby, you literally missed the last four times."

"Yeah, but this time I didn’t," she shot back, wading back toward the shore. "Which makes me officially the greatest fisher in this whole damn lake."

You raised a brow. "I think the bears might have you beat."

Ellie plopped down next to you, dropping the fish into the bucket beside her before nudging your shoulder, pouting. "Shut up and be impressed."

You only hummed in response, your gaze drifting from her to your hand, where the silver band on your finger caught the sunlight.

The ring had been Ellie's discovery—something she’d found months ago while the two of you were scavenging through an old house. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a simple band, slightly worn, but the meaning it had was priceless.

She hadn’t even asked. Just got down on one knee right then and there, dirt on her jeans, a shit-eating grin on her face as she held it up to you.

'So,' she had said, 'you wanna be stuck with me forever or what?'

It was the easiest question you’d ever answered.

You twisted the ring absentmindedly, smiling softly.

Ellie noticed. "Whatcha lookin’ at?"

You lifted your hand, showing her the ring proudly.

Ellie’s lips quirked up. "Admiring my excellent taste?"

"Just thinking," you murmured, scooting closer, "that technically, I’m Mrs. Williams now."

Ellie blinked, her smirk faltering for half a second before her entire face lit up. "Holy shit."

You raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You just called yourself Mrs. Williams," she said, her voice laced with pure delight.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. "Well… yeah. That is what happens when you get married."

Ellie practically tackled you, sending you both tumbling onto the grass as she hovered over you, her hands on either side of your face. "Say it again."

You snorted. "Ellie—"

"Say it again."

You bit your lip, pretending to think about it before whispering, "Mrs. Williams."

Ellie groaned dramatically, dropping her forehead against yours. "God, I love you."

You giggled, running your fingers through her damp hair. "Yeah, yeah. I know."

She pulled back just enough to look at you, green eyes soft and full of something that made your chest ache in the best way. "You are really stuck with me now," she murmured.

You brushed your nose against hers. "Wouldn’t want it any other way."

Ellie grinned before capturing your lips in a kiss, slow and sweet, the kind that made the rest of the world disappear.

Back inside, your wife stood at the small kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up as she attempted to prepare lunch.

"Told you I can cook," she said, carefully chopping up some carrots with a look of pure concentration plastered in her face.

You leaned against the doorway, watching with amused skepticism. "You burnt canned soup last week."

"That was one time."

You snorted but let her continue, stepping in only when she nearly cut her finger for the third time. "Okay, okay, move over before you lose a hand."

She huffed but let you take over, leaning against the counter as she watched. "Y’know, I think I like watching you cook more than actually doing it."

"Oh yeah?"

She grinned. "Yeah. It’s hot."

You flicked a piece of carrot at her. "Go set the table, you perv."

She laughed, dodging the attack, but did as she was told.

After dinner, the two of you settled on the couch, Ellie stretching out with her head in your lap as you absentmindedly ran your fingers through her hair. She hummed softly, eyes fluttering shut.

"Mm… this is nice," she murmured sleepily.

You smiled, brushing your thumb along her temple. "Yeah. It is."

Silence settled between you, warm and comfortable. Ellie shifted slightly, her arm draping over your waist as she nuzzled into you.

And just like that, whatever plans you had for the rest of the night faded away. The world outside could wait.

For now, it was just you and Ellie, wrapped up in the kind of peace neither of you ever thought you’d get to have.

a/n: did someone said... DOMESTIC ELLIE???? I did. It was me. I love her. Also, next chapter is kinda going to be the last one... I'm actually so sad bc i love this series with my heart, but I swear I'll give you an ending to remember :)

taglist !

@kaykeryyy @vahnilla @autisticintr0vert @leavemeinthewater @alexandra-001 @liasxeatt @urge-to @catrapplesauces @jhyoos @womenlover0 @sevyscoven @antobooh @brooks-lin @sleepingwasp @iamhellagae @moki-nat

[newttxt]

hi quip! i really like your one piece comics and i am curious how you do them! i'm not good at comics and want to be better at drawing them! how do you learn how to make comics?

thank you!

uh oh... im afraid u have caught me at the perfect crossroad of "bored at work" and "unrelated task ive been meaning to do but keep putting off."

this is long. i hope you like reading (and grayscale progress pics). and of course!!! disclaimer before we begin that this is just how I, personally draw comics. there is no "right way."

quip's comic-making process!

Switching my typing to make this more legible...

My process can kinda be broken down into 6 steps:

Brainstorming

Thumbnailing

Sketching

Panels & Text

Lines

Tones/Colors

1. Brainstorming

My brain is a leaky sieve on a good day, so I sloppily jot down ideas in my phone notes the moment I have them. This helps me when it's time to draw too, because if I feel art blocked, I can look through old concepts and see what catches my interest.

Otherwise, I love drawing for other people's writing. :) And if worst comes to worst, doing manga/comic page redraws in my style teaches me new things every time.

Once I have my idea, I'll usually make a bulletpoint list of "plot points" or "story beats" I want. Then I plan the comic with this format that I've adapted from a tutorial I read once. I'm going to use my most recent comic (original comic post) as an example.

I start in the third column, writing notes of what I'd want to see in each panel. I also include the dialogue (in this case, I didn't have to write the dialogue! it's from the fanfic linked in the original comic post!). I usually write the whole name like [Luffy:], but at this point I've drawn so much of these guys, just the first letter works.

I like to handwrite these notes to get an idea for how much text I'm putting in a single panel.

After I describe all the panels, I go back and separate them into pages. I can't tell you how to know how many panels to a page. It's whatever works for you. I just kinda know about how big each panel will be, and so I can feel when I'm probably running out of space. (Also. You can change things later. I don't in this example, but I add/drop pages/panels all the time.)

2. Thumbnailing

Thumbnailing—as the name suggests—should be done tiny. Too tiny to accidentally get sucked into details.

This is about marking down blobs where items/characters go, and figuring out the paneling. I'll draw and redraw these a bunch of times too.

This is also the most time-consuming/brain-working part for me. If I were in a zine that did progress percentage, I'd try to finish thumbnailing around the 50% mark (but I'm also a moderately fast artist, so your mileage may vary).

I think the terrible quality makes them charming, actually. I really like how silly they look. :')))

I will add, when you draw your "page" rectangle, make sure it's the same proportions as your actual canvas for the final image. You want an accurate idea of how much space each panel will take up, especially if you have a lot of text.

3. Sketching

This is my most recent change to my usual workflow, and it's saving me a lot of time. I make my thumbnails a bit bigger (each one about half the size of the final canvas), and I sketch these basic body forms right over them.

It just helps give me placement for my actual lines!

I usually draw these in a paleish color so I can lower the opacity and not get distracted by them while lining. The random darker parts are to either help keep two forms separate (like when two characters have their limbs all over) or to better define sections that were too sloppy/poorly proportioned.

I also think this helps my poses stay looser, because I have more dramatic/wriggly shapes that aren't too bogged down by proportions yet.

Sidenote: I CANNOT show this here, but sometimes this is when I take videos. Of myself. I prop my phone camera up and shoot a video of me acting each panel. :/// It looks really dumb, but it also shows me fun body language ideas like hand gestures, expressions, weight distribution, etc. Just pretend you're an overdramatic cartoon character, and try not to worry about your roommates or mother walking in on you doing odd things. (You can also use the video for anatomy reference later, but I usually just capture the vibe and don't try to copy the actual video frame.)

4. Panels & Text

Oh, boy. So, the panels are usually just straight lines (though it's fun to make creative exceptions, like a round panel to mimic looking through a spyglass), but there are some fancy rules that I don't strictly adhere to.

I believe (I have no technical training in this. Take everything I say with a grain of salt) the vertical gaps (between two side-by-side panels) should all be a consistent width and the horizontal gaps (between two panels on top of each other) should be another. The vertical ones? Should be thinner? Because you want the eye to easily glide between them, whereas the horizontal gaps should be a visual barrier to keep you from jumping ahead. Just something I've vaguely noticed.

There are lots of fun "default layouts" you can look up. Or keep it a consistent grid. I think it's fun to sometimes have characters/objects sticking out of panels and overlapping others. This is just a matter of taste, creativity, and inspiration. (Read Witch Hat Atelier... It has some of my favorite paneling...)

You may also notice I have already done the speech bubbles. This is, to me, a crucial step. This helps me catch early if I don't have enough room for all the words. It also lets me plan the art in each panel with the speech bubbles in mind. There's nothing worse than working really hard on a panel, and then you realize there's no room for the bubbles.

I also try to lay them out in a way that guides the eye! Even without art, can people tell where to go next? Better yet, if I want people to look at panels out of order (aka not left to right, in my case), can I use the speech bubble path to make them? Here's just a vague example of what I mean.

As an added bonus, doing speech bubbles early also allows me to be lazy! :) Ignore the comic; I'm not supposed to post it yet oops,, There's a whole lot of drawing to do on each comic page, and I am not wasting my time on stuff that will be covered up. So yes, if I hide my bubbles, there are a lot of unfinished lines trailing off into nothing. (As a bonus, if there's a part of a character you're struggling with—and it won't look weird to do so—you can move speech bubbles to just hide the problem area yayyy)

Making the actual bubbles could be their own whole tutorial, tbh, but there are some general guidelines I use.

Zoom out when you choose your font size. You want to know how it will look to the average reader, so it isn't super teeny tiny or way too big. You generally want to keep the same text size for all your pages/bubbles.

When I draw bubbles, I try to size them about one vertical letter height (and some change) around the words [left side]. This isn't always the case though, because humorously large or funny shaped text bubbles can convey different feelings [right side].

On Procreate, I set my bubble lines to Reference and just drag-and-drop the white fill on a separate layer below the lines. (Remember to turn Reference back off again when you're done, or your fill bucket won't work right when you're drawing.)

To get the white outlines I use to keep the bubbles from cluttering up the art, I literally just Gaussian blur an all-white copy of the lines + fills... and then I copy and merge it 5 times until it's opaque enough. This is a terrible way to do it, but it works for me. :')

5. Lines

This is the part that I can't tell you how to do. I literally just. Draw right over my wacky sketched body forms. Boom. Comic drawn.

I'll make three suggestions:

Don't focus on making every panel perfect. Give a little extra love to big ones or ones you want people to linger on. Otherwise, know that people are typically speeding through the art. It's way more important to focus on storytelling than art technique. In my opinion, a good story that's told well will always be better than a beautiful one told poorly. (Some comics are beautiful AND well-written... Alas, I am just a hobbyist who needs to get the ideas out of my head at top speed.)

Put your background lines on a different layer. Put your foreground lines on a different layer too, if you have those. Basically, I try to keep the main part of each panel (usually a character or object) on my lines layer so I can erase background/foreground/etc lines to ensure clarity/focus.

You can make background lines lighter colors too. I have too many numbers sorry. (1) Background. The stuff that's farthest away. Lightest lines. Few details; more focused on shapes and the suggestion of a background (I'm not good at backgrounds). (2) Midground. Same distance away as the characters are. Lines can be black. (3) Also midground, and also the same distance away. But they're very detailed, so I lighten them so they aren't so distracting. (4) The characters. Black lines for focus. For people who haven't seen the comic, I swear they are just hugging. This is SFW. D:

6. Tones/Colors

Do not. Do NOT ask me. I don't understand colors. I hate working with them, but I try because I want to improve. I hate doing anything beyond the simplest grayscale shading. Please go elsewhere for your coloring/tone advice. This is how my color picker looks 95% of the time. I have pre-set "percentages" of black that I got by lowering the opacity of a black layer and just color picking it. I don't even know the exact percentages I used. Good luck out there. Be better than me.

7. Sharing

This is a bonus step that I didn't mention earlier, but it's actually the most important of all of them.

You need a friend. Or maybe a groupchat or discord. A family member or coworker if you're really close like that. I don't know.

Find SOMEWHERE you can spam wips and be cheered on. Drawing comics takes a while, especially if you're trying to tell longer stories than I'd dare to attempt. If I don't force someone to praise me for every line I draw, I shrivel up and die.

Also if and when you post online, add alt text. I'll admit I'm the first person to complain and drag my feet on this, and I literally use a screenreader myself when my eyes hurt (strong prescription glasses wearer). Comics should be accessible, because stories are fun and everyone should be able to enjoy them.

***

Learning???

And I guess lastly, how do you learn to make comics? Two steps: 1) read them and 2) make them. This is the tragedy of creating things.

1) Reading them: I grew up reading comic strips, western serialized comics, and webcomics. I've always loved graphic novels too. Then in late middle school, I started reading manga (Death Note and Haikyuu were my first two), and now I'm trying to read more webtoons (sorry im so slow bree)!

I also... mass-consume doujinshi, thanks to proxy mailing services and bilingual friends/Google Translate/knowing some Korean. (I have an entire bookshelf of doujin, actually,,)

The thing is, it's not usually enough to just read comics. You also need to be thinking. :/ I notice paneling, comic devices, clever comedic timing, etc. as I go. It's just a lot of studying/learning while also enjoying the story.

2) Making them: You just have to start. :( Even if you think they're "bad." My first comics were actually just drawings placed randomly all over the page, connected by speech bubbles (yay... I was already practicing how to place bubbles to lead the eye around the page...). I was going to post a pic here, but I'm a coward. Backscroll my account and you can find some older ones though.

I also know my art in general improved dramatically when I did ten comics in ten weeks for my friend's fic. Don't do this. It hurt my hands/wrists. But do practice in moderation.

***

If you actually read all that... I hope it made even a modicum of sense. And maybe it was even helpful? Just know at the end of the day, there is literally no right way to draw a comic.

And if you aren't ready to go for it yet, you can start by just adding a couple speech bubbles to your illustrations or doodles! It's a way to add storytelling and dialogue writing to things you may already be making.

Yay. I love comics. :))))

[intrepidacious]

melting snow

summary: Andy finally meets his upstairs neighbor

pairing: andy barber x f!reader

word count: 992

warnings: divorced andy's pov; florist!reader; snow if that counts as a warning lmao; first meetings fluff 🫶🏼 please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: i'm literally on my way out of the house but i wanted to post this little ficlet while we're still firmly in february because it feels so wintery to me hahah 😌 also @writing-for-marvel you sent this gif to me one and a half years ago so shout-out to you being the most patient person on the planet ily

masterlist | read on ao3

Here's what Andy knows about his new neighbor:

She lives in the apartment right above his, and even though he barely heard her moving in, just a couple of weeks after he signed his own lease, she seems to love rearranging her furniture in the middle of the night. The music she listens to is loud and annoying and keeps getting stuck in his head when he's supposed to focus on paperwork.

And right now, she's struggling to get her groceries out of her car.

It's way too early for a day off, but he's not been sleeping well on the new mattress. He’s missing the perfectly broken in softness of his old bed, and combined with the incessant noise of the cars and the sirens outside, he can count the hours of sleep he’s been getting with one hand.

There’s been a lot of change in his life after years in the suburbs, and he's frankly too old for all of this. But he needed the fresh start.

So he's on his third cup of coffee as he looks out of the window, watching the new neighbor in her bright winter jacket as she tries to balance another plastic bag on top of the stack of boxes she's compiled in the trunk.

She's pretty, his brain supplies, but he swallows the thought down with his coffee. The divorce has only just gone through. It's way too early for anything like that. Besides; there's such a thing as too much baggage.

One of the bags rips open and the neighbor curses so loud Andy can hear it through the closed window. He waits for a beat, takes in the scene unfolding on the parking lot outside, and then his mug clanks against the metal of the sink and he's grabbing his keys and his coat and pulling the door closed behind him.

"D'you need help?"

Her head swivels around, her eyes widening slightly as she sees him coming towards her, groceries still spilled all over the car and the melting snow. Like a breadcrumb trail of canned beans and tofu.

"That's alright," she says with a huff of air that forms a steam cloud in front of her face. "I don't have far."

"I know," he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I’m 3B."

"Oh. Hi. Sorry, I meant to introduce myself properly once I'm all moved in, but then …" She trails off, but he gets it. He's only introduced herself to Mrs Hernández down the hall because he kept bumping into her at the elevator and it got awkward.

"That's alright. I'm Andy."

She says her name with a smile and he has to remind himself that he still has a tan line on his ring finger; even though it's starting to blur in the cool winter sun, blending into his skin quicker than he'd thought possible.

"Let me get that," he offers again, and this time she doesn't protest. Two pairs of hands and eyes are far quicker than one, after all. "Are you having a party or something?" he asks once everything is packed up in plastic bags again and they each carry two inside.

"Uhm, no. I have a dog, though, and some friends coming over on Saturday. But we'll try to keep it down!"

"Don't worry about it. It's good you're christening the place. I mean—" He coughs uncomfortably. "I'll be out of town anyway. Work conference."

"Oh, really. What do you do?" Bright, keen eyes study him like he’s being flayed layer by layer, a particularly interesting specimen.

He swallows and holds the elevator door open. "I'm a lawyer."

It's not that he particularly misses the stress of being district attorney; still, it'd been everything he'd worked for for most of his professional life. And then, just like that, within a single year both his job and his family were ancient history.

Anyway. A couple of weeks of retraining courses and now it's back to low-stakes cases of insurance fraud and tax evasion. It's better this way.

That’s what he tells himself in those long hours when he’s supposed to be sleeping.

"Very fancy," she says, and he supposes it sounds that way if you leave out all the important bits of backstory. "I could never. Not smart enough for that kind of stuff."

"I highly doubt that," he says without really knowing why. It earns him a smile. "What do you do?"

"I'm a florist. My best friend and I own Letters and Leaves on—"

"Arlington Street."

That gets him another, brighter smile. "You know it?"

He does. He's often wondered about it actually, a small shop selling books and flowers that's nestled between a chain restaurant and a pharmacy. There's always fresh bouquets out on the window sills, and a handwritten sign promoting new releases and book talks.

"It's on my way to the office."

"Well, you should come by sometime. I'll give you a neighbor discount."

"How much's that?"

A moment’s hesitation as her eyes flit down his body and meet his gaze again. "Depends on what you buy."

The elevator dings for his stop, and he wants to curse it.

"Thanks for your help, Andy," she says and suddenly the bags are out of his hands and he’s been dismissed.

He clears his throat. "My pleasure."

With a nod, he steps out of the elevator and she gives him a small, friendly wink as the doors close. There's something odd happening to the inside of his chest as he returns to his still-too-empty apartment and picks up his cup of coffee again.

It's gone cold.

He looks out the window again, at the two trails of footprints in the snow outside. The sun’s come out now, and they’re already beginning to melt together until it’s impossible to tell them apart at all.

A couple of minutes later, the music is turned on upstairs. He can't help it: It makes him smile.

thank you so much for reading!! see, i will save every ask i get, i'm just very, very slow when it comes to actually writing them lmao

if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 🫶🏼

[animalphotorefs]

I took all your comments and played with custom css last night, and want to ask for another round of feedback!

Here’s what I want to know:

In the top nav, does making the “support” link green and bold help with visibility? I updated the title and rearranged the nav a little.

On the home page, the two sentence donation pitch (with green links) is on two pages on purpose: right at the top and above the art gallery. Which placement do you think is better? I’ll only keep one. (This is also what I’ll duplicate on gallery pages - trying to decide if I keep it at the top or embed it in the page scroll, probs not both).

I added a ko-fi floating button widget that hangs out on the left side as you use the site. Is that too intrusive? Especially asking for mobile users.

For the footer, I added a ko-fi button and made a Patreon one, in the same green. Are thise more attractive than the old blue buttons? (Which I left just in case so I didn’t have to remake them if y’all liked the old ones better).

Does the updated text on the support page communicate what the donations are needed for better? It’s really hard for me to estimate overall costs or funding goals, but I at least broke down what all money I’ve been sinking into the project.

Lastly - this isn’t on the site but I’m curious - how intrusive/annoying would folk find an occasional small pop-up soliciting donations? I feel like I just see them as noise but maybe they work? I’d probably set it so it would kick in as people scrolled down the long gallery pages and wouldn’t come back for a couple weeks once dismissed. I don’t know if this is a marketing thing that would be useful or a turn-off, so def please weigh in.

Hey folk, hoping for some feedback.

The donations page on the repository site isn't getting a lot of clicks, and I want to optimize how I'm soliciting for support before a possible uptick in traffic.

So my question is this: what words/positioning/framing makes you more likely to click on a crowdfunding/donation page? What makes you skip it / makes it less appealing?

With inflation ATM I'm not expecting everyone who visits the link to donate - I just want to make it more visible and direct people to it better.

Any and all thoughts about how I could set up the page better, or better present the site as something to support, would be very appreciated. No feedback too small or tangential!

[cosmowgyral]

"Once again, the Evil that cannot be Undone: Tonight you will fall for me"

▪︎ William and Nica

This is a fan translation so please don't expect it to be 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

Even though it says William and Nica, the first chapter solely comprises of William and the second chapter that of Nica. So it's almost like any other story event but technically with two less chapters for a suitor. Cybird got us good. :/

Chapter 1

I turned off the lights and got into bed, but I just couldn’t sleep.

(….I wonder whether my anxiety is keeping me wide awake.)

Even though I knew it would be better for me to rest, I quietly slipped out of bed.

The inside of the quiet and deserted castle feels strangely comfortable.

As I walk lightly, a faint melody reaches my ears.

Drawn by the sound of piano, I arrived at the great hall.

William: You’re up late, robin.

William noticing my presence stopped playing the piano.

Kate: Yes. I couldn’t sleep for some reason.

William: I see. …..You look a bit relaxed tonight.

I realized it when he pointed out.

The reason why Crown Castle was so comfortable at night with no one around…

Kate: That might be because, well…

Kate: At night, I can be alone in the castle, so maybe that’s why I feel more at ease.

William: ……..

William neither confirmed nor denied it, just stared at me quietly, waiting for me to continue.

(….I feel like I can tell William about my feelings.)

Kate: …..Ever since I lost my memories, everyone has been so nice to me.

Kate: It’s just…I feel like you’re all seeing my lost memories through me.

Kate: So that’s why……

In the end, the feelings I couldn’t put into words were taken up by William.

William: Is it painful for you to receive kindness directed towards your ‘past self’?

It’s arrogant to think that it’s difficult to accept others’ kindness.

Moreover, it is quite outrageous to make such an opulent complaint to someone.

But even so, I could hide nothing in front of William and the words slipped out of my mouth.

Kate: …The reason why everyone is being nice to me is because they were friends with me in the past.

Kate: Now that I don’t know if I can ever regain my memories, it’s difficult for me to accept their kindness.

Kate: Even though everyone’s been so good to me, what’ll happen if I can’t get back the ‘me’ from the past?

(So...at night, when I was finally alone at Crown Castle, I could relax.)

(At this moment, I wonder if anyone will feel sad and pity me for losing my memories.)

After hearing my confession, William lowered his eyes and seemed to contemplate on something.

But that was only for a moment—and then he sat down at the piano again and placed his hands on the keys.

William: Kate, I’m going to play three songs now.

William: Once you’ve finished listening, I’ll ask you to rank them in order of your preference. So listen carefully.

---The sound of William playing the piano echoes through Crown castle at night.

Some songs are as whimsical as a cat running around in an alleyway.

And then there are songs that are graceful and slow, like a fish swimming leisurely.

Kate: Every song was amazing!

Kate: But if I had to order them….I would say the third, then the first and then second.

William: That order is the same as the one you said before.

Kate: My past self…?

William: Yes. Even if you lose your memories, the fundamental part of you doesn’t change.

William: Kate is still Kate.

William: There is no need to feel sorry or intimidated by the kindness of those around you.

William: They are all directed at one person, you.

Kate: ……Thank you, William.

It's possible that I won't be able to recollect my memories and enjoy them with you all.

But I finally feel like I’m happy to be here…..

Kate: If it’s not too much trouble, could you please play one more song?

Kate: I just wanted to hear you play the piano a little longer.

I wonder why I feel a bit strange today.

The old me would never have asked someone to play for me in the middle of the night like this.

William didn’t seem to feel offended by my selfishness.

Instead, he smiled happily and placed his hands on the keyboard.

William: What would you like to listen to?

…..

Kate: That was a wonderful performance! Thank you very much.

William: As a token of appreciation for playing, would you answer one question of mine?

Kate: ….? Of course, please go ahead.

William: Why are you here in the hall?

The reason I came here was simple-- because I heard the sound of piano.

But—just as I was about to answer that, I fell silent.

Because that answer is directly denied by the anxiety that has been consuming my thoughts up until this point.

 (I…liked the castle at night, when I could be alone.)

(So why did I come here knowing that William was playing the piano?)

(If I had wished to be alone, I should have gotten away from the sound of piano.)

After thinking about it, I came up with an answer.

Kate: You didn’t show a sad expression when you looked at me……

Kate: I came here because I thought I could easily approach you.

William: ….I see. So that’s your reason.

William: I am honoured to be a comfortable perch for the robin.

Kate: William, were you not on good terms with me before I lost my memory?

William: No, not at all. I think we were good friends.

Kate: If that’s the case, then why…….

How is it that even though I’ve lost my memory, he can still act as usual?

It seems he understood the question I had in mind.

William: The reason I don’t feel sad or sorry for you even though you have lost your memories is simple.

William: Because I’m certain.

William: If you were to make the same choice again….

Captivated by William’s powerful gaze and words, I momentarily forgot to breathe.

Although he said nothing, I felt as if I could hear a voice coming from the other side of the darkness.

‘Choose me’, William's voice said.

[Chapter 2] [Masterlist]

[tommiib]

The Mistake We Keep Making ~ P.SH

warnings: angst, suggestive, depressed reader, infidelity, cheating, self hatred, toxic hwa.

wc: 1.5k

Just a little drabble.. I hope you enjoy!

How did you end up here? Naked. Vulnerable. Sticky.

It’s a tale you’re all too familiar with, a story that should have ended long ago—one that should have never begun. You know it’s wrong, but you can’t help it. Not when he smiles at you like you’ve made his day, not when he brings you lunch during your grueling study sessions, not when he’s between your legs, devouring you like you’re his last meal, whispering how beautiful you are, how sweet you taste, how good you feel. Not when he looks up at you with hooded eyes, bottom lip quivering as he spills into you. Not when you collapse into each other, bodies tangled, drowning in a high you were never meant to share.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to be with him.

You both knew it.

--------

“Y/N.”

Your name pulls you back, snapping you out of your daze. You’ve been zoning out more lately—a side effect of exhaustion, of self-inflicted chaos. The weight of your last year in university, the pressures of grad school applications, a demanding internship, moving out of your old apartment before the lease expires. You’re barely holding it together, and maybe that’s why you keep making the same mistakes. Why you keep letting him in.

“Huh—oh, yes?” you blink, refocusing on Lara, her golden nose ring glinting under the soft apartment lighting. Gorgeous as ever, her warm brown skin flawless, her long red curls framing a face too symmetrical to be real.

“You’re scaring me,” she says, eyes scanning you with concern. “You keep zoning out. I think you have too much on your plate.”

She knows you too well. She always has. You’re a chronic overachiever, running yourself into the ground without ever leaving space to breathe. The difference is, Lara has balance. She’s just as busy—final year, business major, yet somehow her life is seamless. Perfect boyfriend, a family with money, an apartment that isn’t suffocating under the weight of bad decisions.

Meanwhile, you trick yourself into thinking that 5am gym sessions compensate for the disorder of your life, that productivity masks your wreckage. You can’t even remember a time when you weren’t a mess.

“I think so too,” you admit, sighing. “But I’m too deep in. I worked so hard for that internship, I can’t screw it up now. Maybe once I finish moving, things will settle.” You take a sip of your hot chocolate, hoping the warmth will calm your nerves.

“I literally offered to hire movers for you.”

“Okay, but who’s going to unpack all my shit?”

“I said I’d help you.”

You shake your head. “I don’t like people touching my things.”

Lara scoffs. “Why do you make things so hard for yourself?”

You don’t know. You really don’t. But it’s a pattern—one you can’t seem to break.

“You know I like doing things myself, Lara. If I can’t handle it alone, then what’s the point?” It’s a mindset etched into your bones.

She exhales sharply, rolling her eyes. “I don’t understand you.”

“Me neither.” You chuckle, but it’s hollow.

She convinces you to let her help with the move, and though you resist, you’re relieved. You’re grateful to have her, even if a small, ugly part of you resents how effortlessly put-together she is.

You’ve known Lara since third grade, since you found her beating up the class bully, Seth. You were inseparable after that. Her 4’9, 60-pound eight-year-old self had taken on the biggest guy in the grade and won. She was fearless, independent, kind—all the things you pretend to be. Maybe that’s why you push away her help. Accepting it feels like pity. It’s cruel to feel that way about your best friend, but you can’t help it.

She’s perfect without trying. And you…

You’re crying. Alone. In your car. In the parking garage of Lara’s apartment.

Pathetic.

You slam your forehead against the steering wheel, frustration bubbling up in your throat. You’re so sick of crying. Sick of feeling. Sick of yourself. The weight of everything—the past, the present, the future—presses down on your chest, suffocating.

Your phone vibrates.

A name you should’ve erased long ago lights up your screen.

Hwa: I want to see you.

You exhale sharply, fingers tightening around your phone. He always seems to find you when you’re at your lowest. As if he has a sixth sense for your weakness. But the truth is, you wouldn’t have said no even if he’d texted at any other time.

You: I need you, Hwa.

And that’s the worst part.

Because it’s not just loneliness. It’s not just sex. It’s something much darker, much deeper. A sickness rooted in your bones, in your mind, in the way you let yourself believe that this—this—is the only way you can feel anything at all.

Maybe that’s why you always end up in his bed.

Even though you know that’s not where you’re supposed to be.

-------

Seonghwa’s fingers trace the curve of your jaw, tilting your face toward his. The warmth of his touch sends a slow burn through your veins, igniting something reckless inside you.

“Angel,” he murmurs, voice smooth, coaxing. “Look at me.”

You do, blinking up at him from where you rest in his lap, curled into him on the couch. He smells like cedarwood and sin, his presence intoxicating. The movie playing on the screen is long forgotten, drowned out by the steady drum of your pulse.

It’s always the same routine—he comes over, you eat, you talk, you fuck. Repeat. Some nights feel different. Some nights, he lingers. Holds you a little longer. Whispers things in the dark that make your chest ache. Tonight is one of those nights.

His wife and daughter are away for the weekend, visiting family. He couldn’t go because of work.

You don’t know who you hate more. Him. His wife. Or yourself.

You hum softly, lashes fluttering as you meet his gaze. His thumb brushes against your lower lip, eyes darkening.

“You’re so quiet tonight,” he muses. “What’s on your mind?”

Everything. Nothing. You.

Instead of answering, you shift in his lap, pressing your thighs together. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed. His hand tightens on your jaw, the other gripping your waist. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, eyes locked onto yours, heavy with intent.

He leans in, breath warm against your skin.

“Tell me what you need.”

You swallow, heart hammering. You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t. But your body betrays you, melting into him, chasing his warmth.

You whisper the words you always do, the ones that keep you bound to him in this cycle of ruin.

“You.”

Without hesitation, Hwa leans down, his lips meeting yours with a tenderness that should not belong to you. It is slow, deliberate—loving. The kind of kiss a man gives his wife, the kind of kiss a man should give his wife. And yet, here he is, pressing that devotion into you, stealing what was never yours to have.

"Hwa," you breathe between his kisses, your voice barely a whisper, more of a plea than a protest. 

"Hm?" He hums, lost in you, unaware—or perhaps too aware—of how he unravels you piece by piece. 

"You're so gentle tonight," you murmur, tilting your head to grant him access, surrendering before you can think twice. His lips trail down your jaw, onto the delicate skin of your neck, his breath warm against your pulse. 

"I finally have as much time with you as I want," he says, each word pressing into you like a brand. "I'm going to take my time. Savor you. Every part of you."

The words hit deep, sinking into the hollow spaces you pretend don’t exist. He wants to savor you. To be with you. To consume you slowly, as if you are something precious, something worth lingering over. But are you? Is this self-destruction or indulgence? Is this a wound or a reward?

"I missed you so much, angel. Your smell, your face, your taste. Always so pretty for me. You know that?" 

Here he goes again, whispering the words he knows will break you apart, dissolving the fragile pieces of your restraint. He knows you too well. Maybe that’s why he chose you. He knew you were empty, a void waiting to be filled, so he poured himself into you—made you whole in the only way he knew how. Physical love, fleeting love, the kind that fades with the morning light. Because there’s no way he could truly love you, right?

Hwa strips away his shirt, then yours, discarding them like the last remnants of reason. His hands are firm yet reverent as he lifts you, carrying you toward your empty, half-packed room. He stumbles over a box, nearly losing balance, and you let out a quiet laugh. 

He silences you with a kiss, deep and claiming, before laying you tenderly onto the mattress. 

Tonight, you are his. 

Tonight, he is yours. 

And when the morning comes, reality will take him back. 

But for now—for now, he lingers.

[anaiahd-only-1]

FRAGMENTS OF TOMORROW

[GOJO X SHOKO ONE SHOT. ANGST. SMUT? MY FIRST EXPERIMENTAL ONE SHOT]

The room was reeked of cigarette smoke and antiseptic. It was already late, and the med bay was dead quiet — no distant voices, no rustling papers, nothing but silence.

Shoko sat on the exam table, one leg crossed over the other. In her hand, a cigarette dangled between her fingers — her solace now that tonight's duties were finally over.

Gojo, the only other presence in the room, leaned against the wall just across from her. His white hair was a disheveled mess, his blindfold hung loosely around his neck, revealing his tired, lifeless eyes.

"You shouldn't smoke in here," he muttered.

It wasn’t a warning, just something to say. A reminder of old habits neither of them cared to break.

Shoko exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling.

"You always say that."

"And you never listen."

She huffed a quiet laugh. "You don’t actually want me to stop."

Gojo let out a soft huff. "Guess I like the smell."

The air between them was thick— not just with smoke, but with the kind of grief that never faded. It wasn’t the kind that time could soften, nor a weight it could lift.

Or perhaps, it wasn’t just grief at all. But rather someone — someone neither of them dared to name.

There was no point in saying his name, though. No need to bring up what still hung between them like a phantom— too fresh to be forgotten and too painful to be spoken.

For they both knew.

Geto wasn’t here.

He never would be again.

But why it still felt surreal?

It was a cruel truth, merciless in its finality. Yet, somehow, it felt like a loop. And it always came back to this.

No matter how much time passed, no matter how many cigarettes Shoko burned through or how many times Gojo pretended he was fine, Geto’s absence remained — an open wound that festered beneath forced smiles and half-hearted jokes.

Shoko didn’t have to ask how Gojo was holding up.

She didn’t need to.

For she already knew.

"Does it ever stop?" Gojo suddenly asked.

Shoko glanced at him. He looked… worn down. Not in a way he usually did, with exaggerated complaints about paperwork or grumbles how "kids these days" didn’t appreciate his genius.

No, this was different.

This was exhaustion that ran deeper than muscle or bone. It was something hollow, something no amount of confidence could mask.

For a moment, his usual effortless charm was gone, stripped away, leaving only the raw edges of a man worn thin by loss and time.

"No," she said. There was no point in lying. "But you get used to it."

Gojo scoffed. "That’s a shitty answer."

"Yeah, well, welcome to life."

His gaze lingered on the smoke before drifting up to her face. No teasing glint in his eye. No playfulness. Just exhaustion. Just a quiet, desperate plea for something, anything, to dull the ache in his chest.

He stepped closer, standing between her knees. She didn’t move away, didn’t push him back. His hands hovered at her waist, hesitant in a way they never were. For once, he wasn’t careless with his strength.

Shoko put out her cigarette, then reached up to him, her fingers threading into his hair — grounding him in the only way she knew how.

The space between them felt fragile, stretched thin by things left unsaid. Yet, as their eyes met, silence conveyed more than words ever could.

"Are we making a mistake?" she murmured, though her hands stayed where they were.

"Probably," he admitted. "But I don’t care."

Neither of them did, not tonight.

Not when the weight of their grief was so much heavier than their judgment.

When Gojo kissed her, it wasn’t desperate or passionate. It was silent, searching, a question neither of them could answer. His lips were warm but cautious, testing the feel of her for the first time, the faint taste of cigarette smoke still lingering between them.

Shoko responded just as softly, her fingers tightening in his hair, as if holding him in place, keeping him from slipping away like everything else in their lives had.

His hands trailed down her back, memorizing the warmth of her skin. He pulled her closer, their bodies pressing together until the heat between them became undeniable — something real, something they never thought would exist.

There was no urgency between them, no need to fill the silence with words. Only the slow exploration of skin against skin — the way his lips brushed over hers before trailing down to the crook of her neck, tasting… and learning.

The way his long fingers mapped out unfamiliar territory, tracing the rise and fall of her breaths, listening to the quiet shivers beneath his gentle touch.

Clothes slipped from their shoulders and pooled onto the cold floor, forgotten in the haze of grief and comfort they sought in one another.

Gojo lifted her with ease, her legs wrapping around his waist as their lips met in a heated kiss. He pressed her against the wall, his breath hot against her neck as his fingers gripped firmly on her hips, grounding himself in her warmth. The coolness of the tiles against her back contrasted with the heat building between them.

His lips then trailed from her jaw down to her collarbone, reverent yet unsteady, as though afraid she might disappear. In return, Shoko arched into him, her nails grazing over his shoulders, pulling him closer, urging him on.

Heat consumed them, as if the world had vanished, leaving behind every worry, every thought, every remnant of grief and loss.

Gojo entered her slowly, carefully, as though she might break beneath him. But any hesitation had long since faded, leaving only a quiet need — unspoken yet deeply felt.

His forehead rested against hers, their breaths heavy, bodies fitting together like a forgotten memory. Meanwhile, Shoko’s hands roamed over his back, fingers pressing into his skin as if grounding herself in him, in this moment, in the fleeting warmth they shared.

They moved together in a slow, aching rhythm, neither rushing nor hesitating, just lost in the depth of sensation.

Skin against skin, breath against breath.

The weight of grief and longing tangled in every touch, every whispered sigh, until all that existed was nothing but them. No past, no future—only the present, where their connection exists, fleeting yet undeniable, raw and unguarded.

They didn’t rush. They didn’t have to. Each touch, each shared breath, was a silent plea for something neither of them could put into words. They held onto each other, onto this moment, because tomorrow, reality would set back in. But for now, they could pretend.

Just for tonight.

In the end, they found themselves in Gojo’s bedroom. There was no way they would let the act remain confined within the four boring corners of the med bay.

The sheets were warm against their skin, tangled between them in the dim light of the room. Shoko lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, a cigarette resting loosely between her fingers — her second one of the day. Beside her, Gojo lay with one arm draped over his forehead, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths.

"You’re gonna stink up the sheets," he muttered.

Shoko snorted. "Like that’s the worst thing we did tonight."

Gojo let out a quiet chuckle, turning his head to look at her. "Fair point."

Silence stretched between them, more comfortable this time. The weight of what they’d done, what it meant — or didn’t mean — hung somewhere between their breaths.

Shoko took a slow drag, the glow of the cigarette casting faint shadows over her face. "Are you gonna pretend this never happened?" she asked, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling.

Gojo sighed, rubbing his face. "I don’t know. Do you want me to?"

She thought about it, about the grief still lodged deep in their bones, about the way his touch had felt more like seeking refuge than passion.

"No," she admitted. "But I don’t expect it to change anything."

"It won’t," Gojo rolled onto his side to face her. "But it was nice, wasn’t it? Just for a little while."

She turned her head, meeting his gaze. "Yeah. Just for a little while."

Gojo reached over, plucking the cigarette from her fingers and taking a slow drag. She let him, watching as the ember flared between his lips.

Tomorrow, everything would go back to normal, back to the way it had always been.

But for now, they could pretend.

Just for tonight.

. . .

Or so they thought.

As it happened again.

This time, on the eve before his greatest battle — one that would pit him against the strongest sorcerer in history.

A battle where he would lay down his life until the very end.

A fight where he would not just wield his strength, but offer up his very existence — where even his body would be more than a mere vessel of power, but a tool, a sacrifice, a means to an end.

In death, as in life, he was a weapon wielded for a cause greater than himself.

Yet neither of them knew that Gojo would leave a legacy far beyond the weight of his name, the boundless strength he wielded, and the battles that etched his existence into history.

Unbeknownst to him, a part of him would live on — not in the whispered tales of his unmatched power, nor in the dreams he had entrusted to his students, but in the quiet existence of a child he would never meet.

A child carrying his blood, his untamed spirit, and perhaps even the same piercing eyes that saw the world in ways no one else could.

In the end, his greatest imprint on the world wasn’t in the destruction he prevented or the enemies he defeated — it was in the life he unknowingly left behind.

Shoko had done everything in her power to keep their son hidden, shielding him from the eyes of those who would see him as nothing more than a tool, a threat, or a prize to be claimed.

She was grateful that Gojo’s students—no, his family—stood by her, unwavering in their support. Yuuji, Nobara, Megumi… they had lost their teacher, their guiding light, but in his child, they saw a piece of him still burning, still alive.

And the child — he was just like Gojo.

A perfect replica, as if the universe had refused to let his existence fade so easily. The same striking features, the same untamed energy, and, most unsettling of all, the same bearer of Six Eyes, gleaming with unnatural brilliance.

Perhaps, even Limitless lay dormant within him, waiting to be awaken.

Shoko knew what that meant.

He would be a beacon. A force beyond comprehension. And just like his father, he would be seen as a threat.

To the elders.

To the higher-ups.

To the cursed spirits lurking in the shadows, watching, and waiting.

She would do anything to protect him. Because he was the only thing Gojo had left behind. The only piece of him that remained.

His memory in flesh.

.

.

.

But secrets never stayed hidden forever.

When the truth finally came to light, the reaction was immediate. The elders and higher-ups were outraged, their carefully maintained order shattered by the revelation of Gojo’s son.

The Gojo clan, on the other hand, was in chaos. Furious that their strongest heir had fathered a child outside their carefully dictated lineage — an act they deemed both reckless and unacceptable.

Yet, beneath their outrage simmered something else.

Greed.

The boy was a prodigy by birthright, a miracle of genetics and power. A bearer of the Six Eyes and a potential wielder of Limitless.

His very existence was an anomaly, something that defied their rigid control. They wanted to claim him, to mold him into their perfect successor, to ensure that his infinite potential remained under their command.

To them, he was NOT a child.

He was a weapon, an asset, a legacy they refused to let slip from their grasp.

Gojo Satoru. The one they could never truly control. The one who defied them at every turn, shattered their traditions and laughed in their faces.

And now, in his absence, they saw an opportunity — one last chance to seize what they had lost.

The remaining traditional members of the Zen’in clan were no different.

Ever opportunistic, they saw an opening — a chance to manipulate, to stake a claim in the future of sorcery. The elders whispered in hushed voices, calling it a disgrace, a mistake that should have never happened.

But it was too late.

Gojo’s legacy was already here. Already growing. And no amount of scheming or control could undo what had been set in motion.

Shoko stood firm, unyielding, shielding her child from their reach. She would NOT let them take him. Would not let them mold him into another tool for their ambitions.

Because they had made one crucial mistake.

They underestimated the people Gojo had left behind.

Gojo’s students stood by her without hesitation, along with the sorcerers of Jujutsu High in Kyoto. Others joined them—newly awakened sorcerers who had once fought against Sukuna. Even the faculty stood firm, their support unwavering, bound by a shared purpose that transcended bloodlines and tradition.

They became more than just allies. They became family. They made sure the child would never have to grow up alone, never have to bear the burdens his father did.

In the end, the clans could do nothing but seethe, their power meaningless against the will of those who truly carried Gojo’s legacy — not just in blood, but in spirit.

And for that, Shoko knew—Gojo would have been proud.

Yet it was only now, with him gone, that she truly understood what he had meant to her.

Too late to tell him, too late to hold on.

But in the son he left behind, he had given her the greatest gift of all — one final piece of him to love, even as she mourned the man she could never have back.

“Loss binds some together and drives others apart. We grieve in different ways, but in the end, love is what remains.”

[hello-eeveev]

Listening to Derealization, one of my favorite episodes, and thinking a lot about Dot, Mother Artifice, and Realization in general.

When the sloop gets attacked, Dot experiences “A growing silence. A clearing of their thoughts. An evaporation of emotion. A sense of their messy, flawed humanity being scoured out of them like dirty dishes in hot, soapy water.” This is what they have wanted, what they think they are supposed to be, and it is killing them. Their conceptualization of Realization is literally harmful.

Notably though, their doubt is what saves them. They know that this is not Realization and that they should not give into it because they are unsure. Their “messy, flawed humanity” is what keeps them alive, and they keep Merlin and Cleo alive by poking at their humanity, too—appealing to, then attacking Merlin’s pride; offering connection, reciprocation, and vulnerability to Cleo.

I think it’s notable that the sloop fails immediately after Dot tries to walk back admitting that Cleo is very pretty and that they are nervous around her. Their attempt to deny their humanity nearly dooms them.

I think that Dot’s assumption that Realization must be emotionless and thoughtless is entirely incorrect. I think that it is instead likely something like a constant meditative state, where thoughts are allowed to occur and pass by. It’s not mere coincidence that Mother Artifice’s frequent reminder that Realization will not be unclear is what got Dot to wake up and push through the tranquilization. In Homeward, he tells Dot that “fear has always been and will always be a companion” on the journey to Realization. He does not tell them not to feel it. “Do not maintain distance from or question your natural intuition. Let the experience come through however it is, and reveal whatever it has to offer,” he says in Rough Air. “Your entry point to Realization is exactly where you are and where you are going. Whatever comes is already in the right place. Just like you, Granddaughter, just like you.” Realization, it seems, is not a denial, but an acceptance.

I also want to point out that, upon relisten, Artifice is trying at almost every opportunity to reassure Dot and soothe their anxieties. It’s interesting because I think his tone and his position made it frequently come off as instructional, not the personal and personalized advice that it was.

I also want to talk about this, from episode 3:

M: (Hambing) "Well then why don't you get the habit fixed?"

X: (Mother Artifice) "BECAUSE I AM CONTENT WITH MYSELF. NOT ALL IMPROVEMENTS ARE NECESSARY AND NOT ALL AFFLICTIONS ARE HARMFUL.

Obviously, I’ve been thinking a lot about Artifice. I had already gained an affection for him, but with the final conversation in Homeward, he quickly shot up on the favorite character list. Knowing now how harshly he criticized himself and hid his perceived flaws when he was younger, his unashamed acceptance of his loud voice and acknowledgement that it is not something that needs to be fixed makes me really happy. “What is at the core of you is not a curse,” and all that. And it relates back to the idea of Realization as acceptance.

Look! Even Mr. Pesto is out here reinforcing the themes!

M: (Mr. Pesto) “I was scared. It’s a responsibility. A legacy. A once in a lifetime opportunity. What if I… What if I mismanaged it? Sullied the Delagney name? I could say no and keep pushing papers quietly and let some other sap take the role and regret the choice for the rest of my life. But…” 

X: (Dot) “But the Valorous choice was clear.” 

S: Mr. Pesto smiles at the Granddaughter with what looks like genuine warmth. 

M: (Mr. Pesto) “But the Valorous choice was clear. And yes, of course, I’ve mismanaged the old hotel aplenty. Look at it. What an absolute wreck. Some of which is my fault, plenty of which is not. Some things you just can’t control. I’m proud of it all, anyway.”

X: Mr. Pesto looks at the Granddaughter.

M: The Granddaughter looks at Mr. Pesto. 

S: Both of their eyes, for just a moment, are almost…shiny. What is going on here?

M: (Mr. Pesto) “You don’t stop being scared, but you do the right thing anyway. To quote an old Trust hero of mine who is now almost as irrelevant as me: ‘What great adventure is free from challenge?’” 

And this Dot and Cleo conversation, from episode 16:

S: (Cleo) “No matter how hard I try, I’m never gonna be enough for them. And that’s what made me change my mind, that…realization.”

X: Dot blinks, startled. “Realization?”

HMMMM IT’S ALMOST LIKE TRYING TO BE SOMETHING YOU AREN’T IS THE OPPOSITE OF REALIZATION! MAYBE THE TRUE REALIZATION IS LETTING GO OF THE EXPECTATIONS OF OTHERS!!!

[nephilimeq]

Like A Kid Again

Prompt: Banter

@bucktommyfluffebruary

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62721625/chapters/162682855

Buck followed after his boyfriend, trying to figure out what had gotten into him.

With his fingers tightly gripping his, he practically dragged him further up the hill, looking as though he was going to be taking them all the way up to the crest, and Buck shook his head and attempted to pull out of his grip, saying, “Hey, I said we could have a picnic and I already did all the hiking up here, I’m not doing more of that,” and was thrilled when he escaped from his grip and moved out of reach, skipping backwards, grinning as Tommy reached out to grab at his waist, but missing by a mile.

“Ha! Nice try!” he teased, being careful of his footing, making sure that he didn’t slip on the slick grass at the same time he dodged his boyfriend’s attempts to recapture him—and then was suddenly taken aback when Tommy caught up to him and managed to get his fingers around the back of his shirt, pulling him towards him.

“Got you,” he muttered, sounding far too smug.

Buck twisted and managed to get out his grasp a second time and tried to run off a second time.

“Gotta catch me!” he shouted over his shoulder, smiling wide when he saw Tommy trying to catch up to him, for once his long legs coming in handy as he ran from him, not quite going full speed, but going just fast enough to make him work for it.

--

Tommy did his best to catch his breath as he tried to catch up to Evan, his boyfriend suddenly in a mood, and he prayed that the gazelle-legged idiot didn’t ruin his plans. The ring was in his pocket, zipped up tightly, but as it bounced against his side as he jogged after his boyfriend, he felt a flutter of nerves.

He loved Evan, that much was certain…but was it too soon?

Was it too soon to ask him to spend the rest of his life with him and wake up every morning next to the same person without ever letting him have the chance to experience anything else outside of his first queer relationship?

Wait, no. He shook his head as he picked up his speed, trying to catch up to his boyfriend, reminding himself that he was doing Evan a disservice by thinking that just because he was his first relationship with a guy that he didn’t know what he was getting himself into—hell, that had been one of the things they’d talked about when they got back together, about how he had made assumptions and made decisions for the two of them instead of talking it over with him.

Tommy’s hand caught the edge of his boyfriend’s shirt a second time, and he did his best to shove the thought to the side—

—but then Evan slipped away again, saying, “You gotta do better than that!” and he narrowed his eyes and refocused on trying to catch the thirty-four year old man who had suddenly turned into a child playing a game of tag or keep-away.

The item in question being kept? His heart.

As hokey as it was, there was something freeing in the way he chased after him over the wide expanse of grass, both of them being careful to avoid the edges where there were trees, knowing that there was a dangerous drop-off on the other side, and Tommy smirked as he realized how he could catch him and yelled, “Don’t go over the edge! I don’t have a helicopter to catch you, and our cell service is spotty, at best!” and Evan almost immediately slowed down.

…and Tommy lunged forward, thrilled when he got both of his hands around his waist.

--

“Got you,” the airman whispered into Buck’s ear, and he shivered, but at the same time tried to pull out of his grip. When he found he couldn’t, he did his best to wriggle against him in an attempt to distract him, but Tommy merely said, “Nice try, but even your perfect ass isn’t gonna distract me…”

He moved one hand and reached down and lightly slapped it.

Buck grunted.

“Ugh, babe…don’t start something you can’t finish,” he lowly said, and his boyfriend chuckled and breathed into his ear, “Who says I can’t finish?” and Buck rolled his eyes and swiftly turned around and gave him a look, no longer trying to get away from him, and said as he levelled his eyes at him, “We are in a public space, I don’t care that we are isolated in the middle of nature, I am not letting you dick me down here in the grass,” and was thrilled when that earned him a full body laugh, Tommy’s eyes crinkling up, his nose scrunching in the process, one of his favorite things to see on him.

While laughing, Tommy managed to gasp out, “Dick…dick you down? You…you thought that was…was the right…right phrase to use?” and Buck nodded, not budging one bit, moving his hand around his hip to pull him close.

“Oh, I’m sorry, what would you have me use? Laying me low? Having grassy congress? Logging my—?”

“Don’t finish that sentence. I beg of you,” he softly pleaded, his eyes wide, and Buck snorted and shook his head and got closer to him and said, “Okay, but only because you asked so nicely,” feeling the way his boyfriend’s fingers slipped into his back pocket and gently groped him.

“By the way, what’s gotten into you?” he asked the airman, curious as to his mood. “First you take over my picnic, and, you know, I was chill with that. It’s a good spot, nice and romantic, don’t think I could’ve picked a better place. Second, you start taking pictures of the food…and then third, you decided to drag me further up the hill to the very edge of what I think is reasonable. So…let me ask my question again: what’s gotten into you?”

Tommy’s expression turned soft.

“I dunno. Just…follow me, will you?”

He slowly unwound himself from him and instead gently held his head and gave him a beckoning look with his eyes, and Buck felt a flutter in his chest and he nodded, following his boyfriend up the hill, closer to the edge, putting his trust in him…

[babygirl-diaz]

Timeless Chapter 1

This fic is inspired by Taylor Swift’s “Timeless.” 

In which, Buck goes off to fight fires in Austin, leaving Eddie behind this time. He doesn’t know when he will return as the fire is 0% contained. While there, his life takes a turn when he finds a box filled with black and white photos and love letters written between lovers. Taking it upon himself, he tries to find the owner or someone who knows the owner of the box. He uses the only means he has. The internet. But when his Instagram post goes viral, the internet starts to help him find this man. In the meantime, Buck realizes how precious his moments are with Eddie and starts writing letters to him as if they are lovers separated by war in 1944. 

***

Buck hated this. He hated the sad look on Eddie’s face, and he hated that he was the reason for it. “Baby,” Buck whispered, cupping Eddie’s face with both hands and making him lift his head and look at him. Eddie’s wet eyes pulled at Buck’s heartstrings. “I’ll be back soon,” Buck assured Eddie once again. “Promise.” Usually, it was Buck who got left behind, but this time, he was the one leaving the love of his life behind. 

“Why do you have to do this?” Eddie asked, putting his hands on top of Buck’s. 

“You know why, baby,” Buck reminded him. “They need volunteers, and I want to help. I’ll be back as soon as those fires are contained.” He sighed when Eddie sniffled. “I know you wanna come with me, baby, but we can’t uproot Chris’ life.” 

“I know, I know,” Eddie sighed and sniffled again. Then his shoulders started to shake as a laugh slipped past his lips. 

“What?” Buck asked, confused as he looked around. 

Eddie shook his head. “No, this- I- I oddly feel like I am a dame from the 1940s, at the train station, sending the love of her life off to war.” 

“What?” Buck asked and started to laugh, too. 

“Don’t laugh! I’m being serious,” Eddie pouted at him and gently smacked his chest. 

“A dame? Seriously, Eddie?” Buck continued to tease. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I am just going to Austin, not Germany.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes and pushed Buck back, causing him to stumble. 

“Asshole,” Eddie grumbled. 

Buck grinned like an idiot. He was so in love with this man. “You love me regardless,” he told Eddie, pulling his closer by holding his waist. 

Eddie let out a long, put-upon sigh. “Unfortunately.” But then he got sad again and said, “The bus is here.” 

Buck turned around to confirm before turning back to Eddie. “Yep, that’s me,” he said sadly and hugged Eddie, kissing the top of his head. “I love you so much, Eddie. Please take care of… my jeep,” he said teasingly. 

Eddie pulled away from Buck and frowned at him. “Asshole!” Eddie yelled. “I told Father Brian I would be better, but you’re making it really hard.” 

Now, it was Buck’s turn to frown. “Father Brian better keep away from you while I’m gone” 

Eddie smirked at him like a cat with a canary. “Oh yeah? Are you jealous?” 

Buck groaned and rolled his eyes. “No, I just don’t like that priest,” he replied. “You should find yourself an old, grumpy, ugly one.” 

“So you think Father Brian is good-looking? I mean, he is, but-” Eddie started to praise Father Brian, and Buck stopped him. 

“He isn’t good-looking!” Buck huffed and pulled Eddie close, putting a possessive kiss on his lips. 

“Hey, you coming or what?” 

Buck heard someone say and kissed Eddie a few more times before pulling away. “I love you,” he told the other man. “Take care of yourself and Chris for me.” 

Eddie bit his bottom lip and nodded as tears formed in his eyes again. “I love you too,” he said reluctantly, letting go of Buck’s hand. 

Buck got on the Greyhound and kept looking out at Eddie. He sadly waved at his boyfriend, and after the bus pulled away, he took a little box from his jacket pocket and looked at it. He couldn’t gather the courage to do it. And besides, it just didn’t feel like the right moment. He put the ring box back in his pocket and sniffled. 

[rebel-hunk-enjoyer]

Am I too late for the KalluZeb ask? I hope not and if I'm not could you do 27 (Craziest place they had sex?) and 19 (What do they fight about most often? (Alternative: what was their biggest fight?)? If it's too late just ignore this message.

It is absolutely not too late! I will lovingly answer every ask about these idiots because I just adore talking about them and talking about headcanons absolutely helps me in my writing process - thank you so very much for indulging me!! 🥺

27. Craziest place they had sex?

Oh, oh, oh! I am going to answer this with something from one of my WIPs: Up a tree on Yavin IV.

So, in this particular WIP, they end up getting together on Yavin IV after working closely around the base and spending time together in the jungle. So much time that they have a particular tree they like to climb together for the view. And then for making out. And then for doing each other nasty styles. Which I don't imagine is that difficult of a thing for a lasat, but Kallus gets bonus points for being nearly 40 and boinking that far off the ground.

Of course, it's the craziest place because I wrote the scene before I really got into the gritty details of what Yavin IV is like in Legends, only to discover that they were getting down surrounded by a jungle full of INCREDIBLY SCARY CREATURES -- including piranha beetles that attack prey in swarms. How the hell Zeb can get it up in a scenario where they can be attacked by a swarm of carnivorous bugs at any moment is ... well, it's actually one of the reasons this story is currently a WIP. I love the whole scene and the whole idea of them wandering off for alone time together, but I keep thinking about these damn bugs. 😂😂😂

19. What was their biggest fight?

(I answered the first part of this one here but saved the alternate for this ask! 🥰)

Their biggest fight is about adopting children once they retire. It isn't a huge outright argument with shouting like they'd do in the rebellion, just Kallus brings it up one day (and it's been a long time coming, he's been thinking about it a lot, they're both so good with Jacen and there are so many kits who need a loving home) ... and Zeb just immediately, vehemently, shuts him down: absolutely the fuck not.

And it's like being slapped in the face, because they've gotten so much better at talking to each other. Yes, they still bicker, but the bickering leads to honest discussion and consensus and agreement on a course of action, so Zeb putting his foot down without even pretending they can discuss it is not their normal. It's also hurtful. And Kallus doesn't know what to do with that, actually, after this many years of their own brand of healthy communication, so he ends up just sitting on it. And sitting on it. And Zeb is doing New Republic Defense Force stuff, suddenly, and it's like he doesn't even want to be home with Kallus since he made the suggestion and what if Zeb actually doesn't? What if this is just how their relationship ends, at the crossroads where Kallus wants a family and Zeb doesn't?

It all comes out in messy ways, eventually. In ways where Kallus refuses to bicker about the normal stuff and Zeb spends more time away from home and the garden falls into disrepair and all the old grannies at the market who used to tease them both about their relationship are now just quiet and looking concerned until one day it finally, finally implodes. Still, no shouting. Just a flat assessment of the situation because Kallus has worked out why Zeb won't start a family with him and it's of course because of his past, his involvement with what happened on Lasan, and how Zeb must not actually trust him - how Zeb is right not to trust him even after all this time - how he's just been on Lira San living a life that isn't truly his after doing something so horrifically unforgivable - and it's time that he stops pretending, that he goes back to Coruscant maybe and tries to find the kind of life a man like him deserves after all the destruction he's wrought -

And Zeb has to kiss him to shut him up. It's an awful kiss, too. Desperate and urgent and tearful, quite possibly the worst kiss they've ever shared, it's like they don't even fit together anymore and nothing makes sense but Zeb is trying to pour everything into it, everything he hasn't said and everything he feels and all the fear, the visceral dread in his gut that started this whole awful fight.

Because Zeb wants to start a family together, he desperately does, but the thing that's been eating him this whole time isn't the role Kallus played on Lasan, but his own. His failures - his inability to protect his people - all coming down to the realization that he could very well fail again, except he wouldn't just lose Kallus but their children, too, and he already hauled himself back from the brink after losing so much once, he can't possibly do that again.

It's like uncovering a hidden wound, finally getting all this out of his head and into the mess that's accumulated between them from not talking, so it - so he - can finally begin to heal. And he slowly does. Zeb scales back his NRDF role to be home more, they repair the garden together, the old grannies at the market breathe a sigh of relief when Kallus is back shopping for the ingredients he needs for Zeb's favorite food, and their family gradually becomes something they can talk about - even bicker about - until they reach a consensus and agree to adopt their first child.