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dollfacefantasy · 1 month

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dig your claws right into me ♡

logan howlett x fem!reader

logan hurts you when he has a nightmare. now you both have to deal with the fallout.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, descriptions of nightmare, injury, and blood

a/n: reader is a mutant but i didn't specify her powers so you can imagine what you want. just some sickly sweet intimacy cause that's what i was feeling tonight <3

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The words come out whispered as Logan's lips press against the three tiny bumps of developing scar tissue on your abdomen.

"I already told you that you don't have to be sorry," you say. Your voice drifts into the space between the two of you as soft as the movements of your fingers running through his hair.

"Well I am, bub. You should want me to be."

Each one of his hands rests upon either side of your waist. His fingers squish against your flesh while his eyes stare at the scars on your belly. He gazes at them like the small marks, all equidistant from one another, could be willed away by his harsh look. He hated the fact that they were there at all. Even worse, that he was the one who gave them to you.

"But it was an accident," you respond, giving one of the tufts of his hair a gentle tug.

His dark pupils flit up to look at your face. "Doesn't matter. It being an accident doesn't change the fact that you're gonna have these marks forever. I wouldn't care that it was accidental if I'd killed you."

He remembers the night it happened that seemed like a real possibility.

His light sleep had been interrupted by a nightmare. Over the time that had passed between then and now, it'd become indistinct from all the others he experiences regularly. The only difference between that one and the ones he'd had since he'd started sleeping next to you each night was the intensity. That night had been rough. Normally when he slept in your room, he seemed to be able to tone it down. Almost as if his brain knew to not act up while your relationship was still starting to blossom.

But two weeks ago, his mind didn't care. It flash-banged him with the usual images of himself in that tank. The searing, splitting pain of the adamantium attaching itself to his bones.

Usually, if he had a nightmare beside you, he'd grunt and twitch, maybe shift around a little. That night though, you got to see the whole performance. The tossing and turning, sweating and moaning, tense limbs and scrunched up face.

Poor, sweet, innocent you thought that you could just wake him up. Your hands nudged at his bicep and shoulder as you gently cooed "Logan. It's just a dream."

In the end, your tenderness didn't matter. When he actually came to, your anguished cry was all that registered. And then he felt the sharp heat between his knuckles that meant the claws were out. His heart dropped and his vision nearly blacked out. He couldn't have.

He retracted them as quickly as they'd appeared and pulled back to look at you. Crimson flooded the gray t-shirt you'd worn to bed. The three little spots spread into large blooms of scarlet. Your hands flew to the spot to clutch at it, but they did nothing to stop the warm liquid from spilling out.

"No, no, no, fuck," he'd whispered frantically as his mind raced for a solution.

Your cries morphed into whimpers. Soft and vulnerable. Like a prey animal that'd been fatally wounded but not put out of its misery. Blood seeped out onto your bedding, and it was then that he rocketed off the mattress and scooped you up into his arms.

Fortunately, Scott, Jean, and Storm were already outside the door in the hall, having heard the scream. A gathering of students lingered behind them as well. Shame coursed through his veins, albeit dulled by the panic. He remembered thinking it was stupid, but after the adrenaline left his system, it was the dominant emotion he was left with. Ashamed was the only word that could describe holding the knowledge that everyone here now saw he was capable of hurting the woman he loves. Maybe he was no better than an animal.

In truth, shame was all he felt now. So much relief settled over him since you'd made it out alive. Thanks to the enhanced physical capabilities from your mutation and Jean's adequate medical skills, these scars would be the only lasting effect of the wounds.

He'd rushed you down to the infirmary faster than he'd ever moved in a non-combat situation. His feet thundered down the stairs, a part of him withering to ash with each little whimper you let out as the motion jostled your body around.

"I'm sorry, bub. Almost there. We're almost there. You're gonna be ok," he'd mumbled out thoughtlessly, saying anything he could that would bring you even a shred of comfort.

He kept your hand in his the entire time you were down there on the cold examination table. His grip stayed firm. He wouldn't let the anxiety over your well being consume him. This was his fault, and now you needed him. He didn't get to be worried or upset or anything that wasn't in support of you.

When you howled in pain, he winced as if he was the one being treated. You cried for him, choking out "Logan" through tears over and over. It tore him apart inside. All he could do to soothe you was stroke your cheek and murmur reassurances in your ear.

"Shh, shh, shh. You're doing so good, baby. My strong girl. Being so brave."

He usually reserved affection for private moments, but in those painful seconds, it felt like you two were the only ones in the room.

These thoughts running through his head display across his face. The way his cheek squishes against your tummy and his eyes vacantly stare at the wall opposite his bed. You told him the next day that everything transformed into a blur in your mind. You remembered the feeling of being stabbed and the sight of him panicking, but beyond that nothing specific stayed. You knew he held you and talked to you even though you couldn't recall an individual thing he said or did.

That was fine with him. He listened to you tell the story from your perspective. You spoke with your normal cadence, the usual happy glow in your eyes, and the same animated gestures coming from your hands. His eyes lingered on your torso though. The bandages peeking out from underneath your clean camisole he'd changed you into.

Every last detail of the incident was etched into the deepest part of his psyche. Most likely stored away as material for future nightmares. As much as he hated it, he figured that's the way it should be. He didn't deserve the peace that comes with forgetting.

For the first week after it'd happened, he wouldn't sleep with you. He'd stay with you, cuddled against your body, until you drifted off. Then he'd get up and skulk back to his own room, leaving you cold and alone on your bed.

Eventually after a few more days, you got him to try it out again, but he'd only do it in his own room. It was hard for him to be in yours. New sheets covered your foamy mattress now since the blood wouldn't wash out of the old set. Each brush of the novel material against his skin was just a rose-printed reminder of what he'd done to you.

He's snapped out of his recollection when your voice returns to the original conversation.

"None of that stuff happened though. You didn't kill me, and you're not going to. I'll be more careful next time," you break the silence with a gentle reassurance.

Next time. That's what hurts the worst. You knew this would happen again. You'd promised that when it did you wouldn't try to wake him. Wouldn't touch him or do anything that could set him off. Just give him his space and let him work through it.

"I don't even want you worrying about being careful when you're trying to sleep," he grumbles.

Your nails scrape over his scalp, making his eyes flutter. A deep sigh leaves him. As much as he hated himself for all of this, he could never help easing up under your touch.

"You're worth it."

Three words you said so often. He never believed them, but that didn't stop you from repeating them like a slogan. Instead of arguing with you over the validity of the statement, he stays silent. Replaces any verbal response with a physical one by nuzzling into the warmth of your stomach and laying kisses around your navel.

You watch the affectionate gesture and trail your fingers down to the nape of his neck, massaging the tender skin there.

"You are," you whisper, "One mistake doesn't define you. Doesn't change how I see you."

"It's not just a simple mistake-" he starts.

"Yes it is," you interject, trying to nip his self doubt in the bud.

"It's not. It's not like I forgot your birthday or left my wallet behind when taking you out."

"It's still an accident. The severity doesn't change the intention. Would you hate me if my powers acted up and hurt you?"

God, you could be just as stubborn as him. It grated on his already frayed nerves. He shifts to look up at you fully. And some of that building tension dissolves upon seeing the earnest look on your face.

"It's not the same. Anything you did to me, I would heal," he says.

"I'm healing too. I'm just not as fast as you," you respond. You actually smile as if this is some lighthearted matter. Of course you knew it wasn't the same. You presented no danger to him whereas if he'd nicked you an inch to the left, he might be talking to your headstone right now instead of you. That wasn't the point though.

He shakes his head. "It's different, bub. But I'm not even saying you should hate me..."

In truth, he didn't know what he was saying. If he wanted you to hate him or stay away from him, he could be the one to break things off. But he was still right here, arms wrapped around you and head hovering inches away from your body.

"I just think you should be more cautious than you're being," he finishes, "I don't want you to think you have to put up with this."

You frown and pet his hair. "I don't think that."

"I'm not trying to lecture you, baby," he sighs, "I just don't want to hurt you again."

He could certainly flaunt a pair of puppy eyes when he wanted to. The way he was looking up at you now made him seem so sad and wounded. Like a dog who can't control when he bites but gets kicked aside for it all the same.

"You're not going to. We'll be careful. It was an accident," you say, tone almost pleading, "You're still my Logan."

To go along with your words, you pull on one of his arms, beckoning him closer. He complies with your request and scales your body so that the two of you are aligned. You stare up into his eyes and the whirlpools of emotion within them. Your hand lands on his cheek, your thumb stroking back and forth in small swipes.

"I'm not gonna let you pull away cause of this," you whisper, "It wasn't your fault. You don't choose to have those dreams."

You can tell he wants to argue, but he struggles to find the words. Indirectly cutting him off, you guide his head closer to yours. His face slots against the crook of your neck, and yours does the same in his. You nuzzle him there, breathing in the rich, musky scent of him.

"You're not wrong for wanting to be happy. You don't deserve to be alone," you say and kiss below his ear.

The words make him ache from within. His metal bones vibrate with the weight of possibility of that being true while his heartbeat feels as though it stutters between his ribs. He wants to huff and say that he knows, that he doesn't need you psychoanalyzing him, thank you very much. But none of that will come out. So instead he chuckles. He tries to make it sound smooth; although, the awkwardness is apparent in each bit.

He pulls back a little and smirks down at you. "So you think I'm cut out for being gentle? Is that it?"

You know what he's doing. As closed off as he tries to be, you don't need telepathy to sense what he's feeling. You let him play it off with a joke though. If he's joking, he's not drowning in self-pity, which is all you want.

"Mhm, I know you are," you say and nose at his cheek, kissing the spot on it without facial hair, "You may have claws, but you purr like a kitten when I have my hands on you."

His eyes roll when you say that. He leans down and begins to return some of your loving gestures.

"Don't go telling people that. It's only for you," he murmurs.

"Of course, of course," you say with the same subtle playfulness.

Words die out in favor of using your mouths for better things. The kisses are lazy, built more off of love and adoration rather than lust and passion. One of your arms loops over his shoulders to keep him close while your other rubs at his side. The tip of his nose brushes your earlobe as he lowers to kiss down your throat.

His lips meet your pulse point and the divots in your neck that make you shudder when touched. He's familiar with all your secret spots by now. He plays you better than any instrument. His breath fans over your skin as his teeth scrape against the same flesh. His hands work below, squeezing your waist, fingertips leaving little bumps in their wake.

The hand of yours that had been on his side drifts further down and wiggles its way between your two bodies. Your digits stroke his pelvis above the area his cock would soon begin to harden.

A groan reverberates through his chest as his shaft rises to attention. From this angle, the pads of your fingers can reach the tip. You rub on it with light pressure, up and down. That gets him to repeat the groan, only this time the undertone of need is more prominent.

His lips latch onto your neck to work a little mark onto your skin while he pushes the waistband of his sweatpants down his thighs. You were only wearing a cropped t-shirt and panties, already easily accessible.

He nudges your thighs apart further and grinds his bulge over your mound. The heat from both your aching centers grows hotter with the friction. Arching your back off the bed, you whimper softly for further satisfaction. He presses you back down using his larger stature.

"Patience, sweetheart. Being gentle, remember?"

He only teases you with a few more grinds of his hips before his boxers vanish too and his heavy cock rests against the soft fabric of your panties. You feel the familiar thickness at first. Then his fingers swoop down and pull your panties to the side so he can slot the drippy tip against your folds. Precum smears against your slick, velvety skin.

Seconds later he splits you open. He bites his lip while you whine, his fat cock pushing further into your wanting hole. You squeeze around him. Your walls clamp and contract on his length. It doesn't push him out, merely sucks him further in. He chokes out a low moan from how tight you get.

So tight and so wet. Arousal oozes from you in no short supply. It didn't take much to get you going for Logan. A few touches alone had you leaking like a broken faucet. You whimper as he bottoms out, hips jerking as the head taps your cervix. He always gets so deep it's nearly unbearable. Even when he's going slow like he is now, he's all you can think of. He fills you up down there and occupies all the space in your head.

"Feel good, baby?" he asks.

You nod, unable to respond verbally as you adjust to the intrusion.

He doesn't give you a prolonged period of time to adapt right now. Normally he would, but most other times, he'd be going much faster than he plans to at this moment. Typically, he'd let you get comfy with the stretch before drawing his hips back and then pumping them forward again. He'd slam in and out of you. It'd be loud with the sound of skin clapping combined with your moans and his growls. It'd be rough and quick. The bed would shake and bobble around with the force of him.

But tonight, none of that happens. He barely even pulls out to thrust. He stays nice and deep, grinding his hips rather than fucking himself in and out of you. You whine in sweet stretches of sound. He sighs and grunts against your neck. Neither of you sound like feral animals going into heat.

You loved when you fucked like that, but right now, both of you needed this. Each roll of his hips felt like a stroke of heaven brushing your insides. Your limbs curl around him tighter to keep him close. Your arms guard his neck while your legs dig into his hips. He's so lost in the feeling of you, he can't even tell where he ends and you begin.

"Tell me how it feels. Need to hear you. Wanna know I'm doing it how you need," he mumbles.

"Feels perfect," you whimper in return, "So fuckin' deep."

"Good. I only ever wanna make you feel good."

You nod, knowing it's the truth. "Anyone can hurt me, but only you know how to make me feel like this."

His eyes scrunch up at your words. He just feels lucky he has his face buried against your skin so you can't see. It had been just what he needed to hear. Boosting himself onto his knees a bit more to gain some leverage, he grips your hips and ruts against you with the slightest bit more force.

You whine at the soothing rhythm in which your bodies rock. The sense of satisfaction brought on from this took root in the deepest pit of your belly. You weren't gonna explode like you often did. Probably wouldn't scream or scratch up his back. But you could tell you were gonna cum hard.

Without saying it, he communicates he feels the same. His lack of usual dirty talk tells you everything you need to know. His cock stays nestled deep inside your pussy as he works you both to the edge. His face remains flush against your neck.

You cum first, and he follows right behind. You tighten up, toes curling and a high mewl echoing out of your throat. Your body shivers. He spills his release inside of you, his energy leaving with the sticky ropes of cum that fire.

He goes boneless on top of you, still cherishing the feeling of your skin on his. His breaths feel cool against your sweating skin.

"My baby," he sighs. His eyes flutter shut. He knows he has to pull out before he knocks out for a while, but he can do that in a second. He just needs a few more minutes of this.

You press a few kisses to the side of his head and rub his back. His hand slides between both your abdomen to touch the scars, reminding himself what he's capable of despite his current tenderness.

After a few moments, he pulls out and slumps to the side of you. You peck his lips and take the acquisition of space as a way to cool off. His eyes are drooping already. It feels good seeing him so relaxed. You kiss the space between his brows, then the bridge of his knows, and end on his lips.

"Sweet dreams," you whisper, wishing that would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay. At least for tonight.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine imagine #wolverine smut #x men x reader #marvel x reader #marvel smut

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yawnderu · 8 days

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I wanna nerd out a bit about the new operator (3-headed Ghost) because I just bought him and I can't stop looking at him.

While he is a bizarre combination of limbs from the TF141 members, he's listed as a member of KorTac, a private military contractor in the game known for having the bad guys, including Makarov, Graves, and some Konni soldiers. As of now, all the information of the operator appears as [REDACTED].

The masks he wears are arranged in chronological order following the events of the campaign, starting from the one on the right side, worn by Simon during Grave's betrayal. The mask in the middle is from the cinematic where Simon and Johnny meet up with Rodolfo again to rescue Alejandro, and the mask on the left side is from another cinematic, where Ghost's team eventually defeats Shadow Company.

He has five arms, two of which belong to Simon and are located on the right side of his body. On the left side of his body, two of the three arms are mutated together, and one of the arms belongs to Soap -easily recognizable by his SAS tattoo-, grasping Price's arm, while Gaz's arm is on the back.

Some of the accessories he wears include Gaz's cap,

Price's scarf,

and Farah's headband.

While he is listed as a KorTac operator, still attached to it can be seen a United Kingdom Special Forces patch on Ghost's arm.

Another curious fact is that the solitary arms on the back (belonging to Simon and Gaz) and Simon's head do not stop twitching, to the point it looks rather painful, as the head twitches force his entire body to move as well.

When you're in the selection screen, the Alone operator examines his mutated arm for a few seconds before moving on.

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imaginedisish · 2 months

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Is It Casual Now? (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: So this one is a couple of requests rolled into one. I got some asks about dancing around feelings, and some others about a fight/make up sex...and this is what I came up with. This is (very obviously) inspired by "Casual" by the queen herself, Chappell Roan. (Gif is not mine--from a user called trashy on Pinterest). Enjoy!

Summary: I know baby nooo attachment, but we're...KNEE DEEP IN THE PASSENGER SEAT AND YOU'RE EATING ME OUT IS IT CASUAL NOW?

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI! Oral (f!receiving), fingering, unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), cockwarming, so much smut, feelings, friends w/benefits/secret affair to lovers, Logan is afraid to love but goddammit he loves you, angsty asf, cursing, happy ending :), fem!reader/afab!reader, probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 3,405 short...not...

Over the course of his very long life, some of Logan’s memories have shifted, melded together. Days become nights and nights become days, an inescapable cycle with an indeterminate end. But Logan remembers the day he met you vividly. You tripped him up; sucked him out of the monotony of what at times felt like a meaningless existence. You changed everything.

The summer air was hot and stuffy. He was standing in the hallway with Jean, Scott, Rogue, and Kurt. The door opened, sunlight filling the dark foyer. And then there you were, stepping inside, with Charles and Storm flanking you.

Your eyes found his immediately. “My X-Men, this is our new recruit,” Charles had said, introducing you to the team. But you were only focused on the man in the middle. The man with the leather jacket and the dark black hair.

“Hi,” you said shyly with a wave of your hand, eyes still focused on Logan. The rest of the team excitedly introduced themselves, but you weren’t listening.

Logan smiled. “Hi,” he said back. He was all you could see.

And he still is. But you’re dancing around your feelings—the both of you. You allow yourselves to give in, but only under the cover of darkness. Only in bed. Late at night. When the rest of the team is fast asleep. It’s always quiet; rushed steps down the hallway and soft taps on doors. Tripping into the darkness of a room to find the bed. A mess of limbs tangled together, moon high in the sky, cold light trickling through the curtains.

It’s the early hours of the morning, the dawn creeping in through your window. Logan’s arm is wrapped around you, his hand holding your breast. It’s so domestic, so intimate. But you know he’s going to leave—one of you always leaves. Lately, it hurts worse every time the bed goes cold.

“I should go,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. He tugs you closer, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He’s still hard, his erection brushing against the curve of your ass. You push back into him teasingly.

“Stay,” you beg, your hips rocking against him.

He kisses your neck. “Can’t. You know we can’t.”

Your heart drops. You don’t know how much more of this arrangement you can take. The leaving. The hiding. The secretiveness. “Why?” You ask, separating from him. You roll over onto your other side to face him. “Why can’t we?”

“We just can’t,” he grunts, pushing himself up and out from under the covers. He finds his clothes on the ground and starts to dress himself. You sit up too, tears suddenly brimming behind your eyes.

You shake your head. “That’s not an answer, Lo.”

“Please,” he says, tugging his beater across his chest. He leans over you, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. “You have to understand.”

You nod, but you don’t understand. He kisses you once more before stepping quietly towards the door. His hand hovers over the doorknob, like part of him can’t take this either. Like he has to fight some demon deep inside him not to crawl back into bed and pull you close. You know him; you can see it in his face, in the way he stands.

“See you later?” You ask, swallowing nervously. You need to hear him say it—need him to remind you that this isn’t over. You’re desperate for anything—desperate for him.

Logan smiles. “Yeah,” he nods. “Come to my room tonight, okay?”

You fight back your tears, plastering a fake smile on your face. “Okay.”

And then he’s slipping out the door, softly shutting it behind him.

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Later that night…

His sheets are soft under your back. His arm holds you down, latched tightly over your hip, keeping your lower half glued to the mattress. His face is buried deep in your cunt. He’s lapping at you hungrily, needily.

“Thought about you all day,” he mumbles against you, the bassy vibration of his voice sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine. His fingers pump in and out of you, fast and hard. “Wanted to taste you so bad, pretty girl.”

“Logan,” you whine as he takes your clit between his lips, sucking roughly. “F-feels so good.”

Your walls flutter around him as he sinks his fingers deeper inside you. There’s a hunger in his eyes, a desperation you’re well acquainted with. You feel it whenever you’re around him, whenever he’s pressing himself closer to you, pushing himself inside of you.

“Doing so good for me, darlin’,” he soothes, his thumb drawing circles into your hip. “Tastes so fucking good, so sweet.” His words are practically throwing you over the edge, destroying you, and then building you back up.

He’s knuckle-deep inside you, lapping at you, watching your every reaction to see what makes you feel good. The sight of him is overwhelming—his mouth latched onto your clit, hair a mess, sweat on his brow, lust darkening his eyes.

You throw your head back as he hits your sweet spot, his fingers scissoring inside you. “S-so close,” you stutter as he sinks into you. “Need you, Lo,” you whimper.

“Need you too, beautiful,” he murmurs between laps. “More than you’ll ever know.” The words—their vulnerability and meaning—push you over, your orgasm crashing in waves. “That’s it,” he coos, plunging into you. “Give it to me.” He talks you through it, soft praises slipping from his lips as his tongue drags along your clit. Lemme taste you come, sweetheart. So good. So fucking beautiful.

He pulls his fingers from your cunt long after you’ve finished. He licks one long stripe through your folds before crawling up your body and settling in between your legs. His lips find yours, and you can taste yourself on his mouth, on his tongue, wearing you like a badge of honor, like proof of his commitment to you.

Commitment. Right.

He made you feel so good that you almost let yourself forget. Your arrangement. This stupid, goddamn arrangement.

No staying. No telling. You. Him. The moonlight. And then nothing.

Logan’s face is buried in the crook of your neck, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive spot underneath your ear.

“Lo,” you whisper. He hums against you, not stopping. “Logan,” you chide again.

He pushes himself up, looking down at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “What is it, princess?” You swallow harshly, blinking back your tears. The expression on his face shifts as he recognizes the pain in your eyes. “You okay? Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head. “I want you,” is all you say.

“I want you too,” he says back, pressing his forehead to yours.

“N-no,” you choke. “I want you.”

He pulls up a bit, putting some space between the two of you. “You have me,” he says, confusion painted across his face.

“No, I don’t,” you mutter, shutting your eyes.

Logan rolls off of you and sits up against the headboard. “What are you talking about?”

You open your eyes, looking up at him. “I can’t do this ‘sneaking around’ thing anymore,” you start, tears flooding your eyes as you struggle to hold them back. “I want—” you cut yourself off. You can’t play down your emotions anymore. “I need you, all of you. Always. I’m tired of leaving, of hiding, of this whole casual thing.”

“Casual?” His voice is harsh, accusatory. “This isn’t fucking casual to me. You think I don’t care about you?” He reaches out to touch you, but you turn away, swinging your legs around the side of the bed. You grab your clothes from the floor and dress quickly.

You turn back to face him. “Why don’t you want to stay with me, then? Why are we only together when no one is looking?” You shake your head, your hands balling into fists. “Why don’t you want me all the time?”

He scoffs, standing from the bed and striding over to you. “You don’t get it. I do. I want you. I just can’t—”

“You can’t what?” You shout. You don’t care who can hear you. You’re not even thinking about the others right now. You’re only thinking about Logan. And then, the words shoot out your mouth, cold and angry. Empty. Strained. “Can’t love me like I love you?”

Your eyes widen, shocked at what you’ve just said. Your chest heaves, and you rush to the door.

“Wait, please,” Logan calls, running to catch you before you leave. “Don’t go.”

You twist the knob. “It’s too late now.” You open the door and slip out, trying to shove it closed in his face. But Logan pushes against you, keeping the door open and stepping out into the hallway. You turn around and storm down the corridor, ignoring his footsteps following behind.

He grabs your wrist, and you yank it away. You’re in front of your bedroom door now. Logan is just a few feet away. “Just leave me alone, okay?”

His eyes search yours frantically. “No, let’s talk. Let’s—”

You cut him off. “I don’t want to anymore, Lo.” You open your door, ignoring his pleas, leaving him on the other side as you slam it shut behind you. You rest your back against the cold wood, sliding down to the floor. You pull your legs into your chest, your head resting on your knees.

Your tears flow freely now, running down your cheeks. You sit like that for what feels like hours, sobs racking through your chest. But when your tears finally subside and you look up, you see the moon is still high in the sky.

You force yourself to stand, your knees weak as you push yourself off the ground. Your throat is dry from all that time spent crying. You decide to go down to the kitchen, to get water, to calm down. But when you open the door, you’re met with him.

Logan. He’s on the other side, his hand gripping the door frame, muscles flexing, towering over you. You try to slip under his arm, but he doesn’t let you, grabbing your waist and holding you in place.

“We need to talk,” he mutters, backing you into the room and shutting the door with a kick.

You cross your arms against your chest. “There’s nothing left to talk about.” But he isn’t standing down. Your thighs back into the edge of your bed as Logan leans down over you. You look up at him, doing your all not to give in to the voice that screams to touch him, to taste him. You take a deep breath. “We want different things. You don’t want me the way I want you, and that’s fine,” you lie; it isn’t fine at all.

“I never said that,” he huffs, his fingertips tentatively stroking your arms. You can’t pull away as his eyes find yours. “I just…” he trails off, taking your hands in his.

You scoff, shaking your head. “You can’t even tell me how you feel. You can’t even—” “Because it’s hard!” He says, his jaw working. “It’s hard when you lose everyone you love.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “You don’t get it,” he murmurs, squeezing your hands, his chest heaving.

“Logan—”

“You’re always around, always on my fucking mind.” He pauses, his eyes glossing over as the words fall from his lips. “I have never loved someone the way I love you. And if I lose you…if I can’t have you…” He trails off, pain clear on his face. “I will never be the same again. You changed me. And that’s terrifying. I felt safer keeping you at a distance but…” His breath catches in his throat. “I can’t go back to how I was before you.”

Your lips part as you stammer, searching for the right thing to say. “I-I didn’t know. I just assumed that you—” “That I was just fucking you?” He asks, tilting his head in disbelief. “This has never been just fucking.” He slots his knee between your legs, tugging you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I love you. Always have. From that first day.”

You lean into his touch. “I love you, too,” you whisper.

He presses his forehead to yours. “I can’t lose you,” he says. There’s a tremble in his voice. “It’s just you. It’s only ever gonna be you.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” you reassure. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

He nods against you. “I never meant to hurt you,” Logan husks. “Never meant to make you feel like I didn’t love you.”

“Logan, it’s okay,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck. You need him closer, and you know he needs you too. His hands slip underneath your shirt as his knee nudges against your center. “Always gonna need you.” You can’t help but grind down on him, the pressure relieving the building ache in your core. “N-need you now.”

“Need you too, pretty girl,” he soothes. He guides you down onto the mattress. His palms spread across your stomach, tracing over your ribs—just under your breasts. “Wanna make you feel good.” He cups your tits, squeezing softly, his thumbs ghosting over your nipples.

Logan settles on top of you, balancing on his forearm, his knee still pressing into your all too-clothed cunt. He knows how much you need him—the way your hips roll against him, how you arch up to meet his touch.

“L-Lo,” you stutter, dragging your heat against him again. “Fuck me, please.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, his erection hard against your thigh. You can feel his resolve slipping. “Gonna give you what you want, pretty girl,” he groans. “Give you anything you want.”

Everything is rushed, frantic, needy. He’s sitting up, grabbing your shirt and pulling it over your head, practically ripping it in the process. He hooks his thumbs into the waistbands of your shorts and panties, tugging them down your legs in one quick movement.

He takes you in, his eyes flitting up and down your body. “So fucking beautiful,” he breathes, his hand squeezing your hip reverentially before tearing off his beater and throwing it to the floor. He slips his sweatpants down his legs, and then his boxers.

Logan pushes you into the center of the bed as he climbs over you. He balances on his forearm while his free hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding himself to your entrance.

You can tell he wants to shove himself inside, to take you greedily, but he doesn’t. He’s holding back; going slow like he’s remembering this so he can think about it later, when he needs it most—savoring the feeling of you against him. His tip slides through your folds, teasing your entrance. He nudges against your clit, spreading your arousal.

But his composure quickly cracks. He’s suddenly sinking inside you deeply—down to the hilt—with no warning, taking up every inch you have to give him. He stretches you out, the size of him still no easier to take than that first time he fucked you. “Logan,” you whine, hands pawing at his back for support.

He swallows your whimpers with a kiss. “I’m right here.” His voice is honeyed as he talks you through it. “I’ve got you, pretty girl. Not going anywhere.” He pulls out and shoves himself back inside, deeper this time. His fingers are on your clit now, circling softly. “So fucking tight, so wet. Perfect pussy.”

His cock rubs your inner walls deliciously, pumping in and out. He’s on top of you, inside you, and he’s yours. He’s all yours. You wrap your legs around his waist as he rocks into you. He’s building his pace, letting himself go.

“It’s s-so good.” You stumble over your words, already fucked out. “Y-you’re so good.”

His thrusts are faster now, his hips snapping roughly into yours. “So soft,” he murmurs, biting your bottom lip and then licking away the sting he left behind. “So fucking soft and pretty. Taking me so good, darlin’.”

His words spark that fire in your belly. You can feel it spread down, down, down. The ache between your legs blooming, turning into something bigger. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him. He groans at the feeling as you take him deeper. All you want, all you need, is him. Logan. “Yours,” you whisper. “L-Logan I’m all yours. Not going anywhere.”

“Shit,” he curses, pounding into you, all the way hit after hit. “You’re all I need,” he confesses between thrusts, panting. He flicks your clit, pinching, circling hard. “Mine, all fucking mine. Never gonna let go.”

“Don’t,” you beg, his forehead pressing to yours. He’s all-consuming; he’s everywhere and he’s everything. “D-don’t let go,” you finish, your lips ghosting his. He takes the hint, and his lips crash down onto yours as he ruts into you.

You can feel yourself cresting, ready to let go. “I know you’re getting close for me, beautiful,” Logan growls, pressing a kiss to that sweet spot under your ear. “Can feel you squeezing me.” Your walls clench around him, and he groans. “Yeah, just like that, sweetheart. Feels so good.”

“L-Lo…” you stutter, unable to form a coherent thought as he fucks into you, stroking your clit faster and harder. You’re falling apart underneath him, every thrust pushing you closer to that peak. You throw your head back, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Eyes on me,” Logan demands, his voice thick and raspy. You listen, looking up at him. His eyes are locked on yours, lust-filled and dark. “Wanna see that pretty face when you come, darlin’.”

You can feel his pace faltering—can feel him getting closer too. But he’s relentless as his hips roll against yours, fingers still working your clit. It’s too much. “Logan,” you whimper. “I-I’m gonna…” “I know, beautiful,” he says softly. “Let go for me, wanna feel you come on my cock.”

He thrusts again, flicking your clit. And that’s all it takes for you to crumble. He watches closely as you come undone. You’re trembling underneath him, his fingers still circling your core. Your muscles contract around him, sucking him in, taking him deeper. You moan his name like it’s a prayer, something holy. But this is beyond that. This is something more, something different.

“L-love you, Lo,” you murmur, pleasure still coursing through your veins.

Logan curses under his breath, your words unlocking something trapped inside him. His cock throbs against your walls, and you know he’s almost there. “Love you too, pretty girl,” he whispers. “Love you so fucking much.” He slides his hand up your body and under your back, pulling you closer. You need the contact, and so does he.

“W-want you to come inside,” you whine, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

“F-fuck, yeah?” He stutters. His cock twitches again. “Gonna fill you up, sweetheart, give you what you need.” His lips find yours as he comes, kissing you hungrily. He’s warm inside you, painting your walls, filling you up just like he said he would. Logan’s head falls to your shoulder as his thrusts slow. He stalls inside you, staying there, not quite ready to slip out.

“Lo?” You call. He hums a yeah, sweetheart, into your shoulder. “D-don’t want you to pull out. Want you to stay inside.”

He mutters a fuck and presses a kiss to your collarbone. He maneuvers the two of you under the covers, careful not to pull out. You’re a tangle of limbs, still connected, still together. He’s half hard inside you, and you know he’s not quite finished just yet. But there’s later, tomorrow, forever. Everything feels perfect—the way it was always meant to be.

There’s one thing left to do; one thing left to ask.

“Logan?” You call again. He smiles at you, pressing a chaste kiss to your nose. “Can you stay?”

His smile widens. “Always gonna stay,” he soothes, pulling you tighter to his chest, his hands rubbing up and down your back. “You never have to ask again.”

You hum, burying your head into the center of his chest. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says against the crown of your head. “Always will. Always gonna stay.”

Always.

tags: @babygirl-4986

#Logan Howlett x reader #Wolverine x reader #James Logan Howlett x reader #Logan Howlett x reader smut #Wolverine x reader smut #James Logan Howlett x reader smut #Logan Howlett smut #Wolverine smut #James Logan Howlett smut #Logan Howlett x you #Wolverine x you #James Logan Howlett x you #Logan Howlett imagine #Wolverine imagine #James Logan Howlett imagine #Logan Howlett x you smut #Wolverine x you smut #James Logan Howlett x you smut #deadpool and wolverine

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alexiroflife · 2 months

Text

sukuna takes a while to learn how to treat you with softness…

fluff, soft sukuna strikes again, vague mentions of suggestive themes

ask

🥀🥀🥀...

at first, sukuna's instinct is to reject you. he finds you to be rather too clingy for his taste, ogling him as though you are bound by a love spell to his will. he believes you to even be stupid, that hazy look in your round eyes growing heavier as you take him in, a dopey smile stretching across your face and pinching your cheeks. he doesn’t know why he entertains you at first. he thinks perhaps he can find your devotion useful in some way, considering the fact that you would have severed your own ten fingers yourself if he had ordered you to do so

as time goes by, however, your attachment to him grows to be a pestilence in his eyes. there is nowhere he can step without you stepping on the same path just behind him, nothing he can say without you nodding in eager agreement at his side, and nothing he can think without you reading his mind, voicing his inner thoughts before he has a chance to verbalize him. he’s glaring at you more often than he’s humoring you, attempting to puzzle who exactly you are and what your deal is. he’s seen worship under his authority, but not in the way you do so. you’re so… spritely, so happy to even look at him when he has accustomed himself to soldier-like obedience and fear-stricken loyalty

what he finds specifically confounding is that you don’t fear him. despite all the things you have seen him do, the obscenities that fall from his mouth, the humans like you that he has torn limb from limb, and the lack of mercy and sympathy he withholds within his bones, you still turn to him excitedly. as though he is some kind of savior to you when he should have been the very thing making you run for the hills

and you're so... innocent. at least, you behave in such a way. you carry a brightness about you, one that shines into the darkest aspects of his world and almost blinds him with your beam. you seem far too light to be associated with himself, yet he knows you aren't completely innocent because you spend your time in his company, allowing him to do to you as he pleases

despite how often sukuna brushes you away when he is not physically indulging his needs by means of you, you are nothing but chirpy greetings, heart-shaped eyes, and polite requests to sit in his lap and kiss his cheek. sukuna denies all of this at first, but the more your persistence proceeds, he finds himself allowing you to get away with more. he keeps a blank face as you press your warm, soft lips to his cheekbone and wind your arms tightly around his neck, giddily bouncing on his thigh with glee when he doesn't push you away. his body goes limp rather than turning from you completely when you throw yourself into him, tightening your arms around his midsection and pressing your warm cheek to his chest. he even ducks his head for you wordlessly when you reach a hand up to fix his hair mindlessly, threading your fingers through silky salmon locks with your face aglow with pure adoration. while his gaze elsewhere looks hard, you know he is warming up to you nonetheless

sukuna knows something is wrong with him when he starts waiting for your affections, bringing you around him more often to sit nearby and keep him company. any time you fail to greet him with a huge grin and wide, inviting arms (which only really happened once mistakenly), he's glowering at you harshly, brows ticked downward and lips set in a firm, tight scowl. he's in a crabby mood, but he doesn't say anything or mention it to you, refusing to show in any way that he has begun to look forward to your daily interactions with him

he's cold for the next few minutes until you're pressing your palm to his broad shoulder, looking up at him curiously with loving eyes. you ask him if he's alright, to which he responds with a grunt and the twitch of his arm away involuntarily. you blink, yet do not take his bitterness personally, and smile kindly

you tilt yourself up onto your tip-toes, palms meeting either side of his face, and press a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips. he stills, expression faltering slightly though his arms remain crossed over his chest and his crimson eyes stare ahead. when you pull away, grinning, he visibly softens and attempts to hide so. his teeth grind together and he snaps his gaze to you out of the corner of his eye, frowning. you walk off without another word, hand lingering on his arm when you turn away mentioning something about fixing him tea, and his eyes follow your fading figure calmly

as much as you enjoy bestowing your affections upon the king of curses, he struggles to understand that you in turn desire the same affections that he is previously incapable of providing. you, ever the foolishly kind woman, never complain or express your needs to sukuna, but he begins to observe a shift in you when your arms cling around yourself for comfort or your hand runs tenderly over the back of your own neck, a tired glint in your normally shining eyes

naturally, instead of speaking to you, sukuna seeks uraume for assistance, who knows far better about the human race and their conditions than sukuna cares to recall or learn himself. though he does not at all understand what the purpose of giving you such attention is when he never asked for it from you in the first place, something within him is itching to satiate your needs, to bring you contentment and peace the way you do him. he wants to put this feeling off as a burden, but internally, he knows that you and this blooming desire are anything but. still, he doesn't make knowing this easy

his reciprocation starts with him opening one of his arms slightly when you approach him, welcoming you into his side. he feels odd doing so, but once he catches the way your eyes burst with joy and that breathtaking grin of yours appears, a flutter in his chest tells him that he is on the right track, though he truly hasn't even done anything

he slowly transitions to nodding his head over to you, beckoning you over to sit with him, or having the servants make you whatever meal you tell him that you are craving when he asks. it's difficult for sukuna not to take completely to only showering you with material gifts as a form of reciprocation, for displays of affection are very rare for him to come by. it's even harder for him to understand that he can't be as rough with you as his subconscious encourages him to

a sort of cuteness aggression often takes hold of him when he is with you, the urge to squish your cheeks in bruisingly or smack your ass so hard it leaves a bruise (which he actually has done a couple times) as you walk away consuming him, but uraume reminds him that you are breakable - still a human, and a human who favors soft affection at that

he finally gets the gist one night when you are tangled up against his bare body, nose tucked into the crook of his neck with your arms thrown around him, the very action serving as your sole source of comfort

sukuna keeps a hand over your waist and the other just under the plush of your bum, holding your thigh. you twitch against him, weak from your previous indulgences of lustful hunger, when you murmur something into his skin. sukuna turns slightly, quirking a brow down at you. "what? speak up," he demands, his voice soothingly low.

you hum and shift, pushing yourself further into him. "can you massage my head, please?"

sukuna's lips turn up, befuddled. "what for?" you're silent for a moment.

"dunno. i think it would feel nice." when sukuna fails to respond, you're quick to add: "but you don't have to. this already feels good."

sukuna exhales, now faced with a task he did not comprehend. how fast did you want him to go? how hard? how soft? did you want the top of your head massaged or the lower part, closer to your neck? what if his fingers are too sharp?

despite the questions that flow through his head, sukuna does not desire to leave you hanging. especially so after you've tried to reel back in on your request, and you hardly ever ask him for anything but his time and presence in the first place. the salmon-haired curse clicks his teeth. "do not tell me what i can and can not do," he orders, and he feels you smile against him.

"yes, my lord."

slowly, sukuna raises his hand from your thigh to tuck through your hair, fingers sliding into your scalp. you exhale softly, relaxing further against his chest as he gently scratches at your head in gradual, calming circles. your lashes flutter in contentment, heat lifting to your face and gentle hums of satisfaction falling from your lips. blood-red eyes keep themselves pointed down into your back, his other hand smoothing over your spine.

"kuna," you murmur, and for a moment the said being believes you are going to tell him to stop, that he is harming you in some way.

"what is it now?"

"...a little lower please?"

he scoffs. "needy," he remarks, though obeying mindlessly and sliding his hand down further, pressing his fingers tenderly into the back of your head and caressing meticulously. "i'm only doing this because you have manners."

you hum again, your thigh rising over his torso as you curl into him, the sensation of his fingers in your hair alleviating any tension in your body and rendering you to putty in his embrace. "thank you," you whisper, a coat of goosebumps dotting over sukuna's skin in reaction to your gentle breath.

you sound so grateful, so humbly in love that it tears away at sukuna's hardness, and he suddenly wants to massage all of you until you're thanking him again and again, over and over, and the honey-drenched sweetness of your voice soaks him in its honesty.

he thinks he gets it now as he turns his head into you, lips brushing the shell of your ear. skin to skin, heart to heart, sukuna shivers at the realization of what you are to him and the proper place softness how has in his life when it comes to you.

from then on, sukuna's at your beck and call whilst pretending, very poorly, not to care about you. he presses his lips to your temple swiftly when you hug him, he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder to carry you along with him to wherever he decides to go, he brushes pieces of hair from your neck on hot days to reduce your discomfort, and he holds his arms tightly around your waist when you sit with him on his throne, his chin tucked to your shoulder and that same stern expression on his face

he lets you do as you please, holding his hand and dragging him out to the garden with you, bringing him to sit beside you when you eat lunch, and asking him to help you with little mundane things that he would have never bothered doing before

your clinginess to him has grown contagious, for suddenly he can not imagine you failing to be by his side, and frankly, he does not want to. he anticipates your kisses, learns how to cradle your palm gently, figures out all your likes and dislikes and interests and desires and has his servants work twenty times as hard to make you happy, though all you really need to be happy is him

he still doesn't get how someone like you managed to fall in love with him, nor how he managed to return those feelings just as strongly, but he now stubbornly holds onto you, refusing to let you out of his sight for any reason. you are his, now, his alone, and he would burn the world for you if you only asked with that soft politeness in your tone that entertains him so much

sukuna is a hard being, with a hard exterior and an even harder heart. he's a sadist, a murderer, a king of demons and all chaos and misery that roams the earth

but you... you bring him down to a wordless, tranquil being of action who has taught himself how to care for you with the same gentleness that you care for him. his roughness, of course, has not been stripped away. he still fucks you with intense vigor and speaks to you with the same firm haughtiness in his tone, but even so, for you, he has become lighter. quieter. handsier. easier. softer.

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supercutszns · 6 months

Text

twin beads | luke castellan

wc + pairing: 6.7k, luke x daughter of poseidon! reader

synopsis: you’ve been unclaimed for five years. you’ve loved your best friend even longer. the sea used to be your greatest solace, but after percy jackson comes to camp, it’s your cruelest reminder. (based on this ask!)

warnings: best friends to lovers <3, percy/reader sibling dynamic, fluff and angst then fluff again, hurt/comfort, shameless making out. sorry this one is so long but besties to lovers is my lifeblood!!! i get so attached!! designated song is true blue by boygenius:)

i. you said you wanted to feel alive, so we went to the beach

“Ahoy, sailor!”

The familiar voice ricochets across the lake. You turn, leaving glimmers of sun behind you as you stare back at the docks of Camp Half-Blood. An orange blob with a curly mop of hair is beckoning you. You laugh, wave back at him, and plunge into the water. It cools your face after staying above the surface for so long—you just love watching the light reflected off the waves. But the second you’re under the water, the soreness in your muscles, the heat on your face, the exhaustion from treading for so long, are washed away from you. You swim with precision and vigor, relishing the feel of the river cupping your limbs to spur you forward. Not to sound lame, but you fucking love swimming.

But maybe not as much as you love your best friend.

He laughs when your head pops out of the water at the edge of the dock. “Wow, that took you longer than usual,” he teases, brown eyes glinting in the dawn. “You getting sloppy?”

You huff, splashing some water up at him but it barely touches him. “I’m tired, you moron. I’ve been out there for an hour.”

Luke leans down at the edge of the dock, offering you a hand. His face is bemused when you latch onto him, and with a good flex of his bicep he pulls you up. “All right, c’mon,” he grunts.

All your energy evaporates the second your body’s out of the water. You’re far too lazy to be graceful, so you sprawl out onto the dock like a dying fish, letting the sun kiss every inch of you. “Eww,” Luke giggles overtop you, prodding your side with the tip of his shoe. “Get up, you mermaid.”

“Make me, you mailman.”

Your arm drapes over your eyes, and you sigh. There really is nothing better than these moments; droplets of water soaking into your skin after an early morning swim, your best friend right beside you.

He keeps nudging you with your shoe, over and over until your ribs start to hurt. You groan, swatting him away and stretching out your limbs with a groan, letting them pop and relax, until you blearily make your way to your feet.

“You forgot your towel again,” Luke condones, but like always, he’s brought one for you.

He goes through a practiced routine of drying you off, wrapping the towel around your shoulders and down your arms, across your back, scrunching the water out of your hair. It doesn’t matter how cold the water gets—this part always makes you warm.

“Thanks,” you smile as he hands the towel off to you. “Anything interesting happen this morning, O Captain, my captain?”

“Not yet, sailor, sir,” he replies in a stuffy, gruff voice the two of you have joked around with since you were kids. “Just grabbing you for breakfast.”

You giggle, following him past the docks and to the shore. Once you’ve grabbed all your stuff, you both fall in stride and head towards your cabin, your twin five-beaded necklaces hanging over your shirts.

Five years ago, when you got to Camp for the first time, you were as big a loser as any. You were bad at everything—everything—and had no real friends until you accidentally whacked some other friendless loser in the head with an oar when you were about to go canoeing. Luke got mad at you, but his little sister Annabeth was even more furious. He offered to be your partner for the day anyway. You’ve been partners ever since.

Over the years the two of you have grown in status at the camp, more so Luke than you. He’s an excellent cabin leader and by far the greatest swordsman in camp. You, still unclaimed, have found solace in giving younger campers swimming lessons and wading out there on your own till you get sunstroke. (It’s happened a few times. Luke is never pleased, but also refuses to let the Apollo campers take care of you. He nurses you back to health with ice cream and horrible gossip.)

But every night you return to the Hermes cabin with a hollowness in your chest. One bunk emptied, then immediately filled. You’ve had the same one for five years, and the only condolence is that it’s right next to Luke’s, and sometimes you spend hours at night making faces at each other till your laughter endangers other people’s sleep.

Yes, you love the water at Camp Half-Blood, but you love Luke most.

Rumours of a new kid are rustling at camp. You haven’t seen him, but you’re just dying to get in on the gossip. Apparently he slayed a minotaur. Apparently Annabeth has seen him. And apparently he’s unclaimed. You hate to admit it, but this is the most exciting news you’ve heard in weeks!

Your afternoon is spent giving some swimming lessons and taking some Demeter campers canoeing. (Some of them freak out on the water. so it’s a nice challenge to untangle the sea plants they get hooked around their boat.) It feels like you’ve been here forever. A break is in desperate demand right now.

You have no idea what kind of God heard your prayers, but your fellow counsellor has an unimpressed look on her face when she taps you on the shoulder and goes, “Your friend’s calling you.”

The way she says it is almost degrading. You turn to look back at the shore to see the dark curly hair you’d spot a mile away. Next to him is a much shorter orange blob, shuffling awkwardly as Luke attempts to flag you down. Score!

You shoot an apologetic look at her. “Uh … I’ll be right back.” You wince, already disposing of your baggy orange shirt (it’s Luke’s) with your bathing suit underneath.

“No you won’t,” she says dryly. “Just go.”

You flash a smile you hope is loaded with charm, and you’re off into water. As you swim, the only thing on your mind is I really really hope that’s the new kid, and I wonder what Luke’s face looks like right now. (He’s probably grinning, eyes crinkled at the sides as he tries to follow your figure beneath the waves. Maybe he’s doing that cute thing where his head tilts to the side as he watches.)

When you’re close enough to the shore, you come out of the water, wringing your hair. “Hey, guys!” It’s Luke, Chris, and some blonde kid you’re sure is the new one. “What’s up?”

Luke is about to say something, then he frowns. “Where’s my shirt?”

“Left it in the canoe, I’ll go back for it later,” you reply, limply gesturing behind you.

“And where’s your towel?”

“Okay, I did bring one this time!” You counter. “I just gave it to a little Ares kid ‘cause she forgot hers.”

Luke clicks his tongue, shakes his head at you, but of course he’s got one in his hands so what’s the worry? He’s endearingly amused when you take the cloth and dry yourself off, and the new boy, having watched this all raptly, widens his eyes and drawls, “Ohhhh, so you’re his gi—”

“This is Camp’s resident mermaid, Percy.” Chris butts in, adding your name almost as an afterthought.

After you fasten your towel around you, you’re put off by Percy’s scrutinizing stare. “Look, it’s been a pretty weird day so I cannot tell if you’re joking or not.”

“I’m not a mermaid,” you snipe, throwing Chris a dirty look. “People just call me that because I give swimming lessons here.” You stick your hand out to the blonde boy. “Nice to meet you, Percy.”

He gives a polite nod, a little awkward. “Right back at ya.” The two of you study each other as you shake. He’s young, probably about twelve, a smatter of freckles across his face. His eyes look like the lake. Something itches in the back of your brain. There’s a moment where the shake is suspended, neither of you have let go but are no longer actively holding on, and you see it in his face that he’s studying you, too. Huh.

The conversation continues as normal, but you almost start to feel queasy for a second. “We’re trying to find something Percy’s good at,” Luke says with a pat on Percy’s shoulder. “You got any ideas?”

“Yes, please, because I really would like to have a word with my father,” Percy clips. “Is Glory, like, purely a skill thing or can I get some if I tie someone else’s shoes or something?”

“I don’t have shoes,” you add unhelpfully.

“It’s okay, dude,” Luke squeezes Percy’s shoulder. “Camp is great, no matter where you end up.”

Even if you’re like her, he means without saying. Even if you don’t end up anywhere.

You meet Luke’s eyes. This is a kid that wants so badly to meet his father, to ease the ache inside him. You are the absolute worst person for this. One of the longest current unclaimed streaks and your ache remains. To Percy, you’re the biggest example of a failure there is, and Luke is only just now realizing it.

“Maybe try the infirmary?” You pipe, shuffling back and forth on the sand. “You might have a knack for medicine.”

“Doubt it,” Percy swallows. “But yeah, okay. Who’s your parent, again?”

Percy can’t see it, but Luke and Chris send you a shifty look and all you can do is widen your eyes to be like, Help! Don’t make me crush his dreams! I don’t want another kid to hate me!

You swallow. No matter how fast you think, you cannot come to a logical sentence. “I, uh—”

Just then, in another stroke of luck (wow, that’s two more than usual) an Athena counsellor that looks insanely disgruntled is running towards you. “Stolls put spiders in our cabin again,” he heaves once at a stop. “Please get rid of them.”

“Can’t you just squash ‘em?” Percy asks.

“Not the spiders, the twins.”

Chris is already nodding, but Luke looks to you first. He’s anxious, disappointed. You wish you could smooth out the creases in his brow with your thumb. “Don’t worry,” you stretch out a smile. “I’ll chill with Percy. It won’t take you guys too long.”

He’s still hesitant. You’re not sure this is a good call either. But he reaches out, quickly squeezes your shoulder and mutters, “Thank you.” Your skin feels gooey when he touches it.

His signature roguish smile returns as he looks back to Percy. The side of his face is shadowed by the sun so well it makes you jealous. “Don’t give her a hard time, eh?” He reprimands playfully.

Percy smiles a little. “I’ll try not to.”

You are once again reminded just how easy it is to love Luke. How effortlessly he moves into your heart. It happened to you after you slapped him with an oar. It’s already happening to Percy.

You’re sure he won’t like you nearly half as much.

After Luke and Chris leave, Percy resigns to staring out at the campers canoeing on the lake. Maybe now is a good time to admit you’re not good with kids. Luke has tried many times to make you his welcome partner, but you can’t take to the role nearly as well. You’re perpetually antsy. And sweaty.

“So, what cabin are you a part of that lets you do this all day?” Percy asks, squinting against the sun.

Your heart gets heavy. With a sigh, you sit yourself down, and Percy soon follows. “Hermes, actually,” you say as casually as you can.

Percy goes pale as a sheet. “Uh, what?”

“I’m unclaimed,” you clarify. “I don’t … I don’t have a parent.”

There’s always a pitiful pause whenever a camper figures that out. This one is somehow … clunkier. “Oh,” Percy says. “Oh. Okay, that makes sense. For a second I thought—phew.” Then his eyes trail down to the thread hooked around your fingers, the five beads you run your thumb over. “How long have you been here?”

“Five long, blissful years,” you hum dryly.

Water ripples over pebbles on the shore. Every new camper’s ambition is eroded by the truth you represent. Percy’s no different. His brows furrow and his face falls. “And you’ve never been claimed?” He asks, and you can feel the noxious mix of pity, confusion and despair laced beneath it.

You shake your head, watching some Demeter kids splashing each other’s canoes with their oars. “Nope. But it’s not so bad. I like my cabin, you know? I like my life. Doesn’t really matter who your parents are anyway, I think. You do the same activities as everyone else, just on different teams.”

“But doesn’t it make you mad?”

“It used to,” you shrug, “But not anymore. It’s just …” You sigh, rolling a bead against your thumb. “If I’m unclaimed, I’m unclaimed. That’s the way it is. You can’t force the Gods to do anything.”

“That’s what Luke said,” Percy remarks, almost bitterly.

“I’m a rare case though, Percy,” you half-lie to him, nudging him a bit with your shoulder. “You’ll get claimed. It’s your first day. And until then you’re kind of free to be whatever. You don’t have to fit into anything, which is kinda nice, and you can screw around as much as you want and nobody can really get mad at you ‘cause you’re new.” A smile rises on your face. “And I heard you killed a minotaur, so you’ve already got some cool points.”

His face screws up in a grimace, and it makes you laugh. “Oh joy, cool points. Can’t live without those.”

Okay, maybe you’re not bad with kids. Maybe you’re just bad with boring kids. Because this is going decent, right?

“What if I don’t get claimed, though?” Percy asks after a moment, a vulnerable note eclipsing him. It resonates inside your chest. You pause for a moment, heaving a loaded breath.

“Do you fart a lot in your sleep?”

His melancholy pauses. He looks at you like you’ve grown another head. “Uh … what? No? I think?”

“Then you can take the bunk above mine if you want. It’s empty now,” you say. “And if you’re never claimed you can come swimming with me, and we can find seashells to put under Luke’s pillow every night until he starts thinking they’ve always been there.”

Percy blinks. “Do you have any friends?”

“Yes, and I’m going to torture him until I die. Cabin eleven is oodles of fun, Percy, you’ll see!”

He looks a little horrified. “Luke said I was going to like you,” he mutters. “I … am not sure if he’s right.”

Oh, well. You’ll take it.

ii. you can't help but become the sun

You can’t sleep, and Luke knows it. His eyes burn into the side of your face as you stare up at your bunk. You sneak him a look. He smiles ruefully. Sweeping his arm up from beneath his covers, a makeshift tent is formed next to him. He nods to you. Before you know it, you’ve abandoned your own bed, taking a single step until you skirt into the pocket of his mattress Luke has carved for you. He lets the sheets fall, cocooning you with him the way he always does.

You’ve been sharing beds on occasion for years. One of you gets cold, has a nightmare, or wants to talk until your mind fades out, the only solution is a place next to each other. Whispers against cheeks, giggles muffled into pillows, necklaces knocking together. You used to be further apart. Now you can’t remember the last time Luke hasn’t latched onto you the second you’re within reach. It warms you a little more each time.

When your head hits his pillow, the two of you just stare at each other for a moment, lips pursed in amusement. His face is so wildly nostalgic to you—five years seems like too short a time to have known him. His eyes are pitch-dark and soft with exhaustion, but you can still pick out the trademark Hermes mirth glimmering through. You sometimes forget his scar, probably because you know he wants you to forget it. He’d kill you for thinking this, but you kind of like the way it hugs the curve of his cheek, bunches up when his dimple appears. It makes you sad. It makes you happy. It makes you love him.

“Percy likes you,” he whispers, opening himself up so your chin brushes his shoulder. “That’s a first.”

He’s only wearing a tank top to sleep, so his warmth seeps through his skin when you tap him on the chest. “Shut up!” You hiss back, tapering into a giggle. “Has he picked up on anything yet?”

Luke bites the inside of his cheek, regretfully shaking his head. “Nope. But all that skill stuff is kinda arbitrary anyways. He’s still hung up on kleos, though, so … that’ll come in handy for Capture the Flag.”

“Ah, yes. Using a child’s misguided need for fulfilment as a weapon. A camp classic.”

“Well someone’s gotta be useful for Capture the Flag in this cabin and it sure as hell isn’t you, mermaid,” he barbs back.

Your jaw drops in mock offense and you squeeze a hand around his shoulder to shake him. “I will put you in a headlock right now, Luke, I’ll break your arm—”

“Be quiet!” He giggles as you attempt to wrangle yourself on top of him. “I’ll be nice to you, I’ll be nice, stop!” You get absolutely nowhere before the bed creaks and Luke shoves you back down. Your pulse rattles through your mouth as you laugh silently. “You’re the worst,” he mutters in your ear, raising the hairs on your neck.

“Well Percy likes me, so,” you turn your nose to the sky like a haughty old lady.

“Percy’s a funnier, less annoying version of you,” he pokes your side. “That’s how I knew you’d get along, you weirdo.”

The momentary adrenaline this conversation has brought you is mellowing. “Hey, I’m very—very funny,” you mumble through a yawn.

Luke laughs quietly. “Sure you are.”

He pulls you back to him, arm slung around the dip of your waist. When you make no protest, he seals you against his shoulder again. It’s started to feel a little different, him holding you like this. There’s an uncertainty your body faces about how to respond. His thumb runs over your spine and you decide to relax into him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. Your chin knocks against his collarbone and you have the urge to curl yourself against his chest, just to feel him breathe.

“Get some sleep, sailor,” he murmurs, fingers brushing through the roots of your hair. You don’t think he realizes he’s doing it. Your cheeks warm, and you bury yourself even further into the space against his shoulder and his pillow. Gods, there’s something wrong with you, isn’t there?

“Will do, soldier.” The campy voice you do is half hearted at best as you find yourself absorbed in the closest thing to a full home you’ll ever get. In this sleepy hollow with bedsheets and a boy, there is acceptance.

Well, mostly. You think you dream about Luke brushing a kiss along your hairline in your last bit of consciousness. You think you wish it was real. You think you want him to do it again.

iii. when you don't know who you are, you fuck around and find out

The last time your cabin lost a game of Capture the Flag, you’d still been taller than Luke. That’s how long your winning streak has felt. There’s no reason you foresee that changing today. Even when Annabeth drags Percy along with her on whatever surely precarious quest to victory she’s created. It’s unlike her, to bring a newbie along. It’s concerning.

“He’s fine,” Luke drawls to you when your face has been tense for twenty minutes. “Annabeth’s got a plan.” He’s a little winded after clearing out some Ares kids with Chris. You aren’t much use when it comes to weapons—your friends take the lead as you wait from a distance, ready for backup. Thank the Gods they didn’t need it this time. You’re content to just watch, but whenever Luke grins after getting another kid to surrender, veins in his arms raised like rivers on a map, you get a little distracted and you’re not sure why.

You just huff back at him, totally normal when he wipes a sheen of sweat off his jaw. “Annabeth’s gonna use him as cannon fodder,” you mutter back, and Luke hits your arm with an appalled grin.

Annabeth did, in fact, have a plan. So you won. Obviously.

You’re still doubtful Percy wasn’t cannon fodder, though, with how beat up he looks on the shoreline when the rest of your team flocks to the stolen flag to claim victory. He’s slumped down on the rocky shore, a few equally beaten Ares kids straggling away from him.

“So I was right, huh?” Luke hums in your ear, pulling your eyes to him.

He’s revelling in newfound glory, and damn it, you get confused when you look at him when he’s like this. You’re not sure when it happened but you want to tear your heart out of its chest because of how sick it makes you. Some of his curls are stuck to his forehead with sweat, his hair suffering a serious case of helmet-head. But it’s the pride oozing off him, the infectious happiness laced through his smile, that makes you fond of him in a way you’re not sure you should be. He’s beloved for a reason—he looks almost prophetic after winning a match, and he knows it. A glaring difference between the gangly boy you met all those summers ago. If you weren’t his best friend, you’d probably be one of his many admirers, watching his teammates fawn over his talent and wishing you were beside him.

But you are beside him. And you’re his friend. Not an admirer. So everything’s fine.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if we lost,” you retort, knocking your chestplate against his. It’s meant to be a friendly nudge, but Luke leans into it until you swear you feel his heart beating through the metal.

He’s grown into his smile, less boyish and more wry. “You know I never lose, sailor.”

You want to reply, but his eyes are startlingly pretty in the sunlight. That’s normal. Whatever. A heat rises in the apples of your cheeks so you scoff lightly and turn away as soon as possible. You feel Luke’s gaze following as you turn attention elsewhere. Your sternum feels fluttery.

Percy catches your attention again. Gods, he looks beat. He’s talking to Annabeth as she helps him up, and you see the gnarly scrape marring his cheek. You should probably check on him, right?

You’re halfway to the kids when Annabeth shoves Percy backwards into the water. Like, shoves.

“Annabeth!” You’re scowling at her the same way she scowled at you when you first hit Luke with that oar, rushing over to help Percy.

“What is wrong with you?” Percy sputters out lying in the lake, but you’re ankles-deep in the water before you know it. He’s glaring daggers at Annabeth, but she looks relatively unimpressed. What happened during this game?

“Thanks,” Percy mutters as you help him up.

You say something to shrug it off but you can’t remember what, because your eyes are drawn to the scrape on his cheek. You have to blink a few times to get it, but you’re pretty sure it’s dissolving. Vanishing off his skin. “What the hell?”

Everyone on the shore is watching him now, trying to memorize his injuries before they wash away. Percy’s staring down at himself like he’s just been body-swapped. “I don’t understand.”

You’ve never seen anything like this before. The strangest feeling fuels you—your bones feel firmer somehow, like the blood inside your body has weight to it. Like something is happening. A fear pierces your gut.

Annabeth’s eyes have raised, and so have Percy’s. Your mouth goes dry. Right above him is the symbol of a trident, radiating so blue it washes out the sky itself.

The claiming symbol of Poseidon.

“Your dad’s calling,” Annabeth says, a smile itching the corners of her mouth.

Percy looks like he’s going to pass out. You probably do too. “Told you you’d get claimed,” you manage to squeeze the words through the knot in your chest.

You’re smiling until Percy looks at you, then looks up. His face goes white as a sheet. Or, as white as it can bathed in a pale blue glow. “Uh…” He blinks slowly, and your stomach twists. “I think she was talking to you.”

When you look up and see an identical trident looming over your head, you know something’s wrong. It’s made worse when Chiron rings out your and Percy’s name, branding you as children of Poseidon.

Poseidon.

You have a father. And he’s known you all this time. Your ears hollow out like a rush of water in a cavern.

Luke is the first to kneel. The rest of the camp follows. You watch as the entire camp basks in the glory of newcomer Percy Jackson, so quickly claimed by one of the most powerful Gods of Olympus. And you, who has waited five years to earn even a shred of his favour.

This thing you’ve wanted for so long is suddenly the greatest insult in the world. Your best friend can’t even meet your eyes.

iv. i remember who i am when i'm with you

You stare at Percy as he unpacks his things. Waiting to see traces of yourself in his face, traces of your father. Anything that could give you an inkling of what he looks like. Of what you look like. Of how this happened in the first place.

It’s a futile search. Percy’s blue eyes, his freckles, the bridge of his nose, they’re all … nothing. Half of you is half of him, but there’s no indication of which parts. The cabin is cold. You’re not going to sleep well without Luke nearby. You’re not going to sleep well ever again.

You feel nothing but strife, your throat closing in every time you take even a second to think. You don’t want Percy to see you cry. So you do what you always do.

This has to be in the running for most overwhelming day of all time ever. Even when submerged in your favourite place on earth, you can’t get away from your dad. Your dumb stupid dad that has made the things you love and has ruined your life.

You swim hard, and you loathe how good it feels. At least you know why now, but that doesn’t do much to ease you. When you pop up again, the sun has started to sink into the sea. And Gods, you have to give your dad credit. The landscape is so gorgeous you almost forget how long he’s ignored you.

You wonder if this is the last time you’ll find solace in the lake. If eventually, it’ll be nothing but an extension of your father’s neglect.

The water ripples around you. You frown, barely having noticed it when someone taps your shoulder. You turn. “Luke?” You swallow, but why are you surprised?

He’s panting, cheeks splotched with sun as he treads water, droplets worming down his face from his soaking curls. “Been looking for you,” he puffs, “Percy’s worried. Called you from the—from the thingie but don’t think you heard me.”

You assume he means the docks, but you don’t say anything as he takes a deep, grounding breath. “You’ve been out here for hours. Hours. For a second I thought you drowned.”

“Now we know that can’t fucking happen,” you mutter a touch too bitterly, staring down at your legs warped beneath the water.

Luke’s silent as he watches you. “…Have you been crying?”

When you don’t reply, Luke tugs on your wrist. “C’mon, sailor, let’s go.”

“Not tired,” you say, frozen by the hot tears brimming on your lashes.

“I’m not leaving you out here. Come on.” He frowns when you yank your hand away as he tries pulling you again. “You’re gonna get heatstroke.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

He reaches for you again and you try to reject it for a moment, but he’s stronger than you, and he loves you better than even the water could. The second he has you close your resolve falters. He holds you against his shoulder, knees knocking against yours as you tread.

“It’s okay,” he croons when you involuntarily start to cry. For a Poseidon kid, you can’t seem to control your waterworks. “It’s okay, I know.”

His hand cards through your scalp and you relish in the warmth of his bare skin on your cheek. He smells like comfort. You cling to it with all you have, until your nails start to dig into his skin and your eyesight blurs.

“Come back with me and I’ll dry you off, okay?” He kisses the top of your head, the way you dreamed it last night. “I’ll take care of it.”

You’re not sure which it he’s referring to, because it could honestly apply to anything. When you both set off for shore, you’re so distracted by your own misery that Luke’s actually able to keep up with you. He’s up on the dock before you so he can pull you out.

The second you’re out of the water you feel like you’ve been gutted with a lead pipe. All the energy it gave you leaves, and you realize just how right Luke was about spending too much time out there. You can’t feel your legs.

You buckle over almost instantly, but Luke holds you before you can even think of falling. “I’ve got you,” he assures, guiding you down to sit on the dock. Your eyes are too weak to even admire the sunset. Luke drapes a towel over your shoulders, rubbing it over your arms, a welcome familiarity. He takes his time, wringing your hair and drying your back as you gaze blankly ahead. There’s a tenderness to it now. Luke’s ruthless when it comes to a lot of things. When it comes to how he loves, too. But there’s nothing demanding here. He lets your tears fall in silence, undisturbed, the touch of his hands through the cloth a silent promise.

When you’re fairly dry, he fetches something then quickly comes back. “Here.”

It’s his shirt. You only notice you’ve been shivering as he pulls it over your head, lets you fill in the sleeves, gently gathers your hair back. “Thanks,” you say. His fingertips brush your neck as he hooks them around your necklace to rest it over the shirt. You think he does it to remind you you’re still the same. You’ve had five years together. It doesn’t have to end now.

“Why did it take him so long?” You struggle to say, eyes glossed like sea glass. “Why—why now? What did I do?”

Luke puts an arm around you. “I don’t know,” he mumbles honestly.

You sink into his warmth like a wave meets the shore. “Five years, Luke. He ignored me for five years. And he takes Percy right—right away.” It’s hard not to choke between every word. “I just thought I’d never get claimed, and I was fine with that, and now I’m … this!”

Its hard to tell if the dampness of your cheeks are the remnants of saltwater or your tears. “I don’t want this,” you sniffle. “I waited so long … and I just don’t want it.”

Luke rubs your shoulder, lips pursed against your head. He murmurs into your hair, “I know, sailor. It’ll be okay. Promise.”

His voice is reserved. You look up at him. His jaw is resolute, his eyes red-rimmed in a way you hadn’t noticed before. “You’re upset too,” you comment quietly.

He laughs listlessly. “Yeah, of course I am. I’m losing my favourite cabin mate.”

You sniff and try to smile. “Percy?”

He rolls his eyes fondly, and it feels like all you want. He squeezes your shoulders tight and you long desperately to be closer. “I just don’t know what I did wrong,” you whisper, pressing your cheek into him. “Why didn’t he see me until he saw Percy? Am I just … unremarkable or something?”

“No, no. Absolutely not—c’mere.” Luke loops an arm around your waist and manoeuvres you into his arms, cradled on his lap so you can bury your face in his neck. You can’t stop fucking crying, but his patience for you is infinite. “You are by far the most remarkable person I know.” He seals you against his chest, scratching your scalp the way he knows you like. “None of this is you, okay? Your dad’s an idiot. You are—you’re everything. They’re all mindless up there, they don’t know how to love you. They don’t deserve to.”

An edge seeps into his timbre that gives you pause. You feel weak, discarded. It sounds like he’s talking about a different person. But he’s right. He has to be, because he knows you better than you know yourself.

Luke keeps going. You peek at his face when he speaks. Stubborn as ever. “He doesn’t have any fucking right to you. If he wanted that he should’ve claimed you when you got here. You have a life. You … you had a home. And now just because he’s got another kid he kills two birds with one stone? He pretends like this is some Godly intervention? Like he didn’t ignore you the whole time you’ve been here because he couldn’t stand how much you didn’t need him? How much better you are? You’re my …” He struggles, brows furrowed, the sun melting in his eyes. “You’re my best friend, and we’re supposed to be together. He’s not allowed to take that from you.”

Your heart stirs. “Sounds like you’re jealous,” you try to tease.

Luke heaves a sigh, his muscles rippling against your chest. You’re suddenly aware of the fact that he’s got no shirt on. And that he’s pressed against you in a way that makes you question if you should be this close. Beads of water cling to the divots in his skin, and you linger a little too long on one nestled in his collarbone. You swear you think this every time he goes swimming with you: when did he get so … hot? And every time you think it, you want to gouge your heart out with a spoon.

“Can you blame me?” A melancholy smile plays on his face. “I liked having you all to myself.”

Tears spring to your eyes all over again. “I liked that too.”

It’s a whisper that sends you forward, Luke bringing his forehead to your own, and you want to live in the warmth that coils through you. His nose catches against yours when he laughs, but he doesn’t move. You take a moment to savour it. You think he does too.

He wipes a tear off your face as you say, “I’m still yours.”

“Yeah?” Luke hums a bit, his hand sliding up your waist in a most unfriendly manner. “How?”

You catch the glimmer in his eyes, that plucky smile he’s had since fourteen. Something shifts.

“What are you asking me, Luke?” You can’t fight the smile.

“What do you want me to ask you?”

“I dunno, what do you want me to want you to ask you—”

“My Gods, you’re a pain in the ass.”

He groans, throws his head back, and kisses you like you aren’t the most annoying person in the world.

It’s so cliché, but for a brief moment your strife is well worth it. You yank him closer before he pulls away. It’s a little unsure, the two of you so used to toeing the line, but soon you’ve given in and your hands are in his hair, mouths parting, and it’s messy and wanting and everything you need.

Luke slips his hands beneath the hem of your shirt, palms flattening against your sun-beaten skin. It feels so good, better because the shirt is already his, a whine scratching your throat as he moves up so his thumbs graze the skin beneath the tie in your bathing suit.

“Oh, sailor,” he coos against your mouth. You want to retaliate but it’s lost when he squeezes your thighs, warming you in all the right places. It’s hard to understand this is even happening—it feels like you’re underwater, a blissful fuzziness growing in your head entirely at his mercy.

He razes kisses down your still-damp neck, catching pearls of water on his tongue. You cling to his shoulders, raking your hands down his back just so you can feel more of him. Luke’s dropped down to your collarbone at this point, tugging the neck of your shirt down as his teeth graze the bone. “You’re my best friend,” he mutters over your skin. “Still mine. Always mine.”

“Mmhm,” is all you can say back, the husk in his voice making your eyes screw shut. He teases a spot so sensitive you groan and laugh at the same time. The regret is immediate, but you feel a chuckle pass his lips, too. “Luke,” you purse a smile. He dots kisses back up your neck until you start returning the favour.

You kiss his jaw, a few spots on his neck, feeling the flex of his muscle all around you as he squeezes the fat of your hips. You finally sweep up the water in the hollow of his collarbones, and his grunt of your name makes you, frankly, delirious.

He brings your mouth back to his, skin sticking to each other. It’s harder to kiss as fervently when you’re both giggling against each other’s tongues, running fingers along the planes of each other’s bodies trying to see which places feel new and which are known from memory. It’s a fifty-fifty split, and you love it.

Somewhere along the way he peeled off your shirt because it was clinging in places you knew he wanted, but now you’re panting and giggling into his hair, his nose pressed into your neck, both of you melded together with salt and sun. “You really know how to cheer a girl up, mailman,” you grin.

His lips fix to your skin. “Really? You’re still gonna call me that right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Like it better when you call me captain,” he murmurs, nose grazing along your pulse.

You swallow, “That doesn’t work unless we’re doing the whole sailor-ship bit.”

“We’re always doing the sailor-ship bit.”

“I seriously can’t believe I’m in love with you.”

He sighs warmly at the words. “You have no idea how much I’ve been dying for you to say that. Even though I knew you would.”

You roll your eyes as he presses his forehead to yours, and you’re more glad than ever that his face is the one you love so much. It’s a pretty great face.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says tenderly. “You’re too incredible for Poseidon. You’re worth more than that.”

He still looks gorgeous blurred by your tears. You listen to the beat of his heart and the waves rolling. “More than any water anywhere?”

“More than the fucking Styx, sailor. I’ll promise you that.”

That night, Luke stays with you and Percy in your cold chapel of a cabin. You exchange stories until Percy falls asleep in his bed, curled up like a sea otter. “He’s a drooler,” Luke notes fondly, eyes flicking to yours. “Like you.”

You shove his chest playfully until he wraps his arms around you and anchors you to sleep, like every night before. This time, as you drift off, he kisses your forehead again. Once because he loves you, and twice to make sure you know it’s real.

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januaryembrs · 4 months

Note

hot chocolate!!!

what about bau!reader who’s super affectionate with spencer (and he just takes it with a blush and sugary coffee)

example; jawline kisses that are supposed to be cheek kisses instead of hello’s and goodbye’s & reader having her arm around spencer’s waist at all times cuz she’s just so used to his body warmth!!!

(for some reason i’m imagining s9 reid & new-ish reader but u can do what u want ofc!!)

FUGITIVE AFFECTIONS | Spencer Reid x BAU!reader

description: fugitive (noun) meaning escape, runaway. (adjective) meaning fleeting, brief, passing.

Length: 1.1k

warnings: fluff fluff FLUFF.

He knew what was coming the second he heard her footsteps. The coffee machine spluttered with effort as it churned out his third cup of the day, and he was already perched with the sugar waiting for the appliance to do its thing. Spencer barely had chance to acknowledge the approaching figure when he felt arms wrap around his waist, someone attaching themselves to his back with a feather light kiss to his spine.

“Good morning,” He called over his shoulder, and you hummed, quickly squeezing the soft pooch of his stomach and releasing him.

“Morning,” You said, and he leaned up to open the cupboard door, which wasn’t a big feat for him with his heinously long limbs. Plopping a mug down on the side, he poured coffee in your cup first before he started on his own, “Reports due today?”

“Hotch wants the Minnesota and the Nevada cases wrapped up,” He said, sliding the milk and sugar over to your side of the counter and keeping his head down. Spencer felt his ears run hot, like they usually did whenever you got so close to him, which just happened to be always.

He doubted the words ‘personal space’ were ever a thing in your vocabulary. It had started with Garcia, with the two of you linking arms and braiding each other's hair after two weeks of you moving to the BAU, and he’d figured that Garcia had won you over with that natural, bubbly charm of hers. But Spencer was perceptive, and he’d quickly realised the behaviour was not strictly limited to Penelope and her chirpy attitude. You tended to walk close to everyone, like you were trying to mesh you bodies in with them and the shoulder bumps and hands brushed against one another didn’t matter. In the end, rather than push you away, Morgan had taken to wrapping an arm around your shoulder as the two of you waltzed around the office together. Even Blake was succumbing to your touchy-feely attitude as you liked to cosy up next to her on the jet, usually falling asleep with your head on her shoulder, and she thought little of it now, just continuing with her crosswords unbothered.

And then you’d set your sights on Spencer.

He supposed you hadn’t quite got the memo about his germaphobia, or perhaps the transference of bacteria between humans during simple hand holding just never occurred to you. Yet after just a month of being desk buddies with him, he nearly jumped out of his skin the day you slipped your fingers in between his when the two of you had been paired up on a case and you were heading down the witness’s driveway to interview them.

He’s been about to ask what the hell you were doing, or perhaps scramble to shove you off, and sanitise his hands with the emergency gel he kept in his bag at all times. But by the time he’d looked over at you, his cheeks a flaming strawberry colour with what he’d thought of as annoyance, you were simply smiling at him, and began swinging your joined hands back and forth, nudging your temple into his shoulder affectionately.

“You look really pretty in that purple shirt, Spencer,” You said simply, and whatever scathing remark about how eighty percent of pathogens are transferred during hand holding was robbed from his gullet and he was stunned into silence. The way you’d said his name alone made his lips part in wonder, because he’d never heard it said like that.

“T-thankyou, I like your jacket.” He cringed as soon a he said it, and the two of you looked down to your government issued FBI vest, the same one he wore, the same one Hotch wore, the same one they’d all worn for the past nine years.

You sniggered, bumping him again with your forehead like you were a cat purring up against him, marking your territory.

“You’re cute,”

You were full of sweet, loving words like that he realised, all buttercups and candy floss and honey and sweetie and my love and he felt himself expecting it now, biting his lip in worry if you were ever just the tiniest bit too busy to fluff him up with affection.

Like when you’d been called out by Blake on an emergency, the two of you scrambling to grab the SUV keys to go meet Morgan and JJ where they were moving into the building after the suspect.

The two of you had all but ran out of the precinct in the effort to catch up with the other agents, leaving Spencer, pen still in his hand as he mapped out the geographical profile, and he hadn’t realised anything was missing until he heard the door slam shut and he hadn’t felt the warmth of your hug, your hand in his hair ruffling it lovingly, not even a ‘goodbye, sweetie!’

Spencer pouted, despite the fact he’d spent the first few weeks wondering if he should be shying away from your touch because he was quickly running out of sanitizer and had yet to want you to stop. He felt like his routine had been interrupted, because that’s definitely what the source of his disappointment was, not the fact he wondered if he had done something wrong, and yet before he could think too hard about it, the door swung back open, Blake yelling something from the hallway that he could just about make out was your name, before a body crashed into his side and your lips were on his jaw, kissing him lightly through laboured breaths.

“Bye, Spence.” You murmured, kissing up his cheek a few times to apologise for the wait, and he hadn’t even had the chance to return the favour through the fish out of water gape as he watched you run back to the door, Blake looking at you incredulously.

“I just watched you run up three flights of stairs for that?” She asked, the door slowly closing behind you and giving him unfiltered snooping on your conversation. He smiled so wide his cheeks hurt, the same one that you had just kissed over and over again like it was a normal thing for you two, and he wondered if he could coordinate you rushing out of the office every time if it meant he’d have that again.

“It’s Spencer, it was important,” You insisted, and he squoze his hands so tightly his nails dug into his palm, because it was too late to tell you just how much you’d made him feel in such a tiny gesture, and the electricity from your kisses had to come out somewhere. If not, Spencer worried he might explode.

His hand sanitizer sat empty in his pocket, the same way it had been for months, and Spencer couldn’t care less.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #matthew gray gubler x reader

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fastandcarlos · 4 months

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Cuddles Are Home : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: as max arrives home after a busy day, he's keen to try something new, however it doesn't quite work out as well as he imagined

No words needed to be spoken as Max walked into your hotel room. His muscles were aching, his eyes drooping as a result of yet another long day of practice. Race day was only a day away and he was pushing himself to the limit. You barely glanced at him as he walked in, knowing he had his own routine that he loved. Whilst Max sorted himself, you laid out across the sofa and scrolled through your phone, catching up with the events of the day that you had missed whilst down at the paddock supporting Max.

As soon as you heard his footsteps come back through the room you stood up from the sofa and went into the small kitchen that was attached. Meanwhile, Max walked into the living room and threw himself down on the sofa. He stretched his limbs out as much as he could, with his tall frame it didn’t take much for him to take up most of the room. After a few minutes you returned, placing the hot cup of tea that you had made for Max on the coffee table, you looked in confusion to try and find some space. Max could feel you staring, smiling softly at the expression on your face. He didn’t say a word, he simply tapped against his muscular chest, only to make you scoff, shaking your head as you quickly refused to accept Max’s offer.

“Just lay here, I’ll be alright.”

“You’re sore from a day of racing, the last thing you need is me on top of you,” you tried to argue, but Max was having none of it.

“I wouldn’t offer if it was a problem,” Max assured you, lazily reaching out and taking a hold of your hand. You took a step forward before he used his extra weight to pull you down on top of him. Your head rested at the top of his chest, just underneath his neck, bodies pressed together as you managed to rest your legs between Max’s. His arm wrapped around you, making sure that you were safe in position, squeezing you nice and tight to make the most of the close proximity between you both.

“I can’t believe you’ve got me laying here,” you chuckled as you felt several kisses being pressed against the top of your head, “we’ve become one of those couples.”

“It’s your fault,” he innocently teased, “you’ve turned me into one of those boyfriends I never thought I’d be.”

“Hey,” you giggled, slapping your hand gently against Max’s bare chest. You knew deep down it was true what Max was saying, he had been quite standoffish when you first started dating, but over time you had found a new, softer, side to Max that left him being known more for how affectionate he was towards you rather than the world champion he was.

And you would never have had him any other way.

“I hate that I love what you’ve done to me.”

There he went again, jokingly blaming you as if he wasn’t hopelessly in love with you and thankful for you every single day.

“You’re comfortable, right? We can shuffle around if you’re not babe.”

“I’m alright,” you assured Max, shuffling closer into his side as his grip around you tightened. “I wonder if the Max I knew when we first started dating ever imagined himself cuddling on the sofa like this.”

It was the kind of wholesome moment that Max always refused to be a part of, but now he craved. He laid for some time and told you about his day, filled you in on all the details that you missed from the practice from where you were stood in the paddock, making sure to share every last detail with you.

And as he did so, you listened intently too. You were so close to his heart you could feel it quicken as he spoke about those adrenaline inducing moments, or calming again when he told you how relieved he was to return the car to the garage in one piece.

Once he’d finished speaking, you tilted your head back and looked up at Max. “I could imagine us laying here forever you know.”

He hummed in agreement, “I love being able to hold you this close to me.”

You chose not to respond as you heard how sleepy Max was, silently encouraging him to try and get a bit of rest.

It didn’t take long before you heard Max’s light snores about you letting you know that he was resting, despite your apprehension, laying on his chest had ended up being surprisingly comfortable. You weren’t sure how long you ended up laying there as you soon found yourself beginning to get sleepy on top of Max. You weren’t sure whether it was his touch, or the comfort of knowing that he was right there beside you, but something caused your body to switch. Max was out like a light, and soon enough you joined him, still squeezed on the sofa with your holds as tight as ever, making sure that nothing bad happened to the other person.

“Ouch! Oh my goodness!”

“Babe? What’s wrong?”

A loud groan came from you as you felt the edge of the coffee table hit against your back before landing on the floor with a thud. Your hands rubbed the sleep out of your eyes as you tried to figure how in a matter of moments you had gone from comfortably laying on top of Max to find yourself laid out on the living room floor, pain shooting through you.

Max jolted upright as soon as he heard your voice, cringing as he looked down at you on the floor. Your expression told him everything, pressing your hand into the small of your back where the pain was at its worst.

“Love, I’m so sorry. Are you alright? Tell me where it hurts…please,” Max whispered, pushing himself off of the sofa and joining you on the floor, pulling you into his side.

“Damn,” you sighed, biting down on the inside of your lip, struggling to come to terms with what had happened. It didn’t take long for Max to place his hand where your pain was coming from in an attempt to ease it for you.

“Do you need to get checked out? Does it hurt anywhere else?” Max questioned, the panic strong in his voice as his eyes darted to check you properly.

Your head shook, letting Max take a moment to check for himself that you really were alright, covering every last bit of your body.

“Just my pride, it’s taken a bit of a dent,” you tried to joke, bringing the faintest of smiles to Max’s face. “I think my head brushed against the side of the table, but somehow I just about managed to miss it.”

Max doesn’t look as certain as you though.

“Come on, I think a proper bed might help me to feel better.”

Max is still doubtful as you rise to your feet, refusing to let you do anything alone. He could tell from the feeling in his arms that he must’ve gotten tired, ultimately letting go which led to you rolling off of him and ending up in a bundle on the floor.

“Do you think you might be concussed or something?”

“Max, love, I promise that my head didn’t hit anything, I’ll be alright.”

He wants to nod and assure that you he understands, but he knows exactly what you’re like. He’s lost count of how many times you’ve pretended in front of him to stop him from worrying, not wanting thoughts of you to cloud him when he has so many other things to think about, especially when it came to his career.

Max is with you every step of the way as you walk into the bedroom of your hotel, encouraging you to move as slowly as possible. Only when you’re laid out does he finally begin to relax a little.

As soon as he’s there beside you, you’re rolling across and tucking yourself back into him again. First your leg drapes over him, then your arm, and soon enough you’re pushing your entire frame on top of him.

“Do you really want to do this?” Max questioned, reluctantly placing his arms around you, his voice shaky and filled with concern.

“I think I might be a little bit safer laying in a big double bed rather than the sofa,” you assured Max, keeping your grip on him nice and tight so that he had no choice but to let you stay there.

Max wanted to protest, but there was no way he could argue with his injured girl. “Why do you like this so much.”

The answer was easy for you, it was the one thing that you loved more than anything.

You loved the warmth that it brought you, the comfort, and the way it made your heart race. Above all else, you loved how it always made you fall a little bit more in love with Max every single time.

“Your cuddles always feel like home.”

“Really?” Max asked in surprise, never quite imaging you to feel that way. “If that’s the case, I guess I better let you lay here on my chest for the night, right?”

“I won’t be arguing if you do,” you chuckled, finally feeling Max relax underneath you after your little incident.

Max is still a little wary, he can’t help but fret about you. But having you right there where he can keep an eye on you is the best he can ask for. “I love you,” he murmured, pressing a light kiss against the very top of your head.

“I love you too,” you responded, stretching to be able to capture Max’s jawline with your lips, knowing how much of a sweet spot that sharp line was for him. His strong arms held onto you a little tighter in response, making your heart swell as you both close your eyes again, hoping that next time around you’re still laying there engulfed in each other’s arms again.

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

#f1 #f1 imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 reaction #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #formula 1 x you #formula one imagine #formula 1 fic #formula one #f1 fic

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dropsnectar · 11 days

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Courting a Queen: Bee Hybrids x Reader

I’m really into @bunnis-monsters Bee Hybrid universe. While reading, I always wondered how they managed to lure the Queen into their hive in the first place, considering they are human and all. This is inspired by that.

You had been perusing the stalls at the farmers market when you, distracted by a couple with a cute dog, ran him over. The tumble wasn’t too bad, as you had landed on something soft and fluffy; Only, that soft and fluffy thing happened to be a person.

You started cursing and apologizing profusely when you noticed he wasn’t entirely human. A plush soft face, huge adorable eyes, and two fuzzy antennas popping out of a bunch of curly hair alerted to you that he was a bug hybrid of some kind. His features were delicate, as was his thin frame. Tufts of blonde and black spilled out of the collar of his shirt, and you could see a pair of beautiful round wings behind him, sparkling in the sunlight.

You’d repeat your apology at him, as you realized you had been staring for too long. His expression, at first shocked, morphed into a big, exquisite smile. He looked positively glowing, and shook with excitement as he stared at you. He reassured you he was alright and gave you a reassuring pat on the back, hands soft.

You couldn’t help but note that he smelled amazingly sweet. It was an addictive sort of smell, and you had to force yourself to focus back on those incredibly big eyes. It seemed he had asked you a question, your name and what you were up to. His voice had a vibrating texture to it, but the tone was innocent enough so you were at ease. You mentioned that you had been shopping for groceries, and the two of you kept the conversation going. You suggested a stroll around the market as you did so.

You normally had a hard time talking with strangers but there was something about him that put you at ease. He was a cheerful conversationalist, revealing that he was a bee hybrid. It wasn’t often that bee hybrids came out to this area, and he had been traveling a while, going out to get special supplies for his hive.

He asked you questions about yourself too, most of which you answered honestly. You normally weren’t so open with strangers, but this man(bee?) was so gentle and puppylike, you didn’t feel on alert at all. The whole time you talked, he listened so intensely, his limbs vibrating with excitement as he gave you a huge dazzling smile. You couldn’t help but feel affection flood your heart every time he tilted his head at you. At some point, when you couldn’t remember, he had softly grabbed hold of your arm, face leaning close as you both batted questions back and forth. You kept going until people started packing up their stalls.

When he noticed, he stuck out his bottom lip, and clung even closer to you. It seemed he had become attached, as he asked if he could see you again. You agreed to meet up with him again the next morning, and his drooping antennas bounced back up, his wings buzzing excitedly. He flew off, his whole body alight with glee, awaiting tomorrow.

You smiled, a warmth blooming in your stomach as you thought of how cute he had been. You tried not to linger on the feeling of his breath on your face from earlier. It seemed that bee hybrids had a different idea about what personal space was, but he was harmless. What hurt could happen from seeing him again? He’d batted his eyes at you so innocently after all.

You went home that night, not realizing it was one of the last nights you would spend alone in a long time.

***

You found your new friend again, next to the stall selling apples. This time, however, it looked like he brought some friends, as two other bee hybrids accompanied him. The wind whipped past you and all three of them turned, seeming to notice your presence.

Elias, the bee you had met with yesterday, gave you a running hug. You laughed as he did so, charmed by his exuberance at seeing you. A rumbling purr seemed to be filling his chest, and you met his huge adoring eyes with your own smile. Without pulling away from you, he introduced his two friends, fellow drones who had wished to meet you upon hearing him abuzz about you all night. Much like Elias, they also had thin, delicate features, and moved with a certain inhuman grace. You smiled at them, and introduced yourself shyly.

The other bee-men were also extremely friendly, leading you through the market by the hand as they told you about their jobs in the hive. You learned what a normal day looked like for them and you marveled at their stories. One of the drones, slightly taller than the rest, but just as gorgeous, talked of once when he had been forced to defend the hive from a wasp invasion. Apparently their hive had been enemies with the wasps for some time. You were learning so much about these three, beautiful and interesting creatures that it took a minute to notice that your casual stroll through the market had brought you to the neighboring forest.

You suddenly became aware that you were alone with three bee-men, in a place where no one could hear you scream.

They must have seen the fear on your face because their own eyes grew full of concern and panic. Elias was the first to sooth you, running his soft hands up and down your arm, asking what was wrong. Another was at your shoulder drawing calming circles and humming a soothing tune as Elias babbled at your rising panic. The other drone was in front of you, glancing around to see if there was anything that caught your attention, putting you in this state.

You suddenly felt very silly. These bee-man had been nothing but friendly and doting of you. There was no way you were in danger, right? You looked once again, at their round worried faces and took a deep, grounding breath. You explained that you had just been a bit anxious being out of the sun, and perhaps you could all go back to the market and talk?

If Elias had had eyebrows they would have furrowed. The other drones looked like puppies who'd just been kicked. Had they said something wrong? Had it been them who made you nervous? There was a slew of apologies. The drone with black curly hair looked so pained that he hovered meekly, wings fluttering in an agitated rhythm.

You tried your best to cheer them up but they couldn’t be consoled. Thinking quickly, you told them you were curious what their honey tasted like, would they bring you some?

Suddenly, all three of the drones stilled, faces frozen. Quickly, the silence turned into loud excited buzzing from all three of them. There was jumping, elation, even triumph on some of their faces.

“Of course, you can have some of our honey!” Squealed Elias. “Let us take you to it!”

You were then hastily grabbed by the waist and princess-carried up into the air with a burst. You screeched at the suddenness but the harsh air rushing towards you squashed all noise in your throat.

You hadn’t realized such thin lithe bodies could hold all of your weight, let alone fly you through the air at such a speed. You tried to protest and pull on Elias’ shirt to get his attention but he only smiled dumbly at you, nuzzling your neck as you shot through the air. You couldn’t quite hear his purring over the rushing wind, but you felt his pur vibrate through the skin of your neck.

When you landed, it was at a place in the middle of the forest. A large structure, probably the hive lay out, unseeingly large and wide before then. Just as Eliases feet touched the ground, your body was suddenly taken out of Elias’ arms by the two other drones. Your arms were enveloped by their grasp and their big eyes stared at you, filled with adoration and expectation.

They rushed you towards what must have been the opening of the hive, guarded by quite a few other drones. They were MUCH taller than Elias and his company, more burly and muscled. When you met their eyes, the guards hovered and buzzed with excitement. A few even twirled around in circles, bumping into the walls. You thought it strange for guards to be excited about a stranger, but you didn’t have time as the bee-men you'd befriended pushed you past quickly. The smallest drone, the one on your right, went on in a singsong tone about the quality of their honey. “You’ll just love it! We work so hard, you know. We promise you won't be disappointed!”

The architecture of the hive was strange. There were large twisting tunnels, but the roof itself seemed to glow softly, as if the sun itself had blanketed the ceiling in soft light.

You tried to slow down your companions, explaining that they must have misunderstood you, you hadn’t meant to go anywhere, but they didn’t listen, just chirp excitedly as they dragged you through the halls. Even still, their grip was so soft on your arms, you knew you could break free if you truly wished. They must be just so over excited to show you their home and their honey. It was their life’s work, so it only made sense, right?

It seemed you had finally reached the destination you desired. It was a bright room with a large couch-like structure, adorned in blankets and pillows. They buzzed with glee and sat you down there. Elias pulled aside a passing bee hybrid, asking for some of their best honey. They met my eyes and buzzed gleefully, before bumbling off.

You tried your best to remind yourself to be upset. You had basically been kidnapped! But every being you met seemed so adorable and pleased to see you, you just couldn’t help being mad. There must not be any danger here right? After all, bees were very soft and friendly creatures. It wasn’t like you’d been lured into the lair of a wolf hybrid or some predator right? You were safe right?

“Oh no, please don’t be scared, we’ll protect you!” whined Haven, the smaller of the drones. He leaned forward and nuzzled your cheek, tracing soothing circles on your arm. The other drone grasped your hand and brought it to his lips. “Please don’t be upset. We will take good care of you. The best care.” He also leaned forward and started to kiss your other cheek a few times, one reaching the corner of your eyes. It seems they had started to water.

Elias flew from the door over to your legs. He slowly laid his head on your lap and rubbed the skin he could reach in comfort. You realized your chest was shaking. You were starting to get a bit overwhelmed. Each of the drones started to purr, shushing you and calming you in any way they could. They caressed your hair, they stroked your fingers, they readjusted you on the couch so they could get a better hold of you. Haven sat behind you and messaged your shoulders, while Elias took off your shoes and started on your feet. The other drone was using his own, long and delicate thumbs? Probelike hand-limbs to massage your palms. You slowly started to relax a bit.

They were so attentive and thorough, it was almost like they could feel where you were tense. “How are you able to do that? It's like youre reading my mind or something.”

There was a laugh from them. “Not your mind silly, your pheromones”, Haven's matter of fact tone chilled you.

“Ph-Pheromones? Like, you can smell my emotions?”

There was a satisfied chirp from Elias. You almost groaned in pleasure as he messaged a particularly tight spot down your heel. “Our new Queen is so smart. Yes, the whole hive can smell when you're in distress or sad. Or happy. We will always make sure to make you happy.” The three of them made a trilling sound together. It must have been their way of agreement.

Your face flushed, and a heat spread through you. Queen? You should have been horrified, but a part of you grew excited. You lower part of you. A stupid, lower part of you.

“I-I can’t be queen! I’m not a Bee Hybrid like you! I’m Human!”

“A perfect human. You smell just like a perfect Queen! You will take our eggs so well.” The drone with dark hair moved forward, humming excitedly. He started to drag his long, textured tongue up your neck. You shivered and had to stifle a moan.

“We’ve been without a Queen for too long! You're just perfect! You act and smell so sweet, you'll make an excellent mother! Don’t be nervous, okay?” Haven’s grip on your shoulder loosened as he started to nibble your ear. Your lashes fluttered and your breath quickened, coming out in labored gulps.

“We will all take care of you so well, you won’t ever wish for a thing. So just relax alright?” Purred Elias as he got up from the floor. His black fingers traced the waistband of your leggings. Your mind was so fuzzy from all the sensation you couldn’t do anything but swallow.

All three of your friendly bee-man keened with glee as you relaxed under them. They were going to make sure their Queen was utterly spoiled.

After all, that was their job, and joy.

***

Part Two

I hoped you liked it. Bunnis-Monsters described the first batch of bee hybrid suitors as feminine in order to ease the Queen into her *ahem* role. At first I was imagining these siren like creatures, softly seducing their Queen, but... they are bees. They are incredibly bumbling and cute. I hc that these first bees are the more verbally talented of the bunch, best to seduce their Queen into staying with them. Should I finish this with a part two for smut? Anyways, thanks for reading!

#monster #monster fucker #bee hybrids #bee hybrids x reader #teratophillia #terat0philliac #monster lover #monster x reader #bee hybrid #bee hybrid x reader

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the-xolotl · 4 months

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Sweet, Soft Shadow Man

Alastor x gn!Reader & Al’s Shadow

♡ Itty bitty snip

♡ a/n: i feel like i’ve only been writing smut recently so here’s something soft

summary: Alastor’s shadow adores you, because Alastor adores you, but he’s a lot more reserved with his feelings. His shadow on the other hand has little qualms about showing affection or responding to yours, and maybe Al feels a little jealous.

♡ TAGS: sfw, domestic fluff, slight jealousy, some banter, no use of y/n, latine coded reader lowkey.

One thing to get use to as you and Al had begun dating was his shadow constantly hovering around you anywhere you went where Alastor himself wasn’t. At first it had felt smothering, like he didn’t trust you alone or like you couldn’t defend yourself, when you in fact very much can. You’d roll your eyes every time you caught the shadowy figure out if the corner of your eye or even tried to get it to go back to Alastor but of course it only listened to its master and would stare at your blankly with the holes that are supposed to be his eyes.

However, as you got to know it and Alastor you realized it wasn’t that that your lover thought you couldn’t look after yourself. No, what you came to realize (and kept to yourself because it’s much too precious) is that Alastor is a proud man ok not that, you knew that very well but that he has his peculiar way of showing affection, one way was to keep his shadow with you when he himself couldn’t. His pride got in the way of him being outwardly affectionate towards you even after courting, properly asking you be his partner and all the time spent together, he still kept to himself a lot simply reciprocating what you initiated. But having the one thing that’s an extension of himself guard you and keep you company was one of the first tokens of care he’d given you.

Thereafter this discovery you didn’t mind it as much, in fact, you even gave it a name; Sombra. You grew very fond of the curious creature that mostly kept itself to surfaces or even in the silhouette of your shadow. It made you giggle every time Sombra did, because you could feel an odd, ghostly weight on your person when it did despite being in its intangible form. Sombra,you also found, is very animated with you. It showed a lot of emotion: joy, sadness, excitement etc. And it didn’t always smile like Alastor did, it could frown, or have a neutral expression. The more you got to know it, the more you became attached to it and it to you. Where to even without Alastor sending it to you, Sombra came to you out of its own accord or even when you called it.

While not entirely against it, Alastor found it a little irritating that literal part of him spent more time with you than he did sometimes. After all he’s an Overlord and the manager of the Hazbin Hotel with the Princess of Hell, he’s a busy man. And the fact you named it, like a pet. His shadow was wrapped around your finger the same way Alastor was, but at least Alastor didn’t show it so forwardly. This fact made Alastor a little bashful the first time you had revealed this to him, all of the little things his shadow did for you.

For example it would bring you little gifts, either from Alastor… Or its own. Small trinkets, flowers (not even store bought just wild flowers off the streets) or even limbs. You didn’t question the limbs even if they put you off at times. Sombra became very cuddly and liked to follow you around even when you only did mundane things. Like today, you’re in the kitchen making a dinner you had made Alastor promise to be there for. He’d been unusually busy recently and as much as you love Sombra, you miss your significant other. You had been prepping the ingredients for a special dish you wanted Alastor to try, that while not entirely southern food, it’s very similar to something like gumbo, when out of the corner of your eye you saw a flash of a black figure. It disappeared as soon as you turned to look in that direction, so you shifted your focus back to the food.

A few times more this happened before a menacing shadow loomed right over you as you threw chopped vegetables into the pot of already boiling water with salt and other seasonings on it. It made half the kitchen dim and it seemed to swallow up its surroundings. You smiled wide giggling looking up at the ceiling, “Sombra~” you sing-song, greeting the ghostly silhouette, “Want a taste?” you offered one of the still uncooked pieces of red meat. It shrunk down to its usual size on the wall taking the offered food. Chuckling at how the meat hovered in the air before it disappeared as Sombra put it in its mouth. The shadow smiled wide giving you a thumbs up as it watched you add herbs into the cooking pot.

“That’s not a pet, you know that right darling?” Alastor’s unfiltered voice came from the door frame as he entered unannounced. While his voice had its usual uppity lilt his tone came a little annoyed. You had reach to hug and pet Sombra like you always do to welcome it, you thought Alastor wouldn’t come for another while longer so you indulged the little servant before its master arrived but you got caught right in the act. It retracted to Alastor’s side like it always did as he threw it a sideways glance.

“Of course he’s not. But its cute, in its own way,” you smile. “Welcome home, my love,” smiling at the radio demon you gingerly made your way to him wrapping your arms around him with a tight hug. He did the same, planting a soft kiss on your forehead, your smile widen. “I missed you,” you whispered looking up at him with big doe eyes. Because you did. You really, really did. You didn’t want to say it outloud but you almost thought he wouldn’t show or he’d be late. So it made you exceedingly happy he had already arrived. “It’s almost ready, why don’t you go sit at the table.”

From his seat, he watched you prepare the side dishes as the pot on the stove simmered, however his eyes more than fixating on you, they followed the movement of his shadow standing next to you at all times. Handing you things, making you laugh and giggle with little actions. And of course it’s his shadow he could feel how giddy your attention made it. Every time you said thank you, every time you gave it a compliment or whenever you pet it. He felt it’s eye twitch seeing Sombra lay his transparent head on the shadow of your shoulder and you didn’t bat an eye. Part of it is guilt, guilt that he had been so absent and distant for weeks, because he’d been too preoccupied with other responsibilities, and jealousy. The jealousy is what bothered him the most. That damn shadow had been hoarding all your attention even as he’d been sitting in the same room with you.

Alastor wouldn’t admit it’s his fault, of course. So instead he gets up from the table again coming up to stand behind you, long arms wrapping around your middle. It surprised you a little, making your stutter the rhythm of your stirring. Alastor rested his chin on the same shoulder Sombra had, making direct eye contact with the sentient being and intimidating it into moving away from you. If it could hiss, it would have. But it moved away without you noticing. Alastor’s arms tighten around you for a second before speaking softly, “I apologize for neglecting you, or if you’ve felt lonely in my absence, darling,” his words were sincere. Alastor didn’t like being away from you very long, didn’t like having to go places filled with people he couldn’t care less about and having to deal with others he disliked. But duties are duties and work is work, he’s a man of principle.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t long to be with his beloved, and he know he’s godawful at telling you. Part of the reason he’d kept his shadow with you, in hopes to keep you solace, and company when he couldn’t. But seeing you grow closer to the creature and pouring all the affection you couldn’t give him made his chest tighten, a feeling that crawled under his skin and bothered him in ways that shouldn’t matter to him. You were his. Yet, here he is, acting childish even if you are probably mostly unaware. Or he hopes you are. Because this is embarrassing, it makes him feel embarrassed deep down. His ears twitched in annoyance as the thoughts swirled around his mind trying to push them away but failing.

“I know you’ve been busy. I wouldn’t call it neglect really,” you answer back, relaxing into the embrace and tilting your head so that you can press a soft kiss to his cheek then nuzzling him, “But you are gone too often, I had meant to talk to you about it but I didn’t really know how to. I guess I also felt a little bad asking you to give me more than you already do,” you chuckle unhumorously. Alastor did give you everything, hardly ever did he tell you no and did what he could to make you happy. Your relationship had been very rocky at the start. Both of you had to learn to make your relationship work and meet in the middle on a lot of different things. Alastor had to re-learn what it’s like to love someone, you had to adjust to his own way of loving and take baby steps, slower ones than you were used to. Both of you accepted the flaws that came with the other, you were in hell, he wasn’t the worst out there and you weren’t perfect.

“And you don’t have to be jealous of your own shadow, Al,” you quipped, a grin tugging the edges of your lips. You had to press your lips into a thin line to keep yourself from giggling at the flare of radio static around you after saying that. But he didn’t really refute it.

“Very funny, darling,”

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seresinhangmanjake · 5 months

Text

Respect

Feyd-Rautha x female!reader

Summary: Your betrothed is a son from one of the Great Houses, an awful man who has enjoyed threatening and scaring you since you were children. Feyd makes it known he doesn't appreciate such disrespectful treatment of the woman he loves.

Notes/Warnings: SA (mention of past unwanted touching. Not by Feyd). Violence and blood. Implied or mentioned sexual situations. Feyd is soft for reader and reader only. Typos, im sure. I think that's it. Feel free to correct me.

Words: 1900

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You told him stories of the youngest son of House Kenric. As you lay in Feyd’s arms, you recounted your meetings with your betrothed over the years. The ways he teased you as children, pinching your skin, tugging on your hair, spitting in your face, calling you worthless, stupid, pathetic. Then in the years before coming of age, how he would mock you alongside his brothers. How he would smack you if you defended yourself and force you to tell your father you’d fallen. How he would grope you over your dress when neither your parents nor his were paying attention. But you’d kept one story from him; the most recent of them.

Feyd had met you at a party for a handful of influential Great Houses, and it wasn’t long before he found himself rather attached to you. Over the course of six hours, you’d met, talked, flirted, snuck off, kissed, fell into bed, fucked, and returned to the party with no one the wiser. It was that same night you were able to convince your father of a budding interest in Harkonnen ways, and that if the Houses were aiming for peace and unity, there would be no harm in you spending a few months on Giedi Prime.

At the time, Feyd knew the “Harkonnen ways” you so appreciated didn’t extend far past the attachment the two of you shared and his ability to make you see stars when his cock was inside of you, but it eventually developed into more. Much more. Though never said aloud, he loved you. So much so that when you finally informed him of your betrothed’s treatment of you the week preceding the party—his cornering you, touching you, telling you of his intent to control and use you as he pleases once you become his wife—Feyd struggled to swallow his rage.

“I’m scared, honestly,” you told him, your hand sliding up from his abdomen over his chest to the curve where his neck met his shoulder, gently squeezing the toned muscle. “How do I become the wife of a man like that? And what about producing his heir? I’ll have no choice but to let him have me.”

It made Feyd sick to think of another man so close to you. Another man’s hands on you, his lips marring your body, tongue between your folds, sweat staining your skin. Even screwing his eyes shut couldn’t make those images disappear. They only grew stronger, tormenting him. She’s not yours, a little voice whispered. Not your woman, not the mother of your child, not your wife.

But, fuck, you should be. You should be all of those things. You would make a perfect Baroness; the only one Feyd could imagine himself wanting. You would face hardship with a sturdy backbone and not shy away from what Giedi Prime would request of you. You would be respected as the ruler by his side, as you deserve. Respected most of all by the man who loves you.

“Would you rather marry me?” Feyd asked, lazily running his fingers up and down your bare spine. He felt a sudden uneasiness, like nerves wiggling throughout his limbs. Such an unfamiliar sensation. Unwelcome, but not misplaced he supposed.

“Yes,” you replied to his relief. “But we both know that’s not how this works, Feyd. It’s just not that simple.”

You were right. It wasn’t simple. Your father made an arrangement with House Kenric, but there was no chance Feyd was going to let that old Duke take you from him in two weeks and ship you off to marry an abusive, unworthy pest of a man. If your father wouldn’t permit simplicity for the sake of your happiness, then Feyd would just have to make it simple.

—

“Why is it again that I’m not allowed to see?” you ask as Feyd guides you down a dark corridor with his fingers covering your eyes.

“I told you it’s a surprise,” he teases. “Don’t you like my presents?”

You chuckle. “Of course, I like your presents.”

“Then that’s all you need to know,” he tells you. “We are here, anyway.”

Coming to a stop, Feyd removes his hands from your eyes and places them on your shoulders, kneading out the tension that has only worsened in your body as your wedding day grows nearer. You blink once, twice, still curious as to what sort of present could possibly be this far from your rooms, but when your vision adjusts to the onslaught of bright light illuminating the small cell, you gasp at the sight before you.

“What do you think?” Feyd asks, pressing a kiss to your neck as you take in the badly beaten body of Aldo Kenric—your future husband.

He’s secured to a chair, his arms strapped down to the chairs arms and legs strapped to legs. His head hangs low. His shirt is torn down the front, exposing the deep purple bruises that litter his torso. Blood drips from his nose and split lips to stain white fabric and forge red rivers through the hills of his abdomen muscles. If not for the pink flush to his skin, you would think him long dead.

The hand that raises to your mouth partially conceals your shock, but the rest of your face gives the emotion away. Your eyelids don’t seem to be able to blink anymore, and your brows will not lower from their position high up on your forehead. You don’t know how to swallow what you see.

With a sigh, Feyd says, “Wait a moment. He’s not very lively.” Then he steps around you toward your betrothed, lifts the man's head by his cropped blond hair, and hits him across the face with a smack that echoes throughout the cell. Scarlet droplets splatter across Feyd’s forearm like flung paint from a brush.

Aldo jolts awake, body convulsing in a sharp jerk. His eyes blow wide as saucers as he snaps his head in all directions and struggles against his binds. The gag in his mouth muffles his whimpers of panic.

“H-How?” you stutter, glancing at Feyd. “When did you—”

“I had some of my men snatch him last night,” Feyd informs you. ‘While we were busy fucking’, he leaves out. “I was told it was done without difficulty. Didn’t put up a decent fight of any sort.”

He grabs Aldo’s jaw, fingers pressing into the hollows of his cheeks, and forces his head so he has no choice but to look directly into Feyd’s eyes. “We had a long talk about respecting our women, didn’t we, Kenric?”

Tears stream down the man’s face, cutting through dried blood and dripping onto Feyd’s hand. Aldo tries to yank his head free from the tight grasp to look at you. You think he’s repeating your name behind the stuffing in his mouth, but you can’t be sure.

“What are you going to do with him?” you ask.

“What would you like me to do with him?”

“I can decide?”

He laughs. “Of course. I wouldn’t give you a gift and not let you choose what to do with it.”

You almost flinch in shock. You’re not known for choosing things for yourself. Until you met Feyd, ‘choice’ was a word associated with negativity and obligatory sacrifice. He is the one thing you’ve ever chosen. Your clothes, your hair, your studies, your husband—all selected for you. But Feyd…you met him and fell and didn’t want to get back up.

Maybe now, you don’t have to.

“You’d kill him?” you ask.

Aldo screams behind his gag, more salty wet lines running down his face. His squirming shifts the chair back and forth and forward and back. Unevenly distributed weight nearly causes him to fall on his side, but Feyd sets him upright before he can crack his head on the stone floor.

Reaching around his back, Feyd pulls out a small knife and in one sharp motion sinks it into Aldo’s thigh with a sickening yet satisfying thick thud. “Stay put,” he growls, then he turns to you with a smile. “Yes, I would kill him, if that would make you happy.”

Water pools in the corner of your eyes. Your bottom lip begins to quiver. Feyd rushes to you and cups your cheeks in warm palms.

“Do not cry,” he demands as his thumbs brush over your cheekbones. “You know I hate it.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, sucking in a few deep breaths between your sniffles. “No one has ever done something like this for me before.”

His face softens. “I’d do everything for you,” he swears before drawing you in for a kiss; slow and sensual and sweet in front of the broken man who currently has a claim on your hand. You lose yourself to mouths moving in perfect sync until he pulls back.

“So, do you have a preference?” he asks, giving you one final peck. “Slit throat now, or arena in the morning?”

Your head tilts in contemplation as you observe the distressed, wailing man who has happily hurt and terrified you. By nature, you are not a violent woman, not in the way your man is a violent man, and you were raised to believe that it is improper and rude and disrespectful to wish pain upon someone else—downright cruel or whatever—but there’s a sense of freedom now. Clearer mind, lighter heart, straighter spine, weakened conscience.

You raise a brow. “If I choose the arena, will you make a show of it?”

Feyd hums in agreement.

“And, um…” you pause.

“You can have anything you want,” Feyd says at your hesitation.

You nod, your confidence renewing with his encouragement. Yes, he’s right, you can have anything. With Feyd, it’s anything, and it’s conditionless.

As you slowly drag your hand down his chest, you peer up at him through your lashes. “Will you go in without a shirt? I’d like to see you come out covered in red.”

Feyd smirks then steps out of your arms and crouches in front of your soon-to-be-former betrothed. “Did you hear her?” he asks Aldo as he flicks the hilt of the blade sticking out of his flesh. Aldo whimpers, pressing his legs together. “Covered, she says. And I will give her what she wants because I love her and this is how I respect her.”

Leaning down, you wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Let’s go to our room. I want to thank you…properly,” you whisper, softly kissing just under his ear before sucking his earlobe into your mouth. Feyd groans.

“And then I will properly thank you for thanking me, my love,” he says with a grin that falls into a frown when he turns back to Aldo. “See, Kenric? Respect.” Feyd slaps the top of Aldo’s leg for emphasis as he stands. “You can keep the knife for now. Can't have you bleeding out. We have an important day ahead of us and I don’t want it to be too easy.”

“Come on,” you snicker, pulling him by the hand as you walk backward out of the cell.

Feyd spins and grabs you at the waist to lift you into his arms. You giggle as your legs lock around his hips.

“Will you agree to marry me now?” he asks you.

“Yes,” you tell him, your lips ghosting over his. “You saved me.”

tags (let me know if you want to be on the list): @avidreader73

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha #dune part 2 #austin butler #feyd rautha fic #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune

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