#which isn’t to say there’s *nothing* to like about them in canon if there was I doubt I’d ship them in the first place | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

avocado-writing · 5 months ago

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pairing: logan howlett x afab!reader. 18+, minors dni. angst; smut (p in v unprotected sex; handjob - logan receiving; oral - reader & logan receiving). canonically bisexual reader. mentions of pregnancy attempts. dp+w movie spoilers.

synopsis: in the Void, after leaving the other dead in your own timelines, you and Logan are reunited.

words: 8.5k.

notes: this was inspired by not your man by @studioghibelli and the worst logan by @coweye! please go and read both these fics and show their authors some love, they are both incredibly talented writers who deserve it! dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕

The past couple of days have been a lot.

To be honest, anything that isn’t sitting at a bar drinking the place dry is a lot to Logan nowadays. He’s used to low lights, rumbling conversation around him, the fuzzier end of consciousness. Even now he aches for a drink, knowing he’ll have to wake up sober next to the asshole in red he spent the night putting down in that fucking minivan.

He hopes, at least, he has been met with all the surprises that this place can afford him.

Ah. But that’d be too fucking easy, right?

That Cajun bastard’s liquor sits comfortably in the cradle of his palm and he chases away lucidity one swig at a time. Tries to block out the half-baked plan Wade is concocting with the other poor bastards who have been stuck here, even if it’s all probably pointless. He only chimes in to laugh at their hope.

Then Elektra turns, withering pity in her eyes, and seems to properly assess him for the first time.

“They’re gonna be so disappointed when they see you.”

“Who?” he snorts, past the point of caring that he’d disappoint anyone. It’s then that Elektra hits him like a fucking freight train with just one word spilling from her lips: your name.

Logan feels a flood of memories come back to him. Ones he’s spent too long trying to drink away. The early morning when you’d hide under the blankets together, your hand cradling his face and letting the whole world consist of just the two of you. The stolen kisses in quiet corridors so the students at the mansion wouldn’t catch you and start silly little rumours.

Him holding your lifeless body in his arms surrounded by the rubble of what used to be your bedroom, your powers unable to save you.

He doesn’t have anything to say, merely spitting vitriol to anyone who tries to speak to him, even that damn kid who still prefers the other dead Logan to him. Why wouldn’t she? He’s a fucking mess, worth less than nothing, and that Logan was a hero.

He retreats in the evening to lick his wounds or, hopefully, drown them. People keep trying to fucking talk to him and he does not want it. Yet they’re fucking relentless, like the Void is perfect at creating gut punch after gut punch for him. Laura walks away into the darkness after successfully making him feel like shit - not that it’s difficult these days - and when he hears more footsteps he assumes it’s Wade coming to harass him about tomorrow.

“Oh, will you fuck off - ?” he snarls, but the sight of you there, half lit by a dying fire with orange dancing on your skin, oh, it just kills any venom he can muster dead in his throat.

Logan is looking at a ghost and he has never been less prepared for anything in his long, long life.

Your mouth has fallen open into a soft “o” as you look at him, brows knitted together as you take in every imperfect aspect of his being.

“Lo?” you whisper. Your voice hasn’t changed.

“Logan,” he replies, gruff, unsure if he’s confirming or correcting. But fuck does it sound good to hear his name out of your mouth again, even if it’s just a syllable.

You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear and take a seat on one of the logs which has been pulled up as a makeshift bench. He tries not to watch the way the fire lights up your eyes. There’s an agonisingly long pause before you finally attempt conversation.

“Long time no see, huh?” you ask with a weak grin. Fuck. It’s like a dagger. Your humour was always something which endeared you to him. Unlike Wade you never took it too far, cultivating your sincerity with your silliness in order to grow yourself into peoples’ hearts.

His heart especially, and now it aches.

He grunts, because he can’t bring himself to actually say anything. Can barely look at you. You keep talking, either not noticing or barrelling on regardless.

“You know, when the gang said that you were here… I didn’t believe it. Thought there was no way a fucking Wolverine would fall into this place.”

“Let me guess,” he sneers, taking another long drag of bourbon, “I’m not what you expected.”

You laugh, an easy little thing, and part of him hates you for it. For reminding him of how it sounds.

“I mean, you’re not. But not because of what you’re thinking.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?” It comes out as a snap, lip curling back over his teeth in disgust. You do not look bothered in the least, just crossing one leg over the other and leaning back.

“Because I know you, Logan. Knew my Logan too. Bet you’re spiralling, making yourself out to be some kinda disappointment. Well you’re not. You could never be.”

He desperately wants to argue but he simply doesn’t have the gumption. Besides, it’s nice to hear someone say something kind about him after all these years.

“So,” you say after another one of those painful pauses, “considering every time you look my way you wince, you have a me in your timeline?”

He laughs without any humour in it, stares into the flames for so long they start to hurt his eyes.

“Yeah. I did.”

“Ahh. ‘Did’. I died, then?”

You say it so flippantly, he can’t fucking stand it.

“Mmm.”

“Makes sense. Don’t think I’d leave you in any timeline, so the only way I could see us ending would be if I wasn’t there any more.” You sigh, stretching your legs out to warm them. “Can I ask how it happened? Call it morbid curiosity.”

He absolutely does not want to talk about this. But, also… it’s you. Maybe not the you that was his, exactly, but it is you. Perhaps you deserve to know. He tries to stay dispassionate, as if he is a doctor quietly recounting the facts of death to a family member.

“Mansion was attacked. Everyone died, including you. I wasn’t there. We’d had a fight, I went out drinking. When I got back you were gone.” He flexes his fist around the neck of the bottle, trying to avoid shattering it, but desperately needing to hold onto something.

“Oh.” The fire crackles loudly. “What did we fight about?”

This will kill him. He will die in this Void.

“You wanted to do another round of IVF. I didn’t want to be disappointed again.”

The words settle like a cloud of choking ash over the two of you. He takes a long drink. What a fucking failure he is, couldn’t even knock you up properly.

“Fuck, Logan. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“Does it help if I tell you I probably wasn’t that mad? I’ve never been really angry with you, you know. My Logan… we used to bicker a lot, we both had short fuses, but it never meant anything in the long run.”

He doesn’t know if it does help or not. Is it better to know that you died hating him, making it easier? Or that you were snuffed out while loving him the whole time?

“Your turn,” he says, because he can’t bear to continue this particular line of conversation, but for some reason he wants to keep talking to you. Your voice is a comfort he thought he’d long since lost.

“You wanna see a picture?” you ask, a grin pulling at the sides of your mouth. No, he doesn’t, but when you reach into your jacket to grab the photograph, he finds himself holding his hand out to take it. You slowly float it over, telekinesis absolutely unnecessary - but you always did use it to make the little things easier.

It’s old. Frayed and disintegrating at the edges, a thing which has been held and looked at over and over again. Faded slightly despite the fact that you clearly try to take good care of it.

“Oh,” he says, eyes widening. You chuckle.

“I know.”

Because, despite the lack of facial hair and addition of a decent rack, the woman with her arm around you in the photo is him.

The Logan in the picture is about as butch as they come, decked out in a Wolverine’s trademark flannel and leather. One of her arms is wrapped around you to keep you close against her, the other playfully flipping the camera off with a middle claw, and she’s laughing with a joy he hasn’t seen on his own face for years. You’re pressing a kiss into her cheek and hanging onto one of her thick biceps. The two of you exude happiness.

“She was the best thing that ever happened to me. She could be a mean cunt sometimes, smoked like a chimney, drank like a fish, but fuck we were the centres of each other’s world.” You let out a long sigh and hold your hand out - Logan goes to give you the photo but instead you gesture for the bourbon. He passes it and you and you drink deeply, gratefully. “I’d been in a string of bad relationships. Guys who took me for granted, women who were toxic but I didn’t realise until I was in too deep. Then she came along and well… she was a fucking angel in plaid.”

Logan’s thumb absentmindedly strokes the photo. He’s pretty sure there’s a near-identical one back in his timeline.

“Our mansion was attacked too. She died getting the kids out.”

Fuck. Fuck. No, he can’t do this. He can’t face the way he should have died. He really is the fucking worst Wolverine. He snatches the bottle back from you, you give no resistance, and he polishes it off. The photo flutters to the ground.

“I think it’s time you fucked off,” he growls out. You roll your eyes, fucking roll your eyes at him, something his version of you did on pretty much a daily basis, and the knife in his heart twists further.

“Well, Logan, I’m not gonna do that. Because this conversation is the most whole I’ve felt in a long time, and I’m pretty sure you feel the same way.”

He doesn’t. He does. He wants you to disappear forever. He wants to hold you close and kiss you, beg you never to leave again. He hates you. He loves you so, so much.

He’s such a ruined man that it is laughable.

“So what, I come along and just replace your little girlfriend? First Wolverine that you manage to get your hands on; is that what you’re hoping for?”

You bark out a laugh. It echoes around the trees. There are tears in your eyes when he turns to look.

“Girlfriend? Logan, you were my fucking wife!”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that the laughter engulfs you, peals of giggles that double you over. You hold your head in your hands and it soon turns to bitter sobs. He wants to reach out and hold you, apologise for ever making you sad. He tries to get any lingering drops from the bourbon instead.

“We got married at the mansion. Charles officiated. The kids made us cards. We didn’t get a honeymoon because we didn’t have the fucking time. We had five years. Five really happy years and you know what? We wanted a baby too. We were getting a donor lined up! And then when the attack happened you were the one getting all the kids out I begged you to come with us but you were too fucking good, you had to stay behind and make sure nobody followed us. And it cost you your fucking life. They ripped you apart Logan. I know because all I found of you was your head and your wedding ring. I didn’t even get time to mourn because I had a dozen children to fucking take care of! And I did because I knew that’s what you’d want me to do. It’s what you died for. So I lived in the fucking woods with all of them for years, and they were my family, and I made sure they were as safe and happy as I could make them. And you know what happened then? When they were all grown? A fucking TVA agent appears out of nowhere and tells me, ‘oops! Sorry! Your Logan wasn’t supposed to die, it was meant to be you!’ So they fucking throw me in this hellhole to rot away into nothing and I’m sorry, Logan, I’m sorry that when I heard you were here I got my fucking hopes up that you might be happy to see me, because if there was one person who understood all of the shit I’m going through then it might be you.” You throw your head back up to stare him dead in the eyes. “And it’s pathetic because you know what? Even after all this? I’m still not angry with you. I’m still happy you’re here. Because seeing you makes me feel better, despite everything.”

It’s a long-ass rant, and your words hang in the air after you’re done. He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? He opens his mouth to apologise but the words just won’t come out. Because, yeah, if he really dissects himself and looks at the parts laid bare, he’s glad you’re here too.

He reaches down to rescue the photo before an ember lands on it, gingerly extending into you. When you take it back his fingers brush yours. He wishes he wasn’t wearing gloves.

“Who was the donor?” he asks eventually. That does a lot to alleviate the mood, and you smile through tear-streaked cheeks.

“You might not like the answer.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t tell me it was Scott.”

“The two of you got on okay! Butted heads a lot but he was always a good friend to us. Plus it was cheaper than going through an agency.”

He growls to himself and it makes you laugh, but properly this time. Things have started to soften and it’s… nice. To be like this with you again. You pause for a moment, stuck on whether to ask a question; hesitate over whether it’s a good idea, then barrel on regardless.

“Can I ask a weird question?”

“You’re dangerously close to sounding like Wade,” he replies. You groan at that idea.

“Ugh. Fucking Deadpools, man. We get one come along every now and then and trash the place before fucking off again. Apparently there’s like, a tribe of them out there somewhere.” You give a full-body shudder. “Imagine. No, it’s nothing like that, I guess. Can you… can you take off your glove? Left one.”

He has a horrible feeling about this but when you ask so nicely, that air of vulnerability around you, well it just seeps into his fractures and breaks him open. It takes a moment but he does, flexing his bare hand in the cool air.

You reach around your neck and pull at a thin chain he’d barely noticed. The ring at the end slides up from where it’s been resting on your sternum under your shirt, glinting as you remove it.

“Give me your hand.”

This is a bad idea.

He does anyway.

You slip the ring on his fourth finger, softly twisting it to fit over his knuckle as you go. It is the perfect size.

“Will you look at that,” you mumble, not releasing your grip on him. “She… you always told me your hands were kinda big because of the claws. Like I cared. One of my favourite parts about you.”

Your fingers trace along his, finding the spaces between them and gently slotting your hands together. Logan isn’t sure if he’s the one who closes the grasp or if it’s you, but a beat passes and suddenly you’re holding hands.

He’s not done this with you for so fucking long. An age of aching which is relieved at the feeling of your palm up against his.

“So now what?” he eventually has to ask. You smile.

“Well, I mean, your Deadpool is probably gonna get us all killed tomorrow…”

“Ugh. Don’t call him ‘my Deadpool’.”

“… so I’d quite like to just spend tonight holding your hand, if that’s okay. Seems like a pretty nice final night to me.”

When you hit him with those soft eyes, what other fucking choice does he have?

You don’t speak much for the rest of the night. Eventually the fire dies out. Laura comes to seek you out the next morning, and is surprised to find you lying side by side with this other Logan, the most deeply asleep she’s ever seen you, fingers laced together so tightly with his it looks like it might hurt.

He comes to the fight, of course; dredging up what little courage he has left in him in order to prove he’s not totally pathetic. You catch his eye and smile so wide that he feels likes he’s done at least one good fucking thing in his life. He hears the sound of you ripping into people with an enthusiasm he hasn’t witnessed for years. The last glimpse of you he gets before he jumps through the portal is you using your telekinesis to tear a man’s head off and he does not want to examine himself too closely when it sends a jolt of arousal down his spine.

They leave you all there to face the end, but everyone knew that’s what you were all getting into. There has been a net gain and loss of nil. He never had you again. Not really. Not for anything longer than a night, and maybe that will be enough.

Yes. That’s enough. It has to be.

When he tells Wade he’ll go into that room, when he volunteers to die, he does it with the knowledge he’ll be doing something good, finally. Something you’d be proud of him for doing. And with you waiting for him on the other end of oblivion it really doesn’t seem too bad a fate.

But then Wade does what he always does and fucks up his perfectly meticulous plan, and they both make it through, so he has to keep going.

When Wade asks the TVA agent to help the group of you they left behind, Logan is sure to add on that people should get the opportunity to go back to their timelines - surely it’s what you’d want (this oddly selfless request has Wade raising an eyebrow which he ignores). After all, why wouldn’t you want to go back? It’s where you belong. Where you’ll be happiest. Putting things nice and neatly back into their place after this whole fucked-up venture.

He doesn’t have you, but he’s still alive and wants to be, and that’s something. A lot more than he’s had for a long time now to be honest.

His life becomes this strange little thing that’s wrapped up with Wade’s. He sleeps on his pull-out sofa until he has somewhere proper to put down his roots. Tries to lay off the booze as much as he can even if each day is a fucking struggle. Makes steps towards finding a proper place for himself; even gets a job on the door at the bar across the street. It’s okay. One step at a time. He can put himself back together like that.

Imagine his surprise, then, when a week later there’s a knock at the door.

He assumes it’s Al who’s forgotten her keys, or is too drunk to fish them out of her purse after bingo, so opens it without really thinking.

The second time you’ve nearly stopped his heart in seven days.

“Hey,” you say.

“Oh,” is what he can manage. You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. Your go-to.

“Yeah. Sorry. I uh, followed you back, I suppose. The TVA were gonna send me home but I asked where you were and when the answer was ‘here’, well… didn’t make sense for me to be any place else.”

He blinks at you. After a beat of silence he can tell you hate, no doubt wondering if your choice was the wrong one, he lifts his hand to cup your face. You stiffen for a second and then nestle into his palm.

“You’re real,” he states. You press your hand to his.

“I am.”

He pulls you into his chest and you are more than willing to come. He feels the way you bury yourself into him, nose first, remembering what he smells like. Your arms wrap around him so tight it’s like you’re scared he will disappear when it should be the other way round: if anyone is dreaming it’s him. You bothered coming here for him. You uprooted your whole life for it.

He could hold you forever but the neighbours are nosy and the apartment is a mess. He presses his mouth close to your ear.

“Wanna get a coffee?”

You pull back to meet his gaze.

“I’d love that.” Your eyes drop and you pull a face. “Oh, uhh, you might wanna get changed first, though.”

He looks down and realises what shirt he’s wearing before letting out a groan, which gets you chuckling.

“Wilson’s letting me borrow his shirts until my first paycheck comes in. Just to slum around the apartment.”

“Oh, so you’re not ‘employee of the month at the dick sucking factory’?” You ask, reading the slogan on his tee.

“No. Looks like Wilson won out over me.”

The fact he’s made a joke hangs in the air for a moment and you burst into laughter, real actual laughter, and it’s the most beautiful fucking thing he’s ever heard.

He grabs the only plain shirt Wade has left out, slices off the sleeves just because, and grabs twenty dollars from his roommate’s wallet. Soon enough you’re sitting in the little café near his building. The sky is grey and overcast, just threatening to rain but not quite bothering, and the two of you are tucked away in a corner table while Taylor Swift plays over the sound system.

Logan does not like that he knows it’s Taylor Swift. This is what living with Wade has done to him.

You watch him with affectionate eyes across the table, making sure nobody is paying close attention before using your telekinesis to stir the little metal spoon around in your latte. You nod at his mug.

“You take coffee the same way as she did. Boring and black.”

Logan’s nostrils flare a little in a laugh.

“Yeah, and you take yours the same way too. So fucking dense with syrup that it’s not coffee at all.”

“Oh you were always such a coffee snob! ‘Babe you gotta try it plain first so you can appreciate the aroma’,” you say, putting on a gruff affectation as a parody of his voice.

“You do need to try it plain f—”

He’s interrupted when a sugar lump floats into the air from the pot in the middle of the table and launches itself at him, bouncing off of his pectoral. He cocks an eyebrow.

“Real mature, bub.”

“Grouch.”

“Contrarian.”

“I’m not a—” you pause, realising there’s no way to win against that accusation, and grin at him instead.

“Where are you staying?” he asks after a long drink. It’s not booze. He kinda wishes it was booze. But also, he knows it’s best not to go down that path again, for everyone’s sake.

“The mansion. Turns out I died in this timeline too, so you and I are two for two here” - there’s a hint of a smile at your own macabre observation - “but they were using my room for storage so they just let me have it back.” You grimace a little. “It’s been weird. It’s my space but it’s not, y’know?”

“I get that.”

He probably gets it better than anybody. Nice to have someone to share this strange, singular feeling with.

“You should come around. Laura’s there too, I know she’d be glad to see you too.”

“She settling in okay?”

“Yeah. It’ll take a while, but everyone has been really understanding and kind. I think she’ll thrive here.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

You give him a smile that lets him know you believe it. Your eyes cast over him, taking in this new, slightly more settled Logan, falling still when you see what’s pressed against his fourth knuckle.

“You’re still wearing the ring.”

“Oh,” he replies, surprised. Flexes his fingers as he looks at it. It’s been so comfortable there, so utterly unobtrusive and right, he hasn’t even noticed. “You want it back?”

A beat passes as you consider the question. Coffee is sipped. Another sugar added and stirred, perhaps just for show.

“I don’t know,” you settle on. “I kinda like seeing you wear it but… if you were gonna have my ring, I’d want it to be one that was meant for you.”

He lets that idea settle between the two of you. Suddenly, slowly, you’re reaching forward, laying your smaller hand over his thick, rough one.

“Logan. I want to be with you. In every way you’ll have me, all of it. I don’t know if it was fate or god or plain luck that threw us back together but I’m certain I don’t wanna waste this opportunity. I’d love you in every lifetime, in every timeline. I can’t be without you ever again, I think it would just kill me - and if I know you, you feel the same.”

He doesn’t even bother arguing because he does. When you turned up on his doorstep a scant couple of hours ago a part of his soul had been healed; your existence like kintsugi to piece him back together. A man made of adamantium and gold.

“I’d like that,” he manages.

“Yeah?” Your eyes glimmer with a hope which he’s not been privy to for a long time now.

“Yeah.”

“Well, okay then,” you say with a smile, and drink your coffee.

The two of you do not take it slow. How does one take it slow when your soulmate comes back into your life? You are not exactly the same person he once knew, but you understand each other in every way which matters. Your souls fit together like puzzle pieces. The two of you are whole again.

Then again, perhaps he doesn’t need the version of you he used to have. Maybe, now, he needs this you - rougher around the edges, a little older and more wary, a fit which is better for him. Someone who can put up with his bullshit as Al once bluntly put it.

You barely spend a night apart. You stay over with him on Wade’s pullout (inciting an input of, “something the two of you had better do, we can’t afford a kid on my income—!” before Logan had hurled a water bottle at him) meeting up with him after his shift is done in the small hours, getting something to eat at one of the greasy spoons which remain open. He devours full plates of fatty food; you stick to slices of pie which you feed him bites of from your fork. When you get back to the apartment you cuddle up on the uncomfortable mattress which folds from the sofa and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

He sleeps pretty well nowadays.

The two of you only realise you haven’t kissed yet when you do it for the first time. You’re making a coffee run, tugging on his jacket because you like the smell of cigar smoke and it’s thicker than yours. A little act of intimacy which has become commonplace.

“Same as usual?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Boring,” you make an exaggeration of a sigh, before leaning over the back of the sofa to press your lips to his. He automatically leans into it, tilting his head up so that he can meet you; it’s a chaste little thing, a peck between two people who will only be parted for a moment, but you pull back in surprise when you realise what’s just happened.

“Oh!” you say with delight, eyes sparkling.

Your hand slips around his neck to cradle him, fingers playing with the hair at his nape. You gently pull him back for another. Longer this time. Lips slip together, moving carefully in something a little deeper. When you break for a moment it’s Logan who pulls you back. This third kiss is on the brink of hungry. He slides his tongue to swipe against your mouth and you let out a happy little hum at the intrusion.

His arm curls around your back. With a little tug he pulls you over the back of the sofa and into his lap, making you yelp with glee. His mouth returns to yours, crushing, greedy for any little noises you’re able to make. You relax into it and are happy to take whatever he gives you.

Wade finds you making out on the couch like a pair of teenagers, coffee forgotten. He does not let Logan live it down for a week.

The apartment is fine, but not a long term solution. Wade and Al are constant presences that stops the two of you being fully at ease together. Logan knows that invitation to go to the mansion is always there, but it’s a while before he takes it - he really isn’t sure what he’ll feel, being back at a place he last saw burned to the ground because of his pigheadedness. Might just break him all over again.

But ah, when you nock your fingers in the spaces between his, he can face anything.

One night, exhausted and full of diner food, he agrees to go back to yours - the two of you have had a late night coffee meaning you’re still a tiny bit buzzed, a little too much to fall asleep on the pullout. Instead you get a taxi to yours, near enough, tipping the driver well when he drops you in the middle of a random street and choosing to walk the last minutes hand-in-hand.

The mansion is quiet. Everyone is mostly asleep. And Logan does feel strange being back here, but it isn’t a bad strange. Just another aspect of this new life he has to compartmentalise.

You drag him through low-lit halls, confident in the steps which will lead you back to your room; he recalls a similar journey from his own timeline in the night you first hooked up, smuggling him to your bed down the corridors all wandering hands and breathless kisses and giddy giggles; but there’s no part about you that wants to hide this.

You’d show your Logan off to the world.

You’ve tried to make the room your own, he can tell. It’s pretty big and spacious. Good view. Has an ensuite which he plans on monopolising. He shucks off his clothes and sleeps in just his boxers, arms holding you to him so he can feel every part of your body against his. His chest hair bristles between your shoulder blades and you hum contentedly.

He agrees to come to breakfast the next morning and, to their credit, people are good at not staring. The members of the team he recognises from his past keep their distance unless he seeks to close it. Hank gives him a smile.

“Good to see you, Logan.”

“Mmm,” he manages. Laura comes down to grab something to eat and lights up when she sees him. She gives him a hug which skews on the side of awkward but he’s grateful to receive it, and he can see how pleased you are watching this development.

He comes around more and more often.

Less time spent at the apartment with Wade - who constantly complains about the fact and Logan cannot tell if he’s sincere or not - more living in the pocket of you. He helps you sort out the furniture in the room so that there’s more space; you’re moving a chest of drawers to another corner together when a photo falls out from behind them. Trapped against the wall for years. Long forgotten.

“Oh,” you say, lifting it up and bringing it to your hand with a wave. Your face twists into something strange and bittersweet, a mask Logan isn’t quite sure how to comprehend, but he quickly understands why when he joins you.

It’s a picture of the two of you.

Not exactly the two of you, of course; the ones of you who lived in this timeline. Logan is posing on the back of his Harley, you’re propped up on the seat next to him with your head thrown back in laughter. The two of you look… young. This must have been taken when you first started going out.

Your thumb caresses the photo in a movement he’s familiar with.

“Huh. Looks like we were together here, too. Who’da thunk it,” you mutter.

He slips an arm around you then because he’s feeling oddly sentimental. It’s reassuring. No matter what timeline it is, there’s a you who loves him and a him who loves you. A simple and irrefutable truth, like the fact that the sun rises every day or the moon moves the tides.

“Apparently Magneto got me in the late noughties. Feels like a bit of a pathetic way to go, but diverging timelines, I guess.”

Logan knows that in this timeline, he stuck around for a while after. Poor bastard, he thinks. Having to live those years without you. That’s a misery he understands all too fucking well.

But not any more.

You leave the photo on your dresser, loathe to throw it away, and continue moving furniture to make room for the TV you just bought. Logan hates sharing the one in the living room, especially when the hockey’s on.

Eventually Logan is spending so much time with you he’s barely living at Wade’s any more. You’ve suggested they’d be happy to have him back in the mansion for a “teaching job” like you have, though he knows there’s never much teaching involved, more helping kids learn to defend themselves without too much collateral damage. Still it’s a fair chunk of change better than his current miserable doorman’s salary and it means he’d be living at more sociable hours.

Plus he’d get to move in with you, an idea you’re both secretly happy about.

So he hands in his notice at the bar and packs the scant few belongings he has at Wilson’s into a cardboard box from Bad Dragon, which is strangely the only one Wade could find him (“god Peanut that’s so weird, oh well!”). Looks around the apartment he’s called home for some time, feels not entirely pleased to be leaving it.

“And remember sweetie, if it all goes incredibly wrong and you realise the place you’ve belonged the whole time is on my undoubtedly piss-soaked pull out sofa bed, Al and I will be happy to have you back with minimal taunting.”

Logan fixes him with a look.

“Wilson?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” The word is odd coming from his mouth but not insincere. Wade goes to say something that’s no doubt stupid and inappropriate, however he softens at the last moment.

“Any time. Go get ‘em, tiger, I’m rooting for you.”

You’ve moved your stuff so he can have a side of the closet, and drawers in the dresser, and he resumes his life with you.

It takes only a couple of days for him to settle and realise how much he prefers this. Living with you properly. How, really, he couldn’t stand to be apart from you. How he wants to be there for every second, hear every laugh which drips from you, comfort you whenever something threatens to ruin your happiness.

He falls asleep with you wrapped in his arms every night. Wakes up with you there. Pretty fucking perfect if you ask him.

There’s nothing special about the morning when you first make love except for the fact it’s the morning when you first make love. It’s a border the two of you haven’t quite crossed yet. Almost as if you’re both afraid to make the commitment, like it may break you apart; there’s perhaps an underlying fear that you’re being unfaithful to your partners from your own timelines. That being together like that dishonours their memory.

It’s a salve, then, that the longer you’ve been together the more you realise that you don’t love each other as a stand-in for the ones who died, but entirely on each other’s own merits. He doesn’t look at you and see the body he held in the manor. He sees someone who he’d protect, give his life to, become a dog for because he’s utterly in love with this you, the one who was so happy to find him in the Void, the one who patched him back together when he was at his most broken.

There’s nothing to second guess in this relationship. It is the most solid foundation he’s ever had, and from the way you look at him every morning as if he’s hung the stars, you feel the same.

That morning he’s holding you particularly tight. It’s a Sunday, the quietest day at the mansion, and the two of you are in bed later than you’d usually be. You’re both awake because you’re pressing more and more into each other’s bodies, nestling together like nesting dolls. His arm slung around your waist, hips against the swell of your ass.

You shift slightly and he feels his cock harden in interest. Why wouldn’t it? Most beautiful person in the whole world right here in his bed. He might be old but he’s not a fool.

He’s aware your hips are moving again, pressing yourself into him harder. He lets out a quiet, gruff laugh.

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Mmm, maybe I am, Howlett. What are you gonna do about it?”

You squeak with laughter as he surges upwards, pinning your hands to the mattress either side of your head so that he can look down at you. Such a pretty picture beneath him. Hair all fanned out, eyes sleepy and sexy, ready to take in the syrupy-slow pace of the morning.

His lips press into yours softly but firm. You hum into the kiss, slipping your wrists from his grasp so that you can wrap your arms around his broad neck and tug him closer. Your legs slowly match pace, looping at his waist. His cock is free to press against your clothed core now and he doesn’t waste a second of the opportunity; he grinds down, never letting it distract from the kiss for a second, even smiling into it when he can feel the blunt head of his dick catch your clit. You gasp.

“Logan…”

Oh yes, that’s it. That’s the voice. He could listen to you say his name a million times and it would still be the sweetest sound in the whole fucking universe.

He kisses you again and again, getting more fierce now. Tongues slide together and you moan into his mouth. Teeth clack with the force of it. He wants every sense to be drowned in you. Your smell, your taste, your touch. You’re holding him so tightly it’s like you’re worried you’ll just float away from the bliss of it all.

He’d never let that happen. He’ll keep you right here in this bed, forever, if you’d let him.

With a display of telekinesis he’s not expecting, Logan finds himself on his back. You stare down at him with wide, hungry eyes, and he’s never been more turned on in his entire life.

“Can I suck your cock?” you ask breathlessly, and he finds himself huffing out a laugh because fuck, as if you’d ever have to ask. You take his meaning and giggle before you start to make your way down the plain of his chest. A kiss dropped on the top of his pectoral, followed by you moving that sweet mouth around one of his nipples to play with it. Logan huffs and arches into your touch like a schoolgirl. You use your teeth to continue the trail, tracing around his abs - which have become less pronounced ever since he started eating right, and you’ve often expressed your pleasure at this fact - mouthing at where his muscles shape his Apollo’s belt.

Your hand goes to palm his cock through his boxers and he has to make a concentrated effort not to come. It’s been a while since he was touched properly like this, and though he used to be able to go all night when he was a younger man, he truly doesn’t know if he has it in him today.

You seem delighted by this development though. Holding his gaze you slowly drag his waistband down to his thighs, watching in delight as his cock bobs up, half-hard. You take him in hand and pump him lazily, languidly, enjoying every stroke which makes him firmer. You prop yourself up on your free arm, elbow on the mattress and palm cradling your jaw, eyes on him like he’s the show of the century.

“Handsome, handsome, handsome man,” you sigh, dreamily.

“Old man,” he chuckles.

“Not mutually exclusive.”

He has to concede that with the way you’re looking at him like you might eat him alive.

When he feels your mouth around his cock his brain almost short-circuits. It’s warm and wet and willing, your tongue gliding along the thick vein you find there before caressing his head. Logan grunts, fisting the blankets, and a familiar snik has you looking up. You grin around his shaft when you see his claws have popped out from the intensity of his gripping hands.

Pleased, you continue with your work. You bob up and down as the fire builds in his belly, a low heat which is soon bubbling over when he feels you press the tip of your tongue into his slit, humming with pleasure as the taste of his pre floods you. Logan is aware he’s beginning to tighten in a way which suggests that if you don’t stop now things will be over entirely too soon.

Claws retracting, his hand comes to grab your hair. His cock is enveloped in the sweet velvet of your throat, in fact he can feel himself brush against your uvula, and when you look up at him like that he almost gives up completely. He powers through though, carefully guiding you up and off. You wipe your spit-soaked mouth with the back of your hand.

“Oh… was it not…?” you don’t voice the word ‘good’ but it hangs there anyway. Logan rumbles with a laugh.

“Fuck, it was the best thing I’ve felt in years. Wanna fuck you properly, though. Come up here and sit on my face, baby. Need to taste you.”

Your eyes go wide. Like he’s come up with the idea of the century.

“Fuck. Yeah, okay.”

There is nothing elegant about the way you pull yourself up the length of his body, but it is filled with a primal need which is far more sexy. You pause at his abdomen in order to rub your soaked cunt across his abs a couple of times. Fucking the muscles there. You throw your head back in gratification and continue up along his chest before a strong thigh is planted either side of his face.

Looking up at you from his back is his favourite view. Logan wastes no time in clamping an arm around either one of your legs and pulling you cunt-first onto his tongue, you gasp and writhe in delight.

“Oh fuck, Logan!” you hiss. Yeah, that’s it. That’s the voice he wants to hear. All strung out with sex and pleasure because of him. He fucking buries himself in you. Kisses your pussy sloppily, changing his attention from between your clit and your folds, no rhythm to his need. When your fingers scratch his scalp in your need to grab a fistful of hair he thinks he might be in heaven. His hips buck into the air, imagining the action of taking you before he’s even properly started. You start to fuck yourself on his face. Hips grinding down onto his beard, groaning at the stubble there which prickles and pleases.

“I’m gonna--”

“Fuckin’ do it,” he mumbles from between your legs. You cum in his hot, wanting mouth; all the furniture in the room rattles as you let out a little involuntary telekinetic jolt.

You are not done. This was the appetiser. Eyes still ravenous you peel your pussy off of his face, sweeping down to kiss him so you can taste yourself there. Moaning in delight at the musk.

“Wanna ride you…”

“Anything,” he breathes because, yeah. He will do anything you ask, anything you want. He’s a loyal hound at your heel.

When you take his cock it’s with less teasing this time, more intent. Spreading your legs wide you line him up with your entrance and slowly sink down. He wants to grab. Your flesh, the blankets, anything. Sensing his desperation you hold out your hands when he’s far enough inside you and he meets them in midair, pressing his fingers between yours, knuckles white from the effort.

Hips nestle against his. You begin to move.

“Logan…”

Your name leaves his lips in a similar whisper, dragged out through his throat from his very heart. You look down at him, eyes clear and wide and lucid despite the heady pleasure.

“Logan. I love you. I love you.”

Yes, you love this him. Not as a stand in for the Logan you lost, not as some sort of idol on a pedestal, but because you’ve fallen for him just like he’s fallen for you. He is worth loving. He is. He is worthy of you. It is a realisation which hits him with the force of a bomb. He grips you tighter.

“I love you too,” he confesses. He feels his pulse sync with yours from where he’s sheathed inside you, grips your hands tighter because he knows you can take it; you hold him back just as hard. Your hips rock in a wild rhythm as he brings his own up to meet them. It’s hard to know who’s fucking who, it’s wild and desperate and raw, but you keep chanting those words as a manta.

Logan. I love you. Logan. I love you.

He only lets go of one of your hands when he can feel he’s about to finish, dropping it to your clit in order to press rough circles there. You come messily over his cock and he spills inside you, pumping you full of him. Marking you as his.

You collapse into his arms, sweaty and spent. He holds you with arms like iron. Cock still inside, softening now, but he doesn’t want to to break the contact.

You pull back after a moment of breathing together, propping your elbow on his chest.

“Hey.”

He smiles back, a real smile, something he’s not been truly able to produce for years.

“Hey.”

“I meant it, you know. I love you,” you trace a pattern on his collarbone, silly and intimate.

“I know. So did I.”

“Mmm, okay, good.” You kiss him and hum into it. “We should get up.”

“Probably.”

“But let’s not.”

“Sounds fuckin’ good to me.”

You laugh, and oh you are the sunlight.

The summer heat is cloying but Wade has set up some parasols on the top of his building to hide under, he did not specify where he got them but a few local restaurants seemed to be without on the journey back to the apartment. The group of you are definitely not meant to be up here, but with the weather so hot, nobody cares enough to cause a fuss.

It’s a small gathering. Logan stands at the grill because it’s where he’s most comfortable, supervising the chaos. That awful mutt of Wade’s is looking up at him with expectant eyes and, when he’s sure nobody is watching, he throws her a hamburger which she goes crazy for.

And it’s… nice. He didn’t even complain when Wade put on the 1989 album. A few of his old roommate’s friends, a couple of them now mutual - Piotr is a pretty relaxed guy to be in the mansion with, and the two teens who Wade somehow befriended get along with Laura. You’re talking with Peter who for some reason is always at these gatherings but he’s probably the least offensive person here.

He says something which makes you laugh, and you look over to Logan as you both settle. You gesture at the bottle of soda in your hand, an invitation; he nods.

You stand, rummage in the cooler, and close the gap. He eyes the glass bottle of Dr Pepper with disapproval; you give him a playful shove.

“C’mon, be good. You just got your one month chip. Keep it up, we’re proud of you.”

He grumbles his acceptance and takes it. It is pretty refreshing to be fair. He settled the hand he’s not using on the grill around your waist, pulling you so that you settle nice and snug against his flank. You grin up at him, pleased with the show of affection.

“Hey handsome,” you chuckle.

“Hey gorgeous.”

“You make me the happiest I’ve ever been, you know that?”

Day by day he’s letting himself believe it. That he’s the kind of man who could make someone as amazing as you happy, as over-the-moon with joy as you make him.

Before he can answer Yukio appears by the grill, pointing a Polaroid camera in your faces.

“Smile!” she says, and the two of you do, because she’s a nice kid and you don’t wanna let her down. She snaps a photo and watches it quickly develop, shaking it loudly in the air before admiring her work.

“Awww, cute! I hope me and Ellie are like you guys when we’re your age. Here ya go!”

She passes over the photo before skipping away to find her next victim. Logan has to try and hide a laugh at the indignant splutters that are escaping you.

“Our age…?!” you mutter, but soften when you look down at the picture. It’s nice. The two of you make a good-looking pair that’s for damn sure, he can almost understand Wade’s insistence of “letting him watch one night”. But most importantly, the two of you look… happy. With each other. With this slice of life.

“This is a great one,” you declare.

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s looking at you.

When you get home tonight, late by the time you pull up to the mansion, you’ll toe off your shoes as you walk in through the door like you always do, but this time you’ll pause to put this photo in front of the one you found behind the chest of drawers, and Logan will feel content that he never has to be without you again.

taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk

#my writing #james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #x men x reader #logan howlett imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu imagine #wolverine fanfiction #mcu fandom

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krysmcscience · 7 months ago

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It’s finally done, guys – five whole pages of Narilamb AU comic AND MORE be upon you! (If you have trouble reading any of the text, view the full-size! These pages are huge!)

Yeesh, this took forever. <:)

There’s probably a ton of inconsistencies and anatomy/perspective wonkeries, but this was mostly just comic practice, so Oh Hekkin Well, Lol <:D

(Yes, I am aware the Gateway’s door isn’t present in the Afterlife, and the actual way in is just a pentagram portal. Yes, I put the door in there anyway because Artistic License, i.e. it felt more impactful for there to be a prison door of sorts to walk through to freedom, rather than just a bland boring portal on the ground. 😠)

anyway, i hate backgrounds so much lmao

Alternate ending and a buttload of bonus art under the cut, followed by goofy AU rambles and headcanon stuff:

I’m calling it the Revival AU. It’s not all that creative a title, and someone else has probably used it already, but I am too lazy to really care, LOL

Alternate ending page, which you will Definitely need to view the full-size for, Whoopsie Daisy:

The alternate ending was actually the first ending I finished things off with, because I had a brief badbrain moment where I forgot the emotional beat I initially wanted the comic to end on, and I tend to write comedy, anyway. I later remembered and drew out the proper ending, but I preserved and finished this one, too, because it still makes me giggle.

They had to go back for the followers off-screen in the AU’s real ending. And by ‘they’ I mean just the Lamb, because they weren’t about to ask three newly freed cats to go back into what used to be their prison. The Lamb DID spend some time watching Narinder and the bois enjoying the outdoors first, though:

In other news, here’s the Lamb and me making fun of my anatomy-drawing ‘skills’:

Meanwhile, if you’re wondering why the Lamb is just a-okay with how things went down vis a vis Their Murder, this bonus comic should answer at least some of your questions:

Ah, yes, also this is how they get engaged outside of the alternate ending. Forgot to mention that bit. XD (I already refuse to believe that Narinder is capable of flirting normally, so why would his initial marriage proposal be any better???)

Oh, and before any of them get a chance to actually head back to the cult grounds, there is one potential problem:

And by ‘problem’ I mean something Narinder intends to ignore for At Minimum a thousand years. Cuz he’s a petty bitch like that. :D

what do you mean i drew the lamb too tall compared to the background? clearly they’re standing on top of baal and aym lmao, why else would you think those two aren’t in this one??? (aym and baal got way too excited about finally being outside, you see, and their silly modes are nothing to sneeze at)

And, speaking of heading back to the cult grounds, I’m sure y’all would love to know how the Lamb’s followers felt about the brand new change in management:

It all went better than expected. <:D Tiny ramble now, feel free to skip down to the next comic.

Before you ask, no, the Lamb does not have any actual powers anymore, other than the immortality Narinder definitely grants them. The Red Crown just thinks it’s funny to suggest otherwise, and Narinder does nothing to discourage this. Also, the Lamb and Narinder aren’t actually married here yet, but, uh. Pretty safe to say that particular ritual directly follows the events of this comic. XD

Given how quickly he mellows out in canon, Narinder probably chills out a lot in this AU once he’s in charge of the cult, too, if only because 1.) He’s finally free, and 2.) He’s equally smitten with and distracted by the Lamb. He’s definitely in charge at least 95% of the time, though, because the Lamb never actually wanted to be a cult leader and, now that their time as a vessel is done, they just want to be a normal(ish) sheep who’s wholly devoted to their hot new divine husband.

Some followers do still have some valid concerns about these two being together, though, which I’m sure at least a few of you might share…

Unfortunately for any such concerns, the Lamb is a bonafide masochist in this AU. :D

They’re also 100% a sub, obviously

Anyone at all: Your relationship is problematic and potentially toxic

The Lamb: fuck yeah it is, it’s so hot~ OuO

Here’s just the last panel, made transparent for whatever nefarious purposes y’all might have for it:

Additional exchange Narinder and the Lamb have at some point, probably after the Lamb does a fatal whoopsie while out on a mission trip or in response to things getting a little too sadistic in the bedroom, ahaha:

Look, there is a very important distinction between life and death, and if you don’t understand that, then you’re probably not worthy of being the God of Death, anyway. (At least, according to Narinder, and ONLY Narinder.)

Last but not least, have these shittens:

~Such creative naming conventions I have utilized, lololol~ :D Anyway, there's a few deets on them in the rambles down below.

The rest is all ramble, so before I get to that, I’ll just say – likes and especially reblogs are very much appreciated!!! :D If you happen to really really REALLY like my stuff, meanwhile, I do have a link in my bio to my ko-fi page, where I’m accepting commissions and donations if you’re especially generous… ÓuÒ

Now, BE FREE IF YOU AIN’T DOWN FOR READING MY GOOFY RAMBLES

First ramble is re: Baal’s question of ‘Did it really work?’, since I didn’t feel like expanding on it in the comic proper, and it’s arguably pretty vague? He doesn’t ask because he doubts Narinder or his capabilities, exactly, but because neither Baal nor Aym have ever actually seen their god at full power before (he’s still technically not at full power here, either). It’s not expressly stated how soon the brothers were brought to Narinder after his imprisonment, but whether it was early on or after a length of time for Shamura to (somewhat) recover from his attack, he must have already been weakened, since I have no doubts that there was a huge battle that accompanied the Bishops working together to trap him. So, between that fight with all four of his siblings, sharing his power with a variety of vessels over time, and being chained immobile for a thousand years, he must have been severely weakened by the time he lent the Red Crown out to the Lamb, which would have only weakened him further.

I like to think this is how the Lamb is able to defeat him if they refuse to be sacrificed, despite how it took all four Bishops working together to subdue and chain Narinder in the first place.

All that aside, the three cats have been trapped in the Afterlife for so long that Baal also wanted verbal reassurance that they are all, indeed, actually able to leave it now – something that I headcanon isn’t possible without a significant amount of power (i.e. the Red Crown’s cooperation with its bearer/vessel).

(On a semi-related note, I don’t headcanon Aym and Baal as twins. I like sweetheart big bro Baal and snarky little goth bro Aym too much to have them be that close in age.)

Ah, teeny thing: If you noticed I switched up the art style for Narinder on the second page, that was intentional. It's sort of a visual indicator that there has been a Big Change for him - that being, how much power he has after sacrificing the Lamb. As for why I changed up his arms in the grass rollin' pic, I don't really subscribe to the notion that his arms are spooky bones because they're horrifically injured (beyond chain-chafing scars, that is), but rather just because he's the Bishop of Death, so he can change how normal-to-spooky they look at will. At some point I might doodle out how I imagine his appearance to range between least to most eldritch... 🤔

Next ramble, regarding Narinder’s feelings towards the Lamb...he was initially too focused on being freed from his imprisonment to form any real attachment to them. They were a tool for his use, first and foremost, but he did notice their intense devotion towards him. It was impossible not to notice, because the Lamb was always very happy to see him, even if it was because they died during a crusade (yet again). He wasn’t originally planning to revive them once he was freed, either, because he saw no real point to it – after all, they were already dead when they first met him, just as any other mortal would be when meeting him in the Afterlife, so death has very little real consequence in his eyes. But, once the chains were off, and it really sank in that he stood to lose the most devoted follower he’s ever had, he decided…why put their soul to rest for good or leave them stuck in the Afterlife when he could just as easily revive them again? And why not reward them for their hard work, anyway? Not only would it cost him nothing by comparison, but the future devotion that could come of it would surely make up for his (bare minimum) effort in reviving them.

He wasn’t expecting to get a full dose of that devotion and a smiling face so soon after killing them, though~ :3c (because the Lamb is a bonafide freak, and not-so-secretly into the fucked up power dynamics going on here, lol)

I should mention here that I am firmly of the belief that any non-god/vessel who crosses through the Gateway and into the Afterlife just straight up dies. So, Aym and Baal? Also straight up dead, from the second Shamura brought them through. Their souls were just never put to rest so that Narinder could have some company – if only according to Shamura. Narinder kept the two around mostly out of bewilderment, because honestly, who are these kittens, and what is Shamura’s game here, anyway??? They never even explained anything, they just tossed these kittens into the Afterlife and LEFT!!! At any rate, Aym and Baal being dead is how I explain why their souls apparently become lost in the void if they’re killed, along with the added complications required to revive the two because of it.

So, with those deets in mind, and given a bit of time, if Narinder hadn’t chosen to revive the Lamb, and also hadn’t chosen to put their soul to rest, they still would have woken up at some point, despite being as straight up dead as Aym and Baal. Who, don’t worry, were also properly revived while Narinder was waiting for the Lamb to wake up. Because I am also firmly of the belief that, first, the dead cannot leave the Afterlife without the use of a ritual/relic (and can't stay in the living world for long regardless), and second, dead followers’ devotion isn’t anywhere near as potent as that of the living, given how much more the living stand to lose.

Final ramble, regarding the Lamb’s feelings towards Narinder, and why they’re so devoted to him…

Well, you don’t spend most of your life on the run with your steadily-dwindling herd, trying to evade the ongoing genocide of your species, without becoming a little fucked up in the head. Maybe a lot fucked up in the head. Life is suffering, so might as well have fun with it, right? Maybe start finding death and pain to be kind of hilarious, even a little bit hot, once everyone you know and love is dead and gone, leaving you all alone? And maybe after that, there’s something comforting in how, despite the cold, cruel uncertainties of life, at least you can always count on the inevitability of death, patiently waiting for you until your very last breath? Who knows. Either way, as soon as the Lamb was killed, and they learned that the literal God of Death was offering them a second chance at life and vengeance via effective immortality, they were 100% ride-or-die-devoted all at once. Turns out death is kinder than life – go figure. (Of course, it helps that Narinder is 100% their type.)

They weren’t put off by Narinder’s thinly-veiled sadism or manipulations, either – they’re not too different in those regards, albeit opting for vastly different methods. It’s a very ‘two sides of the same coin’ sort of deal. In order to stay alive once they were made the last of their kind, the Lamb had no qualms with using others to their advantage, and that did not change once they were revived and expected to run a cult. They didn’t care for the position of authority, though – being a sheep and all, they’re much more of a follower than a leader, and thus greatly appreciated Narinder’s need for control. With how they had to keep on their toes for so long, the Lamb was also pretty good at reading people by the time they died, so they could recognize that a lot of Narinder’s posturing was just that – posturing. Dude’s 95% bluster and only 5% bite. He could obviously be vicious when he wanted or needed to (the Bishops' injuries were clear proof of that), but underneath his outer layer of cruelty was a generous layer of tsundere, and underneath all THAT was a soft squishy middle sibling velcro cat in desperate need of attention and affection.

(Which, for the record, he Did Not feel comfortable getting from Aym and Baal – Narinder still has no idea why the fuck Shamura sent them to him, beyond acting as keepers at best or trying to sabotage his attempts to escape at worst. Which, he thought HE sabotaged in turn, by guiding the kittens into being his devoted disciples instead. He thought he was very clever for it. ‘I outsmarted Shamura!’ he thought, despite that there was never anything there to outsmart. ‘What do you mean, Shamura sent your kittens to me for company?’ he demands of Forneus later. It may or may not lead him to pull Shamura out of Purgatory just so he can shake them and scream about how they should have Fucking Explained that!!!)

But, getting back on track as to why the Lamb was so willing to be sacrificed, I cannot stress this enough – if you pay even a minimal amount of attention to what he’s saying, Narinder is REALLY NOT SUBTLE about his intentions. ‘Death is of little consequence.’ ‘Followers are for you to use to your advantage.’ ‘Sacrifice a follower to absorb more power.’ So, yeah, the Lamb knew exactly what would be expected of them once the other Bishops were dead. They knew Narinder would expect them to die for him one last time. But, after all, death is of little consequence (not to mention hot), so when the time came, they wanted to see him freed, even if it meant oblivion for them in the end.

He’d given them a second life, and the ability to avenge their kin, and they felt indebted to him for that – so, while they were still pretty glum about the possibility that they might not get to see him free of his chains, nothing beyond their devotion and debt to him mattered. They never wanted all the drama and expectations that came with the Red Crown’s power, anyway, so, better for Narinder to have it back so that he could deal with it. What he did with the Lamb afterward would be up to him, and seeing as he was their god, they’d accept his decision gladly.

Were they in love with him by that point? Oh, obsessively so, but only in the devotional sense – romance was nowhere on their mind nor radar. That is, until he unexpectedly revived them again, told them he still needed them, and then offered down his hand to help them up.

The Lamb fell HARD for him in that moment. :3c

And now, a tiny shitten ramble. Lu and Li are twins, because sheep tend to have those a lot, and are conceived not long after the Lamb and Narinder’s marriage ceremony. Lu is the minutes older one, but Li is much more mature. I have put no further thought into these two, other than that they are utter menaces, birthed by the Lamb, cling hard to both their parents but especially Narinder (who spoils them rotten), and they are both genderfluid, using whichever pronouns/names they feel like at any given time. They are also both intersex, same as the Lamb, who was initially infertile up until Something Something Vague Magic, which I have also put no further thought into ¯\_(シ)_/¯

oh, and before anyone tries to suggest i headcanon this AU’s lamb as trending more female due to them giving birth or whatever, no, no, a thousand times no, they might have a vag, but they've also got a dick, and even if it's not as big as they'd like, they still know how to use it

Finally, the very tentative name for the Lamb in this AU is Yazdi, which is really just another name for the Baluchi breed of sheep XD (Not that the Lamb is this specific breed, I just didn’t like any of the other sheep-related names I found, ahaha...)

THAT’S ALL FOR NOW (collapses into an exhausted pile of goopy limbs)

#fanart #comics #cult of the lamb #cotl #narilamb #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #cotl shitten #cotl mystic seller #cotl aym #cotl baal #aym and baal #this is why i have been especially quiet lately XD #even just the bonus stuff took several days to finish because i don't know the meaning of DOODLE anymore apparently #everything must be fully inked and colored with backgrounds I Fukken Guess #at least using medibang's sumi brush keeps me from focusing on making my lines perfect :\#and yeah i copy-pasta'd a lot of my own backgrounds don't at me bro #if you're on desktop and want to full view but don't know how: right click the image - open in new tab - zoom in as needed :)#feel free to ask questions about the AU if you want - but uh - this is basically the extent to which i've thought it through LOL #edit: oh right - aym and baal really out there assuming narinder already put the lamb's soul to rest so the body's just fodder now lmao #last edit i hope: fixed the transparent cult certified freak image 8|#nope - one more edit: there is one (1) loophole for how living mortals can be in the afterlife without dying #that loophole is currently narinder XD #'sorry universe but the god of death says i can be in here so back off with your rules and regulations'

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pedgito · 7 months ago

Text

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄 | Marcus Acacius x reader

summary | once your dad's greatest friend, now his greatest enemy. you cannot shake the desire and care you feel for the fallen general, even as he heads toward death.

author's note | LISTEN, none of this is going to be accurate. and frankly idc, i'm horny i needed to write this do not come at me. no source material? idc i'm still writing it. anyways, enjoy the p*rn. (if you're reading this prior to the movie coming out, none of this is canon. this is just an idea that i wanted to write and felt like posting, if you do not like the idea of writing without source material, please do not engage or send me asks to be combative, they will be deleted. i won't be continuing this specific fic and will not be writing for him again until the movie comes out.)

content warning | 18+ smut, this is dbf for the gladiator girlies (gn), sneaking around, descriptions of smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, creampies, breeding kink, age gap (reader is early 20s, marcus is late 40s/early 50s), alcohol tw, innocence kink

word count —2k

You knew he would be here soon, he must.

You curled into the dark corners of the arena hall, having been here since dawn with your own father, a high military commander who struck down Marcus as punishment for such things even he wouldn’t tell you about. You knew nothing, heard nothing—you weren’t allowed such privilege.

It has been days since you last saw him—Marcus. General Acacius to many, another esteemed leader amongst the masses, and a once great friend to your father. Though, that was no longer.

You often called him sir, finding that General Acacius was quite the mouthful. Or often just General, but his endearment toward you was blatant and he insists, almost pleading that you drop the formality when alone. Which was easier, as your fondness of him grew.

It started at a celebration, one of the many grand parties thrown in celebration of fight won or any reason for the men to drink, but Marcus liked to linger. Often tucked away in a corner watching the madness unfold, you were too curious to stay locked up in your room.

The first night he caught your eye, it was a smile around the edge of his silver goblet drowning in red wine, a hand crossed over his chest as he watched you slip away in fear that he may say something to your father.

But, he never did.

For weeks after, it progresses. From a smile, to a lingering gaze, eventually he finds himself inching closer to you, week by week. Until one night he finally finds the courage in himself to be waiting by the corner you often sneak around, watching curiously.

“You are pushing it, dove.” He speaks softly, his eyes downturned to look at you from the step he was on above you, slowly inching down until he was level, “if he catches you—”

“He hasn’t,” You tell him in a clipped, hushed tone, “and you haven’t said anything. You won’t….will you?”

He bypasses the question, “Why do you come here?” Marcus curiously asks, “These men, they are—animals, if they see you dressed like that, they would not hesitate to—”

You had on a pale nightgown, thin and barely enough to cover your modesty but it was enough. The sticky, summer heat prickled your skin, formed a line of sweat across your brow and you huffed out at his words, “My father would murder them. Besides, you are not like them. So, why do you linger here?”

He was much more than a friend, closer and akin to family.

But, he had his own troubles. Stepson, a wife, he should be away caring for them. Yet, he was there with a disgruntled scowl and eyes only set on you.

“Why not?” He shrugs, “It is…quite entertaining. Isn’t that why you sneak around here to watch?”

You mimic his shrug, shying away slightly as you pull away to leave, but his hand catches your wrist, his cup placed in the gap of pillars separating you both. His facial expressions show an internal battle of thought, like he’s fighting against the bad and hoping the good would win out.

Unfortunately, the bad prevails.

“Let us walk,” He tells you, nodding toward the exit a few feet away, “if you would accompany me?”

You nod eagerly, switching the grip on your wrist to curl around his bicep, muscular and hard from years of fight training. He flexes slightly at the touch, covering his free hand over yours in a comforting gesture.

He made you feel safe. And that was all that mattered to you.

—

The walk was the first mistake.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes before you found yourself tucked away by a nearby tent, unbuckling and unfastening Marcus out of his gear hastily before he fucked you under your nightgown—gentle but firm. He was the first man, the first ever to have you in such a way. You’d told him so as your hands shook under the weight of his gaze, the taste of bitter wine on his lips. He’d kissed you as he pushed his cock inside of you and didn’t stop until you were tipping over the edge.

Over time, you grow bolder. Sneaking him back into your home was easy, knowing the guards weren’t as watchful in the late, late hours of the night. It was dangerous, reckless, but as you tug him down into the cellar and sink to your knees, it all fades away quickly.

His little dove, he often calls you. Sweet dove, so pure and innocent. His hand caresses your chin as you swallow him down, eyes locked on his half-lidded gaze before he comes down your throat, nose scrunching up slightly and his brow furrowing, biting at the back of his other hand to muffle the groan that escapes him.

It was always like this—hurried and quick fucks that didn’t diminish the feeling, but reminded you how easily you could both be caught. It continues for months…and months, until suddenly he stops coming around.

No parties, no visits—Marcus had become a ghost.

But, enough digging had led you here, tucked away in the shadows again—but watching as he fought for his life. The other man was much older, weaker, and Marcus struck him down within a matter of minutes, blood splattering across his face as he stuck again and again, bashing the poor man’s skull in until it was nothing, teeth gritting as his body surged with adrenaline.

Gladiator fighting wasn’t a new thing—and you knew he wasn’t the only one, but why?

He’s making his way down the arena toward the pillar you are tucked behind unknowingly, alone and battered as the guards run off to dispose of the body. You aren’t sure where Marcus is going now or when you would see him again, but you take the chance when you know no one is watching, grabbing him by the armor plate on his chest and pulling him away and into a dusty closet, knocking into a stack of buckets in the process.

You gasp as his hand wraps around your neck, fist cocked back in preparation of an attack.

But, then his eyes land on you.

“Dove, what are you—”

You shush him quickly, hands molding against his face and the dried blood, his breathing quick and short as you attempt to calm him.

“I had to see you—I thought…I thought you had—”

“I might as well be,” Marcus replies somberly, “we cannot meet like this. We cannot meet at all.”

“It’s fine, It’s fine–” You assure him, reaching forward to press your lips against his.

Marcus pulls away hesitantly, grabbing your face roughly until you look at him, eyes widening.

“They will kill you. I cannot see you again. I should not even be here with you.”

Your eyes well with tears, forcing yourself forward again to capture his lips and this time he allows it, opening his mouth slightly as your tongue dips inside, working silently at the buckles to his chest plate.

“No talking. Let us…enjoy this. If it is the last time.”

You were both well aware—he would fight for his life or die, that was it. And he would fight until that point came. He was no longer a General, completely stripped of his power. But, he was still Marcus. And you would hold onto that for as long as you could.

He’s shaking, the adrenaline raking his body and making him restless as you kissed him, tongue dipping into his mouth again as his hands roamed, squeezed, caressed.

“I will not break,” You whisper into his mouth, “take what you need, Marcus.”

It was all he needed to hear, turning you around swiftly and forcing your down with a hand against your back, arms pressing into the shelf in front of you as he pushed up the silk, carefully woven and intricate fabric of your dress—so pristine and perfect. He wanted to rip it off you, be he refrains, squeezing at your hips while he kneels behind you.

“Marcus, you need not—”

“Quiet, little dove. Let me have this,” He licks against your cunt hungrily, noisy slurps as he lapped you up, squeezing less than gentle at the inside of your thighs as they shook, his tongue swiping over your clit, a broken moan slipping past your lips, “beautiful—let me hear you.”

“Marcus,” You plea, his fingers joining his tongue as they breached you and drag against the soft, but incredibly sensitive spot inside of you, your hand reaching for his wrist tucked between your legs as you whined out his name once more, twice, until your legs gave out, feelings his strong, broad shoulders flexing as he used his brute strength to keep you upright, licking up the gush of fluids that leak out of you, rising with haste and untucking himself from his garments, wrapping a gentle hand around the back of your neck before he’s pulling you upright harshly.

“Want to leave you something,” He whispers against the shell of your ear, “something to remember me, if I shall never leave here. Something of me for you to carry on. Alright, sweet dove?”

You nod knowingly, as Marcus had always been careful to pull himself out before breaching that point. He was always careful, hesitant—but being on the brink of death, he found himself careless and desperate. He couldn’t let you go.

He slips inside of you with a hand tucked around your throat, pulling your back to his chest as he snapped his hips into you firmly, groaning lewdly into the side of your neck as he bit down, squeezing at your throat with every soft sound you made and you want it just as bad, forcing your hips back into every push of his cock—you were positive this pain would last you into next week, but you needed that reminder. His fingers dip into your skin, hard and uncaring and sure to leave marks, but that was what you wanted.

And his groans quickly turn needy, more high-pitched than you’ve ever heard them

He’s holding back, restraining himself. You turn your head, catching his heated gaze as he pants, your thumb tracing over his lip. His hand drags over your stomach, rests, curious of how beautiful you would look swollen and carrying his child.

It is a hopeful and distant dream, one that he will never foresee.

“Give it to me, Marcus,” You beg him, “I want it.”

It so easily undoes him, “Take it, my dove,” He growls, coming deep inside of you with a shaky thrust of his hips, squeezing you tight against him, “I think of you, always. You must know—know that.”

It pulls at your heart, tugs in a way that makes your entire body ache. He pulls out with a low grunt, silently tucking himself away as you adjust your dress.

“And I love you,” You admit, watching as his gaze pulls up quickly, “even if you cannot say it back. I know. I know you do.”

Marcus breathes harshly through his nose, crowding you once more but it is soothed by a gentle kiss, “You need to leave—do not come back here.”

“Marcus,” You counter, sadness lacing your tone.

“If, by some miracle, I make it out of here,” He drags his thumb along your jawline, pausing on his words as he looks you over, memorizes you, “I will find you.”

You nod jerkily, eyes never breaking from his, “Just like you always have.”

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

thanks to @chaotic-mystery & @pr0ximamidnight for being the absolute best friends ever and beta'ing this for me on a moments notice, ily both.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x y/n #gladiator 2 #marcus acacius smut #gladiation 2 fanficition #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius fanfiction #my writing #ANYWAYS

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loz-and-lu-fan-blog · 6 days ago

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Linked Universe, The Hero of Time

my headcanons/aus

Art by Atro Avis

Long talk/Ideas under the cut, warning for slight body horror and dark fae topics. (Note: I may add stuff over time, but nothing will be deleted from the list)

Twilight. Wind. Legend. Hyrule. Four. Sky. War. Wild.

Time (Ocarina of Time/Majora’s Mask). Other nicknames: Mask, Sprite, Old man, Pops.

Titles: Hero of Time, Hero of the Kokiri, Hero of Mask, Hero of Termina, The Hero’s Shade. The Changed Kokiri

God who has claim over his soul: Kishin (Fierce Deity)

Note: Also appears in Hyrule Warriors. Is responsive for the first timeline break:

Fallen timeline - never grows when picking up the master sword and ends up dead because the energy of the fight was too much on his body.

Child timeline - Where he went through Oot and was sent back. So, to everyone he just got the gems and as a kid with visions warn of the outcome. (twilight princess)

Adult timeline - this was the timeline where he defeated Ganon as an adult, it was abandoned after (Wind Waker).

History:

Time is not human at all, though he looks like it. He is a Kokiri, a child of the fae and once leaving the forest, he’s considered a changeling. His mother is Navi, though she wasn’t by his side for most of his ‘childhood’ as she was sent on mission by the great deku tree.

Being sent on his adventure after the great Deku tree’s death, he and Navi leave the forest (much to Navi and the other kokiris horror). And start the journey from Oot, the only difference is Time has a full-on panic when he wakes up as an adult, because he knows physically, he’s a kokiri. Even after the events of Oot, he is never fully the same, this isn’t helped when Navi leaves his side for a moment, and he can’t find her. As he goes to find her, he ends up in Termina and ends up in a hellish time loop. Time is unsure how long he was in this loop, so his age mentally is completely unknown. Eventually he succeeds, however he doesn’t get time to rest as he is immediately sent to the Era of War (Hyrule Warriors), with skull kid and others. He ends up growing close to the Link from that era and he learns a lot about him before he is sent back. He never goes back to the Kokiri forest, for fear he wasn’t Kokiri anymore and the lost woods would transform him.

After being sent back to his time, he ends up living at Lon Lon Ranch, going on small adventures before marrying Malon.

His death: Time is sent somewhere for a war and ends up wounded in the lost woods. He’s injured with a metal mix that is poisonous to kokiri . Knowing what awaits him, he decides to leave a ghost or imprint of his soul to help his children/descendants which he had.

Interest stuff/Head canons:

Kokiri's are children of Fae who have yet to decide what they want to be, they are adaptable to everything, hence why they mainly take on human children or little tree children.

The sharp teeth, claws and inhuman eyes are typically just a defense to keep humans away, the biggest difference being their blood and tears proving they are not human.

Time’s teeth and nails are still sharp, he just actively keep them trimmed or filed down so others won’t freak out

Typically, the guardian fairies are the ones to protect the kokiris however they can use their teeth and claws if needed.

Although It’s discouraged for any Kokiri to experience or cause harm from the old saying ‘not to spill blood in the forest, as the tree will remember and crave it’, and blood and flesh will have to become a part of diet to grow up healthy (so Time eats a lot more meat then most).

Time was very much afraid of dying from leaving the forest, he was reassured that having the gem and his mother would keep him alive and healthy. It’s why he hunts for Navi so much after Oot, and later so heavily used to Fierce deity mask in HW. He now knows he doesn’t need it (the mark FD gave him is enough), but he still wears the gem as comfort.

He still hopes to see Navi one day, maybe just for comfort.

Because of his Kokiri/Fae nature and his ability to adapt, he took on aspects from each of the transformation masks, most are hidden from sight.

The Deku scrub has left Time’s insides to be a network of roots and vines rather than veins, this does allow him to heal faster. The Goron has transformed his bones to rock, as well as the heat not affecting him, he could stick his hand in lava if the vines didn’t scream in pain. Zora already improved his musical ability (fae song) but also has added scales and the ability to breathe underwater. The FD has added his height, the marking that married his face and eye as well as his unnerving and unreadable magic signature.

However Time does his best to hide his inhuman features, it’s why he doesn’t take off his bottom layer of clothes. Only the FD mark can be seen.

Time's blind eye acts like the lens of truth times 100, however he keeps it close because of the information overload.

Time loves Malon, and always dreams of having a family with her, but he always fears what his inhuman genes might do to the kid. Twilight, who shares so many traits with him and Malon, eases these worries.

He is very experienced and physically is the oldest.

However, he does just enough odd stuff that the closer you look at him and his behavior, the more you're on edge.

He can speak Hylian, Zora, Goron and Deku really well, but all sound very stiff and formal. Fae is the only one he speaks naturally though it's been getting rusty as he mostly speaks Hylian.

He still has a lot of childlike mischief still left, so he not above pulling pranks, but mainly harmless ones considering he’s the voice of reason.

Time's favorite food are sweet treats. He has stolen many cookies.

He still has all his masks, and while he does show them to the group. The transformation mask never leaves his bag. Despite the FD mask being the only one with a soul left, it feels off to let anyone mess with the Goron, Deku or Zora.

Time’s eye glows in darkness.

He gave himself the scar over his eye.

He has a tattoo on his shoulder from the Goron’s back home. It’s just never seen sense he doesn’t take off his shirt.

Because of Termina, Time can keep time down to the second, day and night.

—

Hope you enjoy my dive into madness, hehehe

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #legend of zelda #linked universe time #linkeduniverse time #linked universe headcanon #linked universe au #lu time #lu au #hyrule’s gods au #cursed au #link #loz #hero of time #hero’s shade #lu headcanons

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osalotte · 6 months ago

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Biological Sleep Aide! (Laios x reader)

aka the sub virgin laios blowjob fic that i have spent an atrocious amount of time on...

MINORS DNI

WC: 5.9k

CONTENTS: NSFW, laios being a d1 yapper, blowjobs, sub laios, inexperienced + virgin laios, a few moments of insecure laios, CANON COMPLIANT SOFT TUMMY LAIOS!!!, party member readr with an unspecified class, gn reader with experience, reader's genitalia not described, soft dom reader, sex with so so many feelings, soft intimacy, pining, lots of setup/plot, gratuitous foreplay, nipple play, visceral imagery of giving head, explicit consent, laios is so down bad it’s embarrassing, semi-ambiguous ending

if this gets enough attention i'll publish a sequel <3

You weren’t quite sure what woke you up; perhaps a sound from down the hall, or a change in the temperature of the air, or Senshi’s foghorn snoring. Either way, you fluttered your eyes awake, blinking at the crumbling gray stone of the dungeon’s ceiling.

You pulled yourself up from your bedroll, sighing but being careful to not make any noise. You let your eyes adjust to the low light and the faint glow of the magic fire Marcille had set up before you went to bed. Internally, you did a head count, and it seemed that everyone was deep in slumber. Senshi, Marcille, Chilchuck….

Your breath caught, eyes stopping at the sight of Laois’ empty bedroll. It was mussed, so he had definitely settled in earlier, but the man himself was nowhere in sight.

You cocked your head, leaning against your hand in thought. Should you be worried? No, he was probably just gone to use the bathroom. It’d be kind of weird if you walked in on him mid-piss. And if that did happen, you couldn’t decide whether Laios would be mortified beyond comprehension or concerningly underwhelmed.

The corners of your mouth quirked up as you thought about the group’s sweet—if not a bit odd—leader.

Okay. I’ll wait a few more minutes, and if he isn’t back, I’ll take a walk around, you decided. The last thing you’d want is to have Laios in some sort of trouble with no one to help out.

So, you sat there and waited, growing more awake by the minute. Still no Laios.

After what seemed like a reasonable amount of time, you pulled yourself up from your bedroll and crept past your sleeping party members, careful to not disturb them. You peeked into a few of the empty rooms near where you’d set up camp—nothing. It wasn’t until you got to the cavern with the underground pond that you found him.

Laios’ back was to you, his form barely illuminated by the blue glow of the water. He was bereft of his heavy plated armor, clothed only in his threadbear linen sleepwear. You couldn’t see his face, but he was eerily still as he sat cross-legged on the edge of the pool, and you just knew he was staring into it with his mind a million miles away. For such a large man, when he was all curled up like that, he looked remarkably small.

“Couldn’t sleep, eh?”

He startled and whipped around at your words, but immediately relaxed upon seeing it was you. His eyes wandered back to the water, but he didn’t turn away from you.

“Yeah. I guess you could say that,” he murmured.

You took a step forward. “Mind if I join you?”

“...Please.”

You eased yourself down to sit down right next to him as you now both faced the pond. Your eyes were on him, and his eyes were still on the water and far, far away. His irises were usually a pretty, soft honey yellow (which you definitely didn’t think about every time you made eye contact), but his pupils were blown wide with the low light, and the only color you could see was tinted turquoise by the underground pond’s light.

You gently nudged his shoulder with your own, which seemed to pull him back to reality for a second.

“How long have you been up?” You asked.

He tilted his head in thought. “Probably like… an hour? By now, at least.”

“An hour?” Your eyes widened and you shook your head. “Jeez, if Senshi finds out our fearless leader isn’t getting his proper rest, you’ll be the next meal.”

Laios snorted and cracked a smile, but it didn’t meet his eyes.

You leaned in even further to him. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Promise.”

“Thanks.”

You sat there like that for a moment, in comfortable silence before you spoke up again: “What’s on your mind?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. A lot of stuff, I guess. Falin, mostly. But then there’s, y’know, everything else, what we’re gonna do moving forward….” He shook his head and curled in on himself. “I want to lead us to success, but sometimes it’s just…”

“A lot?” You finished his sentence where he trailed off, and he nodded.

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“Well,” you leaned back, “I, for one, think you’re doing a wonderful job. We didn’t exactly get dealt a winning hand. You’re doing great with what you have.”

He seemed to genuinely smile at your words, and his eyes went soft. “Thanks. That…. Really does mean a lot. Coming from you, especially.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “Any fool could cast a few spells and throw a few knives. I’m nothing special.”

“That’s not true!” He blurted out. He seemed surprised by his own outburst, and reeled himself back in. “I mean, you’re, like, super cool. And powerful! You have all of these different skills combined into one, like… Like a basilisk! But, like, a nice one that doesn’t try to kill us.”

You snorted. “Wow, and here I thought I was at least manticore level.”

“That too! Really, any chimera-type monster could apply…,” he began rambling on about the different types of chimeras and how they mix their various abilities together, and you just sat and listened, smiling softly. After he had winded himself from his monster-talk, the two of you fell back into a comfortable silence.

“Feeling sleepy yet?” You asked.

Laios shrugged, laying his chin on his hands. “No more than I was an hour ago.”

You chewed your bottom lip, furrowing your brows in thought. Should you say this? “Well…,” you started. “Y’know what always helps me get to sleep after a stressful day?”

He perked up, looking at you with wide, innocent eyes. “What?”

“An orgasm.”

Laios blinked at you. Once. Twice. Then his face went beet red and he whipped his head around to avoid eye contact with you, choking on air. You barked out a laugh.

“What? I’m being serious,” you continued between giggles. “Orgasms are clinically proven to help you sleep better.”

You couldn’t see his face from him being turned away, but the tips of his ears were bright red. “Well, yeah, I guess that makes sense, but…”

“C’mon,” you crooned. “We’re both adults here, Laios. There’s no shame. Be honest, when was the last time you masturbated?”

He thought for a moment, scratching his head. He still wouldn’t look at you. “Um… Probably back I was on the surface…?”

“A whole week ago?”

“No, before that,” he corrected. “The trip from three- no, four weeks ago. Or was it before that….”

Your eyes practically bulged out of your head. “Over a month?”

He shrugged sheepishly. At this point, he had at least turned back around to face you, but he still had trouble meeting your gaze. “Well, with everything going on I’ve been pretty busy. Any time I get a break, I’m just so tired or hungry it doesn’t even cross my mind. And it’s not like I can sneak away or anything.”

“You haven’t even tried?” You pressed. He shook his head. “Wow. You must be pretty pent up, then.”

He simply shrugged again, fidgeting with a pebble he’d picked up somewhere and looking anywhere but you. “I-I mean, it’s not really a big deal…”

“Y’know, masturbation is a form of self care,” you said. “It’s healthy. Helps maintain your hormones, bodily functions, and releases stress. For someone so big on keeping your body healthy, I’m surprised you’ve gone this long.”

“I guess,” he mumbled. He risked a glance at you before quickly dropping his eyes to his hands once more. “It’s…. actually pretty cool how knowledgeable you are about all of this.”

“Oh, trust me, I know my stuff.” You shot him a wink, and you could’ve sworn you heard him gulp. Before you could stop yourself, the words came out; “I could help you if you’d like.”

He froze, looking at you with wide, unblinking eyes. “...Huh?”

Welp, in for a penny, in for a pound. “You know, like, give you a hand,” you explained. “Or mouth. Whichever you’d prefer, really.”

He took a moment to process your words, but when he did, he went back to blushing cherry red. “Y-you mean, like….”

“Give you an orgasm,” you said. “I mean, only if you’d want to. If you don’t, just say the word, and we can forget I even asked.”

You paused, waiting for him to follow up with a “no,” but he just sat in silence, eyes trained on the pond and ears practically steaming.

“Or,” you continued carefully, “you could say yes, in which case I’d be happy to help. More than, even.”

“Really?” He asked, and you nodded.

“Once again, it’s all up to you,” you reassured. “Just thought I’d offer.”

Finally, he looked you in the eye, almost like he was searching for something. “Why?”

You opened your mouth to answer, then closed it again. Why were you offering?

“It’s like a favor from a friend,” you decided. “You need to get to sleep, I want to take your pants off… A win-win, really.”

He buried his face in his hands, shrinking in on himself like a hermit crab into its shell. He mumbled something, but you couldn’t understand it, so you asked him to repeat himself.

“....Y-yeah. I, um, want to,” he squeaked. “I-I mean, if you want to-”

“I literally just offered.”

He swallowed. “Right. Um. Yes.” He looked around the room, still determined to not make eye contact with you. It was silent for a moment. “Uh...How should we…?”

“Go into a different room, probably,” you said, standing up. “This one’s pretty echoey. A little too conspicuous.”

He stood up as well, and you could’ve sworn you saw a tremor in his legs. “Oh. Yeah. Probably.”

You tilted your head towards the door. “Here, come with me.”

You took him to one of the side rooms you’d poked in earlier. No windows, one door that locks…. Perfect. You took his hand, gently tugging him into the room and closing the door behind you. You muttered a quick incantation under your breath, and a few dimly glowing orbs of light appeared above you. Not enough to light up the room, but enough so that you could at least see your hand in front of your face.

Laios fidgeted where he stood. “Where should I….?”

“You could sit on that chest over there. Wait, actually I’d prefer you on the ground,” you said. “Better for my knees. Too bad we don’t have pillows… But, you could probably lean against those burlap sacks in that corner there. ”

He nodded excitedly, but didn’t move. You tilted your head at him. He seemed to realize himself, and hurriedly trotted over to sit in the corner with the burlap sacks. You followed eagerly on his trail, chuckling under your breath.

“Sorry,” he fumbled, clearly trembling as he sat himself down. “I’ve, uh, never done this before.”

You snorted, sitting down in front of him. “What, never gotten a blowjob in a dungeon? I hear it’s all the rage these days.”

He offered a wobbly smile and a chuckle. “No, like, um… I haven’t done…” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, trailing off.

You furrowed your brows. “What do you mean?”

“Like, anything like this.”

You blinked at him, confused by his words, but then froze as it clicked in your head.

“You’re a virgin?” You blurted out, much louder than you intended to and you smacked your hands over your mouth. Laios looked like a deer in headlights, unsure if he should be mortified or not. You quickly recovered. “Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting it. Um, how old are you, again?”

“26,” he said. He tilted his head at you like a puppy, eyes big and innocent. “Why? Is that weird?”

“No, no, of course not,” you reassured. “Just, um… Do you still want to do this? You can back out. I won’t be offended.”

“I-I want to.” He sat up straight and responded so quickly he almost tripped on his words. “I do. If you’re still okay with it.”

You took a deep breath before giving him a soft smile. “Yes. I definitely am.”

“Oh, that’s good… I didn’t want it to be weird if- oomf!” You pushed him against the burlap sacks, caging him in with your body as you moved to straddle his lap. Your face got very close to his face very fast and Laios was not expecting it. Then again, he certainly wasn’t complaining. He looked up at you, eyes wide and cheeks red.

“You ever kissed anyone before?” You asked, sultry voice just above a murmur, searching in his eyes.

“Uh… Y-yeah,” he said. He kept making eye contact, then looking away. “Only, like, twice, though.”

Oh, so we were really starting from scratch, you thought to yourself, saying nothing. You saw him grow a little anxious at your lack of immediate response and quickly followed up, “That’s alright. I was just curious.”

“Y-yeah, it was like-” your hands slithered up his neck to tenderly cup his jaw, “-two years ago, or something-” you leaned in, lips just inches away from his, “-and, um….”

He trailed off with a shaky exhale of air that you felt against your lips, and you took that as your cue to go in.

You kissed him, and he immediately froze up, not knowing what to do. When your lips started moving, he was clumsy, painfully out of sync. He really hadn’t done this before. After a few seconds of testing the waters, you pulled away, but not too far. He leaned his head in a bit, as if trying to follow you.

He blinked slowly, eyes so blown out that his iris was little more than a thin ring around black pupils. “What are you doing…?”

“Kissing you,” you stated. “Y’know, like, foreplay.” He tilted his head and gave you a quizzical look, so you elaborated, “It’s kind of like a sex warm-up….? Y’know, to get you going so you don’t have to jump right in.”

“Oh. Yeah. I-I guess that makes sense….”

You grinned at him before diving in to steal another kiss. You made this one sensual, gratuitous, trying to guide his lips into a comfortable rhythm with yours. You felt his large body go slack against yours, melting into the kiss. You had one hand on the back of his head and the other on his big, warm chest, and it was painfully obvious he had no clue what to do with his arms.

“Here,” you giggled against his lips, and guided his hands to a comfortable spot. One on your side, just below your chest, and the other on your ass. “You can touch me.”

“O-okay,” he squeaked.

You kissed him for a third time, this time with a little more fervor. You slipped your tongue in here and there, experimenting and seeing what he’d do with it. He gave your butt a tentative squeeze, and you grinned against his lips. With every movement, Laios seemed to loosen up; becoming more comfortable, even eager.

He pressed his mouth hard into you—a bit too hard, teeth clanking together—and you had to tug him back with your hands gripping tight at the hair on the back of his neck and he gasped. You didn’t let up, giving a few more soft kisses as an apology before pulling away once more.

“Wow,” he whispered, eyes half open and lips still parted, grinning in a stunned sort of bliss. “You’re really good at this.”

You shrugged. “Call it experience, I guess.”

“Mm….,” he hummed, only half-hearing your words. Laios’ eyes trailed down to your lips, beginning to lean in once more. You obliged and gave him a small peck on the lips before pulling away. He made a sound of confusion before you moved to the corner of his lips, then his cheek, then his jaw, then finally began kissing his neck.

“Oh. Oh wow,” he breathed shakily, big hands floating up to grip into your sides and hips as if to keep himself grounded. You couldn’t see him, but you could imagine his expression to be one of shocked, open-mouthed delight.

You mouthed your way up to the spot below his ear, sucking what you hoped would end up to be dark purple hickeys the next morning. He tasted like sweat and skin and you relished in every bite.

“Hah….,” he moaned, more breath than actual voice, holding onto you for dear life. You nibbled at his earlobe and he tensed before a full-on shudder wracked his body. He instinctively pulled you in tight against him with his strong arms, like he wanted to be as close to you as physically possible. He was exceptionally sensitive—not necessarily surprising, given his inexperience, but either way it sent a little thrill of anticipation up your spine.

You’d been feeling his growing arousal under you, but at this point it was poking against your inner thigh from your position straddling him. You pressed into it slightly and he yelped, flinching into you.

“That’s-“ he gave a sharp inhale followed by a shaking moan as you bit down into the thick cord of muscle that leads to his shoulder, simultaneously grinding harder against the tent in his pants. He jolted in surprise, but it was followed closely by a shiver of pleasure as he squeezed his legs together. “-that feels—ngh—really good.”

You pulled away. He was panting fully now, just as hot and worked up as he got after an intense bout of combat. But unlike the heat of battle, this scene was softer, more gentle, malleable, intimate. He looked utterly blissed out, huffing and puffing with red cheeks and unfocused eyes, and you hadn’t taken off a single layer of clothing. You could see the twitching bulge in his pants, a small wet spot appearing at its peak. You fought back a grin. So excitable.

Your hands trailed along the collar of his linen shirt, fiddling with the strings. “Can we take this off?”

He blinked at you, taking a moment to process your words, but he snapped to attention once he realized what you meant.

“Oh- Oh! Um, yeah, of course. Let me just….” He reached up to untie his laces, and you scooted back on his legs to allow him room to pull his shirt up and over his head, leaving his upper half completely bare.

You’d already had a pretty good idea of his physique given that his thin shirt did little to hide it, but he was a glorious sight to behold now. His large frame littered with scars, his huge muscles bulging out but not necessarily chiseled as they lay under a healthy layer of fat, the slight squish of his tummy that spilled a little over his waistband, and golden chest hair trailing all the way down into his pants.

You must’ve been staring a bit too long, because Laios shifted and moved to cross his arms over his chest, self-conscious.

“Uh, am I- Is this okay…?” He gulped.

“Oh god, sorry, yes,” you rushed to get the words out. “It’s just- you’re, like, gorgeous. Got distracted.”

If he hadn’t been completely red in the face already, you were sure he would have blushed to infinity. He curled in on himself.

“I usually don’t care how I look that much, but…” he murmured. “It’s weird. I don’t know why I feel so…. shy.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” you said, reaching up to tenderly sweep his hair back before sliding down to cup his face. “You can put it back on, if you want. But I am certainly enjoying the view.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Thanks…. You’re- you also look really, um, good…”

“Here, I’ll join you,” you said. You made quick work of pulling your shirt over your head and you heard Laios gasp.

“Wow,” he whispered as his eyes raked up and down your body in wonder.

“Could I have this?” You tugged at the shirt he still held in his hand, and he willingly gave it to you, still starstruck by your half-naked form. “Lean forward a bit here.”

Obedient as a dog, he followed your instructions and leaned into you, not thinking twice. His skin felt hot and a little damp against yours, his face pressed against your shoulder. You reached around him to fluff the shirt out flat a little bit before tucking it between his back and the burlap sacks as a makeshift blanket.

“Should be a little more comfortable,” you said, tucking in the edges so it wouldn’t slip too much. “Don’t wanna scratch up your back. Yet, at least.”

Completely oblivious to your innuendo, he was looking at you as if you’d hung all the stars in the sky. “You really know what you’re doing, huh?”

You shrugged. “Don’t think too much about it, ‘kay? I just want you to be comfortable.”

You pushed back on his shoulder slightly and, obedient as ever, he laid back down against the now-covered burlap sacks. His arms had slipped down to lay at his sides. He stared at you, eagerly awaiting your next instruction.

You ran your hands down his neck and across his chest, nails raking through the wiry hair and over his nipples, tenderly admiring his build. His muscles twitched with each brush of your fingers, hands creeping up to grip your thighs.

You leaned forward, diving in to leave open-mouthed kisses on his neck and down his chest. He shivered and gripped your thighs tighter. You paused once you reached his sternum and looked up at him.

“Do you like having your nipples played with?”

He froze at your question. “Um, I-I’m not really sure.”

Virgin. Right, you reminded yourself internally.

“Well,” you continued, “let me know if this feels good, okay? It’s not for everyone, but they have a lot of nerve endings, and can be big erogenous zones for some people.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of tha- eep!” He tensed up like he was struck with a live wire as you closed your mouth around his nipple. He bit back a groan as you swirled your tongue around, sucking softly. His cock jumped, and you could feel the wetness from his tip seeping through his pants as it brushed against your bare stomach.

“I—ah—didn’t even know you could do this,” he stuttered, hands having since moved their vice-grips to your upper back as you continued to lavish his chest in attention, moving to the other nipple. “I- I mean biologically it makes s—hah—sense since in mammals, the chest a-and specifically nipples are considered a secondary s—hn—sexual organ…”

“But does it feel good?” you asked, slightly muffled as you switched between speaking and sucking on his chest.

“I- I think so—!“ His voice cut off with a sharp gasp as you suddenly sank in your teeth around his nipple before sucking hard and rolling the little bud in your mouth. “It’s- it’s kinda weird but—hah—kinda good….?”

You pulled off of his chest with a wet pop and grinned up at him devilishly. “Enjoying yourself, Laios?”

“Yeah,” he panted. His eyes were half-lidded, mouth parted as he caught his breath, flushed all the way to his ears. He somehow looked worked up to the point of combustion but soft and innocent at the same time. “This is….. Wow. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything.” You were sure you couldn’t hide how pleased you were with yourself, looking like the cat who got the cream. His eyes were so full of wonder, and you couldn’t help but pull yourself back up to kiss him silly, repositioning yourself so that one of your legs was slotted in between his.

You pressed your body hard into his, and his arms snaked around your waist, a single big hand going down to shyly squeeze your butt. You giggled and brought up your finger to trace tight little circles around his nipples, still slippery with saliva, and he shuddered and gasped against you.

You pulled your thigh forward to press hard against his cock, twitching and leaky as it begged to be released from its confines. The tortured sound Laios let out against your lips made you want to devour him whole.

“You’re doing so well, Laios,” you whispered in between kisses. He whined and his cock jumped excitedly. Interesting. “So, so good for me.” You pressed your thigh down harder-

“Wait—ngh!—wait stop-“ he yelped. You immediately halted your actions, pulling away, but Laios pulled you right back into him, refusing to let you move away.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” You asked, gently stroking his arms, suddenly very concerned.

He was shivering violently, and pressed even harder into you. “Nothing,” he gasped, struggling to form words. “I just- I thought I was gonna cum….”

You grinned devilishly, a new light in your eye. You pressed your thigh into his raging hard-on once again and he keened, burying his face into your neck.

“Wait! Be careful, I-I can feel it….,” his words tapered off into a broken cry, open-mouthed against your shoulder. Mercifully, you let up, and Laios let out a shaky sigh of relief.

“Let’s move on to the main event, shall we?” You cooed, worming your way out of his hold so you could lower yourself onto the ground.

He looked confused for a moment, as if he’d forgotten you’d planned on sucking him off in the first place, but then his eyes widened and he choked on air. “Oh- Yeah. Yes.” He gulped “Please?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” you purred. You kissed your way down his torso, his curly chest hair tickling your nose as you went. You reached his pants, pressing a messy kiss on his tummy just above his waistband. He shuddered. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands—trembling as they were—awkwardly holding them above his lap.

You looked up at him, his shivering form and nervous expression, droplets of sweat beading at his forehead despite the chill of the dungeon. He was so close already, and honestly, with how pent up he was, you were surprised he managed to hold back from creaming his pants.

You unfortunately had to look away from his flushed face as you undid the laces of his trousers and pulled out his swollen cock. He was hard and hot and thick in your hands. In terms of penises you’d seen, he was uncut, untrimmed, and exceptionally average, yet you were salivating all the same. The flushed head was shiny smeared with its own precum, and it bobbed up under your gaze.

Laios’ eyes squeezed shut and he tilted his head back with a choked groan, like just the sight of your face so close to his cock would make him cum.

You wrapped your hand firm around the middle and gave him an experimental pump. You were mesmerized as you watched the foreskin bunch up over the head, a single bead of white pearling and dribbling out, before pulling and stretching back down to reveal his cock in all of its weeping glory.

You couldn’t help but dive right in.

You closed your warm mouth over the head of his cock, licking the creamy, salty pleasure from his tip and swallowing it hungrily. Laios yelped and his thighs squeezed around your head. You popped your mouth off of him to lick a long stripe from base to tip, flattening your tongue, before suckling on the tip once more.

“So…. warm….,” Laios mumbled.

You let a fat glob of spit drip down from your mouth, using the tight ring of your hands to deftly spread it down his shaft. You pumped him once, twice, and Laios’ jaw dropped in a silent gasp.

“Nice, isn’t it?” you murmured before pressing a sloppy kiss to his tip. Laios’ mouth tried to form words, but all that came out was a gasp followed by a throaty groan as he pitched forward. His hands found their way to your hair—not so much pushing you down as it was giving himself something to hold onto.

You let go of his dick so that, with both hands, you could ease him back down, untense his muscles and loosen his hands from your hair.

“It’s alright, baby, I’ve got you,” you cooed. “It’s okay. Just relax. You’re doing so well.”

He whimpered but nodded, screwing his eyes shut. Once he’d relaxed again, your hand gently found its way back to his cock, soon followed by your mouth.

You were slow, careful not to overwhelm him, swallowing him halfway with a hand wrapped firm around his base before pulling back up, lapping at his tip.

“Wow. Oh wow,” he whispered, letting out breathy little 'hah's. “This is…. Wow.”

Laios was whimpering, trying his best to stay still, but with every bob of your head his thighs twitched and his body tensed.

“No wonder succubi—ngh—are so successful in—h-hah—in dungeons- ack—!” His voice broke as you swallowed around him. “This is—hn—really… r-really good. Lonely male adventurers w-would make the perfect prey—!” The last part of his sentence pitched up as you began swirling your tongue around the tip.

You took him deeper. You felt the hot, salty weight of him bump the back of your throat. He cried out, hips jumping up and hands scrambling to hold onto something. You didn’t let up, taking him deeper, swallowing around his length as you blinked and let the tears spill from your eyes. Your throat may have a bruise the next morning, but the sounds that Laios made would be well worth it.

“Oh god. Oh—oh I’m close,” he moaned, desperate. “‘M gonna—hah—gonna cum…”

You simply sped up, sucking him with a newfound fervor, and he moaned so loud you could hear the echo bounce around the room. One of his hands kept brushing over yours, so you obliged, lacing your fingers with his own. He took it greedily, thankful to be holding your hand and squeezing tight as you swallowed him.

“Oh- oh! It’s— I’m cumming, oh fuck, I’m cumming—ngh—-!” His moans tapered off into a high-pitched whine as he came in your mouth, hot saltiness flooding all of your senses as you swallowed what you could. He was cumming a lot—bursting into your mouth like a broken pipe—so much so that it quickly overflowed and came dribbling out from the corners. You pulled off of him, cum dripping down your chin and spilling onto your hand.

Meanwhile, Laios was still in the middle of a mind-blowing orgasm, jolts of pleasure shooting through him as he gasped and moaned. You stroked him, languid and slow, through the rest of it, squeezing his hand in assurance. By the time the cum had stopped seeping out of him, he was shaking like a leaf and had a white-knuckle grip on your hand. He began to whimper in pain at the overstimulation, so you let up, watching his softening cock lay itself down, twitching, into a splatter of cum on his thigh.

Laios was breathing hard. Eyes closed, he hadn’t let go of your hand. You just rested your cheek on his clean (as in, the one with less cum on it) thigh, looking up at him as he eased his way out of orgasmic daze.

“So,” he murmured after a moment of silence, voice trembling. “That’s what I’ve been missing out on all this time.”

“Pretty much,” you hummed, drawing mindless circles on his hips with your thumb, never taking your eyes off of him.

“Wow.” He stared off into space for a second before blinking back into focus. “No wonder lust makes people crazy. It’s almost…. Cathartic?”

“Relaxing, too,” you said, pressing a feather light kiss into the softness of his thigh. “Feel better?”

He nodded. “Very. Honestly, I could fall asleep right now. I don’t even want to get up. Is that a normal post-coital reaction?”

You bit back a giggle. “Yes. But this in particular was pretty intense.” You began the process of slowly separating yourself from Laios, peeling your body off of the ground. “You came a lot. Is it usually this much? It’s not bad or anything, there’s just… so much.”

“Not usually, no,” he shrugged sheepishly, looking down at the mess on his legs. “Probably from being ‘pent-up,’ like you said.”

“Guess this means you should take better care of your biological urges, hm?” You tenderly cupped his face and he hummed, leaning into your hand to press a kiss to your palm. You subtly wiped your other hand on your discarded shirt so that you could bring it up to run your fingers through his close-cropped hair.

“That was… amazing,” he whispered, eyes fluttering shut under your caress. “It felt so nice.” He swallowed, then hesitantly looked up to you, eyes big and round and adoring. “...Thank you.”

You couldn’t handle the way he was looking at you, so instead you kissed him. He was all but boneless against you, sweet and melting like ice cream on a hot summer’s day.

You pulled away. It was a second before either of you spoke, eyes closed, foreheads pressed together, breathing in the other’s exhales.

“We should probably get back,” you said after a moment, pressing one final, fleeting kiss to his lips before standing up.

“Y-yeah. Probably.” He looked down at the mess all over his thighs and stomach. “Um… what should I….?”

You muttered an incantation under your breath and with a flick of your wrist, the mess disappeared from him completely. You did the same for yourself.

“Thank the gods for prestidigitation,” you chuckled. You began to redress yourself, Laios not far behind.

Once you were both decent, you made your way to the door, unlocking it and expecting Laios to follow you. You glanced over your shoulder only to see that Laios was standing in the same spot, the laces of his shirt still untied.

“So, are we lovers now?”

You froze, blood pumping as your heart leapt into your throat. Even for Laios, the question felt like it came out of left field. He had his head tilted at you like a curious dog, unashamed and eager and genuine.

“Like, in the books,” he explained. “This kind of thing is what lovers do, right?”

“Well- I….” You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t dreamt of being his partner—being giggly and enamored with each other. But cold fear gripped your heart when you thought about the possibility of something going wrong, of you messing it up and losing him completely. “...I guess….? Kind of? Do you…. Want to be?”

He walked up to you and grabbed your hand, eyes never leaving yours. “I want to be lovers.”

“How about….. friends…… that are also sometimes lovers?” you suggested, trying to not let your voice shake too badly. You cringed inwardly at your words, since you wanted nothing more than to scream ‘Yes!’

“Does that mean we can keep doing stuff like this?” He asked.

“Of course,” you said. You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. “How about we discuss this more tomorrow, yeah? You need to get some sleep.”

This answer seemed to satisfy him, as he grinned wide at you, tugging you out the door and towards camp where, hopefully, no one realized you were missing.

Meanwhile, back at camp....

Chilchuck was covering both of his ears with his pillow, silently seething. Bile rose in his throat with every other sound he could hear ever-so-faintly echo through the dungeon corridor. He did not expect to wake up to the sounds of stupid Laios in the thralls of pleasure—with you, no less!—and he was very much not happy about it.

"Fucking kids...," he muttered, grinding his teeth together as he tried to muffle the sounds as best he can. "Fucking half-foot hearing.... I hate it here."

~~~

tags: @hohoshiumi @this-gave-pidgeon-further-shock @smokycoco @eggsnasty @justformio234 @rosesandquartzz @zeniiis @childaintit @goddessofpoledancing @dark-space-between-the-stars

please comment + reblog so i have a justification for writing more laios fics instead of actual productive tasks <3

#laios touden #dungeon meshi #laios dungeon meshi #dom reader #sub laios #gender neutral reader #laios x reader #dunmeshi smut #sub character #smut

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witchywithwhiskey · 29 days ago

Text

first christmas with trucker ari levinson

pairing: dark trucker!ari levinson x female reader

summary: you ask ari if you can hang up some christmas decorations in his truck cab, and after his initial refusal, he starts to come around to the idea—and has some fun making you beg for it.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, slightly dry/painful sex, creampie, cock warming, bondage, choking, breathplay, dirty talk, degradation, some praise, daddy/dad kink, begging, pet names (sweetheart, baby, kiddo), some aftercare, a mean hot man

word count: 2.0k

a/n: based on this ask from @veltana: Are trucker Ari's and trucker Jake's readers gonna decorate the rigs for the holidays? since Ari's canonically jewish, i wanted to work that in while still showing what he's willing to do for his girl. (also apologies if there's any tense switching in this one, i'm not used to writing in present tense 😬)

trucker king masterlist & dirty filthy truckers universe masterlist

Trucker Ari Levinson isn’t the type of man to decorate for the holidays. By the time Thanksgiving rolls around, you’re well aware of this fact about your trucker, but you think it would be nice to put up some decorations in the rig, just to make it feel a little bit festive.

When you broach the subject, the two of you have just set off on a six-week stint of driving, which means you’ll be on the road through the new year. Already, the vast, snow-covered plains of the midwest have you feeling melancholy, so you’re really hoping Ari says yes to some Christmas cheer.

However, your trucker shuts you down with a curt, grunted, “I’m Jewish.”

You try not to show your disappointment, but you haven’t quite gotten used to the way you can never hide anything from your deceptively observant trucker. So while you think you do a good job of playing it off like you don’t care that Ari doesn’t seem willing to let you decorate, he knows he’s struck a chord—and it doesn’t sit well with him.

At the next rest stop, Ari’s grabbing snacks while you’re in the bathroom and he catches sight of a small display of Christmas decorations. They’re all cheap and plastic and poor quality, but before he can stop himself, he’s swiping one of the bright red Santa hats and adding it to his haul.

Ari shakes his head to himself, wondering what his mother would think of him if she could see him buying a Santa hat when he hasn’t worn a yarmulke or stepped foot in a synagogue in over a decade. But then he pushes the thoughts aside, reminding himself that his mother was gone, she’d left him, and she had no fucking right to judge what he was doing.

You’re settled in the rig by the time he gets back, an e-reader in your lap, and already engrossed in some smutty Christmas romance when Ari hauls himself into the driver’s seat. You don’t look up until a bag of Christmas candy lands in your lap, and you’re so taken aback, you glance at your trucker in surprise.

It’s then that you see the Santa hat pulled down over Ari’s slightly greasy brown hair. In his dirty red flannel, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Ari looked like the hottest, filthiest Santa you’ve ever seen, and your core quivers with eagerness as you suck in an excited breath.

Ari’s staring at your mouth, his eyes dipping lower to the way your tits are trembling as your breathing speeds up. You’re wearing nothing but one of his flannel shirts, the buttons undone an almost indecent amount, and nothing underneath. (You’d worn leggings into the rest stop bathroom, but taken them off as soon as you got back in the truck—Ari doesn’t like you wearing too many clothes and, truthfully, you don’t either.)

“Why don’t you come sit on Santa’s lap, kiddo,” Ari rumbles, his voice low and smooth—the charming tone of the man who’d coaxed you into his truck that first day. His hand pats his thigh enticingly as he spreads his legs, the fingers of his other hand deftly undoing the button and fly of his jeans. “Tell daddy what you want for Christmas this year.”

Your pussy is already wet with desire, so you toss your e-reader onto the bunk in the back and quickly navigate the space between your seats so you can throw a leg over Ari’s thighs and slide into his lap. Your ass lands on his legs, your pussy already slick enough that you whimper with the need to be filled.

“Beg for this cock, sweetheart,” Ari rumbles, stroking his thick length, his knuckles brushing against your damp slit and making your hips buck forward, seeking more friction. “Beg me to use your cunny like my own personal cock sleeve.”

“Please, use my pussy, daddy,” you beg breathlessly, fingers twining around the hair at the nape of Ari’s neck, careful not to knock the Santa hat off his head. “Use me to keep your cock warm, please—I want nothing more than to be your perfect little cock slave.”

“Good cock whore,” Ari purrs, one of his big hands grabbing your ass and urging you to lift up. Then he was notching the head of his dick at your tight little hole and helping you sink down on him.

A lewd moan slips from your lips as you take Ari’s cock. Your pussy isn’t quite wet enough to take his thick girth, but you don’t care. You’d take Ari dry if that’s what he wanted, and you both know it.

There’s a delicious sting as your pussy protests the thick intrusion but you push past it, forcing your hips down until your ass meets Ari’s strong thighs. You sigh with contentment, swaying a little in Ari’s lap, your eyes half-lidded as you stare into your trucker’s ungodly handsome face.

For some reason, the Santa hat is really doing it for you, making Ari even hotter than normal and you think, dazedly, you might have a Santa kink—so long as Santa is your dirty, filthy trucker.

“Feels s’good, daddy,” you slur, pleasure making your tongue feel thick and clumsy in your mouth.

Ari chuckles and gives your hip an affectionate pat before he removes his hands from your body and starts up the truck, the engine growling to life.

He’s pulled his rig back onto the snowy midwestern roads before he reminds you about why you’re on his lap in the first place.

“I wanna decorate the cab for Christmas,” you murmur, laying your head against Ari’s shoulder and enjoying the feeling of the truck rumbling beneath you, the warmth of the rig surrounding you.

Your eyes slide closed and you relax against Ari’s chest, letting the soothing vibrations and the perfect feeling of being filled by his cock lull you. Your whispered plea is spoken into the hollow of Ari’s throat, right above where the star of David he always wears is nestled beneath his t-shirt.

“Please, dad.”

You feel your trucker’s cock twitch inside you, and a second later he lets out a tortured groan. It joins the soft moan you bury in the shoulder of his flannel shirt, your hips rocking lazily on Ari’s lap. Your juices are soaking his cock already, dripping down to his balls, and his cock is throbbing inside you, both of you equally turned on by what you’d called him.

“Fine,” he grits out through clenched teeth, though you know he’s not angry, just trying to hold back from coming inside you so soon. He always reacts that way when you call him ‘dad’ instead of ‘daddy’. “You can have one string of lights, baby, but I’m going to test ‘em out before we hang ‘em up.”

Sucking in a sharp breath of surprise, you lean back and look up at Ari to make sure he’s serious. You find his jaw clenched tight and ticking, but when his eyes meet yours, there’s a sparkle of something like affection in them. Before you can be sure, though, he looks back to the dark road.

“Thank you, Ari, thank you,” you cry, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing kisses to his scruffy cheeks and burying your face in his thick beard to nuzzle his jaw. Happily, you lick and kiss down his neck, sucking on the spot at the base of his throat that makes his cock throb inside you.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome,” he grumbles, one of his hands falling to the small of your back and urging you to settle. “Now be a good cock whore and sit still while you keep me warm, we’ve got another couple hours of driving before you can properly thank me.”

“Yes, sir, daddy,” you purr sweetly in Ari’s ear as you settle down on his lap. You lay your head on his shoulder and press your mouth to his neck, licking and sucking on his skin idly while you do your best to stay still and let him drive in peace.

When Ari finally pulls off for the night, you’re practically vibrating with a need to show him how happy he’s made you and as soon as he puts the rig in park, you’re riding his cock hard and fast.

Your hands are planted on his bare chest—since you made him strip out of his flannel shirt and t-shirt—and you lift your ass up before slamming it down hard, the tip of his cock pushing against your cervix with every thrust and making your cunt squeeze the life from his hard length.

Once he’s let you take control for long enough, Ari’s hand wraps around the front of your throat and he pins you back against the steering wheel, not caring that the horn blares while he fucks up into you ruthlessly.

All you can do is watch your trucker king, wearing a cheap rest stop Santa hat, fuck the hell out of you while your tits bounce and your mouth falls open in a moan.

Ari comes with a rough shout, yanking you down hard on his cock and making you grind your pussy on him, rubbing your clit against the coarse hair at the base. His hand squeezes your throat, choking you just hard enough to make your pussy spasm, and then you’re coming too, your scream of pleasure stifled by his grip on your neck.

After, Ari helps you into the bunk and tucks you into his big body beneath the blanket. He falls asleep wearing that Santa hat and some boxer briefs, while you’re naked in his arms. With your back to his chest, you can’t see the faint smile that curves his mouth as he drifts off.

When Ari finally buys you that string of lights he promised, you learn that the ‘test’ he wanted to do before you strung them up was to tie you up in them. He winds the cord around your calves, then your thighs, binding your legs together before he plugs them in to make sure they’re all working.

Ari takes a long moment to look at you like that, naked on the bunk in the back of his rig, save for the thick socks keeping your feet toasty, and the warm, golden lights of the Christmas decoration he bought for you.

It makes him want to buy you more, to see how you’d look laid out beneath a fully decked out Christmas tree while he fucked your pussy, or how you’d feel curled up in a blanket covered in reindeer while he held you on his lap, his cock buried in your ass. He wants to see you wearing a Santa hat that matched his own, sucking his cock on Christmas morning while he made you coffee.

Ari reminds himself that the two of you are spending Christmas in his rig that year, driving around the country until well into January. But he saves those ideas for another time, tucking them into a box in a corner deep in his mind reserved for all the softer, more domestic plans he has for you—the ones you’ve started to inspire in him despite the fact that he’s never thought of himself as a man with soft or domestic side.

To distract himself, Ari digs out the Santa hat he bought at that rest stop and puts it on your head, pulling it down over your ears and giving you a satisfied little grin. Then he folds your body in half, pushing your bound legs up to your chest and off to the side so he can watch your face contort in pleasure while he sinks his cock into you.

The string of lights are digging into your skin a little painfully and you’re bent in an almost uncomfortable position, but you can’t help but enjoy it when Ari plunges into your cunt and sets a fast, merciless pace.

You’d never expected a conversation about Christmas decorations to end up with you tied up in a string of lights, but then, nothing about your trucker was ever what you expected—and that was part of why you loved him so much. You couldn’t wait to spend that Christmas and many more with your trucker king, Ari Levinson.

trucker king masterlist & dirty filthy truckers universe masterlist

#ari levinson #ari levinson smut #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #trucker ari levinson #ari levinson drabble #ari levinson fic #ari levinson fanfic #ari levinson au #ari levinson imagine #trucker au #dark ari levinson #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #chris evans characters #witchywithwhiskeywork #christmas fanfiction

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calmlb · 4 months ago

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It’s been clear that the Tanizakis aren’t siblings from the very beginning

here’s some evidence now that it’s been confirmed canon…

everyone who’s read irl Tanizaki’s book knew that Junichiro & Naomi weren’t siblings as soon as they introduced themselves

BUT just because the Tanizakis aren’t siblings doesn’t mean you can’t feel uncomfortable about them. if you feel uncomfortable, GOOD. that’s exactly what they want

the Tanizakis, Mori— they all use these disturbing ruses to disarm or distract people in order to protect themselves, or to accomplish their goals. this is a writing device that asagiri commonly employs as a way to parallel the irl literature (it’s actually ingenious)

there are 4 main indicators that have always made it clear to me that Junichiro & Naomi are not siblings:

1. most obviously— their character designs. Harukawa is extremely intentional with character designs, & she very intentionally made Naomi & Junichiro look nothing alike

their eye shapes are purposely different

their color palettes are contrasting

even their differing styles of clothing have meaning

this was all done so that the audience could PLAINLY see that they’re not related— so that WE know that they’re lying when they say they ARE related

2. how the people around them respond to their act.

the general reaction is “don’t question it”— which is exactly what they want. “be distracted by how uncomfortable you feel so that you look away from what we’re hiding” (this is likely a protective measure)

3. most importantly, this is meant to parallel irl Tanizaki’s book “Naomi,” where the main character Joji picks up Naomi to raise her into his ideal woman, but since she's so young (& a minor) they call each other cousins (Joji makes no sexual advances on young Naomi btw)

however, his plan backfires because when Naomi gets older & they get married, she flips the script on him & manipulates HIM so that he's under her thumb (which is why bsd Tanizaki is at a domineering Naomi's mercy). Joji let her have her way because of his masochistic tendencies

4. lastly is the emphasis that Asagiri and the Tanizakis themselves put on calling each other siblings.

over & over, it’s “my brother this” & “my sister that”

like they’re desperately trying to convince us that it’s true (“don’t let your lying eyes deceive you”)

here are just a few of many examples from the light novels…

again, if you’ve read “Naomi” you knew that Junichiro & Naomi weren’t siblings as soon as they introduced themselves

just like if you’ve read irl Mori’s works, it’s clear that bsd Mori isn’t a pedophile

just like if you’ve read No Longer Human you know that Dazai’s an unreliable narrator. he makes you think he’s a bad person bc he believes he’s a bad person, but those around him see him differently (btw this doesn’t mean he’s never done anything “bad,” though bsd isn’t about morality— but that’s another discussion)

anyway, i’m so excited for the Tanizakis backstory to be revealed so that we can better understand why they use this defense!!

also let this be a reminder to READ THE LITERATURE if you’re able to!! even reading synopses & analyses of the coordinating books makes bsd make much more sense 🥹

reminder that this how you’re supposed to react while reading bsd:

also, if you’re interested in a post explaining how Mori isn’t a pedo, i wrote this analysis on twt. OR you can read this document that one of my moots sent me (remember: analyzing a character does NOT mean you condone any actions they may or may not commit!)

#i hope this makes sense. i’ve had this in the drafts for months but was too scared to post it #i’m hoping now that it’s confirmed canon there won’t be as much backlash ^^’ pls be kind #darcy this is for you… i hope you like it :’)#also full disclosure i haven’t been able to read all of Naomi yet. mostly synopses & analyses. so don’t take my summary of the book as law #also hopefully now people won’t ignore the Tanizakis anymore!! not only are they so interesting. they’re also just fun characters #Naomi is so underrated & intelligent. i need more of her teaming up with Dazai #rambling about bsd again #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd meta #bsd analysis #bsd tanizaki #bsd naomi #naomi tanizaki #tanizaki junichirou #tanizaki siblings #bsd 118

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yuechihua · 17 days ago

Text

one hundred paper stars.

summary: There's an old story from your childhood where if you make a hundred paper stars, then you're granted a single wish. However, it's not you, but your infuriating partner in Section Six whose wish you want to come true instead.

notes: 7.4k words, author's notes, spoilers for harumasa's backstory, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, fluff

It’s during a drowsy, sunshine-drenched afternoon, a brief moment of respite where there isn’t any paperwork to file or field missions to carry out, that Yanagi appears at your desk, giving you no time to hide what you’ve been fiddling with during your break.

Though there’s no reason to feel guilty, it’s still slightly embarrassing for Yanagi to catch the rainbow strips of paper littering your desk, interspersed with fruit-flavored candy that Soukaku left earlier that morning as a present. In the center of it all, there’s a jar brimming with paper stars, the results of two weeks’ worth of progress made whenever you have a snippet of free time.

However, Yanagi doesn’t pause to acknowledge the way your hands are trapped in the middle of folding a half-finished origami star. Lips pursed in familiar frustration, she asks, “Have you seen Asaba anywhere?”

“Not since this morning, when we were doing reconnaissance in a Hollow,” you reply.

She sighs. “He’s supposed to have finished his break half an hour ago.”

“Do you need him for something?”

“I need you two to follow up on the work you did this morning. The ether readings have changed, and they wanted someone to check it out,” Yanagi says. “If you could find him and get him to come with you…”

“I get the gist. I’ll head out as soon as I find him,” you say, folding the ends of the paper expertly and tossing a newly formed red star into the jar.

“Thank you. I’ll make it up to you for cutting your break short,” she says apologetically. “Since you’re his partner, Asaba tends to listen to you a little more.”

“He barely listens to me at all,” you grumble. You pat the daggers tucked snuggly near your thighs, and Yanagi’s eyes drift to the mess on your desk.

“I was wondering where Soukaku got all those pieces of paper,” she says thoughtfully. “Did you bring them into the office?”

“Yeah. She thought the stars were candy, so I had to stop her from eating them. I taught her how to fold them, and in exchange, she gave me these.” You gesture at the hard candies littering your desk.

“It’s nice to do some crafts to relax.”

“There’s also something special about these stars. If you fold a hundred of them,” you say, “you get a wish. It was a popular story back in my elementary school. The local convenience store used to sell origami paper, and I would buy them with my allowance. I never did make it to a hundred, though.”

“Then there must be something you really want to fold a hundred now. I hope your wish comes true,” Yanagi says.

“I hope so, too,” you murmur.

A few minutes later, you’re cutting down the halls and up the stairways of your workplace, climbing until you reach the entrance to the roof. Barricade tape and warning signs block the landing, but with practiced precision, you duck under the tape without slowing and nudge open the door with your shoulder, which gives way without a fuss.

Cool wind whips at your face, and you scan the rooftop, nothing but a broad expanse of concrete and whirring, blocky machines, caged in by a metal fence. You jog down the length until you find who you’re looking for, lounging on the floor like a cat soaking up the golden afternoon sun, limbs askew and eyes closed.

Harumasa looks like he’s asleep as you approach him with silent steps. You crouch over him, your shadow cutting across his face, and he still doesn’t stir. For a few seconds, you watch him quietly. His headband flutters in the wind like a loose sliver of sunlight. His face is pale, splotches of dark ink forming under his eyes. Maybe he isn’t sleeping well.

“Admiring the view, partner?” Harumasa says without opening his eyes.

“Hardly,” you say. “I was just thinking about the best way to wake you up.”

“All you need to do is call my name and I’ll respond.”

“Right. Just like how the last few times I tried to do that, you kept pretending to be asleep until I used physical force.” You emphasize the last few words and Harumasa groans as he cracks open an eye, propping himself lazily up with his elbows.

“Come on. We’ve been working together forever at this point, and you still can’t be a little nicer to me?”

“I’m only nice to those who deserve it,” you say.

“Right, right. I bet Yanagi sent you up here.”

“How did you know?”

“You usually let me slack off otherwise,” he says easily. “It’s only when there’s something important that you bother me. Huh. If you think about it, that’s pretty nice of you. Isn’t there a word for someone who acts abrasive to hide how much they care about someone else? Ts–”

“Keep talking and I’ll tell Yanagi just where exactly you like to hide during break,” you threaten.

“Aw, don’t do that!” Harumasa gives you an exaggerated pout, and you roll your eyes. “Come here, partner.”

“Why?”

“Come on. Come closer,” he wheedles, and you reluctantly lower yourself until you’re sitting next to him, face to face, legs folded under you.

Once you do, Harumasa drops his head against your shoulder, leaning all the warm weight of his upper body against your side like he’ll fall apart without your support.

“What’s this about?” you grumble, but you don’t move away. It’s become a familiar routine at this point: he teases, you complain, but you still gravitate towards each other. Maybe it’s because you’ve been paired with Harumasa on so many missions that you’ve developed a habit of putting up with all of his mischief.

“I’m not feeling well,” he says. “Lend me your shoulder.”

“It’s a little too late to ask when you’ve already done it.”

“You know what they say. Ask for forgiveness, not permission.”

“I’m sure you know all about that,” you say dryly.

“Now. now. I’m just being pragmatic.”

You usually don’t come to the roof at all, not unless you’re looking for Harumasa. But when you do come here, the air feels refreshing and cool, the sunlight more gentle. Though you pride yourself on being efficient and responsible, the first one to file your reports and to take notes during meetings, you can understand why Harumasa likes to nap here.

It’s comfortable. Or maybe it’s Harumasa that makes the place so comfortable. It feels like your own private corner of the world, one where it’s just you and him. Not that you could ever tell him that, of course, or it’ll make him insufferable.

“Yanagi needs us to follow up on the Hollow we investigated this morning,” you say.

“Again? We just got back.”

“The ether readings have changed. They want us to investigate.”

“Hm… but I’m on break…”

“Your break was over half an hour ago.”

“You’re on break!” he protests.

“So? I’ll be reimbursed for it.”

Harumasa groans. “You’re way too serious. You need to learn to take it easy. I’m not feeling well, you know.”

“Is that so? Well, if you want to nap the day away, I can investigate by myself–”

“Wait.” Harumasa’s weight shifts off your shoulder, and now you’re face to face with him again, close enough to see the way his smile slips off his face, the intensity of his liquid gold gaze. “I’ll come with you. Don’t do it by yourself.”

“You don’t think I’m capable, Harumasa?” you try to tease, but his lazy smile doesn’t return.

“You’re capable,” he says quietly. “You’re more than capable. But I want to be there to back you up.” He’s the first to look away, and you feel cheated, even though you don’t know what you would have said in response. “So, let’s get going. The sooner we finish, the sooner I can clock out of work.”

“Of course,” you say, a smidge too quickly. “I’ll need to file reports for Yanagi when we’re done.”

At least the awkwardness of the moment on the rooftop blows over quickly as you prepare for departure. Working with Harumasa feels like being a part of a well-oiled machine, every movement in efficient, coordinated sync, the consequence of a well-established partnership. You fall into a routine as familiar as meetings or paperwork as you prepare to enter the Hollow: checking your weapons, gathering your supplies, escorting your Bangboo guide, and then striding into the Hollow at the designated entry point.

Within the Hollow, you and Harumasa alternate who takes the lead as you follow your Bangboo, slipping through half-hidden pathways and narrow crevices, all the while avoiding lurking Ethereals. There’s little need for words with Harumasa when all you need to do is read the tension of his body, like a bow pulled taut, and simply follow what it tells you. You have your own private language of body gestures, flicks of the hand or turns of the head, refined over years.

It’s not as if you always worked this well together, of course. The first time you were paired together with Harumasa on a mission, both of you were fresh recruits to Section Six. You couldn’t stop arguing with him. His lax manner and sloppy dress infuriated you, but what was worse was how he always delivered results with minimal effort when you never did anything less than your best. In turn, he made fun of you for being a stick-in-the-mud and being unable to relax.

“You’re going to go grey if you keep stressing yourself,” he would tease, looking much too pleased with himself, as if he enjoyed your little spats.

Harumasa touches your elbow lightly, and you’re drawn from your thoughts. “Did something happen?” you murmur. The Hollow stretches before you, twisted metal and broken concrete buildings stitched together with corruption that shimmers like an oil spill, but there’s no sign of anything unusual.

“Nope. I’m just bored,” he says. “We’re not any closer to finding the disturbance Yanagi told us about. We might have to head back soon if we still don’t find anything usual.”

“We haven’t even gone that deep in the Hollow yet,” you say. “We should at least cover all our bases. What, scared of doing overtime?”

“Yes,” he says seriously. “Maybe a workaholic like you wouldn’t get it, but overtime is the public enemy of every government employee out there. So, what were you thinking about?”

“About… the past,” you say, relenting. “And how we used to fight all the time.”

“Oh? Thinking about me?”

“Only about how annoying you used to be.”

“Rude. Is this how you talk about your precious partner?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s too late to find someone else. You’re stuck with me,” Harumasa says cheerfully.

“I never said I would find another partner. You’re the only one I want.” You try to keep your voice casual, just like Harumasa, but something honest creeps in, something a little raw and unfiltered, like light through an unsealed crack.

And maybe he senses it, too, your inability to play the blithe role as well as he does, because he doesn’t jump in right away with another joke. The silence lingers, throwing the rhythm of your banter off-balance.

“The only one, huh…” From the way his hair shades his eyes, you can’t make out his expression or read his tone.

“Harumasa,” you begin, but a sudden beep cuts off your words. You glance at each other, all awkwardness vanishing as Harumasa glances at a device in one of his pockets.

Your Bangboo guide jerks to a sudden stop. This is the end of its automated guidance, as far as its data will take you. The two of you have reached the top floor of what must have once been a tower, a spiderweb of uneven, rusted metal and crumbling walls exposed to the low, grey sky. The floor slopes down to a sharp drop, leading to nothing but open air.

“Ether spike,” Harumasa says. His hand is already drifting to his bow. “But I don’t see anything. Where…”

It happens in a split second. Your body reacts before your mind can, years of training ingraining in you the necessary reflex to spring back as an Ethereal drops down from above, crashing like a meteor where you and Harumasa once stood.

Your daggers are already in hand, and you leap forward as an arrow flies from above, distracting the creature long enough for you to slash along one of its appendages. It roars, and you’re already darting behind it, Harumasa running along its other side.

It’s an Ethereal like none you’ve seen before. A Thanatos? A Duhallan? No, none of the existing classifications match. It’s eerily beautiful, its core pulsing with multi-colored light, corrupted growth framing it like a star, delicate, vine-like appendages darting out momentarily to propel the Ethereal away from your reach. This must be the source of the disturbance Yanagi told you about.

Harumasa calls your name, and on instinct, you fall back as he lunges forward with a dizzying series of slashes with his blades. You’ve faced worse than an unclassified Ethereal of unknown strength. Even if neither of you have expected to engage an enemy, that doesn’t mean you aren’t prepared to.

The battle continues back and forth, a waltz of sharp steel and split-second communication between you and Harumasa as you implement all the maneuvers you learned in training. It seems like there’s no end in sight, but you’re tiring the Ethereal, slowly but surely. It’s only a matter of time before you find an opening to destroy its core.

And then, Harumasa stumbles. It’s only a brief moment, his body dipping as something like a cough shudders through him before he steadies, but it’s enough time for the Ethereal to lash out several appendages like a bolt of lightning. You’re helpless to do anything but watch as Harumasa flies backwards, his body bent like a doll discarded by a careless child.

Before you can think, you’re running, propelled by some instinct deeper than habit at the sight of your partner on the ground, throwing your daggers with wild precision as the Ethereal howls like a wounded animal. There’s not enough time to do anything except to throw your body in front of Harumasa before the Ethereal lashes out again in a brutal, sweeping arc.

Your body explodes with pain. Then, you’re weightless. The Ethereal has sent you flying, and briefly, it’s like you’re back on the roof, Harumasa leaning against your shoulder, the wind in your face, before you’re tumbling over the edge of the tower.

In the field of your vision, something gold flashes. Harumasa’s headband. It’s all you can see, the afterimage of it burned into your eyes like the sun as everything goes dark.

—

From your earliest memories as a child, you had always been lonely. Maybe that’s why you were drawn to things that reminded you of the sun, searching for anything to give you stability or warmth.

Your story wasn’t particularly unique: your parents were killed in an accident in a Hollow. You were shunted from relative to relative who never knew what to do with you. You clung to academics and books to prove yourself because you had nothing else.

You had a decently high Ether aptitude, so when you got the opportunity to join an elite academy on a scholarship, why wouldn’t you take away your chance to escape away from relatives who never cared for you? At the time, you had been living with one of your mother’s older brothers–what was his name? You’d long since forgotten, and he hadn’t bothered to keep in contact once you left.

Either way, you graduated with honors and a flawless academic record. When Miyabi selected you to join Section Six, despite your lack of experience, you were excited.

“I believe you’ll deliver results,” Miyabi told you simply, that very first day. “That’s why I chose you.”

A flush of pride made your face glow. “I won’t disappoint you!”

It was so nice to be relied on. To find a place that needed you, where you were valued. You were tied to Section Six through more pragmatic things than fragile family ties that easily dissolved.

You did your best, but it was hard when you weren’t the only new member–Asaba Harumasa was assigned to Section Six at the same time as you. From the very start, your work ethics, lifestyles, and attitudes couldn’t be more different.

“Could you try to finish your paperwork on time? When you don’t, it slows the entire process down,” you would tell Harumasa.

“It gets done, though. Does it really matter when I do it?” he would reply.

Frustratingly enough, even then, the two of you did so well on missions together that you were always assigned to be each other’s partner. Maybe his work on the field earned him a little respect in your eyes; it was the one thing you couldn’t really criticize him on. But at the same time, it was infuriating that you had to put so much time and effort into delivering flawless results, and Harumasa always skated by with minimal effort.

One particular fall, the two of you were assigned to a mission to investigate high-level Ethereals in a local Hollow. Soon enough, you and Harumasa were surrounded. As skilled as you were, parrying several different Ethereals meant one could easily slip into your blind spot and strike. Too late, you only noticed when it was already moving, and you could only grit your teeth, bracing for impact–until its limbs met a flash of steel. Harumasa had leapt in front of you, pushing the Ethereal back and giving you enough time to strike its core.

“Harumasa–” you began to say.

“On your left!”

And then you were flung into the heat of battle, with no time to process what just happened until the threats were neutralized.

It was only then you saw the gash running along Harumasa’s arm, blood soaking into his rolled up sleeves. Without a word, you took out your medical kit, and started applying disinfectant. Harumasa didn’t even wince as you dabbed away the blood with cotton balls. You knew, from the location alone, he had got it while protecting you.

“I’m sorry,” you told him, wrapping bandages around the wound. “This is my fault.”

“What are you talking about? I did this on my own.”

“But if I hadn’t been so careless–”

“You’re my partner. I’ll always have your back,” Harumasa said. His tone was as blithe as always, but there was a strange, tenderness underlying it.

His face was coated in dust and drying blood from battle, and yet, his eyes were still a startlingly pure gold, vibrant and warm. When he looked at you, it was like he was seeing you, all of you, warming you like the sun. He didn’t avoid your gaze or look past you, like your relatives had.

After that, you settled into Section Six, not because you were needed, but because you were wanted. Your arguments with Harumasa melted into something softer, something more playful. He was your partner, and you no longer grumbled about taking the same missions as him.

One day, when you were sent to fetch Harumasa for some mission or meeting (a favorite errand of everyone’s to send you on because you had developed an uncanny sense of knowing where he liked to hide), you found him hunched him over in an empty office, knuckles white against a table as he coughed wetly, the force of it shuddering through his entire body.

Harumasa, who had always looked for any excuse to slack off, who slept on the job, who acted like nothing could bother him, looked more vulnerable than you had seen before.

You knew he had a medical condition, but he never talked about it. Even when he did, he always made it seem so trivial. A minor inconvenience, and nothing more.

“You need to go to the infirmary,” you said, rushing over. “Or the doctor. I’ll call someone right now. I’ll–”

“Don’t,” Harumasa rasped. He grabbed your arm with more desperate force than you expected. “It’s fine.”

“You’re–”

“It’ll pass. Just let me… lean on you for a little.” Half-crouched on the ground, he collapsed his weight against you, and you both sank to the floor. You wrapped your arms around him and he leaned his head against your collarbone. You rubbed circles along his back, a meager offering to soothe him until the coughing subsided.

Harumasa’s breathing was shallow, and you wondered if he could hear the racing of your heart, the fear making it pound uncontrollably. His illness was more serious than he had ever let on.

“Are you okay?” you asked quietly.

“I’m fine. It’s just all the pollen and dust, you know,” he said. There’s that familiar carefree, teasing edge to his tone, but it’s strained by his recent coughing.

“You don’t have to joke with me. I’m your partner. If there’s something I can do for you, you can let me know.”

There’s a moment of silence before Harumasa sighed, a soft, resigned sound. “I just don’t want the others to know.”

“I won’t tell them,” you promised.

He took a few more shallow breaths before speaking, voice cheerful, deceptively light and hollow, like a bird’s bone. “I have Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome. It manifests primarily in my heart and lungs, but in exchange, I have high Ether aptitude. It’s the reason my parents… left me, a long time ago. A doctor took me in, but… Well. I was recruited to an academy, graduated, and ended up here. But you know about that part.”

You’ve known Harumasa long enough by now to know that he was only giving you carefully curated bits and pieces of his past. There was something he wasn’t not telling you, but that didn’t change the fact he had decided to place his trust in you, regardless.

You understood what it was like to be left behind, to have nothing but yourself to cling to. Sympathy and pity weren’t what he wanted. No generic condolence could change his past or his fate.

Instead, you drew him closer to you. Harumasa let out a small, strangled gasp as you sheltered him in your arms. “I’ll be here for you, so thank you for trusting me.”

Sometimes, words were cheap. The only response you needed was Harumasa’s arms wrapping around you in return, a tentative promise.

It’s only a few weeks after that, when you were passing by a convenience store on the way home from work, that you saw the origami paper strips lining the shelves at a discounted price and remembered the elementary school pastimes of your classmates.

As a child, you had wanted to make a hundred stars so you could make a wish for your parents to come back. But now, there was something else you wanted: not to make someone come back, but to make someone stay with you.

—

Your body aches. It’s all you’re aware of at first, a throbbing pain, spreading through your body in waves.

Your vision is blurry, the Hollow wavering in front of you like smeared paint, black protrusions and metal platforms blending together, a nightmarish portrait.

You drag your arm in front of your face, flex your fingers slowly until the world stops spinning.

You’re alive. Against all odds, you’re alive, but you have no idea where you are or how much time has passed. You’d probably fallen into a distortion.

With any luck, Harumasa has already left and called for back-up. You could survive in a Hollow longer than most ordinary people could, but you didn’t want to test your limits. For now, you would have to do your best to survive. With agonizingly slow movements, like you’re dragging your body through water, you check your daggers and equipment, and survey the area around you. It’s full of twisted metal structures corrupted with black growth, platforms and stairs jutting from rocky walls, like a building that’s been swallowed by a cliff, with no particularly distinguishing feature.

It then takes even longer to convince your legs to support your weight, and to take a few steps without leaning against the wall.

Something clatters in the distance, heavy limbs dragging on the floor. Ethereals. This part of the Hollow is infested with them, a mutated sea of green and pearlescent black cores, though you’re temporarily sheltered in the area where you fell. As long as you avoid them, you should be fine; you’re no longer in any condition for prolonged combat.

All you can do is slowly drag yourself around, daggers at the ready, sneaking past any Ethereal you see. It’s agonizing work to be so careful, especially when you’re occasionally hit by waves of dizziness and your injuries make your reflexes slow.

Is Harumasa safe? Did he escape? Did he destroy the Ethereal? Or did something worse happen to him? There’s no point thinking like this and driving yourself insane, but your thoughts scatter like a flight of migrating birds, and no matter where they go, they always end up drifting in Harumasa’s direction.

Maybe you can blame Harumasa for distracting you when an Ethereal catches sight of you before you can fully conceal yourself. You can do nothing but mumble curses under your breath as more Ethereals are drawn to the noise and you’re forced to draw your weapon.

It’s harder to fight without Harumasa to cover your back. You’ve gotten too used to having him at your back. Several times, you open your mouth to call his name, but he’s not there to answer. It’s just you, clumsily dodging blows and aiming weak strikes at Ethereals you normally would have been able to dispatch with ease.

You might die here. The thought comes, unbidden. You’re weakened, surrounded, when an Ethereal looms over you. You twist your body around trying to dodge, but your body refuses to move as fast as you need it to as the Ethereal prepares to strike–only to still, stagger a few steps, and then collapse onto the ground, a spray of arrows protruding from its back.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you whip your head up in the direction the arrows came from. It can’t be, but it is. It’s him. Your partner, his mouth set in a grim, furious line as he draws his bow back. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him look so angry.

In what feels like no time at all, the remaining Ethereals fall and your body feels light as you fight with renewed energy. Hardly any of them could get near you before Harumasa has shot them down with enough force that their bodies slam into the floor with a shattering crack. As soon as the last threat is neutralized, you’re running to Harumasa, but he’s faster than you.

“Harumasa—” Your words are muffled as Harumasa pulls you into a hug. His fingers dig into your shoulders, his grip tight. There’s something possessive and desperate about his touch, as if he might never hold you again and he has to memorize the shape of your body while he still has the chance.

His skin gleams with sweat, his white shirt sticking to his torso. Has he been running around this whole time, looking for you, without resting? You press your ear to his chest, where his heart rabbits in his chest in a frightened run.

“I thought you died,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

“I…”

“I thought I lost you. And I couldn’t stop until I found your body, and I would have to tell the others that you… because of me, you…”

“Harumasa, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear that.”

You tentatively bring your arms around him, and a shudder wracks through his body at your touch. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Then don’t do something so reckless again! If you die… If you die, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do…”

“I can’t promise that. You’re my partner. I told you I would have your back. If I see you in trouble, I can’t just run away.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I want you to live,” you murmur. “I want you to live, no matter what.”

“Then you have to live with me.” Harumasa pulls back abruptly, bringing his hands to your cheeks, and pinching.

You attempt to reply, but you can only make a garbled noise of affirmation. It’s hard to talk when Harumasa is pulling your cheeks like taffy, but maybe he isn’t ready to hear your response.

You place your hands over his, and Harumasa stills, your touch a soothing balm. He lets out a breath. “Let’s get out of here. You need to get your injuries looked at.”

For the rest of the time until you leave the Hollow, Harumasa clings persistently to your side, refusing to move a step unless you have as well. You would call his pace leisurely if not for the tense way he holds his body, poised for threats from any direction. You’re half-tempted to ask if he would feel more at ease holding your hand, but you have a feeling he would never let you go again if you did.

Harumasa doesn’t relax even when you’re back at your workplace, where he escorts you directly to the infirmary and paces outside the entire time, causing the nurse’s eyebrows to crease in irritation at the sound of his rapid footsteps.

“I’m fine,” you announce the second you step out of the infirmary. “Okay? The nurse said I had no major injuries, though I’m not supposed to be on the field for a week. And I have to do a few more check-ins.”

It’s only at your words that Harumasa finally relaxes. “This is probably the first sick day you’re going to take,” Harumasa says, but his teasing doesn’t quite match his eyes, which keep roaming your body for stray injuries which the nurse might have missed.

In the office, you’re immediately assailed by Yanagi, Miyabi, and Soukaku, who fuss over your bruises, the bandages peeking under your clothes, and the patches on your face.

“I’m glad you two are okay! I was so worried when I heard what happened. I know you’re capable, but you shouldn’t be so reckless,” Yanagi scolds lightly.

“Take the time to rest and recover completely,” Miyabi says. “Section Six needs you, and we can’t function well if you’re not around.”

“Take these snacks! They’re tasty, and they’ll help you feel better!” Soukaku says earnestly, shoving an armful of packaged chips at you.

It’s been a long time since anyone has worried over you like this. It’s a little embarrassing how everyone’s attention is focused solely on you, and you can’t keep a small smile from creeping onto your face. “Everyone… I promise I’m fine! You don’t have to fuss over me like this.”

“Don’t forget to go back for your checkup,” Yanagi interjects. “All right? I don’t want to see you on the field until you’re cleared. And you, Harumasa! You need to take care of yourself, too.”

“Yanagi is right,” Miyabi says. “Maybe you should get a check-up as well.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Harumasa says, holding his hands out placatingly. “My injuries aren’t as bad as theirs. In fact, I’ll be a good partner and take care of them, promise.”

“That’s a first,” you interject, “Since when you were so excited about doing work?”

“I’m only excited when you’re involved,” he says, and you don’t know what to say to that.

The rest of the day passes by pleasantly once Section Six is satisfied that you’re doing well, though they keep making excuses to stop by your desk and leave you drinks from the vending machine or little treats. You fill your time with paperwork and organizing files, and when those are done, crafting paper stars at your desk.

“What are you gonna wish for when you have a hundred stars?” Soukaku says, sprawling across your desk and picking up a strip of paper to fold with clumsy, childish joy.

“I’m actually not going to wish for anything. I’m going to give my wish to someone else.”

“What? You can do that? Then I wanna give wishes to you and Nagi and Miyabi and Harumasa!”

“Thank you, Soukaku.”

“Who’re you going to give your wish to?” Soukaku asks as you hand her more origami paper strips.

“Hm…” You survey the star you’ve just finished folding. “It’s for someone important. It’s a little embarrassing to talk about it out loud, though.”

“Why? I think whoever it is will be happy that you’re thinking about them!”

“Do you think so?”

“Yeah!” Soukaku says. “I would be happy if you gave me a wish!”

“Then should I make you a hundred paper stars, Soukaku?”

“Really? Yay!”

By the end of the work shift, you’ve finally filled your glass jar with the necessary number of stars. You should feel happy, but what you didn’t tell Soukaku is that you wonder if it’s too presumptuous to give this to Harumasa. After all, you still remember what it’s like to be rejected by people who were supposed to love you and take care of you.

You cradle the jar in your hands, the product of all your meticulous work over the past two weeks. It’s heavy with the weight of your feelings and your ridiculous wish.

“Hey, partner.” Harumasa’s sudden voice makes you stiffen and whirl around, keeping the jar hidden behind your back.

“Harumasa.” You take a breath. There’s no point in being embarrassed. “Do you have time right now?”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow. “What a coincidence. I was just about to ask you that, too.”

“I assume we’re both free, then. Come over to my place,” you tell him bluntly.

“Your place?”

“Yes.”

Harumasa tilts his head like an inquisitive bird, considering. “Sure, but I didn’t realize you were that excited to see me after work.”

“Oh, don’t get full of yourself.”

The two of you are back to your usual banter, but it’s devoid of its usual lightness. The events from the Hollow still linger over you, and Harumasa sucks in a breath before giving a casual smile. You respond with a roll of your eyes, but it feels wooden, everything unsaid thickening the air like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm.

The journey back to your apartment is peaceful. You take the train, watching the familiar strips of buildings and city lights streaking past, soft smudges against the glowing sun, sinking like a pat of butter in a red, syrupy sky.

You live in a relatively nice building, the salary from your job affording you a lobby as well as a doorman and a fast elevator. At your apartment door, you fumble with your keys, fingers heavy and clumsy as you’re aware of Harumasa’s presence behind you, waiting.

The door clicks open and you step into your apartment, a one bedroom, one bathroom affair with sturdy, comfortable furniture, books and knick-knacks lining the shelves of the joint living room and kitchen. More books are stacked precariously on the single table you use for both work and meals, situated in the center.

You slip off your shoes and into your house slippers, offering a pair to Harumasa, who after putting them on promptly walks over to one of the shelves in the living room and pokes at a little Bangboo statue. There’s a whole forest of them lining the shelf, all in different outfits and poses.

“I didn’t realize you were such a fan. Hey, do you get the public security ones to help you cross the street?”

“Don’t touch it. It’s a collectible and I’m trying to get the last one in the series,” you say crisply. “And of course I do. It makes the ones patrolling the streets happy to help.”

“Wait, really?”

“They’re adorable, Harumasa. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“It’s not a bad thing! I just think you have a surprisingly cute side, that’s all.”

“Thanks,” you say, trying to keep your face schooled in a neutral expression, before gesturing to the table in the living room. “Take a seat. I’ll make some tea.”

You brew a pot of bitter green tea, taking out a plate of crumbly packaged cookies to snack on. They’re the least sweet snack you have in the house which Harumasa would be happy to eat.

For a few minutes, there’s only the clink of your cups and the crunch of cookies, a pleasant way to spend your time after work. Neither of you talk, the food giving you an excuse not to. It’s ridiculous how such a small gift could make you feel so nervous. You need to do it now. Otherwise, what would the point be of inviting him over?

You run your finger along the rim of your teacup, pressing hard enough to feel the edge of smooth porcelain dig into skin. “There’s something I want to give to you.”

“A present? For me?”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s nothing fancy,” you say, before standing to retrieve the jar of stars, which you had shoved into your work bag.

You hold it behind your back until you’re in front of Harumasa, at which point you place the jar on the table and slide it over to him.

A hundred stars for one wish. You explain the story to him as Harumasa cups his hands around the jar, peering intently as if he could see the hours you spent painstakingly crafting each individual star.

“I know it’s a little silly,” you say quietly. “But I want whatever you wish for to come true, no matter what.”

Harumasa’s eyes when he looks at you are just like stars, warm, bright gold, that you would trust to guide you no matter what path you tread.

“I want you to be happy,” you say, the words falling from your mouth like a wish of your own.

“Happy, huh?” Harumasa closes his eyes briefly, stars winking out of existence.

“I’m sorry if that’s presumptuous. You don’t have take this gift if you don’t want–”

“Whoa! This is mine now. You can’t have it back now that you’ve given it to me. It’s just… there are some things about my illness I haven’t told you.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” you say.

“I want to tell you, though. People with Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome don’t typically live long lives. The illness is terminal. The oldest-recorded person lived only to be 26.” Harumasa says it matter-of-factly, the numbers rolling out of him like he’s simply reciting information from a medical brochure. “In late stages, the body breaks down. And if someone with Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome is in a Hollow when their body breaks down, then they’ll turn into an Ethereal.”

This is the knowledge Harumasa has been carrying with him all this time and hiding from everyone in Section Six. It must have weighed him down like stones, knowing that if things take a turn for the worse in a mission within the Hollow, he’ll become one of the monsters you and Section Six have to put down. How long has he carried this by himself?

No matter how you try to hide your feelings, Harumasa knows how to read you just as much as you know how to read him, because he raises a hand and lazily waves it through the air. “Don’t look so worried. It doesn’t bother me that much.”

“I’m your partner. Of course I’m going to be worried about you,” you say quietly. “I told you, didn’t I? I want you to be happy.”

Harumasa gazes down at the table, away from you and the jar of stars in front of him. “You are, huh? Can I trust you with something else, then?”

“What is it?”

“If anything happens to me,” he says, “and I turn into an Ethereal, you have to promise that you’ll kill me.”

There’s no other answer for you, not when he looks at you like that. “I promise. I won’t let anyone else do it.”

“Then I’m all yours, partner.”

“But…” You reach for Harumasa’s hand across the table, slowly and reverentially sliding your fingers under his, feeling the press of each callous on his slender fingers. These beautiful hands, which you have saved and which have saved you again and again. “I gave you a wish, you know? So you can have anything you want.”

“Eh? Didn’t I tell you what I wanted?”

“It doesn’t count,” you persist. “If it helps, I’ll tell you what I want.”

“All right, what is it?”

“I want you to live forever.”

“That’s way too long,” Harumasa protests.

“Then live for a hundred years at the very least,” you say. “I wanted you to be happy for a long, long time. I made you a hundred stars, so each star is worth one year of happiness.”

It’s ridiculous, you know. It’s not pragmatic at all. And maybe it’s cruel, too, to ask Harumasa something like this. But if he’s going to be selfish, then you’re going to be just as selfish.

“A hundred years? Then you need to live that long, too.” Harumasa shifts his hand and hooks your pinky lightly with his own. “It’s not fair if I have to live that long without you. That’s going to be my wish.”

“Then I’ll make it come true,” you say. “I told you, didn’t I? We’re partners. Where you go, I’ll go.”

In the window across from you, ink-blue shadows flood the world. The sun had set while the two of you were talking, and the city lights wink like scattered gemstones across dark velvet.

“If you talk like that, then I’m not going to want to leave,” he says quietly. “You make me want to act selfishly.”

“Then act selfishly. I’ll forgive you.”

He lets out a sigh, squeezing your pinky. “You’re not fair at all.”

“Good,” you say archly. “Stay the night, Harumasa.”

Harumasa stills at your words, and you can feel the faint tremor of his hand. “I have nightmares. It’s not going to be a good time for you.”

“That’s all right,” you say. “I’ll take care of you.”

It’s easy having Harumasa in your apartment, where he fits seamlessly into your normal routine, the same way he does at work. You lend him towels, and baggy pajamas, and then the two of you take turns using the bathroom. You order cheap takeout from a local restaurant, which you eat in front of the glow of your television, watching the news. As you wash up the dishes, Harumasa perches on the counter, cracking jokes that make you roll your eyes or smile.

Harumasa, framed in the soft glow of kitchen lights like a halo behind him, hair askew, wrinkling his borrowed clothes, makes your heart ache. It would be nice to have him around like this, all the time. You’ve forgotten the warmth of having someone in your home until now.

You should bring out the futon you keep for guests, but you don’t mention it, and Harumasa doesn’t ask. So he follows you to your bedroom, knees bumping against the side of the metal frame as you pull out an extra pillow for him.

Harumasa dutifully takes out his rows of medicine, orange bottles lined up your nightstand, brightly colored pills falling down his throat with each sip of water from the glass you’ve brought him. He folds his golden headband neatly next to the bottles, and finally places the jar of stars to stand guard over everything. It makes you feel ticklish that he wants to keep your gift so close.

Your bed is too small for two people, but neither of you complain as your legs tangle together, Harumasa resting his forehead against yours. In the dark, you grope for his hand, entangling your fingers with his, where they belong.

“Good night, partner,” he whispers. He’s so close his breath tickles your face.

“Good night.”

“It’s too late to turn back now,” he murmurs, but you can’t tell if he’s saying it to you or himself.

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t,” you say, tracing nonsensical letters on his back with the fingertips of your free hand, a message he can’t read.

“I know. I guess we’re stuck together.”

“I told you. We’re partners. I’m yours forever,” you say.

Harumasa squeezes your hand. “And I’m yours, so let’s take good care of each other.”

If you strain your head, you can see a faint strip of moonlight from your parted curtains illuminating your nightstand where a hundred paper stars glow. Like a promise, a wish, of a hundred years of happiness.

#liya.writes #zenless zone zero #asaba harumasa #zenless zone zero x reader #asaba harumasa x reader #harumasa x reader #harumasa #x reader

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thehistoriccemetery · 11 months ago

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Companions React to Reader Sitting on Their Lap

It’s another pretty short one this week, as I’ve had terrible Minthara brainrot and I’ve been able to write nothing but filthy smut 😔

Anyway, this one is some family friendly head canons about the ladies with a bonus Dame Aylin and Isobel!

Shadowheart

Shadowheart doesn’t say anything at first, but you do notice her skin get slightly redder, and you watch a tiny smirk grow across her face.

She’s not typically one for public displays of affection, but something about lap sitting is different.

It’s like affection with plausible deniability. What else was I supposed to do? Sit on the floor?

After you’ve done it once, Shadowheart considers the barrier broken and takes every opportunity to sit on your lap.

Sometimes you think she must have a sixth sense that tells her when you sit down, because she simply appears on your lap.

If you cross your legs or do anything else to prevent her sitting in your lap, she gives you a little cough to let you know you should remedy that as soon as possible.

Depending on who’s around, she’ll sometimes lean back against you, pressing her whole body to yours.

She likes it when you wrap your arms around her and rest your head on her shoulder.

While she prefers to be the one sitting on your lap, she’s still more than happy to let you sit on hers.

Lae’zel

The first time you try sitting on her lap, she pushes you off. Why are you sitting on top of her? Weirdo. You roll your eyes and sit on the ground.

But then she decides that it’s weirder you’re sitting on the ground so she gives you her seat.

But then she doesn’t want to stand anymore. Tsk’va. Whatever. Guess she’s gonna have to sit on you.

Lae’zel only ever sits on your lap, never the other way around. She oddly never picks up on any of the possible implications of that.

If anyone calls Lae’zel a bottom she’s gonna throw hands.

She doesn’t lay up against you or anything. To her this move is strictly practical, or at least she acts like it is.

You let her have it. As far as you’re concerned, you have a lovely girlfriend on your lap so you’re not going to complain.

Karlach

The first time you nonchalantly sit down in Karlach’s lap, she’s so chill and unfazed.

At least, that’s the vibe she’s trying to give off. She can be cool about this. So cool.

It’s less than a minute before her body starts to betray her. Her legs bounce up and down excitedly under you. As soon as you turn to face her, her stoic expression cracks into one of pure delight.

After that, Karlach pulls so many tricks to ask you to sit in her lap without actually having to ask.

Oh no! There’s no more chairs! Wherever will you sit? Looks like it’ll just have to be in her lap again. Ignore those broken chairs hidden in the corner, this isn’t about them.

You catch on pretty fast. Only so many chairs can disappear before things start to get suspicious.

You sit yourself on Karlach’s lap, watching the goofy smile grow across her face. “You know you can just ask, right?”

Her skin flushes and she buries her face in your neck. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Unfortunately, she’ll never sit on your lap because she’s too afraid to crush you. Even if you’re bigger than her. You’re too precious to risk it.

Minthara

Minthara is always taking up as much space as she desires in any given situation, so it’s not uncommon that she takes up the space of more than one person.

Luckily she’s always got a place for you to sit, whether that be in between her legs or on them.

She’s never bashful about pulling you into her lap, even when there people are around.

If anything, an audience actually encourages her. You are hers, and that is most clear to everyone when you’re perched on her thigh.

Other times she will be slightly more subtle, tapping her inner thigh in a silent invitation, queuing you to join her.

There are very few scenarios in which Minthara will sit on your lap though. At least, in public.

If you try to get her to sit, she’ll shoot you an “I know that you know this isn’t how this works” look, leaving you to let her take your seat and take your position on her lap.

Jaheira

It really depends on the day with Jaheira.

Most days she going to tell you to get an extra chair. There is no need for you to be sitting in her lap right now.

Sometimes, even if there is no extra chair she would have you sit at her feet in front of her before she let you into her lap.

But on those particularly long and hard days, when you come back looking exhausted and beat, she will allow for some extra tenderness.

She’ll gently guide your head to rest on her shoulder or against her chest and stroke your hair.

If you’re in a more comfortable space she will even slide her hand up under your shirt to rub your back.

More often than not, you fall asleep almost instantly, even if everyone around you is still making a ruckus.

She’s still not going to carry you to bed though. You can walk yourself there.

Dame Aylin x Isobel

Isobel is a princess and Dame Aylin is her throne. It’s more common than not the Isobel is on Aylin’s lap.

For Aylin, it’s like displaying a beautiful trophy. She needs everyone to look at her beautiful girlfriend right now.

The notion makes Isobel blush, but she’s just as proud to have Aylin as Aylin is to have her, so she’ll allow it.

Aylin doesn’t sit on Isobel’s lap, nor would she ever allow her to give up her seat, but Aylin will sit at her feet and gaze up at her with awe and wonder while Isobel smiles down at her and runs her hands through the aasimar’s hair.

And Selune forbid there’s no place for Isobel to sit. Aylin would sooner get down on one knee and let Isobel sit on her leg than leave a tired Isobel to stand.

Aylin’s shoulders are also an acceptable option. She can hoist Isobel up there with ease. She’ll never have to walk for any longer than she wishes.

Granted, it makes them like 10 feet tall, so there’s only a few places it’s applicable before Isobel has to be on alert for low hanging obstacles.

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inside-lees-mind · 10 months ago

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just watched a tiktok that essentially went ‘check your tone b4 u talk to my girl/dont talk to my wife like that’ and now i need protective naruto charas w this.. team 7 ?! (and maybe the other konoha 11 (+ sand sibs kinda fit this too but omit and add whoever! no pressure!!))

I love how this is definitely pretty much canon to Sasuke’s character lol

Some are modern AU, some aren’t. It’ll be pretty much obvious, but if it’s not, it doesn’t matter too much.

I only did team 7 (Kakashi, Naruto, Sakura, Sasuke, and Sai) this time since the entire Konoha 13 and sand siblings can take a while and I just did all of them on my last post.(sorry no Yamato, I don’t know how to write for him tbh)

Fem reader

“Watch your Tone before you speak to my girl.”

Naruto Uzumaki

He can’t figure out why this guy is actually flipping his shit over something so small?

All you did was bump into him while you were trying to turn around from the counter in the kitchen. The party was packed, but the kitchen wasn’t quite as bad. You didn’t think you had to watch your every step so carefully.

The guy, clearly drunk off his ass, turns around and tells you to watch yourself. He throws out some basic insults, nothing too deep, but the attempt pisses your blonde, hotheaded boyfriend off.

The guy reaches for you, probably to tap your shoulder, throwing out some “flirty” comment meant to degrade you.

Naruto shoves the dude back, “watch your tone when you talk to her. That’s my girl.”

The dude, with as much respect for Naruto as he had, nods quickly, scampering off.

Naruto pours you another drink, giving you it as he pulls you onto the dance floor.

Sasuke Uchiha

Somebody talking down to his wife?

He knows damn well you can handle yourself, so he’ll stay back, but if you look at him for some help, he’s coming right on over.

He caught wind of the guy telling you off for being weak, saying you’re no help so you have no business ever being a ninja.

He can’t help but wonder what the hell this guys problem is. His wife isn’t weak. You’re one of the top ninja in the village, without a doubt. Maybe he has an issue with women?

“Don’t talk to my wife like that. You’re half the ninja she is.”

Sai

He’s right there and some dipshit has the nerve to talk down on you IN FRONT of him????

It was over something that was common knowledge to a person native to the village your team was visiting, but you simply didn’t know. You’d apologized many times. Wasn’t that enough?

He’s very subtly sassy at first. He’s monotone and flat in tone, but he’s being snarky. You can tell and the dude is catching on.

As Sai gets more pissed off, he gets more obvious.

Because it takes a bit to make him actually feel any which way, this dude is just a dickhead. And Sai isn’t having it

“Watch your tone. Talk to her right. Or we can handle this elsewhere?” Sai is smiling, but it’s a threat.

Sakura Haruno

She’s fuming when she hears somebody talking down to you. How dare somebody shit talk her girlfriend while you’re just trying to shop.

You’d gotten the last of something, since you were there first, but some Karen ass woman wanted it and was telling you why she deserves it more than you.

You’d explained kindly how you got to it first, but looked about ready to give it up and hand it over.

Sakura wasn’t going to let this woman step on your toes

“Watch your tone when you talk to my girl.” Sakura balls her hands into fists beside herself, but doesn’t raise them.

The woman is scared because Sakura is lowkey jacked and now she knows she’ll never be safe again. She gives it up.

Kakashi Hatake

This person didn’t know you were with Kakashi, without a doubt.

You were in a book store, and apparently you’d accidentally bumped into some girl and knocked all the books out of her arms. (She was carrying way too many without a basket for some reason)

You apologized, helping her pick them up, but she wasn’t letting it go.

She kept insulting your thinking skills and asked if you’re going blind. Over all, just things Kakashi knew weren’t true or didn’t matter. It was an accident. (And if you were going/are blind, it’s still, and more so, not your fault so he’s trying to figure out who tf this girl is??)

He waits to see what you do, but he won’t hesitate if he sees you need just a bit of help.

“How unhappy with your life do you have to be to talk like that?” Kakashi asks, closing his book. “You should watch your tone when you talk to my girl.”

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inkdrinkerworld · 11 months ago

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hi! maybe logan getting worried/protective over u after u get injured during a mission? 🥺🩷

Canon level (based on the comic books mostly) wounds and violence (it’s nothing too gory besides the wound description)

“Move out of my fucking way Scott,” you hear him before you see him which isn’t really a good sign.

You’d gone on a mission the same time he was out on one too, and though it had just been a simple recon mission, things got heated quick.

Zeitgeist was a bitch like usual, and you weren’t as fast as you might’ve been had there not been a falling child to save.

So now, your entire right side is rippled under the acid of his spit and you can’t deny the agony you’re in.

“She’s fine,” Scott says but you know your boyfriend.

He pushes past him and is at your side almost instantly. Your eyes take a moment to adjust to him being so close but when they settle on his face, the clear panic and worry is clear to see.

“I’m fine, Lo.” You say, teeth gritted through each word as Charles asses the wound.

You’re no longer in your suit, just in a pair of pants and a sports bra, your hair is drenched and Logan can only guess they just hosed you down to get rid of the majority of the acid.

It still burns like a bitch and you can’t hide that from the man who knows you so well.

“Bullshit,” he grumbles, hands brushing back the hair from your face. “Can’t you all do something instead of just fucking staring at it?”

The question is packed with worry that none of them are accustomed to seeing on Logan, but you swear you see Ororo smirk.

She’d been the only one to notice his soft underbelly- well beside you.

“We’re waiting for Hank to bring the antidote Logan,” you say gently, stroking his tense forearm. “I’m fine baby.”

It’s the ‘baby’ that softens him, that gets him to take a deep breath and press his forehead into yours.

“Fucking scared me,” he murmurs and the others all find themselves busy- besides Scott, he wants something to tease the man about as per the rules of their friendship. “Don’t do that shit again.” His hands are on your neck, thumbs under your chin so you can’t look away.

“I didn’t really have a choice, I had to save the kid.” He nods, pressing his lips to your temple. Hank saves him from blowing up again when you wince and the green acid bubbles a little more.

“Fucking finally, what took you so long?” He grunts, Hank only shaking his head as he pours the blue liquid over your wound.

“Fuck,” you cry out, hand itching to press against your side or slap Hank’s hands away but Logan stops you.

“Fucking say something next time, yeah big guy?” He growls but then you hiss again and he’s all focused on you again.

“You’re good, you’re okay bub.” It’s whispered straight into your hairline and if you were a little more cognizant you’d notice that Logan can’t stop glaring at the wound.

“We caught it in time, the antidote won’t reverse the burn completely, but it will be soothing it and fixing the majority of it.” Hank pulls on gloves, the snap of it on his wrist filling the room. “There’s a salve you need to put on it for the healing process.”

“Thanks Hank,” you whisper, much too tired for much else. “Can I go now?” Logan notices then how utterly exhausted you look and sets aside his anger and worry for a moment to dote on you.

“Yes, but Logan monitor the wound and how it heals over the next few weeks. The skin should be back to normal when the salve is done.” The professor says and Logan nods dutifully before picking you up off the med and taking the salve from Hank.

“C’mon, pretty girl.” He takes you back to your room and is smearing the salve on your side. “You’re not doing that shit again, I swear to whatever there is.”

You give him a small smile, “Getting hurt is part of it Logan, I can’t avoid that completely.”

He frowns and then presses a kiss right above your wounded side. “You don’t get how scary it is to hear, ‘she’s in the infirmary, an acid wound’, I nearly ripped Bobby in half.”

You stretch a hand to bury in his hair. “I know baby, but this was just a one time thing. Zeitgeist isn’t exactly unscathed either.”

Logan smiles, his lips pressing into your unblemished skin again. “Fire burns Logan, what can I say.”

“You’re fucking perfect, you know that?” You giggle a little, more so when he holds your cheeks and stamps a kiss to your lips. “Get some shut eye, m’gonna get one of the kids to make you soup.”

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livwritesstuff · 7 months ago

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for @steddie-week day 6 | drunken confessions

tags: alcohol, drunk steve, sober eddie, post-canon, vague references to period-typical homophobia

By all calculations, Steve shouldn’t be this drunk.

Eddie knows Steve only had three beers – one during Corroded Coffin’s set, and he was halfway through a second when Eddie finally caught up with him after the show, and he started on his third while they were hanging out at the bar.

(Exactly why Eddie knows this is entirely irrelevant, and it has nothing to do with how he'd had one eye on Steve throughout the entire performance trying to gauge how much he might be into it. Definitely not).

Eddie had seen Steve “Keg King” Harrington in the flesh enough times to feel pretty confident that he holds his alcohol better than this but…fuck, if Steve isn’t absolutely sloshed, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed red, and he doesn't seem to have any idea how precariously he's swaying in his bar-stool.

It's fine. Steve's a pretty quiet drunk on the whole, and Eddie gets sorta wired after shows – extra adrenaline or something – so Steve is mostly just listening to him ramble about whatever happens to cross his brain, which isn't a bad way to spend an evening, all things considered.

Midway through an entirely one-sided debate over the merits of starting guitar lessons on electric versus acoustic, Steve reaches over and pushes a curl of hair falling into his eye-line off his forehead with just the tips of his fingers.

Eddie trails off, losing track of his sentence entirely as his eyes dart back and forth between Steve’s face and the hand still hovering by his forehead. He blinks a few times, his parted lips just as forgotten as the end of his sentence.

Eddie knows there’s a kind of question in his eyes when they finally hold firm on Steve’s.

Eventually, after a few beats of silence, Steve supplies, “I like your hair.”

“Uh-huh.” Eddie lifts his chin, still looking at Steve like he doesn’t know what to make of him.

“I like you,” Steve continues, and Eddie feels himself freeze for a moment, a nervous kind of shock running down his spine because, fuck, he's big enough to admit he's fantasized about hearing those words come out of Steve's mouth more than once (way more than once), but his voice was also abnormally loud, and while it’s definitely an interesting little tidbit on Steve’s part, he really doesn’t need the rest of the goddamn Hideout knowing it too.

“I mean,” Steve continued, “Seriously, I’m, like, super into–”

“Alright,” Eddie cuts him off as he grabs the back of Steve’s jacket, yanking him off the stool and dragging him down the hall, past the bathrooms, and out the back door into the gloomy alleyway.

“Jesus Christ, Steve!" Eddie exclaims once the door firmly closes behind them, "You can’t just – fuck, man, you’re gonna get us killed!”

“No,” Steve argues, and Eddie’s eyebrows fly up.

“Oh, okay, never mind I guess,” he shot back, “Sure, let’s go back in there, maybe make out on the bar for a while. What could possibly go wrong?”

"Okay," Steve replies simply, reaching forward to clumsily hook fingers around Eddie's belt loops, "You wanna?"

“Uh, no,” Eddie replied, and he regretted it immediately when he saw the look on Steve’s face. He shook his head, desperately trying to course-correct, “I dunno what kind of boys you’ve been kissing, but I certainly don’t take advantage of guys when they’re too drunk to remember anything the next morning.”

"Not kissing any other boys," Steve slurs, "Just waiting for you." He blinks at him for a moment, then says, "Do you...I sorta thought you might..."

Eddie swallowed nervously, because despite his earlier comment, he doesn't actually think Steve is so drunk that he won't remember any of this tomorrow, which means he's gonna remember this: "Yeah, I like you, Steve. Jesus Christ, I like you loads."

And Steve's mouth split into the biggest, dopiest grin Eddie's ever seen, and, fuck, yeah, he wants to kiss him. He really wants to kiss him.

"Tomorrow morning too?" Steve asks hopefully.

Eddie can't help a little laugh as he nods, "Definitely tomorrow morning too. Probably time to head out, though, for now."

"Okay," Steve nods, and so Eddie untangles Steve's hand from his belt loop, clasping it firmly in his own when he's done (because he can do that, he thinks). As they head for Eddie's van, Steve adds, "Y'know, I bet if you rolled all the windows down I'd sober up on the way back."

"Sure you will, sweetheart."

#it's fine they go back to steve's and he takes the coldest shower of his life and then they make out for like two hours #to be clear – TBIs mess w/alcohol tolerance (not that anyone had figured that out yet in the 80s)#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie week 2024

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lukesandromeda · 6 months ago

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౨ৎ kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor

l. castellan

content : fluff, a little teeeeeensy bit of angst but you’d have to squint, cussing, canon plot line luke

pairing : luke castellan x fem!reader

She took my fingers to her mouth / The kind of thing that makes you proud / That nothing else had ever / Worked out, worked out / And lately I've tried other things / But nothing can capture the sting / Of the venom she’s gonna spit out right now

Kiss me on the mouth / And love me like a sailor / And when you get a taste / Can you tell me what’s my flavor? / I don’t believe in God / But I believe that you're my savior

I know that you’ve been worried / But the truth is in my favor / And when we're getting dirty I forget all that is wrong / I sleep so I can see you cause I hate to wait so long / I sleep so I can see you and I hate to wait so long

luke had a way of finding you, no matter where you were. it’s 1:07 a.m.—or, so says your watch that’s already wet with lake water, which, by the way, isn’t digital because chiron insisted you’d be found and mauled if you did in fact get a digital one—and luke has somehow found you out at the lake.

you don’t realize at first, obviously, because you’re completely submerged in water. but when you finally feel the last bit of composure slipping out from your closed mouth in the crystal water, you swim as fast as you could to the top and breathed out. your head is dizzy from the panting that follows closely after, and you squeeze your eyes shut and relish in the feeling of the breathlessness you get when you have your time alone. the time you spend to swim, to clear your mind.

“yo, is that a mermaid?” you hear from behind you. the voice is dramatic and sarcastic, and familiar and homelike. you turn around, biting back your grin as you swim to the edge of the dock.

luke’s sitting with his feet in the water, his sweatpants rolled up around his knees so he can do this without getting them wet in a way that makes you giggle as you wade into his presence.

“something funny?” he asks, tilting his head.

you shake your head, looking up at him. he stands, holding out his hand for you to take as he helps you out of the water. he holds up a finger, as if to say, ‘one second,’ walks away to where he has his bag and shoes, and comes back with a towel. you go to take it from him, but he tsks. you put your arms down and smile sheepishly as he wraps it around you carefully, pulling it snug over your shoulders and pulling away when he’s done.

“you know it’s 1:30 a.m, right?” luke prompts.

you look down at your watch. “1:10.”

he smiles, pulling his phone out of his pocket and tapping on the lock screen to show that it was, in fact, 1:30. luke wasn’t necessarily allowed to have a cell phone, just like every other demigod wasn’t, but even though he’s camp halfblood’s golden boy, he’s still a child of hermes. it’s in his blood to break the rules, even if only a little bit.

you look down at your watch, frowning. “huh. stupid piece of shit.”

“it’s damaged by the water, probably,” luke points out, hands gently pulling you toward him. you stumble until you’re standing in front of him, watching his face as he grabs your hand and removes the watch from your wrist. his fingers rub in the red marks and dents the watch leaves, and he takes the watch in his hand. “i’ll take this to the hephaestus cabin for you tomorrow, okay?”

you nod, smiling as he finally looks back at you. you bathe in the feeling his eye contact gives you, and after a few seconds, your smile mirrors onto his face, too.

“shouldn’t be out here so late,” luke said as his forehead creased. he watched you in concentration, looking down at you as if he was trying to memorize everything about you. “come back with me?”

immediately you nod, eyes widening at the thought of him letting you sneak into his cabin. usually, as much as he wanted you to, he didn’t let you because he was too worried about getting caught and “wouldn’t forgive himself” if you were on clean up duty for the next two weeks.

“come on, then, you prune,” he jokes in a silky voice, fingers moving against the wrinkled skin on your fingers that have become that way from the swimming you’ve been doing.

he wraps his hand in yours and squeezes it, grabbing his bag and slipping on his shoes. you follow him to his cabin where the two of you sneakily get past his sleeping siblings to the counselor’s bedroom, (his), and he shuts the door softly once you make it there.

he hangs his backpack on the door and slips off his shoes, running his hand through his tussled curls. he turns to face you, looking down at you for a moment, smiling when you shiver at the water running down your body.

his hand trails to your shoulder, lifting it to your face where he presses the back of his pointer finger to your face. he crinkles his nose and smiles when he feels the droplets of lake water drip onto his skin. “you need a shower?”

“you saying i stink, castellan?” you questioned in sarcasm, earning a scoff that soothes out into a chuckle.

“yup. terrible.”

you put on a faux offended look as he urges you to go to his dresser and grab what you need.

luke has a drawer dedicated to your clothes in his room, mostly things you’ve left behind in there from your time being together. however, you only grab everything but a sweatshirt, turning to him and smirking when he realizes what you’re up to.

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered, walking to his closet. “grabbin’ you my hoodie, don’t worry.”

you grin when he places it in your hands. luke guides you by the small of your back in the direction of the bathroom and you enter, closing the door, not bothering got lock it.

looking down at the hoodie, you blush when you realize it smells like him. you put your clothes down and get in the shower. you use his tropical shampoo and conditioner that you’re always praising when you run your hands through his hair, and you use the complimentary body wash that you inhale dramatically when you’re resting your head in his neck.

you dry yourself off with a fresh towel that smells like his laundry detergent, similar to the smell of his hoodie. after changing into the clothes, you open the door to find luke laying face first on the bed, sprawled out. grinning, you tip toe to the side and tap on his shoulder.

he only grunts out a response.

“move over, you boulder,” you scold as you give his shoulder a half hearted shove.

he groans, rolling over onto his back as he moves to his side of the bed. you climb into the covers and squeal when he wraps his muscular arm around you, pulling you close to him. he turns so he can face you. “hi.”

“hi,” you echo, bringing your hand to the back of his neck where you let your fingernails scratch gently.

he lets out a hum of approval, looking down at you. “missed you.”

“yeah?”

luke nods. “yeah. s’much.”

he leans in and plasters a kiss on the crown of your head. he pulls away, giving you the opportunity to look up at him in adoration. he reaches his hand up and traces your lips with his fingertip, smiling when you flex them to kiss it.

“c’mere,” he groans, grabbing the back of your head and guiding it to his. he captures your lips in a soft and gentle kiss. you close your eyes and savor the feeling of him smiling against your lips when you dig your hands deep into his hair.

when he finally pulls away, he looks down at you with so much adoration written over his features it makes your heart jump. “y’taste like the ocean.”

“i was swimming in the sound,” you defend, and he shrugs.

“i wasn’t complaining.”

and then he tugs you back in for another kiss.

you pull away from the kiss and look up at him through your tears. you try at a smile because luke looks like the boy he was when you were in this position countless times before, except when it was in his bed of his cabin instead of the princess andromeda state room.

your skin is rosy and a little bit dry from bathing in the cruise ship life luke has provided you with when you agreed to help him take down the gods. since then, it’s been the two of you and no one else.

however, he’s constantly overworking himself. he did it before even at camp, but now it’s constant training and sometimes fighting other demigods when they’d stumble upon the ship.

today, particularly, luke had got into a fight with a brother of ethan nakamura’s when he’d come to save ethan. the fight was ugly and bloody, resulting in the brother ending up over the ship. luckily, he wasn’t dead and had swum back to the boat he’d brought out there, but you couldn’t help but feel a sense of fear when you looked at your boyfriend’s bloody hands when he’d returned to the stateroom.

“i—i’m sorry,” he’d said as you looked at him with fear. “he was tryin’ to kill me. he’s okay.”

you let him lead you to his bed where he sat down at the edge and pulled you in between his legs, watching you with guilt as you patched his wounds, occasionally wincing when antiseptic broke through his pain tolerance.

“i know you worry about me, angel,” he whispered, his sweet brown eyes looking up at yours with patience, “believe me, i do. gods, you’re so perfect.”

you shook your head, blinking the tears that threatened to spill over your waterline away. “you hurt yourself so much, luke, it scares me.”

“i know,” he responded firmly, grabbing your hands and stopping them for a moment. he held them in his, looking up at you desperately. “i promise you, i wouldn’t ever think of doing anything reckless enough to take me away from you. i don’t wanna lose you either, sweetheart.”

you watched him for a few moments before he continued, “ ‘m always gonna come back to you. no matter what.”

you smiled for a moment more before going back to cleaning his wounds. he watched as your brows furrowed, whispering, “i promise, i’m with you.”

you watched him, bringing your hand up to his cheek and dragging your thumb across it. you nodded.

“yeah?” he asked, a boyish smile appearing on his face.

“yeah.” you echoed.

now, he looks down at your lips again. “y’taste like the ocean.”

you shake your head. “that’s pool water.”

“same thing?” he asks, silently asking for you to agree to disagree before your argument skills come out.

“yeah, sure,” you agree, letting him guide you by the back of your head to kiss you softly again.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #charlie bushnell #charlie bushnell x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #luke castellan pjo #luke pjo #luke castellan x reader fluff #luke castellan x reader smut #percy jackson and the olympians #charlie bushnell x reader fluff #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan x you #pjo x reader #pjo fic #music #sailor song

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