#“this feels... off” but he doesn't know why so he doesn't change anything about what he's doing and just keeps acting the same

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

For a show whose main focus is the romance, to the detriment of so may other plotlines and character beats, the main couple is astonishingly weak. Even if you remove the lies and all the toxic and unhealthy behaviour, it's still too weak to really carry the show because it's missing some fundamental aspects of romance writing.

A lot of it comes from the show's refusal to engage with Adrien as a character in his own right rather than simply Marinette's trophy. A trophy boyfriend can work for the last five minutes of a film where they kiss and it's implied they go on to have a relationship. It's not enough when you have to actually portray the relationship in a meaningful way, and especially when it's the main relationship the show focuses on.

The most obvious way it manifests is that I honestly have no idea why Adrientte is even together. Not in the sense of "the relationship is unhealthy and they should break up" (although that's certainly true), but in the sense of "what does Adrien see in Marinette?". What trait about her specifically he finds appealing? What caused him to see her in a romantic lie when he was perfectly fine with them being platonic friends (I know the show said the statue scene but, how? What about it changed his mind? Why did it take more than a season to affect his perception of Marinette? Give me details show)? Why is the relationship so important to him?

Right now it reads as if he wants to be in a relationship with Marinette because he needs a relationship to define himself by and his relationship with his father no longer fulfilled that role, and that the reason he stays with her is because he has abandonment issues, is freshly an orphan grieving his father (and his mother considering she died a bit more than a year ago, but the show forgot that) and doesn't really have a meaningful relationship with a peer other than Marinette, so he clings on to her because she's the only thing he has and he can't cope with losing more people.

Which is a really fun premise for an angsty character exploration fanfic (or even a deconstructive story intended for a more mature audience), but is hardly what you want for a children's rom-com main couple.

Another aspect that's missing is the question of "what do they bring into each other's life that was missing before?". That answer to that is really important for selling the couple to the auidence and saying why they should be together other than idk destiny says so or whatever.

I'm not even sure they have a good answer for that on Marinette's side, let alone on Adrien's. I mean, why Marinette wants to be with Adrien is obvious considering her massive crush, his unconditional support of her (even when he really should be holding her accountable for stuff) and that he's a free therapist she can have meetings with whenever. However, if they broke up and she went on to date someone else like Luka, would this be meaningfully different? Why is Adrien specifically the person she should be with? How does his unique personality changes her life for the better?

Adrien's side is slightly better considering there are moments like Marinette trying to help Adrien find his passion, but they're one off moments rather than her consistently encouraging in him character traits he needs to develop. And of course that's only if you don't consider the Big Lie, or all the other ways in which Marinette is a bad girlfriend and encourages bad traits in Adrien (like how Adrien apologized for Marinette skipping out on him and she didn't say anything about him not needing to apologize). As things stand right now in canon, Adrien is actively worse off for having Marinette in his life. That's really not something you want for your main couple unless you're writing dark romance and sometimes not even then.

For as much as they dragged out the love square and dangled it like a prize, they sure aren't putting the effort to make the relationship feel worth it.

I agree on all accounts. The longer the show has gone on, the weaker the love square feels. The writers are so focused on dragging the show out for as long as they can that they've become allergic to giving the relationship the depth it needs since deep relationships require the characters to do things like trust each other and communicate openly. That would break the "Adrien and Marinette must have a secret" rule so instead we get a couple that we're expected to ship because canon says to ship them and not because they're particularly shipable. I'm happy to blindly ship at the start of a story, but I won't play along forever. You do have to eventually sell me on the couple. If you don't do that, I will eventually lose interest.

I've mentioned the podcast/youtube channel Unresolved Textual Tension on here before and one of the hosts made a great point about a common problem with romance writing that I'm going to paraphrase here:

So many writers come to a story already shipping the couple that they forget that they need to make the audience ship the couple, too.

I thought that was a great summary of the issue which is certainly not unique to Miraculous. It's not even unique to shipping! I can think of a lot of stories where the author clearly loves the characters and their relationships, but they never sell those characters and relationships to the audience, so the story falls apart for anyone who wants a story that welcomes you in and makes you fall in love with it.

That ability to bring the audience into your world is a really underrated skill that takes a lot of effort! When I'm writing a story, I'm constantly reminding myself of what the audience knows vs what the characters know and trying to balance those things so that I can really sell the story to the audience. It's part of why I love writing "slow burn" stories. I want the audience to fall in love with my couple and what better way to do that then to let them fall in love, too?

Of course, not everyone is wired that way. There are plenty of people out there who are happy to ship whoever the author tells them to ship no matter how toxic the couple is. There's nothing wrong with enjoying that in fiction, but it's not what I enjoy which is why I'm very done with Miraculous.

[fall0utmind]

As promised Part two of You and I - on ao3 here

Enjoy this angsty Tom POV

Feedback and comments much appreciated - also a sneaky RPF summer camp for 'First time' (first time Tom has liked a boy!!)

Below the cut for more

Things have changed.

Tom doesn't know why, but ever since Silverstone, it feels like something has shifted, like there is a frail tension between them that threatens to snap every time they share a glance or their shoulders brush. It burns hot when they're alone, the air crackling with unspoken electricity which sparks like static whenever they are within touching distance. His gaze always seems to linger for longer on his friend than it used to; his hands, too, seem reluctant to ever let go.

Fabio is different too, there are times where he crowds in close to Tom, lets himself be held and sinks into every touch like he needs it. And then there are moments where he pulls away, looks at his best friend with wide, worried eyes, and has to be tamed into submission, to allow Tom to hold him close. Sometimes, when he thinks no one is looking, Tom sees such a visceral sadness in his eyes that it aches.

Tom doesn't understand it, cannot comprehend the way Fabio seems to sway into his touch, seeking it out, desperate for more, but then forces himself to draw back before Tom can return the affection. It is this constant dichotomy of push and pull, wanting but not taking, which is driving Tom stir crazy. He can't even put his finger on what Fabio wants, why his friend is acting so weirdly. He never used to be like this, always content to ask for more: attention, affection, physical touch. All of it, constantly. Tom loved it. Now, Fabio looks torn, like he wants something that he can't have.

There are moments that didn't occur before, times when Tom's brain freezes and he gets stuck replaying scenes in his head, his thoughts clouded by Fabio. It hits Tom that the more Fabio pulls back, the more Tom wants to wind him back in, like a tug of war. He somehow missed the memo about how much he loved having Fabio in his arms, the feeling of his best friend's body curled into his. Sleepy and content. Tom was previously unaware of what he had until he faced losing it.

Then, there are times like now; Tom staring, aghast, in the garage as he watches Fabio get flung off his bike and into the gravel during practice in Mugello. Tom's heart threatens to give out as his best friend tumbles across the track, face down. There is a heart-stopping moment, where time seems to slow and he wills his friend to get up, anything to show he's alright.

Tom exhales harshly when Fabio sits up. He's moving, Tom thinks, that's the biggest positive of this, it's all that matters. He cannot even begin to fathom what he would do if Fabio weren't moving, probably throw up everything he ate in the past 48 hours and then, well, he doesn't want to think about it. Although he's up, Fabio immediately clutches at his shoulder, and Tom freezes, trying desperately hard to swallow down the panic. It doesn't look good, but it is also not bad enough for Fabio to be kneeling over in pain... so that's something.

(Not much, he thinks, when it comes to these guys. He knows it's crazy, the way they ride through injuries like it's nothing.)

It all happens so quickly, Fabio discussing something rapidly with the marshals, one arm held stiffly. Tom winces in sympathy. It's harder to watch when it's Fabio who is in the gravel. It's also gruesome, the practised ease of his friend being injured; what's worse is the way he lies down and directs the marshals on what to do next. Tom frowns at the screens, wondering what exactly is happening. Until one of the medical marshals hovers over Fabio, guides his hands onto the rider's collarbones, checking. Tom gulps, thinks 'surely not' and then almost does end up dry heaving into the nearest bin when they slam their hand into Fabio's shoulder, knocking the joint into place - he assumes.

Putain, he thinks, horrified.

He looks away, doesn't think about the fact that he just watched his best friend have their dislocated shoulder reset in the middle of an active race track. He feels sick, worry threatening to swallow him whole. It doesn't fade, even when Fabio climbs onto his feet and begins to argue with the track marshals about taking his bike back, even when he accepts defeat and makes his way back to the garage. It only gets worse when he rides back out, determined to put a solid time on the board. Tom knows better than to argue when Fabio has a goal in his head; he pushes down his panic instead and wraps his arms around himself in some childlike attempt at comfort.

Briefly, he wishes there was someone else in his arms and immediately wonders where the thought comes from. It isn't usual for him to wish for a partner or the physical comfort of someone else. Let alone his best friend. He shakes his head, swallows thickly, and turns to face the screens once more, locked onto Fabio's progress around the track.

Later that evening, Tom takes Fabio to the hospital, sighing at the way his friend brushes off the concern, clearly pretending to be fine. Even as he's dressed in a hospital gown, which makes him look small and so, so young, he acts like it's nothing. Tom is thrown back in time for an instant. He remembers the first injury he saw, when Fabio fell off his bike whilst training in France. He thinks about the hospital trips and subsequent check-ups, how his friend bit his lip to hold back the discomfort, refusing to show vulnerability to anyone but Tom. He wonders whether much has changed, apart from the weird feeling in his stomach and the undeniable knowledge that Fabio is fallible, the kind that comes with age and experience. Watching his best friend, arguably the only person who has ever fully understood him, regularly get bucked off a bike at 200 kilometres per hour is testing on any day. The days when Fabio takes longer to get up are so much worse. The aftermath always aches like pressing fingers into a bruise, which is still blooming purple.

In real time, Fabio is making faces at him, sitting up in the MRI, waiting for it to start. Tom, in the connecting room, pulls out his phone as Fabio is instructed to lie down. It feels all wrong, but he knows it's what is expected, to play the part of the best friend, unconcerned and brotherly. Even though every part of him screams to take Fabio in his arms and bring him to safety. He snaps a photo of Fabio as he's directed into place by two doctors in white coats, his head craned towards Tom, seeking. It makes Tom's heart ache in a way it never has before, as if someone is reaching in, wrapping a hand around his heart and squeezing. He has never so badly wanted to have Fabio next to him, wishes he could capture him in his arms, guide him into bed next to him, soft and peaceful. Tom would do anything for Fabio, just so he could be okay again.

*

Time moves on, and their relationship seems to shift with every passing day. It isn't exactly noticeable, unless you're looking. Quiet moments wrapped up together had always happened before, but now Tom swears that Fabio leans closer than before, rests his head against Tom's heart when they're cuddled on the sofa. He seems to be touching Tom all the time, and sometimes Tom swears he sees Fabio gaze at him with eyes that are almost longing. He doesn't know what it means. He is too scared to ask.

The other half of the time, when they're not glued together, Fabio is distant, closed off and far away. Tom has to repeat himself multiple times before Fabio's head jerks in recognition, frowning at his best friend. Tom finds himself in a constant state of confusion, begging to understand what is going on in his best friend's head.

Sachsenring is one of those weekends. Fabio seems to be at war with himself about whether he wants Tom close to held at arm's length. He's quiet through practice, frowning thoughtfully at data whilst Tom observes from the other side of the garage. Fabio doesn't reach out for him, so he doesn't even bother to try to draw him in, just watches his friend work. Fabio flits between happy and annoyed all weekend. Tom knows that he's frustrated by the bike and the lack of consistency. He wishes he could make it all better, but knows that he can't. Powerless in everything, it seems at the moment.

Saturday brings heavy rain and chaos. Fabio is wild with anger during practice. No one can do much with the bikes in qualifying apart from Marquez. Of course. Somehow, it works for Fabio, and he manages to put it on the second row. Not a pole, but enough. Especially with Alex and Pecco behind him. The wait for the sprint is agonising as Tom watches the rain fall from inside Fabio's motorhome. He sits on the settee, watches as his friend eats lunch and stretches in preparation.

Fabio keeps flicking his gaze to Tom, eyes searching. Tom looks out of the window, feeling stripped bare in the quiet motorhome as he watches the rain hit the panes of glass. Fabio pulls himself out of a deep hamstring stretch, one that Tom was studiously trying to ignore, and finally gives in, the taught rope of distance between them slackening as he throws himself on the cushions next to Tom.

Tom's heart stutters slightly when Fabio buries into his chest. The arm Tom wraps an arm around him is anything but casual/

"You ok?" He whispers, afraid to break the cautious peace. More afraid of his friend not being okay.

Fabio hums against him. Tom presses a quick kiss on the crown of his head, keeps his hold firm. Truthfully, he's nervous about today. Watching Fabio always makes his heart crawl up to his throat, but the wet weather is always worse. So much more dangerous. Tom cares so much that it scares him sometimes, how his whole world feels like it revolves around the man beside him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he can't help but feel like there is something more here. He squeezes his eyes shut and pushes the thought away. 

The sprint approaches too quickly. Tom feels like he's just settled when Fabio shifts against him, stretches, and pulls himself upright. They get ready in silence, Tom heading into the garage sooner, whilst Fabio pulls on his race suit. His foot drums against the floor to the rhythm of his heart. As usual, his gaze is drawn to Fabio when he enters. Always hyperaware of where his best friend is, watching as he prepares.

It's still wet.

The grid forms, and Tom watches. The lights go out, and he stands by the monitors, unable to tear his eyes away as Fabio pulls off insane overtakes. His heart thumps in his chest; Marc is gaining on the front runners. He winces when he bombs down Fabio's inside, clenches his hands into fists when the Spaniard wobbles and almost falls. Thankfully, he keeps it upright, which means Fabio is safe too.

A few more laps pass by. 

Fabio is in third. Tom holds his breath. He can barely watch as the lap counter ticks down. Marc takes the lead, Fabio holds onto a podium. Cheers erupt in the garage when Fabio crosses the line. Finally, what they've been waiting for. Tom can see his friend's excitement, happiness rolling off of him in waves as he completes his cool-down lap, clapping hands with Bez and Marc.

Tom grins so hard, his cheeks ache. He runs down the pit lane with the crew, determined to be there to greet Fabio, to show him that he will always be by his side. There's a giddiness in the atmosphere that Tom knows is because of the result, the relief of long-sought-after success.

Fabio pulls his bike to a stop, and within a minute, he's off his bike and into the mass of the Yamaha crew. People roar for him, pulling him into their grasp, desperate to touch. Tom waits. He's ecstatic, almost vibrating out of his skin with pure joy for his best friend. Fabio catches his gaze, and Tom nearly forgets to breathe. His eyes are crinkled in the way they do when Fabio smiles so big that you could see it from space. His eyes are so very pretty like this, brown and full of life. His face is lit up like the sun, and Tom reckons you could power a whole city with that beam. Fabio reaches toward him, and Tom scoops him into his arms, safe and secure.

Words seem to escape him, unsure of how to verbalise his pride. He realises that he doesn't need to, one arm wrapped around Fabio's shoulders, the other around his waist. He presses a kiss to his cheek, misses and brushes his jaw instead as Fabio twitches. They pull apart, grinning at each other. For once, Fabio doesn't seem lost in his own head. Tom basks in it.

The podium is muted, all things considered, but the joy Fabio holds lasts way into the evening, even through debriefs and preparation for day two.

Eight pm sees them curled up on opposing ends of the sofa in Fabio's motorhome, rare for them to be that far apart. There is a conscious yet unnamed awareness of the weirdness between them. Fabio breaks first, huffing dramatically and flopping himself closer to Tom, their shoulders brushing. Tom can't explain how it happens, but over the course of the evening, they somehow shift closer together like binary stars drawn into each other's orbit.

Some vague knowledge flutters in the depths of his mind, something about star collisions, absorption and ejections. A bunch of complicated bullshit he was taught in senior physics lessons. None of it seems important now, not with Fabio practically in his arms, not when he gets to spend his life travelling to incredible places with his best friend.

He closes his eyes, content to luxuriate in the warmth of another body next to him. The weight of his best friend is familiar against him as the TV talks to itself quietly in the background. Tom feels like he is about to drift off when movement disrupts his peace. He senses rather than sees Fabio's restlessness, frowns and blinks his eyes open. Fabio has wiggled closer somehow, now almost completely on top of Tom, who had shifted earlier to lean against the armrest. Fabio stares up at him with sleepy eyes from where his head is pillowed against Tom's chest.

He rubs a soothing hand across Fabio's arm.

"You okay?" He whispers.

Fabio blinks slowly, looking soft and sweet.

"Yeah. I'm happy."

Tom smiles; he knows it's probably entirely too soft, but he doesn't care. He really is over the moon for his best friend. There's a pause, Fabio's eyebrows crease.

"Do you ever think-" the younger man starts, but he cuts himself off.

"Sometimes, yes. Why have you not tried it?" Tom jokes.

Fabio lightly elbows him in return, and Tom chuckles to himself. He purposely softens his voice when he asks.

"Think what?"

Fabio opens his mouth, closes it again. And frowns. His gaze flickers between Tom's eyes and the bottom of his face, like he can't keep eye contact. Tom can't help it, he stares back, cataloguing the way Fabio's eyelashes flutter, the light pink tinge to his cheeks, the crease in between his eyebrows which appears whenever he's thinking. He wishes he could know what's happening in his friend's head.

"No. It's nothing," Fabio mumbles, looking away finally.

Tom sighs. Back to this, he thinks.

"Okay", he says, and presses a kiss to Fabio's hair, reverent in a way only he could be. He misses the way Fabio's hands tighten the hold they have on his shirt.

(He misses a lot these days.)

*

Things come to a crossroads at the start of the summer break. It's tradition for Tom and Fabio to go away together every year, spend some time basking in the warmth of the sun and each other's company. So straight after the Czechia Grand Prix, they pack their bags and jet off to the south of France, as per usual. It's there that Tom notices the second shift in their relationship.

Their time away is nice, glorious really, filled with the unique kind of peace and familiarity that comes from just being together, existing in a world of their own. It strikes Tom that Fabio is more clingy than usual, sitting closer to him, pulling him into more hugs, staring at him with eyes that Tom can't quite figure out. He doesn't think much of it at the time, unbothered. Fabio's tactile nature is one of the many things he loves about his best friend. Tom doesn't bother to worry about what it means - why would he, after all?

They spend their time sunbathing by pools and on beaches, eating food that's far fancier than Tom ever imagined, and talking, just the two of them. Tom knows that Fabio has gone all out for the holiday, and wonders briefly if that is significant or not. They're staying in a private villa, right by the beach, all soft neutrals and bright, natural light which filters in throughout the day. It's beautiful. On the second day, they take a yacht out to sea and spend all day giggling like little boys as they swim and talk.

Tom wishes they could stay like this forever.

He can't quite put his finger on what changes, not in the beginning anyway, but something fundamentally morphs between them as the days wear on. It starts with little things. Every time Fabio takes his shirt off, Tom's heart stutters. He feels warm when they go to dinner, and Fabio sits on the other side of the table, looking beautiful in the ambient lighting. When their fingers brush, Tom freezes, his cheeks filled with colour as he tries not to let the hitch in his breath be too obvious.

It drives him insane, not knowing why he feels like this. Wondering if Fabio feels it, too.

It only clicks halfway through their holiday. The evening is humid, the day's sun burning off into a hazy night, the kind which leaves you sticky in the sheets. Dusk has just fallen when they leave the familiarity of the villa to walk to a nearby bar, shoulders brushing the whole way. They dress up for once, Fabio in a white linen shirt and trousers which hug all the right places, loose at his ankles and a tad too long in a way that makes Tom's mouth water for some inexplicable reason.

Tom clocks the eyes drawn to Fabio the minute they enter. He isn't surprised, used to how his friend garners attention, and the way he shines like the sun, laughing, loud and obnoxious, at one of Tom's shitty jokes. They meander through the building, admiring the muted decoration and stunning views of the coast through the large floor-to-ceiling windows. The table they choose looks out onto the beach, situated on outdoor decking close enough to hear the waves lapping gently onto the shore. It's quiet out here, a contrast to the number of people crowded by the bar, but it has a direct line of sight inside, giving it the kind of blended atmosphere which promises a good time.

The downside of the placement of their table is that when Fabio offers to buy the first round, Tom can see every person trying to chat him up by the bar, and there are plenty. Something bitter sits in his stomach, biting uncomfortably at his skin, which feels three sizes too small. He knows it's stupid to be jealous; Fabio is a good-looking guy. Even as a straight man, he can see the obvious. He has heard it enough to know by now anyway. It is easy to admit that Fabio has all the qualities to make him pretty; he's endearing, a real charmer and hot, too, with his adorable smile and stupidly defined abs.

People fling themselves at Fabio in a way they don't with Tom. Sure, he has the odd girl looking him up and down, smiling, or saying hello. Tom's always polite to the people who hit on him, sometimes he even flirts back, rarely though. He doesn't really know what holds him back, why he doesn't just go for it. They are never as eager as with Fabio. It's ridiculous; he has the whole damn circus whenever he walks into a room. Tom doesn't know what it is that bugs him so much this time; he has never really cared before. Not having as much attention as his best friend isn't something that bothers him; perfectly content to take the backseat and let Fabio do the smooth talking, get the girls. Yet tonight it rubs him up the wrong way, his skin prickling with discomfort and the need to drag Fabio back in.

Even as Fabio returns to the table, the feeling stays with Tom, making him want to crawl out of his skin. He wants to put a claim on Fabio so no one else can steal him away for the night. The thought strikes like lightning. He cannot stop thinking about it. The idea of everyone knowing that Fabio is his, that they cannot put their hands on him. It makes something hot and heavy stir in his belly. It feels like some kind of stolen fantasy; he isn't even sure why, but he knows that he wants Fabio all to himself, even if just for the evening.

The more they drink, the more frustrated Tom becomes. People spill into the bar and out again, ebbing and flowing like the tide. Tom buys them beers, and Fabio gets fruity cocktails that he doesn't even have to pay for, too busy flirting with the handsome man behind the bar, with dark hair and tattoos. He returns to the table with a wink. When he goes up for the next round, a girl with long blonde hair and the body of a goddess crowds close to Fabio. It makes Tom want to scream as he sits and watches as a stranger puts their hands on his best friend. It's only when Fabio shrugs her off, smiles his disinterested smile, that the feeling settles.

At some point, it finally registers that he isn't jealous that Fabio is getting more attention than him, but rather annoyed that people are looking at Fabio like they want to devour him whole. Tom hates the way they clutch onto Fabio, their arms snaking around his wrist or waist like he's something to be owned. The thought of his best friend with someone else makes him feel a bit queasy. He squeezes his hand into a fist, tries to quell the rolling anger inside him, threatening to burst free. The image of Fabio being with someone who doesn't know exactly what he wants, what he needs, who can't look after him in the way Tom knows that he requires. It lights something nasty within him. He downs the rest of his drink to conceal the taste of bile, smiling bitterly when Fabio once again pulls away from the group of girls (and guys) vying for his attention. He offers the group a cheeky smile before he looks back at their table, where Tom sits patiently, trying not to vibrate out of his skin.

Fabio returns alone.

(He always does.)

"No joy?" Tom spits out, immediately feeling guilty for his tone, but screw it, he's had at least two too many drinks and his heart aches. Fabio raises an eyebrow in response, swaying slightly as he sets their round down. He always has been a lightweight.

"Nah, don't feel like it. They're not you," Fabio replies, flirty, batting his eyelids and giggling.

Ah, Tom thinks, he's at that stage of drunk. Still, he can't help the way his breath hitches slightly, his face heating up as he brushes the comment off on instinct. He pauses, just for a second, and does the thing he never usually would.

"Ah, of course. You buy me a couple of drinks and think I will fall into your bed, huh?", he jokes

Fabio blinks, looking up at Tom with wide eyes.

"Oh, absolutely. Been trying to get you into my bed for years," Fabio breathes. It doesn't quite land.

Tom's heart trips over itself as he forgets how to swallow. He laughs, airy and false and gulps down as much air as he can. He forces himself to knock his shoulder into Fabio, to take the shitty joke on the chin and ignore the pull in his gut. He refuses to think about how hot he feels all over, his mind spinning.

He jumps from thought to thought at dizzying speed as the replays various scenes through his head, remembering the cocktail of fragile emotions which have reared their head around Fabio across the last few months. 

And suddenly, a few things fall into place.

Tom is completely and utterly green with envy because he wants to be the one Fabio is flirting with. He doesn't want anyone else to touch Fabio because he wishes that he could take him home, into his bed. There is something ugly and jealous sitting like lead in his stomach, which makes him want to cover his best friend's skin in mottled bruises, bitten into bloom with reverence so everyone knows exactly who he belongs to. Tom never wants anyone to flirt with Fabio again, nor lay their hands on him, because he wants Fabio to be his. 

Oh fuck, Tom thinks. He loves Fabio.

Like in love.

Like in a completely not-straight way. 

The shift in their relationship suddenly makes an incredible amount of sense. His recent want for more, the butterflies dancing in his stomach whenever Fabio is near him, and the way his eyes are constantly drawn to his friend. He feels safe and content around Fabio, not just because that's his best friend, but because it's Fabio. He never wants to let him go, happy to hold him close forever. He wants to touch him, to feel his steady heartbeat under his hands, to finally get lips on his skin. Tom thinks that Fabio is beautiful, which probably explains the reason his heart rate triples whenever Fabio gets undressed, why his eyes are always pulled to his ass, his abs, and his beautiful face.

Tom is an idiot.

It also turns out Tom isn't as straight as he thought.

The realisation isn't as earth-shattering as one might expect. Tom knows that he has always loved Fabio and can't see much reason to freak out about being in love. Sure, he has never been with a man before, but this is Fabio. If there is one thing Tom knows, it is how to look after his best friend. 

So, nothing really changes. Except, from then on, Tom lets himself acknowledge the moments his gaze slips, when he stares for too long. He finds himself thinking carefully about what kissing Fabio would be like, how good it would feel to take him apart with only his hands and his mouth. Tom imagines the dates they could go on, the way he would buy Fabio flowers and give him anything he could ever ask for: a ring, a wedding, a future together.

A few nights later, close to the end of the holiday, they're quietly lying on the beach. Fabio looks ethereal in the moonlight, so gorgeous that Tom could combust. He's so close to just kissing Fabio as they sit under the stars, finally giving in to his urges. But he chickens out right before he can lean into Fabio's space, worried about what it might do to them. He tells himself he can wait until they're back home, that a few days won't make a difference. Honestly, he is afraid to ruin their holiday if he has read it all wrong, even more scared because he knows something isn't quite right with his best friend. It hasn't been in months.

Fabio spends a lot of time looking at Tom with soft eyes, he has noticed. That in itself isn't unusual; Tom thinks it has been that way for quite a while. This week, though, his eyes have become sadder. He won't tell Tom what was wrong, no matter how much he asks or worries, even when Tom catches him brushing away tears on their last day together. Tom swallows down Fabio's lies about being okay, tells himself they can sort that out when they get home, too. Because he could lose it all, but at least he knows that he will always have this. Their friendship is too strong to break. 

Except.

They haven't seen each other in the time between arriving back in Andorra and now.

Radio silence.

At first, Tom assumes Fabio is busy. Even over the summer break, he has bucketloads of things to do: training, sponsorship deals, rehabilitation, and more training. It's weird, though, not having his constant companionship as the summer days burn on. It's probably the longest they've been apart without contact in years.

Tom thinks that maybe Fabio's found himself a girl (or a boy, for that matter) to spend the rest of his break with. It makes something sour sit under Tom's tongue, like he's biting into a lemon whenever he thinks about Fabio fucking someone else. It would be weird if he hadn't told his friends, but Tom knows Fabio doesn't need permission to have hook-ups, his own feelings aside. He pushes the thoughts down. They never last long, Fabio's flings, a week, maybe two, and then Tom will have his best friend back.

But before Tom knows it, it's two weeks later and almost the end of the summer break, and Fabio hasn't replied to any of his messages. They haven't even had coffee or met up, and it's so not like Fabio that Tom begins to worry. The last time they saw each other was at the airport, tears in Fabio's eyes.

Tom texts, of course, he tries to call, but they always ring out, or go straight to voicemail. It isn't until about day 15 that he goes and knocks on Fabio's door. He waits outside, tapping his foot restlessly as the Andorran sunshine beats down on him. He thinks about what he's going to say, probably ask what the fuck is going on.

He waits and waits. Fabio doesn't answer.

The house looks occupied, the windows cracked open, the car (well, one of them) in the drive.

Maybe he's busy, maybe he has company. Or, maybe, he is ignoring Tom.

Perhaps Fabio worked out Tom's feelings and is so disgusted by them that he's resorted to this. It's an ugly thought. But it's so unlike Fabio not to stay in contact that it makes him worry. They've been best friends since Tom can remember; he doesn't want to lose this. That hurts more than anything. The idea that maybe Fabio knows Tom is in love and is disgusted by it. The real kicker is that Tom really thought that they could be more. They would be so good together. He knows Fabio better than he knows himself; he understands exactly what he needs and when.  

Tom sees the way his best friend looks at him sometimes, the same way that Tom looks back. Tom was so sure that they were destined for something more. It's just that it took him far too long to realise that it was love. He assumed that maybe Fabio had the same issue. That was Tom's mistake - making assumptions. He presumed that they were both just waiting for someone to make the first move, figuring it out. He had convinced himself over the past few weeks that they would be able to talk this out. 

But there's nothing from Fabio.

Now he was left with nothing but the broken pieces of their friendship and silence. Tom wonders if he has read this all wrong. Maybe he misinterpreted every little indication that Fabio was into him. When he held Fabio as he fell apart, Tom couldn't help but feel like he would give his soul away to keep Fabio happy. Maybe Fabio doesn't feel the same. Maybe this was his way of saying. He feels bereft, rubbed raw by the idea that Fabio does not want him. It's agony, having Fabio so close and yet so very far away.

Tom wonders where it all went wrong.

He leaves without seeing Fabio.

Tom drags himself through the rest of the summer break, attempting to have fun with his other friends. He pretends that he isn't spending every second looking at his phone, checking to eagerly every time it buzzes, hoping that it might be Fabio rearing his head out of the abyss that he's fallen into. It feels like his world is falling apart. Tom resorts to locking himself in his room, crying his eyes out and watching shitty romcoms in the dark, wishing he was holding Fabio.

At the same time, when he isn't preoccupied by self-pity, Tom is worried sick that something else is wrong. Perhaps the toll of a difficult season has finally got into Fabio. Tom knows it hasn't been easy. He's been worried for a little while that Fabio would finally crack under the weight of it, especially since he has watched Fabio fall off or lose 10 grid positions in one lap more times than he can count this year. He's so close to touching distance of that win, yet even though they all know that Fabio is capable and he's a champion at heart, he hasn't quite grasped it. A few poles and a podium, but no win yet. Tom knows he can do it; he fully believes that Fabio will get it after the summer break. 

The thought aches because he doesn't think he'll be there to see it. Not next to Fabio as his best friend. There's a chasm between them. Tom can feel it growing, its awning jaws opening between them. He can't reach where Fabio is because he won't let him in. It's like he's built his walls at a brick and mortar in the last two weeks. Tom doesn't understand. Fabio has seemingly dropped off the face of the earth. Tom finds himself refreshing his Instagram feed every few seconds, praying for a sign of life.

It's a few days later, just before the next grand prix, that he gets it. A thirst trap posted on Instagram, Fabio shirtless, sweat dripping down his abs, muscles in his thighs flexed. Tom hates himself for the way his face gets warm, how long he stares at the photo, cataloguing every single part of the image. He double taps, scrolls down his feed, scrolls back up to look again, mouth watering.

Fuck, he's so screwed.

A notification pulls him out of his reverie, a text flashing across the top of his screen. It makes him jump guiltily, shame digging its claws in as if he's been caught doing something naughty. He pulls down the tab, his heart stuttering when Fabio's name appears. It isn't much, but it's something.

Sorry, bro, been busy. Are we still good for the flight thurs wk?

Tom wants to play it cool, so badly doesn't want to let Fabio know how screwed up he's been over this.

Ah. Thought you'd found someone to spend your time with ;) Yh, yh - see you wed?

Fabio replies quickly.

Nah. You know me. Just busy! See you wed.

Tom can't help the dizzying wave of relief he feels. The jealousy settles, the beast tamed for at least now. He breathes through his nose, out through his mouth, thumbs up Fabio's message and clicks his phone off.

[llamaisllama777]

The DAILY*/WEEKLY* LAES, FEMNAF, EAPS, AND TSAMS SHOW!

July 16th edition!

It's that fateful day again TSBS fans. July 16th. The dreadful day where Sun was possessed by BloodMoon and killed (6? 12 kids? I forgot how many?) And now that fateful day has returned again. Let's see how torturous today's episodes will be...

Oh... I was honestly expecting something much worse. So, Lunar and Earth do some digging and find an old recording of when Day, Night, and Andromeda first arrived at the Pizza-plex. Day seems super friendly, Andromeda is shy as heck, and Night... Night is super chill. He speaks in sign language so that's neat. We need more mute characters out there that use sign language cause I don't know to many.

We see the earliest days of the plex and we see Milly (<- What I call the new LAES Monty) actually being a decent person.

The whole episode is just showing how they all met the gang. Lunar and Earth don't find anything interesting about them, but they do want to start asking questions to everyone cause everyone seems to be trying to forget that Day and Night even happened.

That's not healthy. They're trying to escape the past when the past is ACTIVELY TRYING TO KILL THEM! Andromeda has an excuse on why she doesn't wanna talk about it cause she loved Day and Night and now they're psychopathic serial killers. She gets to stay silent. She lost her loves. But Roxas, Chico, and maybe Bonnie someone needs to start spilling here! Someone needs to tell them something! Anything at this point! Also Earth and Lunar have golden statue in the Pizza-plex now. It looks adorable! I love the custom model they have for it.

(How did they even make that? I wanna know cause I think that whole map is custom made)

This episode was surprisingly nice. I was expecting some twist at the end with a shot of past Day and Night petting Andromeda's hair as she slept and discussing their evil plans revealing that like Day and Night were sleeper agents the whole time or something, but they didn't.

Huh. Maybe all the episodes will be chill today?

NOPE! Moonie's trauma is in full swing!

That's the July 16th I know.

So, this episode starts off with Sunny talking with some kids and Roxanne (So this episode must be in the past.) Moonie walks in and all seems normal at first until Moonie mentions she didn't do something that she was supposed to and Sunny flips the heck out! She starts swearing at Moonie and insulting her which surprises everyone.

The episode goes on as normal for a bit till Sunny flips out again and Moonie realizes that something is off. Sunny wouldn't act like that unless she had the aggression code which now resides in Clipsey. Moonie realizes this is all in her mind but Sunny nearly strangles Moonie to death.

Moonie wakes up in the daycare and real Sunny, Clipsey, and Freddie arrive to check on Moonie. Moonie lies and acts like everything is fine when it very clearly isn't! Sunny, Clipsey, and Freddie are starting to suspect something is up with Moonie, but she refuses to tell them what exactly is going on with her and truth be told I don't think Moonie knows herself.

Either Moonie's past is coming back to haunt her and she feels like she hasn't changed even though she has or something else is going on.

I'm loving this whole story arc with Moonie and her and Sunny trying to build up their own pizza-plex. I'm loving it so much!

So, we see Moonie's trauma. Who's next?

RURU! My favorite traumatized bot. Good to see you.

So, Ruin and Tiger Rock end up getting jumped by Mimic. How the heck did Afton find them? Who knows but that's seriously not good if Afton knows where they are.

Tiger Rock and Ruin get ready for a fight they will inevitably lose but then surprise guest star Solarflare comes to their rescue! Turns out Solarflare has been trying to find Ruin for the past month. Good on you, Flare.

So, Ruin and Tiger Rock escape. Solarflare injuries Mimic but Mimic escapes to and now they have nowhere else to go leaving one last option...

Eclipse and Puppet.

Time for a friend reunion. I wonder how they'll all react since he did kill Lefty before he left. I also wonder how everyone will react to Tiger Rock?

I want to see Roxy and Tiger Rock become friends. I want that badly.

Time for a reunion 🫂 and it couldn't be better timed since the show will be ending soon.

Now...

Onto the horrors...

What could Sun and Moon have cooking for us today...

I'm scared...

Oh..

Oh this is fine. 🤣

I want a roast for Monty, Moon, and Eclipse next. Heck, give us one for Turuas. I would pay to see that.

Great episodes guys!

11/10!

[profounddefendorcrusade-blog]

We don't know what exactly happened to Wander that changed his worldview and made his empathy grow, but based on how his mind is a place where he's happy all the time, it makes sense that he just ignores the bad feelings by habit and keeps on smiling, helping and being positive. Wander meditates, plays music, lives in the present moment and chooses to look for the good in everyone & everything, which means that he has ways to cope, but there are clues throughout the show that imply he's never faced his own darkness/past

"Inside Your Mind" shows that there's nothing sad inside Wander's mind; he must have replaced all the traumatic experiences he's ever had with happy thoughts, but never dealt with them. Wander's mind is so chaotic because the more wild ideas he comes up with, the easier it is to forget everything that's painful. He wanted to STAY in his mind where things are always happy, surrounded by many clones of himself and none of the friends he helped, or his family, and tried to manipulate Sylvia into staying in his happy world (where there's actually no room for anyone but himself). Wander was willing to leave all the people who need/will need his help in the future hanging because he wanted to stay in a place where it's easier to ignore the sad memories, a place where all of his wildest fantasies can come to life. Outside the void, distracting himself doesn't come this easy

Wander brushes off his real name as something that's not important and immeditely goes back to trying to befriend Dominator, but got visibly scared of Child Wander because it was right in front of him so he couldn't ignore it.

Wander reacts like THIS at the mention of his real name, like he's trying to shoo the memory of it away

Another reason why Wander wants to help and befriend everyone (aside from him being nice by nature, empathizing with others, and not wanting to feel worthless/wanting to be loved and needed by others) could be because he wants to fill the void left by the destruction of his species + other past trauma (which I will discuss soon). Wander's impulsive and reckless because he values others' safety and happiness more than himself and bases his value on whether or not he fails people/people pay attention to him in any way. He'd rather endanger himself to help someone else than stay safe (like Sylvia wants). Even when he's about to get killed in "The Enemies," he's just happy to see Hater & Brad "putting aside their differences to work together" or he figured out that if he said smth optimistic like that, it would pit the two against each other; wander's so so SO clever In any case, Wander doesn't feel like he's worth anything if he isn't of service. He's obviously scared for his life in "The Greatest" and "The End Of The Galaxy" (where he once again tries to protect his friends), but there are just way too many times where he puts his (and Sylvia's) life at risk just to be helpful and/or liked

Sylvia pretty much says it herself

Wander is never sad for his own sake because he doesn't allow himself to be (he's also the only one of the main 4 who we never see sobbing). He'd spiral into overthinking and completely shatter on the inside if he ever let himself feel all the pain he's experienced. I think him getting distracted is not just ADHD-coded. It could also be a coping mechanism to avoid thinking about the bad things from his past, whether Wander is aware of it or not (prob not)

There's not a single person in Wander's life that he wouldn't be able to move on from (not even Sylvia, according to Dave Thomas) they obv DO care abt each other, Syl lifts Wan's spirits when he needs it, he knows a lot about her, she protects him and they made so many memories together, but Sylvia doesn't know who Wander is at his core, what he's been through, and just how hurt and lonely he is. all this is bc wander presents himself to the universe as this happy, nice, naive, surprisingly heroic guy, and even when syl discovers his hurt side, she doesn't ever question him about it ONCE. I wonder why tbh. Sylvia also doesn't ask wander anything after she discovers he's 1000+ and only calls him "a man of mystery" I mean it's cool that she respects his privacy, but I think it would make sense for her to at least be a little curious to learn deeper info about her BEST FRIEND Even though Wander spends so much time with Sylvia, he never lets her in. He loves her, but like everyone else, she doesn’t see or understand his core self. Wan always remains untouchable in this sense. "A man of mystery" indeed

Some of Dave's replies that I think are important when it comes to understanding Wander's character

What's sad is that Sylvia said nothing when Wander called himself a "worthless wandering wanderer," just stood there pitifully and didn't defend/reassure him that it isn't true maybe some part of her DOES believe it is true, but im prob overthinking She also said "I know he seems like a skinny, clueless weakling, but believe me, he always manages to get the job done" Wander's NOT A SKINNY CLUESLESS WEAKLING and "You have no idea what it's like to have a fool for a friend!" syl, you're awesome and I love you, but you DO often treat wander as a fool that you gotta protect at all times. You don't seem to take wan seriously or fully trust him Both Sylvia and Peepers underestimate Wander, but Hater doesn't because he himself is also an impulsive genius

To Sylvia, Wander is "magic" (as she said in "The Rider") and hope personified; he helped her become a better person, and she came to rely on his optimism

Sylvia wants to protect Wander not just because she's like his big sis/mom, but also because he represents the part of her that turned over a new leaf. Her biggest fear is losing him, because if she did, she'd feel like she lost not just her best friend, but also the one who brought hope & happiness into her life

Wander leaves a galaxy without getting close to anyone, then finds new friends to help and new adventures. This has to do with his free-spirited personality in general he doesn't know how to go deep with people based on how Sylvia is his only true friend, but he would have tried to learn how to do it if he wanted to. since everyone besides syl is an acquaintance/casual friend, i dont think he ever tried, but it's also because it would be way too painful if he did. He (superficially) loves and cares about so many things, places and people, but has no problem leaving behind any of them because he didn't allow himself to get attached. Because he's immortal (or just has a really long life span), Wander will sooner or later lose everyone and everything he might potentially get attached to, so he'd rather not try to get attached in the first place. If Wander ever allowed himself to open up emotionally, he'd be bound to lose that someone by outliving them, or they'd get tired of him eventually because he's "too much," OR he'd feel like he would eventually fail them in some way just like he couldn't do anything about losing his family

We know Wander used to be self-righteous, that he had a black and white way of thinking, that he's skilled with many different types of guns (I actually never noticed this before I came across this post) and that he has a hero complex. When we put all of this information together, I think Wander used to be a well-known hero (like Brad Starlight, but more dutiful). if brad is "good" and hater is "evil," and wander was once like brad, then that means hater is basically an evil version of wander. makes sense why wander wants to help hater so badly He was kind, charming, attention-seeking and helpful (like he is now), but had no grayness to him or empathy for bad guys.

One day, some villain(s) destroyed other Star Nomads right in front of Wander (because he didn't come to rescue them quickly enough/wasn't strong enough, that's where the helplessness comes from), he quietly asked "Why?", then decided to travel as far away from his home galaxy as possible to try and forget/fill that void by making as many friends and going to as many places as possible, because then he wouldn't have to think of that one tragedy that scarred him. That's also a deeper reason as to why Wander remembers tiny details about everyone. The more he knows about others, the less he will think about himself/his past and all the hurts he's been through throughout his life, especially the time he couldn't protect his family. Deep down, Wander will always feel like what happened to them and his home was HIS fault, so no matter how many people he helps, it will never be enough. He feels guilty that he had the luck to survive and none of the other Star Nomads did. I think this hc makes more sense than "Wander wandered off out of curiosity while he was traveling w/ his family, got lost and could never find them again no matter how long he searched" It would also explain this line:

When Child Wander says the word "home" with a smile while it's in Sylvia's arms, it implies that the main tragedy Wander experienced has to do with him losing his home (and the way this part of Wander is looking at Sylvia while saying "home" could also mean that it feels at home in Sylvia's arms so cuteeee)

After this event, Wander became traumatized and blamed himself every day for failing his family. In "The Cube," we actually (implicitly) learn that Wander not only had many rough days in the past just like the Cube, but was also angry and had a negative attitude at some point understandably

Wander must have used the open-mindedness that he started to develop after he felt helpless for the 1st time to learn how to be optimistic. Eventually, he buried all the bad feelings and memories deep inside and replaced the past with new experiences, but never truly healed every time he helps someone/cheers them up, that's wander trying to make himself feel better too

And because he failed to save the other Star Nomads, now he feels worthless every time he fails to help/save someone (there must have been a lot of other aliens Wander also failed to save throughout the years)

Even though Wander's not attached to anyone or anything, it would still hurt to look back on all that's ever happened to him during more than a thousands of years that he was alive, because among the happy memories, there are a lot of sad/tragic ones he wants to forget. That's why he told Sylvia:

Wander never looks back because it would hurt too much; he finds it easier to just keep moving forward. He doesn't just tell Sylvia "and don't look back," he adds "Never look back" even sylvia's body language when she's imitating wander gives off the vibe of him saying "nope, im too stubbron to look back, i refuse" It makes me think that if he actually did look back, he would completely shatter. Wander has been alive for over a thousand years, which is more than 10 human lifetimes just imagine how much pain he's been through And he met a lot of people he never truly got to know on a deeper level. He never got attached. Wander always leaves before he has the chance to bond with someone, nor did he ever really want to based on how inexperienced he is when it comes to friendship.

This is all really REALLY sad

Tl;dr Wander is such a fascinating character to analyze & speculate about and his relationships with others and little hints reveal a lot about him

[junebuggiezz]

Howdyyy!! I loved the red panda request, and I was hoping for a Jax x gn!reader balloon dog who's easygoing and cheerful that can turn into any balloon object or other animal? I hope you have a good day!!

Jax/Balloon Dog!Reader HCs

𖦹—This is giving Unikitty vibes. I haven't watched it, but I'm getting that feeling if that makes sense?

Gender neutral || You morph into a centipede once ||

✦ Your body being made out of latex and/or rubber means that certain movements you make are squeaky. Something like moving on specific flooring, getting covered in water, turning a body part at a fast pace. You're also immune to electricity, but this costs the other members with visible hair to suffer the consequences.

✦ Depending on your mood you can either stay on the ground or float at your comfortable height. Guarantee with 50% chance anything on the floor won't get you unless they're in a higher place to grab you!

✦ Your body is very light, so scenarios with even the slightest of wind will cause you to drift off. You explained it to Caine when you first arrived and now adventures require you to have a string attached somewhere to your body for someone to grab onto to prevent this from happening. If they can’t get to you in time, tough luck ’cause now you’re suddenly flying higher, and farther, and farther, and farther—

✦ Sharp objects are your enemy BUT IT WON’ KILL YOU, DON’T WORRY! Even if you get popped, you're able to respawn back whenever. It's based on your mindset, when you're comfortable coming back. Although it's... unknown where you are when you’re trying to “reset”. Even Caine can't explain it. I can guarantee it’s a place where you find sanction and just be alone with yourself, but it's best not to dwell how it's there and why only you can access it.

✦ Being poked at a certain point/angle can cause you pop or to slowly deflate (based on the material you spawn with) and funnily enough, cause your voice to slowly pitch up. Jax loses his mind every time he hears it and can't take you seriously until you're fixed up. You either need to respawn or put tape over the spot.

"BAHAHAHA! YOUR VOICE! YOUR VOICE—I CAN'T BREATHE!" Jax cackles as he lays on the floor, holding his stomach.

Zooble sighs. "Someone carry [Name] so we can head back..."

✦ A little rude, but sometimes he’d be the reason why you deflate/pop and he holds up the pointed object like it wasn't the thing that popped you. He does this when he feels like pushing your buttons or just as a fast pass to get you to spawn back in the Circus.

✦ You like giving compliments to the members of the circus! They each have their own reactions spamming from enthusiastic "Thank You"s to confused, but accepting. Then there's Jax.

"Tch, yeah thanks, [Name]! You probably just want something, don't you?"

"Nope! Just felt like complimenting you today, that's all."

"Right..."

✦ Give the guy some time to get used to it. He doesn't trust you much in the beginning, but he grows to use it like an ego boost.

"Heh, see? [Name] thinks my idea was impressive. I don't see them complimenting you guys, now do I?"

"I can if they'd like—"

"Shh, just stick with me here, rubberhose."

✦ Nicknames mainly comprise of "Rubberhose" and "Popper". It's simply and easy for Jax to come up with those two, and I doubt he's on the scientific side about knowing balloon production.

✦ He does vocalize at times to tell you to calm down; even though it's your personality, it sometimes seems a bit too much for him to deal with. He’s not as energetic as you, so that’s a little downside. (bwomp)

✦ He likes to see what kind of stuff you can morph into and requests get more difficult as he attempts to see if there's a limit on what you can or can't do. He sometimes likes to grab you and try to change you into something of his own, giving you that Cheshire cat grin afterwards like he accomplished something great.

“Okay okay, now morph into a…” Jax snaps his fingers. “Morph into a truck.”

You laugh. “You’re so funny, Jaxy,”

“Don’t call me that—”

“Try something a little smaller? Think of anything!”

He hums. “Anything?” His smile begins to morph and he drifts his eyes towards Ragatha sitting on the couch. He suddenly grabs hold of you. "Small, eh?"

Ragatha sat idly before Jax’s shadow loomed over her, making her hum questionably and turn to him. He had his hands behind his back and had one of his usual grins.

“Oh, hey Jax! Do you neeED—AHH!” Ragatha screams as Jax reveals his hands—you wriggled in place, your body morphed into a centipede. Ragatha jolts from the couch and runs off. “GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!”

You stop in place. “Heyy… I’m not a thing.” You squint.

“Ha!” Jax places you on his shoulder. “You are now.”

✦ Ragatha likes your cheerfulness; it's something that lifts her spirits up and she knows it's not something you're faking. You two have great talks when the both of you are next to each other and you easily make her laugh with your charm and morphing. She's the type to hold onto you when she feels like you'll drift too far from the group.

✦ Pomni questions if morphing hurts your body at all and is surprised that it doesn't. If you accidentally drift into her personal space she lightly pushes you away and makes sure you're comfortably in your own spot, but she’ll also hold onto you if needed. She also flips out every time you get popped, like, to the point she breaks her neck to check on you if she hears any noise similar to a pop.

"[Name]! [NAME]??"

"I'm right here, Pomni."

"OhthankGod."

✦ Zooble just wonders where you get this energy from. They kind of feel comfort in knowing they aren't the only one who can change their form in a way. They go to you to get an opinion on which body part they should wear for the day and you always complement the different looks they have when you see them. They let out little chuckles under their breath when they see you morph into something to cheer others up or just cause you can do whatever you want.

✦ Gangle is able to cheer up from you talking to her long enough. She sometimes requests for you to morph into things to pose for art references in her sketchbook. She’s always nervous to show you the final product, but you easily convince her to do so just by being her hype person. She likes hanging out with you and Zooble most of the time when she gets lonely.

✦ Kinger pays more attention when you morph into insects. He verbally names them through their scientific names or common names if you’re confused and question him about it. Sometimes when he freaks out he grabs onto you too tightly before quickly releasing you and letting out a loud “Sorry!”

✦ Caine and Bubble sort of try to push you into their group in a sense. Caine likes the fact that you’re willing to go on these adventures and give it your all! He sees you as a “Determined little air balloon” (His words). Bubble likes to call you their twin and the whole group finds massive discomfort in that sentiment. You do as well, and the gang sees them float behind you while you aggressively speed walk away. Even you have your limits.

“Don’t be shy to talk to your favorite sibling about anything!” Bubble says as they twirl around your figure.

You laugh and wave at Bubble as they linger away. “I’ll be sure to do so!” You keep your smile, even after you walk back towards your group. Jax crosses his arms and gives you a cheeky, pointed look.

“You wanna tell the class—”

“Absolutely not.” You make a dreaded face before smiling and clapping your hands. “Let’s change the topic—let’s talk stargazing!”

[nyxypoo]

accidental orgasm control/denial with takiishi bc he just doesn't bother once he's done, doesn't even realize how close you are before he stops, he's already moving away and cleaning himself up

[trans-soapberry]

I think the Kirby series deserves another anime, but I struggle to identify what exactly I'd want from a new adaptation. The original is what it is, y'know, I don't feel too strongly like it committed any egregious sins against the franchise. Dedede's characterization... I get the need for a Typical Villain and I don't think there were many good characters (then or now) to get for the mix of Comical and Reliable you need for a serialized show (the way Bowser, Eggman, or Team Rocket worked for their series). It's definitely sad to see him have such a wildly different character that weighs him down the way it does, but I can't think of an Easy Fix. And that doesn't even touch on the way Game Dream/Pupupuland and Anime Dream/Pupupuland differ in their setting, or the way any dub would have to find a way to Exist when people are gonna compare it to the 4Kids dub. Love it or hate it, it was Something, and any dub would have to choose if it wanted to take inspiration or go its own way (both with their own risks). And then you contend with the existence of the anime original characters.

Honestly, I'd probably say my ideal pick would be a Remake (I guess in the vein of Adventure/Nightmare in Dreamland or Return To Dreamland/Deluxe type of update?) Keep the basic characters and story roughly the same, probably tweak the setting so it's a bit more game like, and focus on something that feels similar but takes account of the general series progression and works with that (even if not everything in the game gets adapted, at least picking and choosing from what the games offer)

[monsterfactoryfanfic]

if I've learned anything from grad school it's to check your sources, and this has proven invaluable in the dozens of instances when I've had an MBA-type try to tell me something about finances or leadership. Case in point:

Firefox serves me clickbaity articles through Pocket, which is fine because I like Firefox. But sometimes an article makes me curious. I'm pretty anal about my finances, and I wondered if this article was, as I suspected, total horseshit, or could potentially benefit me and help me get my spending under control. So let's check the article in question.

It mostly seems like common sense. "...track expenses and income for at least a month before setting a budget...How much money do I have or earn? How much do I want to save?" Basic shit like that. But then I get to this section:

This sounds fucking made up to me. And thankfully, they've provided a source to their claim that "research has repeatedly shown" that writing things down changes behavior. First mistake. What research is this?

Forbes, naturally, my #1 source for absolute dogshit fart-sniffing financial schlock. Forbes is the type of website that guy from high school who constantly posts on linkedin trawls daily for little articles like this that make him feel better about refusing to pay for a decent package for his employees' healthcare (I'm from the United States, a barbaric, conflict-ridden country in the throes of civil unrest, so obsessed with violence that its warlords prioritize weapons over universal medical coverage. I digress). Forbes constantly posts shit like this, and I constantly spend my time at leadership seminars debunking poor consultants who get paid to read these claims credulously. Look at this highlighted text. Does it make sense to you that simply writing your financial goals down would result in a 10x increase in your income? Because if it does, let me make you an offer on this sick ass bridge.

Thankfully, Forbes also makes the mistake of citing their sources. Let's check to see where this hyperlink goes:

SidSavara. I've never heard of this site, but the About section tells me that Sid is "a technology leader who empowers teams to grow into their best selves. He is a life-long learner enjoys developing software, leading teams in delivering mission critical projects, playing guitar and watching football and basketball."

That doesn't mean anything. What are his LinkedIn credentials? With the caveat that anyone can lie on Linkedin, Mr. Savara appears to be a Software Engineer. Which is fine! I'm glad software engineers exist! But Sid's got nothing in his professional history which suggests he knows shit about finance. So I'm already pretty skeptical of his website, which is increasingly looking like a personal fart-huffing blog.

The article itself repeats the credulous claim made in the Forbes story earlier, but this time, provides no link for the 3% story. Mr. Savara is smarter than his colleages at Forbes, it's much wiser to just make shit up.

HOWEVER. I am not the first person to have followed this rabbit hole. Because at the very top of this article, there is a disclaimer.

Uh oh!

Sid's been called out before, and in the follow up to this article, he reveals the truth.

You can guess where this is going.

So to go back to the VERY beginning of this post, both Pocket/Good Housekeeping and Forbes failed to do even the most basic of research, taking the wild claim that writing down your budget may increase your income by 10x on good faith and the word of a(n admittedly honest about his shortcomings) software engineer.

Why did I spend 30 minutes to make a tumblr post about this? Mostly to show off how smart I am, but also to remind folks of just how flimsy any claim on the internet can be. Click those links, follow those sources, and when the sources stop linking, ask why.

[holeforzenin]

Tw - Dad’s bestfriend Nanami, dark content. Taboo elements. Age gap (21, 43), He doesn't want it but he can't help himself :3

Nanami never thought of you that way.

You were his best friend's daughter. He helped change your diapers and drove you to piano lessons when your dad was too busy. He sat through your school plays with a proud smile and clapped louder than anyone else because of how proud of you he was.

To him, you were sweet, silly, sometimes a handful—but never a woman. Never someone to want or lust over. He's a better man than that. A man with morals.

And he still didn't, at least not until tonight?

The house was quiet and lonely with your parents out of town, so Nanami offered to come over and keep an eye on you—just to make sure you didn’t accidentally burn the place down. It wasn’t anything new; he’d been the only one your parents trusted to babysit you for as long as you could remember. By now, you were used to having him around. He was practically like an uncle to you. A second dad.

You’re curled up next to him on the living room couch, laughing at some dumb comedy movie, dressed in one of those tiny matching tank top and shorts set that left way too much of your pretty thighs exposed against his. He tried not to notice how soft and delicate you felt when you leaned into him, giggling with your cheek brushing his shoulder.

It wasn't sexual. It shouldn't be sexual.

So when you climbed into his lap, giggling and flustered, and warm from one glass of wine—he didn't know what to do. He immediately stiffened under you like your touch had burnt him.

“Sweetheart—” he started in a gentle tone, brows furrowed tight as he held his hands up, hovering in the air like he couldn't dare lay them on you.

“I just missed you so much, Uncle Ken” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck as you nuzzled in close. “You’ve been so far away and busy lately”

“Y—You shouldnt be touching me like this,” he muttered. “You can't sit here, not like this”

But you didn’t move. You just shifted in his lap, slowly rolling your hips just once—almost innocent, like it didn’t mean anything, but you both knew better. That’s when he felt it—your warmth pressing down and grinding directly over his cock, right through the thin layer of your shorts and of his slacks.

His breath caught. His hands shot to your waist—not to push you off, but to stop you from doing it again.

“Don't,” he said sharply with a low hiss. “Don't do that”.

You blinked at him with that innocent look on your face—that soft, bratty smile curving your lips. “Why not?”

“Because it's not right”. His fingers harshly dug into your sides. “Because I'm supposed to be looking out for you, not—”

But then you did it again—rolling your hips even slower this time, letting him feel the full heat of your pussy through the soft stretch of your shorts. And his words caught in his throat.

His cock was getting hard.

It wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't even thinking about it. He didn't want this. He didn't want to feel how warm and soft you were, how easy it would be to slide one hand between your thighs and feel you. He didn't want to imagine how wet you might be—rubbing yourself all over him and marking him with your arousal like that— like you didn't know better.

But you did know better. And you did it again.

“Kento...” you whispered, and his whole body flinched like someone pointed a gun at him. You'd never called him that when you were on top of him before. It felt so wrong.

“Stop,” he growled, but his grip on you tightened instead of loosening. “This is—fuck—this is wrong”

You were grinding in earnest now, soft little whines in your throat as you rocked yourself against the thick length straining against his slacks. The outline is his cock denting into your clothed folds and giving your hungry cunt delicious fiction. His cock pulsed with every movement, throbbing painfully. He’s too hard and fucking weak.

His cock is throbbing so meanly beneath the fabric like it’s trying so hard to rip it open and release itself—thick and leaking and twitching with every teasing pass of your hips. “I didn't want this,” he said as if he could still convince himself. “I never wanted this”.

But he wasn’t stopping you. Fuck no—he was letting it happen, making it happen. His hands had settled on your hips in a bruising grip, holding you down firmly and guiding your movements even as he pretended to let you take the lead. His head fell back, eyes clenched shut, lips parted with a strained, choked groan.

You could feel the tremble in his fingertips, the way his breath hitched every time your clothed cunt dragged over the aching bulge again and again.

“I thought of you as my own,” he whispered like it was a confession. “I didn't even see you like this until tonight—until you...”

You moaned softly and ground down just right, and that was it.

He completely snapped.

His hand grabbed your ass hard, fingers digging in the flesh hard enough to bruise as he yanked your body further into him and grinding you against him with a rhythm that was anything but gentle. It was filthy and utterly desperate—like something inside him had snapped like he couldn’t take another second of teasing.

His hips rutted up into you with hard, mean thrusts, chasing more friction like a man starved with his cock still trapped in the confines of his slacks.

He needed it. Needed you. Needed the heat of your cunt dragging over him, the wet spot on your panties growing with every grind. The soft, broken noises spilling from your mouth.

His forehead dropped to your shoulder, panting into your neck, breath hot and rough like he hated himself for how badly he was shaking. His cock was leaking through the fabric, a thick stripe of pre-cum that smeared every time he eagerly fucked up into your clothed pussy.

“God, forgive me,” he gasped, voice breaking into a moan, “I can't—I can't stop, fuck—what are you doing to me”

But he didn't stop.

Not even when he came in his slacks with your name on his tongue.

[keeps-ache]

okay you know what actually. time is an opinion

[kaijutegu]

Alligator Body Language and You, or: How To Know When An Alligator On Social Media is Being Stressed for Views

Alligators are wild animals. Despite the idiotic claims of animal abusers like Jay Brewer, they cannot be domesticated, which means they are always going to react on the same natural instincts they've had for millions of years. Habituated, yes. Tamed, yes. Trained, definitely. Crocodilians can form bonds with people- they're social and quite intelligent. They can solve problems, use tools, and they're actually quite playful. Alligators are also really good at communicating how they're feeling, but to somebody who doesn't spend much time around them, their body language can be a bit mystifying. And it doesn't help when social media influencers are saying shit like this:

That is not what a happy gator looks like.

That's a terrified, furious gator who isn't attacking because the ogre handling her has her in a chokehold. She's doing everything she can to express her displeasure, and he's lying about it because he knows his audience doesn't even know how to think critically about what he's doing. He knows that because his audience doesn't know anything about these animals, he can get away with it. This I think is why I hate him so much- he deliberately miseducates his audience. He knows what he's doing is factually inaccurate, he just doesn't care because attention means more to him than anything else in the world.

Let's change that! Here are two really important lessons for understanding alligator body language on social media.

Lesson 1: Alligators Don't Smile (in fact, most animals don't)

So what's going on in this video? Jay Brewer is aggressively choking his white alligator Coconut while scrubbing algae off of her with a toothbrush. And make no mistake, he is digging into the creature's throat while she is visibly distressed. He claims she's happy- but she's not. He is willfully misrepresenting what this animal is feeling. That's a problem, because people... well, we actually kind of suck at reading other species' body language. The reason for this is that we tend to overlay our own responses on their physical cues, and that's a problem. For example, let's look at an animal with a really similar face to ours, the chimpanzee. Check out Ama's toothy grin!

Wait, no. That's not a happy smile. That's a threat display. When a chimpanzee "smiles," it's either terrified and doing a fear grimace, or it's showing you its teeth because it intends on using them in your face.

How about a dog? Look at my smiling, happy puppy!

Oh wait no, this is a picture of Ryder when he was super overwhelmed by noise and people during a holiday party. He'd hopped up in my sister's lap to get away from stuff that was happening on the floor and was panting quite heavily. See the tension in the corners of his mouth and his eyes? A lot of the time when a dog "smiles," the smile isn't happy. It's stress! Why Animals Do The Thing has a nice writeup about that, but the point is, our body language is not the same as other species. And for reptiles, body language is wildly different.

For instance, look at these two alligators. Pretty cute, right? Look at 'em, they're posing for a Christmas card or something! How do you think they're feeling?

Well, I'll tell you how the normal one is feeling. He's annoyed! Why is he annoyed? Because the albino just rolled up, pushed another gator off the platform, and is trying to push this guy, too. I know this because I actually saw it happen. It was pretty funny, not gonna lie. He's not gaping all the way, but he was hissing- you can actually see him getting annoyed in the sequence I took right before this shot. Look at him in this first shot here- he's just relaxing, and you can see he isn't gaping even a little bit.

By the end, he's expressing displeasure, but not enough to actually do anything about it. He's annoyed, but he's comfy and that's where one of the best basking areas is, so he'll put up with it.

Reptiles open their mouths wide for a lot of reasons, but never because they are actively enjoying a sensation. Unless they're eating. No reptile smiles- they can't. They don't even have moveable lips. If a reptile is gaping, it's doing so because:

It is doing a threat display.

It is making certain vocalizations, all of which are threats. Alligators are one of the rare reptiles that do regularly vocalize, but most of their calls aren't made with a wide open mouth.

It is about to bite something delicious or somebody stupid. Check out this video- virtually all of the gaping here is anticipatory because these trained gators know darn well that the bowl is full of delicious snacks. (I have some issues with Florida's Wildest, but the man knows how to train a gator AND he is honest about explaining what they're doing and why, and all of his animals are healthy and well-cared for, and he doesn't put the public or his staff at risk- just himself.)

It's too hot and it has opened its mouth to vent some of that heat and thermoregulate. This is the main reason why alligators will often have their mouths part of the way open, but sometimes they'll open all the way for thermoregulation. This is what a thermoregulatory gape looks like- usually it's not all the way open, kinda more like < rather than V, but you can't say that 100% of the time. Additionally, a thermoregulatory gape... typically happens when it's hot out. If they're inside, maybe they've been under their basking light for too long. Heat's the dominant factor, is what I'm getting at.

There is another reason that a captive crocodilian might be gaping, and that's because it's doing so on command. Some places have their gators trained to gape on cue, like St. Augustine Alligator Farm and other good zoos. They have the animals do this in presentations that are genuinely educational. They ask the animals to open their mouths so that they can show off their teeth and demonstrate how their tongues seal off the back of their mouth. They'll also do it as part of routine healthcare, because looking at their teeth is important.

In this case, the animals aren't gaping because they're stressed, they're gaping because they know they're gonna get a piece of chicken or fish if they do it. And what's more, they're doing it on cue. They have a specific command or signal that tells them to open wide. It's not an instinctive response to a situation. It's trained. If the animal provides the behavior after a cue, the situation is much less likely to be negatively impactful.

It's also important to remember that there's a difference between a partially open mouth and a gape! As discussed above, alligators will often have their mouths a little bit open just to maintain temperature homeostasis. It helps them stay comfy, temperature-wise. These guys are all doing thermoregulatory open-mouthed behavior- that slight open and relaxed body posture is a dead giveaway. (That and it's the hottest spot in the enclosure.)

Lesson 2: A Happy Gator Is A Chill Gator

So if alligators don't smile or have facial expressions other than the :V that typically signifies distress, how else can you tell how they're feeling? One way is stillness. See, alligators subscribe to the philosophy of if it sucks... hit da bricks.

Basically, if they hate it, they'll leave. Unless, y'know, somebody has their meaty claws digging into their throat or is otherwise restraining them. (Restraint isn't always bad, btw. Sometimes the animal is going through a medical thing or needs to be restrained for their safety- which a responsible educator will explain.)

Let's look at a very similar scenario, in which a captive alligator is getting his back scrubbed.

As you can see, it's quite different. First, he's not being restrained at all. Second, look at how relaxed he is! He's just chilling there vibing! He could simply get up and leave if he wanted to, because he's not being held. Towards the end of the video, as he lifts his head, you can see that his respiratory rate is very even as his throat flutters a bit. I'm not sure what this facility is, so I can't comment on care/general ethics, but like. In this specific case, this is an alligator enjoying being scrubbed! And you can tell because he's not doing anything. A happy gator is content to be doing what they're doing.

Why Should I Listen To You?

Now, you should ask yourself, why should you listen to me? Why should you trust me, who does not own an alligator, versus Jay Brewer, who owns several?

Well, first off, there's no profit for me in telling you that what you're seeing on social media is in fact not what you're being told you're seeing. I'm not getting paid to do this. That's the thing with people who make social media content. The big names aren't doing it just for fun. They're doing it for money. Whether that's profit through partnerships or sponsorships, or getting more people to visit their facilities, or ad revenue, you can't ignore the factor of money. And this is NOT a bad thing, because it allows educators to do what they're passionate about! People deserve to be paid for the work that they do!

But the problem starts when you chase the algorithm instead of actually educating. A "smiling" alligator gets the views, and if people don't know enough to know better, it keeps getting the views. People love unconventional animal stories and they want those animals to be happy- but the inability to even know where to start with critically evaluating these posts really hinders the ability to spread real information. Like, this post will probably get a couple hundred notes, but that video of Coconut being scrubbed had almost 400,000 likes when I took that screenshot. Think about how many eyeballs that's reached by now. What I'm saying here is that it's just... really important to think critically about who you're getting your information from. What do dissenters say in the comments? What do other professionals say? You won't find a single herpetologist that has anything good to say about Prehistoric Pets, I can tell you that right now.

Another reason you can trust me is that my sources are not "just trust me bro," or "years of experience pretending my pet shop where animals come to die is a real zoo." Instead, here are my primary sources for my information on alligator behavior:

Dragon Songs: Love and Adventure among Crocodiles, Alligators, and Other Dinosaur Relations- Vladimir Dinets

The Secret Social Lives of Reptiles- J. Sean Doody, Vladimir Dinets, Gordon M. Burghardt

Social Behavior Deficiencies in Captive American Alligators (Alligator mississippiensis)- Z Walsh, H Olson, M Clendening, A Rycyk

Social Displays of the American Alligator (Alligator mississippiensis)- Kent Vliet

Social Signals and Behaviors of Adult Alligators and Crocodiles- Leslie Garrick, Jeffery Lang

Never smile at a crocodile: Gaping behaviour in the Nile crocodile at Ndumo Game Reserve, South Africa- Cormac Price, Mohamed Ezat, Céline Hanzen, Colleen Downs (this one's Nile crocs, not American alligators, but it's really useful for modeling an understanding of gape behaviors and proximity)

Thermoregulatory Behavior of Captive American Alligators (Alligator mississippiensis)- Cheryl S. Asa, Gary D. London, Ronald R. Goellner, Norman Haskell, Glenn Roberts, Crispen Wilson

Unprovoked Mouth Gaping Behavior in Extant Crocodylia- Noah J. Carl, Heather A. Stewart, Jenny S. Paul

Thank you for reading! Here's a very happy wild alligator from Sanibel for your trouble.

[happy74827]

Say Yes to Heaven

[Logan Howlett x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Sometimes all it takes is one look. One gesture. One word. One action. To remind them that not everyone sees them the same, and It's enough to send a person over the edge.

WC: 3690

Category: Fluff, First Kiss, Logan’s POV

Another Grumpy!Logan x Sunshine!Reader because it’s my comfort trope ✨🫶

『••✎••』

He never realized how much he wanted someone to care for.

It was something he didn't know he desired. A year ago, he didn't care for a single thing. He felt nothing. He was so numb. So empty.

He was an angry man. The kind of man people kept their distance from. Wade ruined that; he aggravated him so much that Logan started actually caring about his life. And for as much as he despised his fugly ass, he was internally grateful for him. He started to open up more and more.

Wade had a part in taking him out of rock bottom, as they say, but you… you aggravated him in the most endearing way possible. You were so bright, so happy, and full of life. Logan couldn't understand how someone could be like that, and he hated you for it. He thought it was so ignorant of you.

"I mean, come on, how could she be that happy all the time? It's fucking dumb. She doesn't even know me!"

That's what he said to Wade, but his roommate only laughed. He found his frustration hilarious and made fun of him constantly.

And don’t even get started on the way you spoke. Never once have you raised your voice at anyone. You always talked softly, and even if you were pissed off, you still found a way to make your words sound gentle.

The man couldn’t wrap his mind around the way you acted, you weren’t a mutant, but you damn well could have been with that forever customer service smile you wore every day.

The level of patience and understanding you held for people was insane to him, especially the amount of patience you held with him.

He was constantly telling you to fuck off, and you took no offense; you just returned that stupidly kind smile and told him that if he needed anything, you were there for him.

You had no clue what he’s done, what he's capable of, and yet you treat him with the utmost respect. And being a mutant, respect, and kindness were two things he hadn’t received in a very long time.

It made him realize things—about himself and others. He started noticing you a little more—the way you looked and the way you acted. It started out as simple confusion and disgust… the typical reactions one would have when one sees an overly happy person.

But it evolved slowly into intrigue and curiosity.

Then something else. Something he couldn't describe.

His first instinct was to push it away. To try and convince himself, he was disgusted. He did this with everything he felt, but he couldn’t keep lying to himself.

It wasn't disgust.

He couldn't name it; he wasn't ready to, but he knew it wasn’t that.

Wade had noticed the change in him, the way he looked at you, the way he started being a little less rough with the words he chose to say. He didn’t bring it up, but the shit-eating grin he gave each time Logan walked in and saw you was more than enough proof that he had picked up on it.

Of course, it only resorted to grins because the one time he opened his mouth, Logan didn’t restrain himself. He popped his claws and had to go couch shopping the next day.

Whoops.

So, with Wade keeping his mouth shut after being chewed out by Blind Al and Logan trying his best to push away the foreign feelings, it finally reached a point where he could no longer ignore them.

He didn’t understand why, of all nights, it had to be this one, but it was.

It was 3 am, and his old nightmares had come back to haunt him. He was restless, sweaty, and couldn't take another second of sleep.

It took a rinsing of the bathroom sink and a pitiful glare at his reflection for you to return his gaze.

He froze for a second.

You were wearing a large T-shirt, with a pair of shorts underneath. Your hair was messy, but it looked so soft, and your face was clear of makeup, leaving the imperfections of your skin that made you all the more beautiful.

Always wearing a smile. Always greeting him with a soft voice, sometimes a little raspy if just waking up, butnonetheless soft.

But once he rubbed his eyes and let out a tired yawn, you weren’t there anymore.

Because you were never there, you lived across the street. You were in your apartment, sleeping, with no idea that, at that moment, the man who constantly told you to fuck off realized he couldn't stop thinking about you.

The same man who would grunt, scoff, and throw away every kind gesture now realized he secretly cherished them.

He stood there for a moment, just pondering his thoughts. His eyes were still on the spot he saw you in.

His head turned to the right, seeing the digital clock that rested on the nightstand.

3:02 am.

You were asleep…. most likely asleep. You would be unhappy if he came over and woke you up, wouldn't you?

He looked back at the sink.

You could be upset, but you could also be happy. You could give him that smile. That sweet, warm smile.

It would be worth it, right? Just for that?

3:04 am

He didn’t think about it. Not even for a second. Ironically, it started raining as if to test him, but the man was determined.

He put on a jacket to cover his bare chest, threw on some random shoes, and was out the door before his mind could stop him.

3:13 am

He knocked on your apartment door. He was completely drenched from the rain. His hair was messy, his jacket sticking to his body, and his shoes were so wet that the squelching sound they made was the only thing audible.

He heard shuffling. Soft steps coming closer. He could smell your scent. It shocked him how easy it was for him to recognize it.

You unlocked the door. Your brows furrowed in confusion.

His mental image of you being in sleepwear, messy hair, no makeup, had been confirmed. You were beautiful.

You had a tired look, one of the many looks he wasn’t used to. But it was still a good look, and it still held your signature kindness.

He had a feeling it would.

You didn't look too shocked, just tired and confused.

You spoke. "Logan, is…? Are you okay?"

Your voice was even softer than usual, the raspiness it held only making it more comforting.

You were genuinely worried about him, and it hit him then that he was being an asshole. Making you wake up in the middle of the night, and for what? Just because he wanted to see you?

Just because of that, he should’ve given you a reason. An explanation.

He should've asked. He should have done so many things differently, but he didn’t.

His head was in the clouds, and all he could think about was you.

You. That was all.

But his expression gave away that he was in a daze, and your worry only grew.

"Logan? What's wrong?"

You stepped out into the hallway and reached a hand to him.

His heart jumped a bit when you did so. It was just a gesture—one simple act of compassion.

He wasn't worthy of that, but he couldn't resist. He didn't want to.

Your fingers barely brushed against his upper arm before he moved. He grabbed your wrist.

His grip wasn't hard. His hold was gentle, as he had no intentions of hurting you. You could’ve easily pulled your arm away if you wanted to, but you didn't.

His eyes locked with yours. He wasn't sure what possessed him, but it felt so right, so he followed his instincts.

He tugged at your wrist, causing your body to fall into him. Your chest pressed against his. His arms wrapped around you, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other resting on the small of your back.

The embrace was so sudden, and he knew the situation was far from ideal, but his senses were overflowed by your presence, your scent, your softness.

His chin rested atop your head, and his eyes fluttered closed.

It wasn’t the first time he ever hugged someone, but it was the first time he hugged someone in such a way. He held onto you tightly, his grip possessive but not painful.

He was afraid to let go.

He felt your hands press against his chest. You were probably going to push him away, he thought, and he tried to prepare himself. He told himself he would let you go because it was the right thing to do, yet he didn’t need to.

You hugged him back, and he almost lost his footing.

How long had it been since he last received a hug? Since the last time, someone held him and showed him affection?

Too long.

Your hands went inside his opened jacket and held onto him. Your fingers pressed against his skin, and your soft, warm breaths caressed his neck.

He could stay like this for eternity, and he would never grow tired of it.

Your voice reached his ears.

"Logan, did something happen?"

He had been standing there for quite a while. He wasn’t aware of how long. Time seemed to freeze around you, but he didn’t mind. He wasn't one to believe in such nonsense, but when it came to you, he was ready to accept it.

Your hand rested on his arm, and he knew you were subtly prompting him to move, and so he did.

He pulled away from the hug just enough to look at you.

Your lips were turned upwards. The corners of your eyes creased.

"Logan?"

It was then that his actions registered—how utterly close the two of you were, how intimately you were holding each other. He was already warm just from genetics alone, but now he felt everything around him heat up.

"I-"

He didn't know what to say. It was like he was back in that bar, drinking away every thought. He couldn't think. There was nothing. Nothing but the feel of your body against his.

But what truly sealed the deal was when he felt your thumb gently caress his knuckles. It was a small movement, barely noticeable, but it was centered exactly on the scars his claws made.

That little movement made his brain short-circuit. His hands twitched. His grip tightened. He held onto you with his entire body as if scared to let you go.

"What happened?"

You were patient with him. The fact that he hadn’t even answered any of your concerns said enough.

But, eventually, he did find some words to respond with. It wasn’t the answer you were searching for, but it was a response.

"Why are you always being so fucking kind?"

It was such a simple question, and yet the amount of pain it carried was overwhelming. He knew you could hear every word behind it. Every word he couldn't bring himself to say.

He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t a good man. He did horrible things, and sure… he made an attempt to make up for it. To be better, but it couldn’t have been enough, could it?

You were still here, looking at him with those soft eyes.

Why couldn't you look at him the way he deserved to be looked at? Like he was a monster.

Why did you have to look at him with those goddamn beautiful eyes?

"You deserve kindness, Logan. We all do."

And then, your voice became even softer and a little shaky. Your hands went back to massaging his knuckles. His scars.

"Just because you see yourself a certain way doesn’t mean the rest of us do. I see the good in you. Always have since we first met."

You spoke so softly, yet your words were heavy with emotion.

"I know it's not easy, but try to have a little more faith in yourself."

You didn’t deserve the harsh words he always threw at you. You didn’t deserve any of his anger. You didn't deserve him.

"Why?" He repeated his question, his voice strained, and you didn't miss the way his jaw clenched. "Why should I?"

His arms loosened their hold around you; his hands moved down your sides, and his touch feathered light. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he couldn’t quite let go just yet.

You paid it no mind. Only staring back into his eyes with the same kindness he was so used to, the one he had grown to treasure.

"You have a right to feel the way you do, Logan. And I can't claim to understand what you've been through. I can't begin to imagine. But you are a good man. A little rough around the edges, maybe, but you’ve shown me time and time again that you're trying."

A smile crept its way onto your face, and a soft giggle escaped past your lips.

Now, to be fair, he was used to hearing your laughter. With your… odd sense of humor, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. But, this would be one of the firsts to add to his collection.

The one reserved for him and him only.

Your laughter wasn’t loud, or annoying, or anything like Wade's. It was soft, sweet, and oh-so pleasant.

You were looking at him. Staring up at him with such love and warmth. You didn't even realize it, but he did.

"Besides, who wouldn't be a little grouchy waking up to that handsome face every morning?"

And, now, he was repulsed by the unwelcome vision of a certain masked man making his way into his head. He was so disgusted by the thought he didn’t bother responding. He didn't want to.

So, instead, he moved.

He had a habit of moving on his own and not thinking about it. It went from his hands going to your sides, and now, his hands reaching out to press against the door behind you.

You were pinned against the door, and the way you looked at him didn’t change. Of course, it didn't. Your eyes were always kind. They always were.

You were leaning against the door. Looking at him, waiting.

And he stared back.

He was so close, and he was tempted to pull away. To take a step back and leave. It would be the best for both of you; at least, he thinks so.

He couldn't give you anything.

He had nothing.

There was only himself. His body. His mind. His past.

His claws, too, if that counted for anything.

But, besides those, there was nothing.

He wasn’t a bad man, but he wasn't good either. Not like you were. He couldn’t possibly begin to match you, not even if he tried.

Which is why he had no intention of trying.

Yet, even as he thought that, his body moved even closer. The dog tags he had never taken off since he was given them hung loosely, dangling in front of your face.

One of your hands was on his chest, the other gripping onto the material of his shirt.

"Logan."

You spoke his name so softly. Almost a whisper, and yet, the sound of it was all his senses were focused on.

Your gaze shifted between his eyes and lips, and the hand that had been holding onto his shirt moved, reaching up to his shoulder.

The touch was light, as if hesitant, and it caused him to lean even closer.

It was so close. You were so close. You had been before, but never like this. Never in the way he wanted.

He wanted you so badly.

And you were right there. Looking at him with those eyes, with a soft, tender smile, and with an expression he didn't recognize.

He knew that was an invitation. You were always an open book, and your body language was no different.

And it wasn't the first time you did so.

There were many times when you looked at him. Your eyes trailing over his face. Your gaze went downwards, lingering before you snapped out of it and looked away.

He always saw it, always knew it was there, but he just chose to ignore it. He wasn’t in the right mind, then. He was just another broken man, struggling to get by, trying his best.

Trying to find some meaning in his life.

But, even now, he was still hesitant. Even after coming all the way here and making his intentions clear, he struggled with it.

"Are you sure?"

Because you were so much better than him.

Because he could still remember the day the two of you met. How much of an asshole he was, how rude, how angry.

It wasn’t until the seventh time you approached him that he realized that he had met someone who genuinely, wholeheartedly cared.

It wasn't until the twentieth time you approached him that he finally accepted it.

He could never forget the way you smiled and spoke to him, even though he had given you no reason to.

"Hi, Logan!"

You would say.

"Good morning!"

You would wave.

"Have a nice day, Logan."

You would nod, even though the man himself chose to ignore you. Goddamn it. You were so much better than him.

Much purer. Much more innocent.

You had a heart of gold, and a soul as white as snow. You were so good, so kind, and the thought of soiling you, of ruining your light with his darkness, it scared him.

It was the sole reason he didn't give in, even now, with you offering yourself to him.

He didn't want to ruin you.

"Yes."

No hesitation. No second thoughts.

Your eyes were so kind. So full of love, and the same emotion reflected back in his own.

But, even with the clear sign of assurance, he still felt the need to create one last line of defense.

With the hand against the door, he peeled it back enough to have your eyes catch sight of the fist it made.

In a millisecond, he unleashed his claws and slammed his fist against the door, the sharp adamantium easily slicing through the wood, causing the door to crack.

And, yet, no reaction. Not a single flinch, not a wince, not even a hitch of breath.

You weren't afraid. Not at all. Even as the claws were mere inches from your face, you weren't scared.

The corners of your mouth twitched. Upwards, and it soon bloomed into a bright smile.

He retracted his claws, and gave you another once-over, just to be sure, and you responded by lifting your hand, grasping the metal chain hanging from his neck.

Your fingers grazed against the cool metal, and your smile softened before turning into a small grin.

"For a man who states he isn’t scared of anything, you sure have a lot of defense mechanisms, Logan."

Teasing. That was a new one for you.

He liked it.

"Say it again." Now, finally, you showed a different expression. Confusion mixed with curiosity. You were wondering what he meant. "My name."

"Logan."

For you, his actions were mere seconds. You had no time to process the feeling of his breath against your lips. The feeling of his stubble tickling your skin. The feeling of his warm, dry lips pressed against yours.

But, for him, it was a slow, steady motion. He took his time. He pulled you closer, his hands moving from the door and cupping the back of your head and your waist.

The kiss was soft. Gentle. Nothing rushed.

He held you like you were fragile. Like you were made of porcelain and could break at any moment. He could, theoretically, but he would rather go through Cassandra’s entire repertoire of torture than hurt you.

He lifted you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and your arms around his neck, his own pulling you closer, his fingers digging into your skin.

You tasted exactly how you were. Pure. Sweet.

Like heaven.

He was sure he was leaving that of the bitter alcohol he had downed on your lips, but you didn't seem fussy about it.

Not that he could focus on anything else, anyway.

He was too distracted by the way his tongue danced with yours.

Too focused on the taste of your mouth.

Too distracted by the way your hands made themselves a home in his wet hair. They would tug every once in a while, releasing a groan he hadn’t known was there.

He was too distracted to care.

He was too lost in your scent. Wade always called him that character from that shity vampire movie due to his nose.

He always disagreed until you happened to mention the resemblance. Then, and only then, did he see the logic.

And you saw the logic here, too—the logic of how good you melted together. Experiencing it now made him question his decision to stay away.

If it was always going to be this good, this intoxicating, he should’ve done it a long time ago.

He should've taken the chance.

It would've saved the two of you a lot of frustration, and a lot of headaches.

But it didn't matter. He was here now.

And, as his foot broke into the door, mouth still latched onto yours, with him figuring his way about your apartment, he thought:

It doesn't matter.

As long as I’m here.

As long as you’re in my arms.

It doesn't matter.

Fortunately, that meant he didn’t have to wake up to that toupee-stapled face every morning, as he had so dreadfully imagined.

Unfortunately, it also meant that the next time he saw Wade, he would have to deal with him talking his ears off about what had transpired.

But, for now, he could live with that.

He was more focused on the fact on making sure you weren’t regretting your choice.

Because he sure as fuck didn’t.

[peachylynnie]

you make him lose his cool

word count: 900-1k per lead synopsis: in which you provoke them, and they love it. (inspired by kiss of life's igloo) contains: fem!reader x lads men (separate, non!mc), established relationship, downbad men, NSFW CONTENT MDNI (i'm talking grinding, oral sex implications, etc), song lyrics, and cursing. a/n: UPDATED WITH CALEB AS OF 2/1/25 i feel hot whenever i listen to this song. i hope you do too while reading. enjoy! do not plagiarize or translate. lads men do NOT endorse plagiarism. reblogs & comments appreciated. lads masterlist | tagged: @vvintqz (ik this is technically the reader teasing xavier but u said to tag u when i write xavier so i hope u enjoy)

caleb

What you heard? (What you heard?) But it's never what you think, trust

it's impossible to surprise caleb.

he always knows what you're up to.

whether you're just waking up from a heavenly two-hour nap or going out to get your hands on the latest edition of your favorite blind box series, he's always there.

last time you tried to cook yourself a meal (ever since you started dating, he hasn't let you lift a finger), he came home early and snatched the spatula away from you, insisting that you sit down and look pretty for him while he makes his signature braised wings.

you're not sure how he does it. maybe he has a secret camera or a tracker installed (ha). though, you don't have any complaints. you think it's fucking hot how he's never away from you.

even so, you've been wanting to surprise him for a while now. blame it on your desire to fluster him as much as he flusters you. you're going to surprise him AT LEAST once in your lifetime.

which explains why you're in an apron right now, with absolutely nothing underneath.

to be honest, you were hoping to surprise him with homemade apple pie since he's always cooking for you. but again, you want to fluster him. thus the apron, a long piece of denim fabric wrapped tightly around your waist and hung dangerously low at your chest. you can't deny how delectable you appeared when you looked in the mirror, admiring your exposed arms, legs, back, and neck—anything that would drive the esteemed colonel insane. you felt jittery just thinking about the look he would have on his face when he walked in through the door of your shared home.

however, your joy is short-lived when your phone rings while you slice up some apples in the kitchen.

"what's with the apron, pipsqueak?"

you put the knife down with a sigh. "do you have a camera installed in here or what?"

caleb chuckles into the phone. "wouldn't you like to know?"

"i would like to know so i can turn the damn thing off and actually surprise you for once, dipshit," you retort playfully as you adjust your phone between your ear and shoulder, picking up the knife to continue chopping. you suppose you should still make the pie since you already got the ingredients out.

"aw," he mocks, his voice dripping with arousal. "did my little pipsqueak dress up just for me?"

"yes," you snap, rolling your eyes. "but this little pipsqueak is about to change since you ruined her surprise."

your threat does little to faze caleb, as evidenced by his endearing laughter.

"don't be upset, pips," he teases into the phone. before you can scoff at his audacity to tell you not to be upset, your ears catch the hurried footsteps in the background of the call. it doesn't take long for you to hope your boyfriend is on his way home—on his way to you. sure enough, his next words cause heat to pool between your bare legs.

"keep the apron on. i'll be home soon."

after he hangs up, you put your phone down with a giggle, eager for what's to unfold once he arrives. however, you still can't help but wonder if he actually has a camera installed because how the fuck does he always know what you're up to? you frown as you turn your head left and right. you don't see any red flashing lights in places that could provide him an optimal view. nope. nothing in the corners of the ceilings and nothing in the walls either. before you can convince yourself your boyfriend is somehow omniscient, you notice something out of the corner of your eye.

his dog tag. seems like he forgot to put it on after putting on his uniform. you pocket it, hoping to give it to him when he gets home.

but your mind is truly one of a kind. as caleb likes to put it, resourceful during the most critical moments.

because when he's balls deep inside of you, coaxing your second orgasm out of you, you get the bright idea to fish your shaky fingers into the pocket of your bunched-up apron and put. it. on.

caleb's eyes widen upon seeing his dog tag on you. there it was, the important item he forgot this morning, resting between the delicious valley of your breasts, bouncing up and down while jingling an enticing melody.

"fuck—pipsqueak, you—" he thrusts harshly, pistoning into your sopping heat. you throw your head back at the sensation, allowing him an even better view of his chain, mingling with the beads of sweat on your collarbone. shit, he's so turned on right now. not only were your swollen, sweet lips adorning his name, but so was your pretty little neck. it filled the young colonel with pride. and enough vigor to bring you to your third release, as evidenced by the endless slamming of his hips and the clenching of your thighs.

"good girl," he helps you through your high before letting go of your waist, hoping to give you a break. "i'll go get a towel. stay here."

but when your pilot of a lover goes to leave, you wrap your legs around him and pull him to you, causing him to collide with you. caleb hisses at the contact, sensitive more than ever.

"don't push it, pipsqueak," he warns as he plants both of his arms on the kitchen counter, caging you in. "you need to rest."

"i don't think so, colonel," you prop yourself on your elbows, meeting his eyes boldly. "i don't think so at all."

caleb swears he feels his mechanical arm short-circuit because what you do next is just fucking tantalizing.

you pinch his dog tag and bring it to your mouth.

his breathing quickens substantially when your teeth take the shiny piece of metal as their prisoner. it's not long before his dog tag is trapped between your seductive canines and your thighs are tightened around his waist.

with a shameless smile, you jut your chin towards the man, signaling to him to make his move.

caleb growls, seizing the chain with both hands and bringing you to his face.

"i warned you, pips."

extra (in honor of his official installment)

as you munch on some apple pie in caleb's embrace on the couch, you can't help but ask.

"how did you know about the apron but not the dog tag?"

your boyfriend sniffs before answering, a little bit of pie still in his mouth.

"i couldn't check the cameras on the way home."

"oh that makes sense."

"…"

"wait, what?!"

sylus

Glass room, perfume, Kodak on that lilac (alright) Slipping on my short dress, know he like that (like that)

there's nothing like getting ready in sylus' bathroom. not because of the sheer size of it (it takes at least a day to explore his residence), but because of how good you look in the mirror right now. you can't help but smile as you step back to get a full look at yourself.

sylus went all out for tonight's auction.

he gifted you a tight-fitting ebony dress, its gorgeous silk straps accentuating your shoulders perfectly. he also gifted you a pair of evening gloves, its velvet fabric wrapping around your arms flawlessly. of course, the dress came with priceless jewels and heels. as you twirl in front of the mirror, the scarlet gems on your ears glimmer, and the cherry kitten heels on your feet click. oh, you look so good, you can kill.

but what seals the deal is the neck accessory he got you.

an intricate, black choker made out of lace. fucking lace. a scoff leaves your mouth when you notice the ruby medallion hanging at the center. his taste is as clear as day.

as you reach behind your neck to clip the choker, the man of the hour walks in. you meet his eyes through the mirror, your hands still at the back of your neck. "sylus."

"miss," he acknowledges in return, an unmistakable smirk appearing on his lips. his eyes trail down your figure. "you look stunning."

"thanks," you giggle as you hook the choker clasp. "you don't look bad yourself."

and you're absolutely right. although he has his usual dress shirt on, his outerwear is completely new. a gorgeous red blazer, adorned with inky brush strokes, sits proudly on his shoulders. moreover, his accessories are new (he's never worn any before). cuffed around his right hand is a sleek platinum watch, spotlighting his forearm deliciously. hanging from his left ear are silver chains, shining unashamedly. you can't help but bite your lips as you admire your lover in the mirror.

yeah, sylus went all out tonight.

catching the hazy look in your glittered eyes, he tilts his head before grinning, "like what you see, sweetie?"

you roll your eyes playfully before returning to the sink. "yes, actually. didn't know you were capable of wearing something other than black."

sylus chuckles as he leans against the wall, arms crossed. "i've worn colors other than black before."

"if you're talking about the two outfits that have the belt around the sleeve," you list nonchalantly as you pick up your lip gloss. "they don't count. they have black on them."

"i'm talking about the red cardigan, sweetie," he counters smoothly, eyeing the lip gloss in your hand.

"ah." you run the wand over your parted lips, enjoying the feeling of gloss on them. "touche," you say, bending over the sink to see if you missed a spot. you do, however, miss the way sylus' fingers tighten around his arms when your dress hikes up. smacking your lips together, you lift the wand to reapply. "but you barely even wear that. so that doesn't count either."

sylus hums, barely paying attention to what you just said. his eyes are transfixed on the wand. he's mesmerized by how it travels across your lips, slathering them with sticky, shimmery syrup, leaving him thirsty for a taste. not to mention the sounds leaving your lips whenever you press them together. sweet, squelching sounds that have him pressing against you in mere seconds, his hands gripping the edge of the sink.

at first, you were taken aback by his sudden proximity. but after feeling something prod at your back, you smile amusingly before placing the wand down. "i'm assuming," you swiftly turn around and wrap your arms around his neck, his eyes widening as you pull him closer. "there's been a change of plans." you slowly lick your lips, collecting some excess gloss. as it drips from the tip of your tongue, you ask with a tilt of your head, "how late are we going to be?"

that's it.

sylus crashes into you, his tongue desperately trying to lap up the excess gloss. his hands haphazardly roam all over your body before lifting you onto the sink, pinning you down as his lips smear your lip gloss everywhere. you moan, trying to match his fervor. the sinful mixing of breaths, saliva, and gloss floods your mind, causing you to wrap your legs around him and bring him closer to you. he welcomes the action, gasping and grinding into you.

by the time he pulls away for air, both of you are left panting like dogs, mouths and chins smothered in sheen.

your eyes never leave sylus' as you wipe your chin, a string of gloss and saliva hanging prettily from your gloved palm. with a groan, he dives into your neck and sinks his teeth into your collarbone. you throw your head back at the pain, whimpering when he soothes the spot with his tongue.

but when sylus traces a finger up your back, you freeze immediately.

why?

oh, because he's unzipping your dress.

"sorry, sweetie," he chuckles into your perfumed skin, savoring your surprised reaction when he drags the zipper all the way down. "we won't be late."

you look at him in confusion, barely processing the silk straps falling off your shoulders.

he leans in and whispers into your ear.

"we won't be going at all."

xavier

Heart attack, IV when I walk the street Vitamins that D, I'm good, I'm healthy

your starlight of a boyfriend collapses onto the bed, his legs hanging off the edge and his pants dangling pathetically from his ankles.

you giggle at the sight, wiping your lips clean of his release. as you rub a drop between your index finger and thumb, you notice the texture's a bit thick, almost like jelly.

"xavier," you call lovingly, rising from your knees and crawling on top of him. he barely responds; his eyes are screwed shut with beads of sweat trailing down his face, neck, chest, legs, everywhere. shit, what did you do to him? he can't get his chest to stop heaving, his mouth to stop watering, and his ears to stop ringing. he can't do anything. not with the way you looked so pretty on top of him, especially after making him release so intensely in your mouth.

"xavier," you repeat as you cradle his face, making his dazed eyes meet yours. "when was the last time you drank water?"

"water?" he pants. "i'm not sure. why do you ask?"

"well," you show him your fingers. he gulps, flushing a deeper shade of red. "this tells me you haven't been drinking enough water."

you get up to retrieve some water from the kitchen. xavier whines at the loss of contact. although he tries to stop you from leaving, you easily slip out of his weak embrace (he literally got his life sucked out of him; cut him some slack). after you reassure him with a kiss on his forehead, you open the door. "i'll be back soon."

he responds with a whimper before closing his eyes. before he knows it, he falls asleep.

not even five minutes have passed when you return to the room, a glass of water in your hand and a packet of vitamins in the other.

"xavier?" after placing the items down on the nightstand, you sit on the bed to admire the view. there he is, sleeping soundly with his shirt unbuttoned and pants unbuckled, his chest slowly rising up and down and his cute nose scrunching every so often. you almost feel bad when you wake him up. almost. as much as you like watching your boyfriend sleep, he needs his water and vitamins, considering how much energy he uses to fight wanderers.

"wake up, xavier," you coo. "you need your vitamins."

he stirs, peeking one eye open to look at you. cute, you think. "i'm too tired, angel." he whines before closing his eye again. "i'll have some later."

"come on," you chuckle. "at least drink some water. you're dehydrated."

hoping to keep him awake, you litter his face with kisses, repeatedly pecking his adorable features. his droopy eyelids, his button nose, his fluffy cheeks, his moist forehead, his small chin—not a single spot is missed.

his little laughs repay your efforts. before you can continue your bombardment of kisses, his arms wrap around your shoulders, successfully pinning you down to him. you're surprised by how quickly he replenished his strength.

"you're trapped," he points out cheekily. "now we can both sleep."

"xavier," it's your turn to whine. "you need to drink some water. besides," you try to get up but fail miserably due to his tight embrace. "you need to scoot up, and i need to lay down properly if we both want to sleep." still no signs of letting you go.

you sigh before poking at your boyfriend's waist, causing him to yelp.

he immediately lets go of you, rubbing the spot you just touched. taking the chance to escape, you stand up and reach for the glass and vitamins.

"meanie," he pouts. "i thought we agreed to not tickle each other for today."

"that's because you try to tickle me all the time," you retort playfully, opening the packet of vitamins. "besides, i only tickle you as a last resort. unlike you, i'm nice." you pop the vitamin in your mouth and bring the glass to your lips.

"as if." he yanks up his pants and crosses his arms. "last time i checked, being nice means letting your boyfriend sleep peacefully," he quips as he turns away from you, hoping his grumpy little act will coax more kisses from you.

instead, a hand comes into his view and grasps the sheets. furrowing his brows, he shifts back to ask what's wrong but is startled to find your face hovering above his. 

"angel, what—"

you press your lips into his, your free hand gripping his chin. on instinct, xavier opens his mouth, expecting your tongue to greet his. however, his eyes widen when he feels something pour in. oh. he greedily swallows the water and vitamin, his fingers weaving into your hair.

you pull away abruptly, a drop of water trickling down the corner of your lips. before he can say anything, you grab the glass of water and drink from it again, your hooded eyes never leaving his. xavier groans at the sight, his chest heaving for the third time today. and it's barely afternoon. oh, you're going to be the death of him.

he's sure of it when you return to his lips, water flowing into his mouth so sensually as his tongue reaches out for more. this time, you rest your entire body on top of him, allowing him to grab at your hips and thrust upward, desperately rubbing against your clothed core and seeking any type of friction that could relieve him of this growing desire you satiated with your mouth less than ten minutes ago. he never wants to drink water alone ever again.

“a-angel,” he moans when you pull away again. “why?” 

“you need more water, xavier.” you tease with a lick of your lips. “gotta make sure my boyfriend is hydrated, ya know?”

with that, you go to stand up and reach for the glass. however, the room spins as xavier pins you down, your positions switched and your wrists restrained above your head. your eyes widen, realizing you might've pushed your boyfriend too far. 

"angel," dark, cerulean eyes burn into you before glancing at the glass. “that's not enough water.”

rafayel

Yeah, white tippy-toe summer, I make him go dumb, duh He doubled down on that text, says that I'm the only one

(heads up, reader doesn't have to be mc but they know about rafayel's identity as the sea god and he calls you his beloved bride)

rafayel isn't sure how he got here.

you, on top of his bare chest, nibbling at his neck and dragging a finger down his clenched abdomen.

"c-cutie," he stammers. "someone might see."

he's not wrong. you're at the beach after all. but it's a private beach, one the artist rented for a date. so really, what's the harm in pinning your boyfriend down in the sand and showing him how much you appreciate him?

"you're the one who said this place was private, raf." you giggle before sinking your teeth into him, eliciting a moan. "besides, we both know why you suggested a date at the beach. don't tell me you forgot." you trail your finger along the waistband of his swim trunks. he jolts, his half-lidded eyes meeting your misty ones.

of course, he didn't forget. but considering the current, scandalous situation he's in right now, his memory is a bit hazy. as you twirl the drawstring with your index finger, rafayel bites his lip and tries to remember how exactly he got here.

last thing he remembers is you excitedly texting him about your package coming in.

a package, pft. no big deal, right?

wrong.

he almost dropped his phone when you sent him a picture of the package, more specifically, you wearing its contents.

a gorgeous two-piece swimsuit in the color of his hair. fuck, lavender has never looked so good on you. the way the tight, skimpy fabric hugged all the right places, making you seem so so malleable. the way you posed in front of the mirror, your face bridling with innocent excitement but your body positioned so so temptingly. shit, he hopes this exhibition ends soon because his slacks feel suffocating all of a sudden.

it wasn't long before he spammed you with a hurricane of texts consisting of flattering emojis and praises about how you're the only one he'll ever love (dramatic but heartwarming) and how he would love to take you on a date at the beach as soon as this stupid exhibition is over so you can swim in your new set to your heart's content (totally not because he wants to see the real thing).

yeah, now he remembers. he got himself into this situation. you even tried to stop him.

"uh," he recalls you hesitating through the call. "aren't you tired from your exhibit?"

"nope," he immediately answers, causing you to raise a brow. "not at all, cutie. i'm in tip-top shape. what better place for us to test your swimsuit than the beach?"

"us?" you repeat amusingly. "since when was testing a swimsuit a two-person thing?"

shit, he got caught.

"raf," you giggle at his silence. "if you want to see me wear this in person, you can always just ask, you know?"

"w-what?! no!" he acts as if you insulted his artwork. "i just thought it'd be a good opportunity for us to go on a date and to test the quality of your swimsuit! what if one day you go into the water and it gets untied or something? what if i'm not there to protect you from prying eyes? you can never be careful enough with swimsuits, especially shipped ones!"

"uh-huh," you drawl skeptically. "i'm sure a triple-knotted bikini will SOMEHOW get untied by the waves."

"come on, cutie," rafayel whines. "i know a perfect, private place! i'll even bring the food, the blankets, everything! please?" (he purposely emphasized "private" because no way in the seven seas is he going to let anyone look at you in a bikini)

you sigh before observing yourself in the mirror once more. the bikini DID look good, and you DID buy it for future swimming dates with rafayel. might as well, right? besides, you can't say no to him, especially when he begs so cutely like that.

"fine, raf," he remembers you giving in with an endearing sigh. "send me the address of the beach once you're done. i'll stop by your place to pack your swimming trunks."

and here you are, resting on top of him and drawing figure eights with your fingertips IN his swimming trunks.

he would laugh at the irony if it weren't for your provocative actions. you were the one who brought him his swimming trunks, and now, you were the one making him wish you didn't bring them so he could see how pretty your fingers looked right next to his—

yeah, he definitely got himself into this situation. he has no one to blame but himself for his predicament. it's his fault he's currently twitching and throbbing underneath you as you breathe into his neck and tease doodles into his thighs.

"oh fuck, cutie—" rafayel jerks his head back when you suck on his adam's apple. your mouth felt so good. you felt so good. 

after pulling back with a 'pop,' you trace the red mark with your free hand, admiring your artwork on your artist of a lover. unfortunately for him (fortunately, really), this causes him to squirm uncontrollably. the simultaneous stimulation from your right hand on his thigh and your left hand on his neck was just too much for the lemurian. he swears he's this close to bursting all over the sand like a messy, wet bubble. 

suddenly, you stop, withdrawing both of your hands from his body. 

"c-cutie?" he lifts his neck to look at you but finds himself confused as to why you're sitting up. though, his confusion is quelled when you reach behind your neck. 

oh. 

your hands come into view, each one tugging on the strings of your top.

oh fuck. 

he doesn't even see your top fall. no. he's completely frozen (and hard) when you lay back down on him, smushing your now-exposed chest into his abdomen, allowing him a view that brings roses to his cheeks. (he can feel your nipples rubbing against him).

"oh, god of the tides," you purr with a smirk as you press your ear into his chest, relishing in his rapid heartbeats. "you promised you would test this swimsuit with me." before he can deny your reminder of his mistake from the earlier call, you grab his hand and bring it to rest against your swimsuit bottoms, causing his breath to hitch. "won't you make good on your promise?" 

rafayel swallows shakily before nodding. 

"anything for my beloved bride." 

zayne

Mm, yeah, I make him lose his cool Yeah, I make him go mmmmmm ah! ah!

doctor zayne, the epitome of calm and control, reduced to this.

a red-faced mess, losing his cool in a rocking chair, thanks to his lover shaving his chin on his lap.

his lover, who just so happens to be wearing a nightgown, a silk, sapphire nightgown with lace ruffles and ribbons that drove the man insane.

to make matters worse (better), your bare thighs were on either side of his hips, caressing and stroking him whenever you would move to shave his chin.

don't even get him started on the fact that you're sitting right on top of his crotch. he prays to any merciful soul out there that you don't feel him growing down there-

he inhales sharply when you reach behind him for a towel, your chest mere millimeters from his face.

"you okay, zayne?" you ask with faux concern.

"yes," he clenches his jaw. it's taking him everything to not dive in and lick, suck, bite—anything to relieve him of this torment. "please hurry."

"hurry?" you pout with a tilt of your head. "but why?" you lift his chin to wipe some excess shaving cream. "do you not want me to shave you?"

"no, darling. it's just—" his hands fly to your waist for stability when you place the towel back in its place. shit, every time you lift yourself onto your knees to reach behind him, the chair moves more and more, resulting in a pattern where when he leans back, you press into him, and when you lean back, he presses into you. it's not helping that this pattern deliciously resembles a certain rhythm in bed.

"it's just?" you repeat to him, stroking his jaw to inspect for stray hairs.

he doesn't say anything. how can he? he can't just spill about how badly he wants to kiss your sweet lips, squeeze at your delectable chest, rip your enticing nightgown apart, and take everything you have to offer. no, he can't. not when you approached him so innocently with a cute smile on your face after he came home, asking if you could shave him. (he almost fell to his knees when he saw what you were wearing). not when you look so beautiful gazing at him from above, handling his skin with addictive yet gentle touches, and glowing underneath the moonlight from the open windows. shaking his head, he grips your waist with renewed resolve.

"it's nothing," he closes his eyes. "please continue." he would rather drink alcohol than misinterpret your innocent intentions.

except there was nothing innocent about your intentions at all. you admit, it's fun to tease zayne like this. the way his lips would chase after your fingers whenever you traced them, the way his eyes would falter whenever you leaned in, the way his breath would hitch whenever you moved your hips, oh it all made you feel wanted. and who could want more than a gorgeous, capable doctor who looks at you as if he's going to die if he can't have you?

you. you want more. you WANT him to have you, take you, right here on this rocking chair. you thought teasing him with a few shifts of your hips and some purposeful closings of distances between his face and yours would relay the message. but no. he's either completely oblivious or has the will of a steel that's been fortified ten times over. because even though he's made it incredibly clear that he wants what you want (his blushing cheeks and shortage of breaths are hard to miss), all he's done is sit there and take your teasing.

you frown, retracting your hand. what's it going to take for doctor zayne, the epitome of calm and control, to give in?

a lightbulb flashes in your head.

"hang on, i missed a spot," you lie, lifting yourself up once more to reach for the shaving cream next to you. "i'll make this quick."

and with that, you slam your hips down.

he groans out loud, eyebrows furrowing and fingers tightening around your hips. he still hasn't opened his eyes though.

"are you sure you're okay, zayne?" you ask innocently, twisting left and right. "i'm worried about you."

"w-why," he starts hoarsely, his fingers gripping for dear life, trying to stop you from moving so damn much. "why would you be worried?"

"oh, i don't know," you smear shaving cream all over his jaw before trailing your fingers down to his neck. "you just seem so…" you slowly trace a heart on his collarbone, eliciting a pretty gasp from him. "out of it."

zayne's eyes jerk open, glaring at you with unprecedented focus. you smile cheekily before pressing yourself deeper into him, eager to bear witness to what he'll do and say since he finally opened his eyes.

though, your smile doesn't last long. in an instant, his hands pin yours behind your back, causing your back to arch and your lips to part.

"i'm starting to think," he secures your wrists in his right hand and brings his left to his face, wiping away the mess you made. "you're doing this on purpose."

you grin. finally. he finally got the message. unable to hide your excitement, you lean in next to his ear and whisper, "what are you going to do about it, doc-tor?"

he inhales sharply, yanking your wrists.

"perhaps," he growls. "it's time you get a taste of your own medicine. prescribed by yours truly."

[nochepsicodelica]

Suggestive

"Why do I have to sit out here while you try things on? I've seen you naked a fuck ton of times, but I can't be in the bathroom with you while-"

The door opens, revealing you in a new, red lingerie set that had just gotten delivered. "This one?" You ask, hands on your hips as you do a slow little three-sixty for Toji.

"Oh," he utters, a low chuckle following. He can't contain the smirk on his face as he eyes you up and down, taking in the entirety of the gorgeous sight you offer. "Come here, pretty mama," he says, beckoning for you to come closer to where he is on the bed. "Let me touch. See if you're comfortable in this."

You laugh and make your way over to him. "You're gonna tell me if i'm comfortable?"

"If it's rough on my hands, then I know it doesn't feel too good on your soft skin. Now, come here." His hands reach out, pulling you by your hips to stand between his legs. He hums, satisfied, as one hand rests on your ass, squeezing, while the other occupies itself with the front of your lacy underwear, just feeling up the material. "This is pretty soft. I could tear it off easily, too," he says, teasing you by tugging on the garment.

"Aaand that's enough from you." You pull his hands off of you and head back to the bathroom. You almost laugh at the way you can feel him watching you as you walk away.

You change out of that set and into the next nightly article— a silk, black slip dress. The door opens and this time you do giggle when Toji's attention is already on you.

"How's this?" You do another little spin to display your outfit change and nudge at one of the thin shoulder straps, teasing Toji by pushing it the slightest bit down. You see his hands reach out for you, signaling for you to come and let him grope you, again. "Mm-mm," you hum. "You know silk is soft."

"But I need to check your panties," he argues. Anything to have you in his hands, again. "What if the texture is too harsh on you?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. I wouldn't be wearing panties under this. Not wearing any now..." you say, a sultry hint in your tone, as you lift the hem of the short dress the slightest bit. Toji's eyes are devouring the slow reveal of your pretty skin, following the end of the smooth dress as it goes higher and higher. He's only able to blink with disillusion, when you let the material slide back down before he gets to see what you were teasing. "...and I won't be wearing any for its official debut."

"Fuck... you look so good, ma. Wanna touch you."

"Nope. There's one more." You pull the strap of your slip up and smirk, as if taunting him for not getting to touch you. He sighs when you turn around and scurry off to the bathroom again. The crotch area of his sweats is getting uncomfortably tighter and you walking away just makes him miserable.

The last getup took a little longer to put on than the other two, due to the sheer stockings and the garter belt, but it was all worth it in the end, because even you couldn't deny how good you looked.

You open the bathroom door and peek your head out to see if Toji's waiting, though his impatience doesn't leave you wondering for long.

"Don't tell me you're shy," he teases, in hopes of baiting you into revealing yourself quicker. "What, are you completely naked?"

You take a step out, instantly feeling a rush of nerves when you're in Toji's view.

"Oh, shut the fuck up..." He mutters to himself, absorbing the hellish sight of the little number you changed into.

You take a few more steps away from the bathroom, feeling your cheeks grow warm as Toji gawks at you, unable to pick his jaw up from the floor. You decide to tease him by pointing at yourself, then at the bathroom, insinuating whether you should go back in and change.

"No, no. Bring your fine ass over here." Even his posture straightens during his attempt to bring you closer. If you had gone back inside, he would've started sweating.

"Yeah, come here, sweetheart," Toji purrs, once you're in arms reach. "Do that little spin for me." You comply and spin slowly like you did the last few times, giving him a view of everything. "Fuck, you want me to die, huh?" He murmurs, smirking at the sound of the giggles he lures out of you. He pulls you in close, his hands resting on the backs of your thighs, his face pressed into your tummy. You tangle your hands in his hair, smiling down at him as he kisses your soft, warm skin, over and over. When he looks up at you with those precious green eyes, he has the most endearing, lovestruck look on his face.

"Gonna eat you out 'til you fucking cry."

"Yeah?" You ask, cupping his cheeks as he stares on. You click your tongue and laugh bashfully when he hums affirmatively.

"Let's test run this one today, hm?" Toji suggests, pressing more kisses onto your stomach, trailing them lower until his lips meet the waistband of your garter belt.

"Now?"

"Right now. Unless you have somewhere else to be," he says, fiddling with the thin, satin strap that rests on your thigh.

"You know I don't," you say, coursing your fingers through his hair.

"So, you're gonna let me at you, then?" He asks, standing up from the bed, towering over you in a single second.

"I'm all yours," you respond. That devilish little grin on your face was the final shove needed for Toji to push you onto the bed and pounce on you. "Ah-ah-- If you rip this off, you're banned from all of this..." you drag your fingertips over your lips, the gesture transitioning to your hand gliding down your neck, your chest, your abdomen, finishing off by splaying over your panties, "...for a week."

"You wouldn't," Toji says, challenging your threat, but when you simply hum and shrug in response, as if to say 'try me', he ends up doing as you say, and carefully stripping you.

[suksatoru]

sae itoshi in calvin klein boxers should be illegal.

normally, your boyfriend doesn't do photoshoots. he found the whole concept of posing in front of a camera for hours exhausting and pointless for his soccer career—why should he sit and do inherently nothing when he could be perfecting his soccer skills? working out? analyzing matches? anything else?

but, when his sweet girlfriend's photography internship happens to be at the same place his manager had received an offer for an exclusive shoot, sae decides he'll agree to be a model for them just this once, but only if you were one of the people taking his pictures.

after turning down some of the world's most luxurious brands simply out of spite, calvin klein was quick to agree to sae's terms and conditions without a second thought. maybe you were an old friend he was doing a favor for—no one really suspected you two were dating, but that was only because you two had decided to keep your relationship under wraps.

you're fiddling with your camera's settings as one of the other photographers describes what the photoshoot would mainly entail to sae—the man's pen taps against his clipboard as he tells sae what pieces he'd be promoting and what poses he should expect, and sae nods along wordlessly as everyone around you buzzes with excitement. it was rare for sae to accept brand deals, forget the ones that weren't even sports-related—so the photographers you'd be working with were exceptionally surprised, and it seemed like the whole room was buzzing with excitement.

sae was undeniably handsome. it didn't help that he was stupidly photogenic, too, meaning every pose he did was effortlessly irresistible—but, in turn, it meant every picture you got was perfection incarnate. subtly, from time to time, he'd shift his pose to be better directed towards your camera specifically, and you took every shot with a smile on your face.

after the summer line was done, it was time for calvin klein's classic boxers to be worn.

sae looked, in simple terms, drop-dead gorgeous. every contour of his body and muscles was highlighted and even further pronounced by the studio's lighting—and your boyfriend can practically feel the giddiness radiating off of you as you take a number of candid shots while everyone around you bustles to adjust the lights and camera positions around the room before they start shooting again.

"you know, my contract for this photoshoot didn't say anything about candid shots," sae muses, stopping in front of you with one hand perched on his hip and a raised brow, but the only response he gets from you is a cheeky grin.

click.

"mr. itoshi—i think they're ready for you now," you say sweetly, and sae looks over his shoulder before noticing the head photographer waving him over. he huffs, shaking his head and turning around to give you a look that says, 'i'll deal with you later.' it was a playful glance, one reserved only for you, and even as he's walking away—you take a picture of his back because holy shit, this studio's lighting made your boyfriend's build look like that of a greek god.

after a snack break and another forty-five minutes, the photoshoot concluded with twelve decided pictures of sae that would be released to the public for their campaign. a good portion of them were taken by you, and you were happy for the recognition and appreciation.

"that's a wrap! everyone say thank you to mr. itoshi for accepting our studio's offer!"

after a chorus of thank you's for your boyfriend and a few more words spoken with the director, he's ready to head home. sae had changed back into his own clothes by now, and while the people around you are getting ready to head out, sae approaches you while you finish up packing away your camera.

"good day?" he questions with a hum, and you peer up immediately at the sound of his voice. for a moment you don't respond, glancing around you to make sure no one was looking before you reach up and place a gentle peck onto his lips.

"the best! this photoshoot's my biggest project yet. thank you for coming, sae. really." you smile warmly, slinging your camera bag over your shoulder as his eyes soften.

"come on, we're going home together."

you're out of the building in no time and back in sae's car before you know it. currently, you're curled up in the passenger seat beside him, flicking through all the shots you'd taken of him today.

"you're so handsome..." you murmur mindlessly, squinting your eyes as you connect your camera to your portable printer, patiently allowing it to print out the images for you as sae huffs.

"i'm well aware; you tell me every chance you get." he sighs, and you laugh under your breath, not really responding besides that as you continue looking through the images.

you were really happy when sae accepted the photoshoot offer—actually, you'd tackled him with quite the hug after you found out. he liked this side of you, the one that was so unconditionally happy just doing your thing. photography was a constant in your life—sae knows this. your instagram, private with no followers besides his own personal account, is a treasure. every memory and every moment in time is photographed by you. your posts made even the most mundane things look ethereal.

most of your pictures consisted of either sae, the sea, or some sort of moment from one of his games. you were sae's biggest supporter, and looking over at you in the passenger seat beside him—he can't help but stare. you look so cute smiling at his pictures like that, and the gentle breeze that comes from the open window of his car has your hair flowing around you like waves.

"y/n," he starts, and you hum in response.

sae doesn't say anything else. he merely pulls over his car onto the side of the road, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out as you tilt your head in confusion. he walks around to your side of the car and opens the door for you.

"see that sunset?" he questions unceremoniously while pointing towards the beach across the road—you nod slowly, still terribly puzzled.

"teach me how to take a picture. i want to take one of you this time."

sae watches the gears turn in your head, and he knows he made the right decision asking you once your entire face lights up with the most beautiful smile he's ever seen.

"really?! you mean it? oh my gosh, this really is the best day ever! let's go, let's go! the sun's in the perfect position right now for taking a shot!"

sae listens intently to your instructions as you two lounge on the sand. you're explaining the main functions he'll need to use in order to take a picture, and he nods along, hoping he remembers all your words once it's time to take your picture.

"how about we practice first? here, try and take a shot of the sea right now, and let's see how you do!"

sae nods with a quiet hum, carefully taking the camera from you.

hold the camera steady, aim at the subject, make sure it's in focus, and then press the shutter button.

he stays completely still as he holds the camera, and your heart positively swoons watching sae. he looks adorable with his lips pressed together in concentration as he tries to take the perfect picture. you hear the familiar click of your camera and immediately scoot over beside him to look at it.

"oh wow, this is perfect! hey, are you trying to steal my job or something?!" you accuse, and to your surprise, sae laughs.

he's only ever known soccer—sae can't get the words out, but he hopes you can understand how much he appreciates you for being the one to show him new things in life he never had the chance to explore before.

"maybe i am. what then? now, you sit back, cariño. it's my turn."

sae has you splayed out on the sand, and he'd gathered a few seashells to arrange around your head like a halo. you're laughter is infectious, and he finds himself dipping down to give you a kiss every chance he gets.

soon enough, sae's hovering over you—focused and snapping picture after picture, moment after moment, and he can't remember a time in his life where he's ever felt this happy and soft. you smile for him, and despite having taken at least a dozen shots already, he wants to take more.

he'll print these photos of you, no doubt. he'll put them in his wallet, he'll make them his phone's wallpaper, he'll engrave them into his mind if he must—this moment was just that special to him.

well, maybe it wasn't the moment. it was more so your smile and the look in your eyes when you looked at sae.

"beautiful. you're beautiful. i love you so much, cariño.

[blueivyy99]

Calm and Serenity (Part 3)

Sylus x Non!MC

summary: you didn't know what sylus saw in you. he said you were calm, quiet and serene and that's what he needs. you believed it. he showed it. not until little miss hunter came. she's everything you're not. news that she's in danger can make the ever so calm sylus to run and leave everything behind. it made you think, would he do that for you as well?

tags: angst, romance, hurt and comfort, confused sylus, non-mc reader (this is it for now)

taglist: @fcknblsht @aboobie @nin10doo @ixloom819 @damatically @sylusgirlie7 @stellisangelicus-world @kira-loves0905 @wanderlustingcastaway @browneyedgirl22 @lumieresdreams

notes: thank you for the love in the last chapter 😭😭😭 I WAS SO OVERWHELMED OMG though I can't reply one by one, i read them all and thoroughly enjoyed and basked in them ❤️ hope you enjoy this.

Series Masterlist

Sweet Evil Trap

Pepper walnut tart, rosemary gelato, pomegranate jelly, red wine marshmallow, and 10.5 grams of soul.

Description:

I'm waiting for you

You're pathetic.

That's what you tell yourself as your hands tremble at Elysium's menu. The one that is always unavailable whenever you go there and rumors say that it was never available at all.

Now you understand why.

After reading everything in Sylus's journal, you started investigating the things that don't make sense to you. You already know that they spent past lives together and their souls are tied with each other. Everything makes sense except this one.

There was no context about Sweet Evil Trap in his notebook but your memory took you back to countless night outs here in Elysium to recall the name of this dessert.

10.5 grams of soul.

You chuckled bitterly. Half of his soul is hers. Always for her. In every goddamn lifetime.

Where were you in this narrative? What piece of him do you have? Certainly not his heart if there are still traces of Miss Hunter in every corner of N109 Zone.

I'm waiting for you.

Yeah right. He's been waiting for years, lifetime even. So what were you doing here? What's your role in this?

A past time?

Someone to warm his bed?

Did he truly love you in the span of your relationship? You tried to keep your tears at bay, but they fell one after the other.

You and Miss Hunter are entirely different. She's fun, bright, and full of sunshine. She can even hold herself in a fight.

You?

You're just you. A jack of all trades. Can do everything but not the best at anything. You can fight, but surely after two or three wanderers you're gone. You're funny at best, but even that you're not that sure because she can make Sylus laugh more than you did.

In short, she's everything you're not. She's everything Sylus wanted and it really really pisses you off because you fucking loved him and yet …

yet …

Even if you gave it your all, he doesn't really see you. He's with you but he's yearning for someone else. And you're so so stupid because you're still staying. You're still hoping that even if she has returned, Sylus will see your worth. That he will change his mind.

That maybe he will choose you.

Maybe he realized you're the one he loved, not her. That maybe, he's willing to defy fate just to be with you.

It was a small hope. But it's there. Because you wanted to hold on for as long as you can. You wanted to love him until it hurts. You want to stay for as long as he doesn't let you go.

And even if you will scold yourself in the future when you remember what you're doing now, you will still try.

You can feel that he sensed that something is off with you; he is perceptive after all. Because after that night, no matter how much you try to hold yourself together, the cracks in your soul still manifest.

If it were before, you're sure that as soon as he woke up you will be all over him taking care of him and making sure that he is well-fed. But after that incident, you just can't seem to stay close to him. Not for now, at least because you're sure that you will just cry and break.

“What's wrong Little fox?" He asked you one night. You tried to avoid him and planned to hide in the guest room and sleep there, but he looked for you and now he's right there looking at your soul.

“Nothing." You avoided eye contact. You can't. It physically hurts whenever you and he meet gazes. It's as if your mind kept replaying all the things you read in his journal.

He reached out for your hand but you flinched and avoided his touch. His hand paused midair because of it. You don't know what he's thinking now. You don't want to know. You're afraid that what you'll see is insincerity.

“Tell me, sweetie. What's wrong? What happened? You're worrying me," he persisted.

"It's nothing, Sylus. I'm gonna head to bed later. You go ahead first and rest." you turned your back at him and pretended to do something.

You wanted to ask him. You wanted to know.

But you're afraid.

Because what if he tells you the truth and leaves you? Can you bear that?

No. Not yet. Never.

So you kept silent. You won't ask questions that you're not ready to face the answers of.

“My sweet little fox, tell me anything and I will listen. I will do anything for you. Just ask." He kissed your temple before leaving.

His words are so sweet but is there really anything behind it? Is there love? Is there anything real with what you two have?

You kept avoiding and hiding from him. He got enough after two weeks. He backed you in a corner, his large frame making it hard for you to escape.

“Something is definitely wrong and I don't know what it is. It's killing me to see you like this, darling. If you're not gonna talk, then let me take your mind off of things. Go out to dinner with me." He held your chin to make you look at him.

You're trying to avoid his gaze. The fear is consuming you at every second that he is staring you down. Your insecurity and jealousy is winning and your mind can't process that this is real and that this is for you.

“Sy—"

“Shhh," he gave you a quick peck to shut you up. “It's not a request. That's an order. Dinner later. I miss my little fox,"

And thus, here you are at Elysium waiting for him with tears in your eyes. You decided to go ahead. You're sure you can't bear the car ride alone with him and even if he won't press you to open up, you can sense that he wants you to.

Your phone blows up. It's surely him inquiring why you went without him. You can't find it in yourself to even read his messages. It's all too much. Everything is too much.

10.5 grams of soul.

Those words kept ringing in your head. Half of his soul. Half that is not yours. You wiped your tears. You need to calm down. He might be here in a few minutes. You need to at least look presentable.

“Sweetie, why did you leave me?" You heard his voice from your back before his lips were on your cheeks already. “I want to spend some time with you during dinner, yes, but also before and after it."

“Sorry," that's all you can say afraid that he might hear the hoarseness of your voice.

He sighed, “Fine, but you're going home with me."

You didn't reply and he took that as a cue to get your orders ready. The food is good but every bite you chew, you can sense his eyes on you.

“I will melt if you keep staring at me,” you commented. He just smirked.

"Let me enjoy the view.”

You just shook your head. You can't form a reply because the fear and insecurity is kicking in again.

The two of you are silent for a while until Sylus's phone rang. You looked at him, really looked at him for the first time tonight.

There's that glint in his eyes again so you immediately knew who it was.

Miss Hunter.

Your suspicions are proven right when he answered the call. “Hello, Miss Hunter, what can I do for you?"

You bit your lip. You were expecting it but damn it hurts. Not even an apology towards you for interrupting your dinner by answering that call.

"What!? Where are you!?”

Your heart breaks every second. There he is again. Choosing her. That's for sure. You know what will happen next. He will leave, say sorry, and run to her side.

"I'm coming, wait for me! Don't you dare move a muscle.” he ended the call in a haste he was getting ready to leave if he didn't see you across the table.

“Darling, I-I need to leave, she needs me. She's in danger. I will make it up to you, I promise. I'm so sorry,”

But no amount of “sorry" can make up for everything that you're feeling now. Of course, he will go to her. He will always run to her.

His 10.5 grams of soul.

You sighed. You have made up your mind. You will free both of you from the burden of this relationship.

You stood, pulled him for a hug. You hugged him as tightly as you can. “Go, Sylus. I'll be fine."

He hugged you back, and oh god how you will miss that warmth. You can feel your breath getting caught in your lungs, but you have to hold back. Until he turns around at least.

“I'll make it up to you, darling. Wait for me okay? I love you. Luke and Kieran will be here in fifteen minutes. Wait for them. Don't go home alone." That's the last thing you heard from him before he stormed out.

You finally let your tears fall.

It's enough. You had enough.

You will leave his life calmly, quietly. You moved and walked away fast hoping Luke and Kieran won't see you on the streets of N109 Zone.

Part 4

comments and reaction are welcomeee 🤤