#i do love the idea of taking turns naming storms

[actuallybridgetjones]

so long (worst!wolverine x reader)

warnings: +18 minors do not interact, smut, fluff, female!reader, worst!wolverine, change of events, after d&w.

a/n: hi! since d&w got on disney+ i just had to rewatch it and had this idea. please note that this is my first fic ever and that english isn’t my first language. also, i can’t write wade accurately so here is my messy attempt. sorry in advance for any mistake (or if this seems to messy) and feedback is much appreciated. love, carol ♡

you and logan had a life together, both teacher at charle's institute. your relationship with him blossomed through late sleepless nights in the kitchen, when you listened to the older man, appreciating the little he shared with you everyday.

it was evident that you two grew close as each day passed. after lingering touches and stares, stollen kisses in empty classrooms, you eventually got together and boy, were you happy.

you had it all, you knew each other like the palm of your hand. you were logan's harbor and he was your safe haven. you saw how he would get when the nightmares were too much, feeling the urge to drink his worries away. you saw his flaws and his sins and still you stood by.

that's what made logan wonder at first. it made him wonder how a girl sweet and kind like you wasn't terrified by the thought of him. he would often even wonder what kind of good thing he did to have you only listening to him in the first place.

so, when that tragic night came, logan got reminded of how he didn't deserve any good, how everything of his always had a way to be taken, ruined. he was coming home from the bar, a solo mission went wrong, he decided to stop to drink it away before collapsing in your arms. he knew you would be home, you were always home.

until you weren't.

he got to the mansion to find it filled with dead bodies, jean, scott, storm, hank... everyone, it was a blood bath. logan's first thought was you. running into your shared bedroom, he searched, spent days looking through the damn corpses but there were no traces of you, nothing for him to mourn over.

logan turned to alcohol and self hatred, his healing abilities now appearing as a curse, as if nothing was hard enough to numb him from the pain of it all.

the day wade (or whatever was his name) came in saying that he would take him out of there, logan didn’t even flinch. if he didn’t have you, there was nothing holding him back to his timeline.

here he was now, storming in to help deadpool, the guy who gave him a second chance, stoping cassandra with the time reaper. his mind was filled with memory of the journey he had gone through, but not only.

through his head flew images of you. your smile, your eyes, your small almost unnoticeable freckles, the way your nose scrunched when you laughed and the way your cheeks always seemed to turn a warm pink shade around him. images of you underneath and on top of him, holding him or sleeping tightly in his embrace. memories of slow mornings tangled on each other and late nights spent panting.

after all was safe and sound, after wade’s world was no longer endangered, logan gave himself a second chance too. he let himself be friends with wade, agreeing to live with him until he figured something out. he always did.

wade, cheery as ever, took logan to his building, wanting him to meet blind al, the so infamous roommate. after climbing up the stairs logan feels a perfume he hadn’t felt in years. he turned to see you shuffling through your keys, trying to enter the apartment. you didn’t even have to turn his way.

it was you.

logan stood frozen, trying to figure out if this was another one of life’s tricks to him.

“peanunt, that’s y/n, she’s a sweet girl, but you’re literally drooling you nasty dog” wade says, and that’s when you turn to the two men, hearing your name coming from the mouth of your chatty neighbor.

the sight in front of you made your heart stop. was it your logan? could it be? or was it just another nightmare about the love of your life, just for you to wake to an empty cold bed?

your brows furrow as you look at him. he was older, thinner even despite his still very defined muscles. you were sure this was your logan from the way he looked at you, his hazel eyes seeming worn over but with the same love inside of them.

“lo-logan?”

“y/n?”

your breath hitched on your throat as tears fall down your face. you run to logan, wrapping your arms tightly around him. if this was a dream, you wanted to hug him for one last time, to atleast try to feel his embrace, his touch.

logan hugged you back, bringing your smaller body to his chest as he crouched to whisper, crying too. “is this really you? y/n, oh god”

you pull your head back to look into his eyes, meeting his hazel orbs.

it was your logan.

“i-i can’t believe…” your voice comes out shaky, small even as you look at the man. dirty, rugged and with stains of blood everywhere, but he was your man.

“oh darling… god darling girl” his voice is small too, contrasting with his own appearance. you wrap your arms securely around his neck once again, crying in pure bliss as his large arms came to wrap around your waist.

“i missed you so much” you say between sobs against his neck. “how-how did you get here?” he asks, finally finding all of his worries dissipating in your embrace.

“on the night of the attack… a portal opened and I came here, I had no idea how to go back, how to go back to you lo-” you say almost out of breath, feeling his hand now softly combing through your hair.

logan pulls back to look at you in the eyes, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek as he whispered “beautiful” and brings his lips to yours.

there’s no point in denying the hurry of the kiss, the desperation and the longing cursing through your veins. of course there’s always someone to wreck the party.

“peanut? honey? am i missing something or are we starting to make out with greasy strangers in the hallways now?” deadpool’s voice interrupts.

logan grunts and turns back to him, giving him a glare. “she was, is, the one i told you about” the wolverine says surprinsingly soft.

you smile and add shyly “he’s the one i told you about”, logan looks at you tenderly, a reminder of the love still in him. the love that he had burried deep down after that night.

“honey? you had no will to tell me that THE MAN YOU WERE FUCKING NASTY BACK IN YOUR TIMELINE WAS THE WOLVERINE?” wade adds excitedly.

you and logan both roll your eyes, you blush and turn to your neighbor. “i don’t know if he was going up to meet blind al, but i’m going to keep him for the night”

“don’t make too much noise”

before you pull your long lost lover inside with you into your apartment he turns back. “hey, wade… thank you”.

after that he was on you, door closed as he pinned you against it, arms wrapping around you, your own traveling down the hoodie he was wearing. your lips meet in a searing kiss, his tongue not taking much time in entering your mouth, joining your own in a slow and long known dance.

this was home.

“my bedroom his down the hall” you say between kisses and logan pulls you to wrap your legs around his torso, bringing you to your own bedroom. once you’re there he lays you against the bed gently, taking off his hoodie and moving to remove the tank top you were wearing, nothing underneath.

“what a fucking sight” he whispers, the rough tone contrasting with the love his gaze held, his eyes turning a deep shade of forest greeen now. reaching down, he kisses your neck, bitting and nibbling on the tender skin under his mouth.

"i- i need you logan" you say gravely, voice filled with need and passion. you remove your jeans and panties, laying bare under him now. "what a sight, princess" he hums against your hear, letting out a soft groan as he feels your desperate hands fumbling with his pants.

not longer after that, logan was moving inside you, his movements desperate as your manicured nails dig into the flesh of his back. his hands travel sloppily down your body, massaging the soft skin.

"i love you logan, i love you" you manage to say between moans, head thrown back in pleasure as you feel your high approaching. his hips grew more erratic, your words making his need grow "you'll be the death of me darlin' " he says between pants.

you feel the familiar stretch of his large cock on you, the familiar pleasure his calloused hands bring you. but you also see the depth of his eyes. the love and longing they carry. he shifts, now kneeling as his hands grasp at your hips, tight enough to bruise.

from the new angle it all feels too much and you can't even begin to process it until it's happening. "oh logan..." you almost scream in pure bliss, your whole body convulsing as your eyes roll to the back of your head, your juices spilling all over him.

the sight is too much for logan as he cums inside of you, the feel of his warm seed filling you up, making you squirm. he collapses on top of you, his hands anchoring his body as he looks you in the eye, still inside of you. "i love you so much princess"

you can only smile, new tears threatening to roll down your cheeks as you looked at the man that was, is, everything to you. in that moment you know it'll be alright, and he knows, feels it too.

as long as you've got each other, it'll be alright.

[midnighthazee]

Greenridge ABO Series

a/n: So sorry this took so long! I got a little busy. But my goal is to post a chapter at least 3 times a week. :) Thanks for your patience Greenies!

Series Masterlist Masterlist

Warnings: FLUFF AND FLUFF, little angst, abuse, death, mentions of blood/injury, mentions of past abuse, explicit language, fear, pet names (I think thats everything)

WC: 5711

Chapter 7

“Explain it to me…. One. More. Time.. how you let this happen.” Alpha Lewis pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. 

Hayes and Milo exchanged glances.

“I'm waiting….” Lewis growled. 

“We decided to take her out and hunt her in the woods.” Hayes stated.

“And what the fuck compelled you to do that?” Lewis snapped, tilting his head.

“We were just having fun.” Milo said, looking at the ground.

Lewis exhaled deeply, stepping in front of Milo and slapping him across the face. Although it felt more like a punch with the sheer force of anger backing it. His lip was cut from Lewis's ring, a drop of blood beading. Lewis then turned to Hayes who tensed.

“And you thought joining him was the smart choice? Because I know damn well it was his idea.” Lewis seethed, eyes squinting.

“Well I-” Hayes was cut off by Lewis's grip on his throat.

“You’re the fucking alpha when I’m away. Do you think this reckless behavior is how an alpha should act? You don’t get your own pack like this.” Lewis lectured. “And apparently you let it happen on multiple occasions?”

He released his neck with a push as his betas Frankie and Triston came in with beta Mallory. Sighing, Lewis walked over to them and grabbed the young beta by her shirt collar. She whimpered as he snatched her and threw her to Hayes’s feet.

“Let me teach you a lesson.” Lewis pulled a gun from his back pocket, aimed, and shot twice.

She cried out, clutching her chest.

“No!” Hayes dropped to his knees, scooping her up.

“You’re mate here will die thanks to the recklessness of your brother that you allowed.” Lewis threw the gun down between Hayes and Milo before walking off.

It was then that they realized it was Milo’s BB gun.

“Oh…and if you’re wondering… yes, it was loaded with those cobalt pellets. Get rid of that damn gun and clean out the cells in the basement.” Lewis walked off.

“Mallory? Mal? Hey….look at me.” Hayes said, tears pooling in his eyes.

She looked up at him, coughing up blood as her eyes began to glaze over. “Hayes?” 

“I’m here…I'm here. I’m so sorry.” Hayes cried as she weakly raised her hand to caress his cheek.

Milo was there, head hung as the guilt ate at him. He shouldn’t have pushed his brother to break the rules. And now his brother was being punished when it should’ve been him. The guilt became anger quickly as he wanted to punish you - if you hadn’t gotten out, none of this would be happening.

“Mallory! No, come back to me!” Hayes sobbed next to him, as Mallory's eyes began to close. The cobalt was straight to her heart and spreading quickly.

Milo knelt down, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I-”

“Don’t touch me!” Hayes growled.

Milo jumped back, clenching his jaw as he looked at Mallory. She went limp in his brother’s hold, Hayes pulling her close to his chest as he sobbed into her hair. They were so in love with each other that Hayes wanted to marry her. She was always telling him to wait, knowing he had a soulmate out there, but he didn’t care. She was all he wanted, swearing that she was his soulmate. She would simply shake her head and smile at him. Now he had no one.

Quietly, he stood, lifting Mallory in his arms and taking her to be buried in the yard. Milo grieved as well. He liked Mallory and hated that he got her killed. She had always been nice to him and considered him her brother. Subconsciously, he moved to follow but Hayes turned to him, eyes red with anger.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” Hayes snarled.

“Hayes let me help-”

“No. This is your fault. You got her killed.” Hayes stormed off.

Milo whimpered in the loneliness of the garage. He was going to spend the rest of his life making this up to his brother.

“I need you two to go south to Okami. Check and make sure she’s not there. Frankie, you’re with Hayes. Go check with Honshu. Report back your findings. I swear they better not have crossed me.” Lewis clenched his fists at the thought. “And if they haven’t, then we will check the neighboring territories. We will find her.” 

The betas nodded, heading off towards the house of their allies. Hayes had buried Mallory nearly an hour ago, leaving flowers at her makeshift grave off the edge of their grassy yard. Eventually he would get her a proper tombstone.

While they handled that, Lewis went down to the basement to see how Milo was fairing. He opened the door, forgetting just how rank it can smell down there since usually he has people get the omegas when he requests them. But now he was going down here on his own. The piss and mildew smell was quickly joined with the rancid smell of fear and anxiety.

Milo was currently cleaning out your old cage, soapy water splashed about on the floor. He pushed the mop back and forth as Lewis approached.

Looking at the bucket of cleaning supplies, he saw a scrub brush. He picked it up, spinning it in his hands before tossing it at Milo. Milo jumped, looking at his alpha.

“Scrub. I want you on your hands and knees until this place is sparkling. I lost my favorite omega and a beta because of your stupidity.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Milo hung his head.

Lewis walked to the next cell, the female omega cowering in the corner. Her chains clanked as she scooted, pressing herself into the wall. He turned around, looking at the male omega in the cage across from her. He too was shaking, curled in the corner.

“Tell me, omegas. Does he hunt you two as well?” Lewis asked.

They both shook their heads.

“Be honest. If I catch you lying on his behalf, no food for a week.”

“Once.” the male whispered. “He said I was boring, though.”

“Interesting. Thank you.” Lewis said, turning to the stairs as he glared at Milo. “Feed them in an hour. He gets extra food. And if you lay another finger on them, you’ll be joining them.”

With that, Lewis headed back upstairs. He had work to be done, an infiltration to plan. He would get his omega back, that was for sure.

You woke up with a jolt, having just dreamed that the Nykos had found you and brought you back home. At least this time you didn’t scream and wake someone. Standing, you stretch and look around your room. Sure it was nice and comfy, but it still felt foreign - like it wasn’t your actual room and just something temporary. You didn’t know how to make it yours though. Didn’t one of the boys say something about personalizing it?

You make your way into the bathroom and brush your hair. It was slightly frizzy so you just put it in a high ponytail. You brushed your teeth and got dressed before heading downstairs. It was only your third day with them and yet so much had happened. 

As you walk into the kitchen, the usual breakfast buffet is set out, different options of course but still smelling amazing.

“Morning, kitten.” Minho says, smiling at you.

“Morning.” you smile, blushing.

“Morning!” Felix cheered, hugging you from behind.

You tensed instinctively, and he let go.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I’m a hugger.”

You give him a small smile, your heart now beating a bit faster.

“Just because you hugged her once, doesn’t mean you can all the time.” Seungmin noted.

Felix glared at him.

“Y-you can.” you admitted, looking at the ground. “You just can’t sneak up on me.”

“Are you sure?” Felix asked, tilting your chin to look into your eyes.

“Yes.” you nod.

A big grin spread across his face and he engulfed you in a tight hug. You froze, not that you could move with his grip, but his smell of excitement and happiness relaxed you. You liked making him happy. Isn’t that what omegas are supposed to do? Take care of their pack members and provide them with strength, love, and support?

“Okay. Let’s eat.” Hyunjin said, coming into the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”

He looked over at y/n and Felix as he was hugging her.

“Nothing. She just gave Felix permission to hug her whenever he wants.” Seungmin sounded annoyed.

“Why does she look scared?” Hyunin smirked. 

Felix pulled away immediately, looking at your face. “No she doesn't.”

Hyunjin laughed as he walked by you and you noticed all the love bites and bruises covering his neck and arms. Jeongin was definitely rough with him yesterday. The commotion of everyone filling their plates with food drew your attention away. You realized you had been staring and cleared your throat to go fix your own plate. 

“So what’s the plan for today?” Changbin asked as you all started to sit at the table.

You sat between Felix and Hyunjin and began to eat your breakfast when Felix spoke.

“Oh! Let’s go to the lake! Y/n, you want to go to the lake?” Felix’s eyes were wide and he was nearly vibrating with excitement.

“Um…sure?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Minho clarified.

“I never got to leave my cell. Only on rare occasions when they wanted to parade us around for a party or something. So getting out of the house would be nice.” You say.

“Perfect.” Felix said with a big smile. “Who wants to join us?”

“Hyunjin?” Changbin asks with a suggestive smirk.

“Sorry babe. I have to go relieve Chan.” Hyunjin reminded him.

“Oh yeah.” Changbin pouted. “I guess I’ll still go.”

“Me too.” Seungmin added.

Felix hurried to finish his food and get a cooler packed. Minho was moving too slow for him so he made the sandwiches and snacks himself. Then he filled the cooler with some ice and drinks, putting the food on top. After, he ran off upstairs and returned after a few moments with towels and sunscreen.

“I think I got everything.” Felix mutters, thinking hard.

You giggle. “We need all this?”

“We are going to spend the day there. It’s a bit of a walk to get there so we can have a picnic after some swimming.” Changbin told you.

“Swimming?” you asked. You don’t even know if you have ever gone swimming. If so, you were really little - probably five seeing as you had been with the Nykos since you were around seven. Over a decade with them and you were definitely lacking in the life experiences department.

“Oh hey, Felix. We should bring the floaties.” Changbin stated.

“Yes. Good idea!” Felix rushed off to the garage. 

You had been walking for miles. Changbin says the lake is only a three and half mile walk but it feels longer. You were dragging behind everyone as they effortlessly hiked the hills and through the trees. You tripped a few times, one of which everyone had to stop for so Felix could clean the cut and apply a bandaid. 

They were all slowing down to keep pace with you, making it slower for them. They usually get there within an hour and it had definitely been closer to three hours at this point.

“C’mon y/n. We are almost there.” Seungmin complained.

“Give her a break Seungmin. She’s not used to all this activity.” Felix glared.

“It’s just over this hill.” Changbin said, holding out a hand to help you with the incline.

You gratefully took his hand as you panted, your legs burning. He pulled you along and it helped but you just wanted to get there. You made your way up the hill and at the top you could see the lake a few yards ahead.

“Wow. It’s gorgeous.” You say, stunned.

“It is. Come on.” Felix jumped from a giant rock and made his way down to the small ravine leading to the lake.

The lake wasn’t massive, definitely not big enough for boating. But enough that they could enjoy swimming around. The ravine was fairly wide, with a small creek trailing down to a waterfall that let out into the lake. As they walked the trail and came around the waterfall, they made out their usual picnic spot. Felix was laying out the blanket and placing the bags on the corners. 

There was a small wooden makeshift dock leading into the lake that you could jump off, the water clear enough for you to make out some fish swimming around and the rocks below. It was truly picturesque as you took it in.

“You like?” Felix asked.

“It’s so pretty here. The water, the trees, the mountain range in the background.” your eyes taking everything in.

“Worth the hike?” Changbin chuckled.

You nod. It definitely was. You wanted to stay here forever. Far away from the Nykos and any pack squabbles.

“Let’s go swimming and cool off.” Felix said eagerly, slipping off his shoes and running over to the small wooden dock.

He ran the length, jumping off and into the water. Your heart caught in your throat. You don’t know why the sight made you nervous, but you watched with wide eyes, willing him to resurface. Subconsciously you stepped forward, staring.

His head popped up and he laughed out, shaking his head and making his hair fling everywhere. You finally let out the breath you had been holding and watched as he swam around.

“Hurry. The water feels great.” Felix called out.

“Can you swim?” Seungmin stood beside you.

“I- uh…No, I don’t think so.” you mutter.

“We will teach you.” Seungmin assured with a smile. 

Felix climbed up the dock and was making his way over. He had taken off his tank top and was ringing it out. You stared at his bare skin, the water on it glistening in the sunlight. He stripped off his shorts too, leaving him in just his boxers as he rung out his clothes and came over. He went over to the trees and placed his clothes on a string you just noticed.  

“Ready?” Seungmin asked.

You nodded, slipping off your own shoes and following him to the little dock. You made it halfway before you got nervous and froze.

“It’s okay. I won’t let you drown.” Seungmin comforts, holding out a hand. “None of us will.”

Felix comes back, running past and doing a cannonball into the water. Changbin followed after, giggling as he jumped in. 

“C’mon y/n. I’ll catch you.” Changbin called.

Seungmin led you to the edge, standing with you.

“Jump,” Changbin beckoned.

Your legs froze. What if the water was too cold? What if it was too deep and you fell to the bottom? What if-

You scream, limbs flailing as you fall into the water. Seungmin was laughing mischievously. Of course he pushed you in. Changbin caught you like he said and you gasped for air, wiping the water from your face.

“Hey, hey. You’re good. I got you.” Changbin says.

“Seungmin. You ass!” You said between breaths, glaring at him.

“You were taking too long.” he says before jumping in.

Teaching you to swim turned out pretty easy. The boys got lucky that your subconscious remembered how from when you learned as a child. Within thirty minutes, you were swimming around them on your own. You could go underwater and swim in even the deepest part. 

You did nearly drown Felix at one point when a fish touched your foot and you freaked out, grabbing onto him. Seungmin was dying laughing at the situation, Changbin pulling you off and calming you.

After swimming for nearly an hour, you all got out and had lunch. You were in just a shirt and underwear as the boys just swam in their boxers. It was freeing but you didn’t feel comfortable enough to be fully naked. Changbin said they usually are naked when they come, but for you they would stay modest. You honestly didn’t know how you would feel if they were all naked right now.

So your clothes hung on the line, blowing in the breeze as you ate. The sandwiches Felix packed were pretty good and you managed to eat two and half (good thing Felix made several). 

“You were hungry.” Changbin noted, amused.

“Yeah, because she almost drowned Felix.” Seungmin notes.

You roll your eyes.

“He’s never gonna let you live that down.” Felix whispers. 

“I can tell.”

As you finish up, Seungmin gets ready to get back into the water. You tell him to wait up, hurrying to catch up to him. As you approach the dock, you hear rustling in the trees. You whip your head around to see what it was but you can’t see anything.

“Y/n….y/n?” Seungmin calls out but you barely hear him.

You squinted, looking harder between the brush of the trees and bushes. Focusing your heightened hearing, you hear footsteps approaching. Panic fills your body and you back up. You managed to get on the dock but stepped right off, into the shallow end. You screamed, falling into the water. The boys rushed over, Seungmin hopping down to help you up.

“No! Stop!” You pushed him away.

“Y/n, it’s okay. It’s us.” Changbin spoke in a calming way.

You blinked through the water on your face and realized you were surrounded by the three of them.

“But I heard footsteps.” you mumble. This was embarrassing.

Changbin quickly walked over to the trees and stepped through, making your heart race even more. He looked around, sniffing the air and listening out. When he returned, he shook his head.

“Nothing there. No scent. It was probably just an animal.”

“It sounded big if it was an animal.” you scoff.

“There are some big animals out here. But you aren’t used to the sounds of the forest, so it makes sense. But I promise you’re safe. This lake is deep in our property.” Changbin explains. 

You nod, Seungmin supporting you in the waist deep water. As the adrenaline wears off, you start to feel pain. Your ankle was kind of throbbing. You move to walk closer to the dock and you stumble, Seungmin catching you.

“Are you hurt?” Felix asks. 

You nod. “Not badly, though.” “Let me see.” Felix says and Seungmin and Changbin help you out of the water.

You sit on the dock and Felix inspects your ankle. You wince as he twists it a bit. Seungmin fetches the first-aid kit from Felix’s bookbag and brings it back to him.

“Might be a sprain or bruising. Here is definitely going to bruise.” he says, pointing to the side of your thigh that you landed on the rock with. It was scraped and slightly bleeding.

“I’m fine. I’ve had worse.” you mumble.

“Just let us take care of you.” Felix glares.

You keep your mouth shut as he examines the scrap, cleaning it.

“Can we get back to swimming now?” you ask.

“You’re hurt.” Seungmin deadpanned.

You roll your eyes, moving to stand. It hurts but you managed to get yourself on two legs. You begin walking - or rather limping - to the edge of the dock.

“See. I’m fine.”

“Y/n…if you keep walking on it, you can do more damage.” Felix lectured.

“Then I won’t walk.” You said, falling backwards into the water.

Felix gasps, looking at the other two for what to do. Seungmin shrugs and runs down the dock, diving into the water. Felix reluctantly puts the first aid kit back on their blanket and joins everyone in the water. They even brought some of the floaties out, blowing them up. You liked lounging on them..until Seungmin flipped you over.

It was dusk and the sun was about to set beyond the mountain range in the distance. You were laying on the blanket, Felix finally bandaging you up. Your leg was scraped so he applied some ointment he made from some of the herbs and wrapped it. He also wrapped your ankle so you could walk. Clothes were put back on and the picnic was packed.

“Okay, Y/n. I need to pack the blanket.” Felix said.

“I’m too tired to move.” you groaned as you laid there.

“Are you?” Changbin knelt down and began to tickle you.

You gasp, eyes wide as you squirmed. 

“What… are… you… doing?” you say between giggles.

Changbin stops. “Tickling you? No one’s ever…?”

He trailed off as you shook your head. Awkward…

You both stood and Felix packed up the bags. Everyone put their shoes on and began heading back home. You were limping but pushing through it. It wasn’t until you were nearly ten feet behind them that they realized how much you were hiding your pain.

“Okay. I’m giving you a piggyback ride home.” Changbin said.

“No, no. I’m fine.” That was a lie and they all knew it.

The more you walked on your ankle, the more it was hurting. But you didn’t want to be a burden. It was a long trek home and you didn’t want him to have to carry you the whole time.

“You’re light. And it will be faster if I carry you. The sun is about to set.” Changbin argued.

“You’re hurt y/n. You don’t want to make it worse. Just let him carry you.” Felix pleaded.

“Fine.” you groaned.

You weren’t used to touching them yet so it felt weird to be so close, but Seungmin helped you onto Changbin’s back and he carried you. The sun was setting faster than they wanted so they were trying to hurry home.

Lewis was pacing in his office as he waited for his betas to return home. He was hoping he wouldn’t have to cut ties with any of his allies for betraying him. But if they stole his omega, he would burn their house down and kill them all.

Knock. Knock.

“Come in.” Lewis said.

Frankie and Hayes walked in.

“They didn’t have her and haven’t seen her. We were invited in but her smell wasn’t there or near the property.”

“Good. I don’t have to lose their numbers.” Lewis said. “Now I’m just waiting to hear back from Triston and Sam about the Okami pack. They need to hurry and get back.”

“I’m telling you, sir. They are with Greenridge. Their property was closest to where we were and if we didn’t see a body… It means she was picked up. It had to be them. And knowing them, they weren’t going to leave her to die.” Hayes argued.

“My father was clear about our agreement. I’m not going to undermine him. I am doing my due diligence before marching over there and demanding to search their property. If they stole from me, we don’t have to worry about the agreement.” Lewis said.

“So send us. We will ask if they have seen her. Of course they will deny it but we can catch her scent.” Frankie offered. “We go now and if Sam and Triston come back with her location before then, just call us and we will turn around.”

“Fine. Go. But…” Lewis pointed his finger at them. “If you see or smell her, don’t make a scene. I don’t need you trying to fight them. Just report back and we will form a plan.”

“Yes sir.” They said in unison with a bow of their heads.

They got in Hayes’s truck and drove over to the Greenridge property. The sun was nearly setting, making the skies a haze of purple and orange colors. They parked at the end of the drive and walked up, keeping as much distance as they could.

Minho and Chan were home, Chan knocked out in his room. Jeongin had worn him out last night and he spent the day sleeping it off. His body was spent and he was definitely going to have to send someone else for the night so he could recoup. The last thing he wanted was to weaken himself when they have to stay alert in protecting you.

Minho was looking in the fridge trying to figure out what to make for dinner. You three would be back soon and he wanted dinner ready. He decided on something simple - grilled chicken, roasted veggies, and mashed potatoes. Jisung was left to help fix dinner, which he groaned about because it meant he couldn’t play his game.

Whilst skinning and chopping the potatoes, the doorbell rang. Sighing, Minho went to answer it as Jisung kept chopping the veggies. Minho opened the door, greeting the two gentlemen as their scent practically smacked him in the face. One was an alpha, the other beta, and they both smelled a little like you did when you first arrived.

“Can I help you guys?” Minho asked.

“We hope so. I’m Frankie, this is Hayes. We were looking for a special someone. We lost our mate and she’s very timid. We were hoping that maybe you had seen her?” Frankie said in the most sincere voice, as if he was genuinely worried.

“Uh, no. We haven’t seen anyone new around here.”

“You sure?” Hayes challenged, eyes squinting at Minho. “She’s a very pretty thing. She likes to run off but she’s not the most stable in the head. She gets lost and confused easily… very delusional sometimes.” 

“Not ringing a bell.” Minho said, trying to maintain his anger. How dare he talk about you like that. “If I happen to find a confused girl, I will surely let you know.”

“Thank you.” Hayes stepped forward, his foot landing at the threshold of the door. He held out his hand and forced a smile. “We are part of the Nyko pack. Just bring her by if you find her.”

Minho shook his hand, a display of strength as Hayes squeezed. Minho didn’t reveal himself so he let the alpha squeeze his hand. “Will do. Have a nice night.”

“You too.” Hayes glanced around the room before he and Frankie walked off. Minho watched them get nearly halfway down the drive before shutting the door.

“Dammit.” Chan growled, coming up behind Minho from his room.

“You don’t think they could smell her, do you?” a worried Jisung asked.

“If they did, they played it off well. She hasn’t been here all day. So her scent should hopefully be faint enough. Between our smells, the cleaning I did earlier, and dinner… let’s hope.”

“We need to come up with a plan immediately. I am not letting them get the upper hand on this.” Chan went into his office.

Jisung practically whimpered at the tension in the room.

“Come on. They should be home soon and I want dinner ready for them.” Minho said, pulling Jisung back into the kitchen. 

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but the feeling of falling backwards woke you. You opened your eyes as Seungmin and Felix were pulling you off of Changbin’s back and laying you on the couch.

“Shh. We are home.” Felix cooed.

“That was fast.” you yawned.

“Wanted you home for dinner.” Minho spoke from the kitchen.

“Mmmm. It smells good.” you say, sitting up as the aroma of dinner wakes you.

“Y/n! What happened?!” Jisung exclaimed, rushing to your side.

Minho stopped his prep of the food and came over to see.

“I’m okay.” You roll your eyes.

Jisung reached to touch your thigh, but stopped himself. He then looked at the bandage on your other shin and your wrapped ankle.

“You’re clearly not okay. What happened out there?”

“Our omega is skittish and a little clumsy.” Changbin smiled.

“And she tried to drown Felix.” Seungmin added.

“I did not!” you huff but he only chuckles.

“Can you walk?” Jisung asks.

“Yes.” you say.

“Barely.” Felix said.

You moved to stand, ignoring the painful protest in your ankle. “See?”

Jisung moved out of your way and you walked…with a slight limp. Minho stared, wincing as he could see you doing ever so subtly. He could hear your heartbeat as the pain elevated it. 

“I’ve had a lot worse.” you remind, making your way to the table.

Minho and Jisung finish setting the table and everyone sits down to eat.

“Chan still with Jeongin?” Changbin asks.

Minho slows his movements. “Uh no… he’s in his office.”

“Should I grab him?” Seungmin moved to stand.

“No. I’ll bring him a plate. He um..doesn’t want to be interrupted right now.” Minho exchanged glances with a few of the boys as they looked at him skeptically. 

They could tell there was something he wasn’t saying, but they didn’t push him. You, however, were oblivious. The food was warm and delicious and had you closing your eyes. You moaned at how good it was, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Sorry.” you muttered when you finally noticed them all staring.

Minho smirked, happy you enjoyed his food so much.

Dinner went by quick, Chan staying in his office and exhausting every scenario he could think of to defend or attack as needed. Minho brought him a plate and nagged him till he finally ate some. Felix and Jisung helped clean the kitchen. Changbin and Seungmin had gone to shower. And Hyunjin was occupied with Jeongin. 

You found yourself missing their company as you walked upstairs. Sure Jeongin scared you half to death when he attacked you, but it was understandable. You weren’t going to hold it against him. You made your way to the end of the hall, presumably Jeongin’s room and opened the door. His smell was there but faint since he hadn’t been in it for about thirty-six hours. His room was darker, a brick accent wall behind his bed and wood ceilings. He had a brown leather headboard and dark grey paneling framing his bed - it felt earthy and cozy. 

You realized you had never seen anyone else’s room yet and wondered how theirs looked in comparison to yours and Jeongin’s. Jeongin’s was definitely more homey than yours.

You went across the hall and opened that door, Hyunjin’s scent wafting over you. His scent was stronger since he had been here recently. His room was way different. His walls were paneling of wood in multiple shades. He had a fireplace and tv opposite his bed. A chair was in the far corner, with a desk next to it. Canvases were piled in the other corner, one on an easel facing away from you. 

His desk was covered in paints and brushes. It was definitely the work station of an artist. You found yourself walking inside, reaching for the wool blanket draped over the foot of his bed. You lifted it to your nose and breathed in his smell. Wow, he smells amazing. His room also made you feel warm and cozy. Why were their rooms better than yours?

“Hey.” Jisung whispered. 

You of course jumped, dropping the blanket and placing your hand on your chest.

“Sorry. I knew that was going to happen. I tried to walk louder.” he looked to the room. “What are you doing?”

“I, uh..” you blushed. How were you going to explain this?

“Exploring?” Jisung asks.

You nod.

“He smells good, doesn’t he?” Jisung smiles. “But I smell better right?”

You smile, rolling your eyes at him.

“Come. I’ll show you my room.”

You stayed rooted to your spot. The last time a beta said that, Triston brought you to his room, locking you in there until he was done with you. He complained you ‘took a while to satisfy him’ even though he basically used you all night. He seemed satisfied enough each time he came.

“Y/n?” Jisung asked.

You looked at him and swallowed thickly. 

You don’t have to be afraid. They aren’t the Nykos. They won’t hurt you. You remind yourself.

You follow Jisung to his room, not stepping inside. The smell hit you hard, taking you back. Yes, it was comforting but there was something about it. You took in his mess of a room. He had a sliding door on one wall, leading out to a balcony, the walls a white shiplap. But the room was trashed with clothes everywhere. You swear there was a rotten apple hidden somewhere in the mess.

“I should have cleaned up first…” he mumbled.

“Maybe.” You forced a smile. “I’m going to go shower.”

“Okay. You sure you’re alright? We have a tub if you want to take a bath.” 

“I’m okay. I just want to lay down and sleep. I’m worn out.”

“Wait.” Jisung looked around his room before grabbing a t-shirt from a basket. It had the logo of an anime on it. “Here.”

“What’s this for?” “It’s clean. It’s for your nest.”

“Nest?” You questioned. That was the thing they talked about before.

“Right…um. Just take it. I’ll explain tomorrow.”

You nodded, making your way to your room. A ten minute shower later and you were curling up in your bed. Jisung’s shirt was at the foot of your bed. Curiously, you reach for it, bringing it up to your nose and sniffing. His smell wasn’t as strong but it still smelled so good. You couldn’t get enough. Unbeknownst to you, you fell asleep with it up to your face.

“She’s there…with the Greenridge pack.” Hayes confirmed. “It was faint but I smelled her.”

“Faint?” Lewis raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think she was home while we were there. The guys weren’t that defensive but they were definitely playing it off. I could smell her scent.”  Hayes explained.

“Did you smell it?” Lewis asked Frankie.

“I honestly don’t know how she smells. She always smelled like the basement and the other omegas.”

Lewis sighed. “Fine. I’ll take your word for it. Even though you aren’t very credible right now.” “I wouldn’t lie about something like this. I want her back here as much as you do.” Hayes said.

“Very well. Looks like we need to come up with our plan of attack. Sam and Triston are upstairs. Go get them.” Lewis demanded.

Frankie retrieved the betas and they all began planning the best way to get you back.

TAGLIST:

@estella-novella @lxvxchxrlxttxbxrsx22-blog @butterflydemons @readr1221 @gaby105-skz @notevenheretbh1 @bah2004 @sinfulfic @bowsnbang @just-a-blackthorn-cookie @dreamerwasfound @motheraiya55 @m00njinnie @writeuntilthebitterend @jutdwae-flower @staytinyluv @emmxxsworld @galaxy4489 @wolfo2027

Shout out to my beta for inspiring, motivating, and pushing me! @its-the-solar-system

[jackredfieldwasmyjacob]

thinking about how yesterday watching the news my dad was so confused that this ciclogénesis explosiva / borrasca / winter storm? is called ciaran but pronounced 'keeran' his poor spanish soul would just not understand it. and when i told him it was like that cause the name is irish he turned to me and went 'why did the irish chose the name ?????'

[townslore]

discovery of the day

[hoshigray]

I love your work so much and it makes me feel a certain way <33 BUTT im here to request something that I've been looking for 🤞🏽

Toji x Fan-Fiction-Writer ! Reader? I'll get on my knees if required 🫶🏽

𝐅��𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐢𝐜(𝐤)𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧!! | tōji fushiguro

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You know, some things are just not meant to be shared, such as fanfiction writing. And how the hell did your boyfriend, of all people, come to be the one to question you about your hobbies? You tell me, you dirty little writer…

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Toji x fem fanfic writer! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! - the reader is mid/late 20s; Toji's in his mid-30s - humor - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - clitoral play (licking, sucking and swiping) - deep impact position - degradation (slut, whore) - use of "Daddy" title - praise + humiliation - spitting - cervix fucking - little bit of rough sex - unprotected sex (psa: wrap the willy; don't be silly) - pet names (baby, cupcake, good girl, mama, princess, sweetheart, sweetie) - aftercare; taking a bath together - usage of a phone; erotic literature/writing - Toji teasing you to no end, the bastard, lol - reader wears glasses cuz why not, hehe - mention of drool/spit.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k (bless up)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: bro. this idea cooked so bad, i just HAD to make a fic for it, lmao!! apologies for doing this months late, hope I did the prompt justice, and ty for loving my works~☆

“Nooo, stop, Toji, give it back!”

“Hold on, baby, hold on…Phew, who knew ya liked wrtin’ dirty shit like this? The fuck is ‘pet play—’”

“Oh my God, stop it!” 

This had to be, undoubtedly, the worst day of your life.

If there’s one thing every human being on Earth has in common, it’s their love for the weekends. They’re amazing — have two whole days to retreat and relinquish the turmoil and stress after five days straight. They’re the days when you can choose whichever activity you want to enjoy your leisure. 

Some people catch up on sleep, others watch a show or try to cook up a new dish, and some go outside and hang out with friends. But then there are those weekdays where it’s satisfying enough to spend your day inside the comfort of your home, delighting in a hobby. 

The hobby you chose to indulge in this weekend was writing. And right at this moment, you regret it being the activity you selected.

Why? For one, it wasn’t just any type of writing, like journalling or poetry. No, no; if it were, things would be easier for you to deal with now. Nope, it was fan fiction writing. The type of writing you’ve known since middle school and decided to jump in and try for about a year. What started as a curiosity turned out to be a hobby that took up your infatuation to the maximum level: writing pieces every night, taking up requests from your following over six thousand followers, and serving as an outlet to project your fantasies onto the Internet. 

What type of fantasies, you might ask? The type you read in a room by yourself or in the corner away from prying eyes, under a blanket with your phone exhibiting the dark secrets that corrupt your mind, or the type that only could be accepted on the Internet and not from the judgmental looks of those in the real world.

But, most certainly, not the type of fantasies you wanted your boyfriend to see!

“Toji, please, give my computer back!”

“Nah, hold on; I wanna see this…Oh, what a title; ‘Fuck Me, Rail Me, Use Me, Daddy—‘“

“TOJI, STOP!”

Perhaps writing fan fiction with your boyfriend occupying your apartment wasn’t the best idea. But you wanted to get a draft don’t by the end of this weekend, and you were almost done with it. You were typing up a storm in your bedroom, sitting at your desk while your man, Toji Fushiguro, was doing at-home exercises in your living room. 

And you could’ve sworn you had locked your computer before going to the bathroom. All you know is that after flushing and washing your hands, you opened your bedroom door to a horrifying sight: Toji, sweaty from his routine in his sweats and wife beater, holding up your laptop that showed the exact draft that you were working on! No, no, NO! You almost tripped dashing to take the device, but the older man was too quick and effortlessly dodged your attempts while still reading the material. And now you know why you are hopping around your room trying to catch the man and stop him from reading more of your stuff. 

Spoiler alert: your efforts were beyond futile, huffing and puffing in complete defeat on your bed. Your boyfriend was sitting beside you, still reading aloud while scrolling through your drafts, to your dismay. Your ears and cheeks harbored an unbearable heat that you could cry at any second, and you covered your face in case it were to happen. God, please kill me now! 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, how many of these shits have you written?” Toji inquires, his forest green eyes scanning every draft as if the list were endless. “How long have you been doin’ this?”

“For…a while.” You can barely muster the confidence to utter an adequate response. How could I have forgotten to lock my damn computer?!

“How long’s a while?”

“Uhhh, a…a year?”

The silence was pinching your skin enough, but you don’t know if you preferred it over the next thing he said. “Wow, who would’ve thought my sweet angel was a dirty lil’ thing writing filth like this?” Oh, you wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die. You can practically sense the smirk on his stupid, handsome face, pulling the scar off his lip! And it hurts your being that he laughs at you grabbing a pillow to scream into oblivion. “What a horny minx.”

You removed the pillow to tell him off. “It’s not all my fault! Most of those aren’t even my ideas; some of my followers asked me to write—“

“Followers?” God, would it have killed you to shut up? “So you got people readin’ your stuff?”

Downcast eyes to avoid his surveying ones, “W–Well, yes…People like how I write, so I…..Write whatever they ask me.”

“Oh, wow,” raven eyebrows lift while looking at the screen, flipping through the notes of your drafts to your blog with your completed works. “So over a hundred freaks like how freaky you write.”

“Hey, d–don’t say it like that!”

“Oh really?” You didn’t like how he said that, nor when he pulled up one of your drafts to read. “… ’You spread your legs on instinct as she sucks on your chest, and the woman takes the initiative by sliding a hand down to your—‘“

“Stop, stop, STOP!” You sit upright and try again to take the computer away from him, but Toji swiftly moves to the bedroom floor. Fuck! It was hopeless, so you groan in exasperation. “Quit it, Toji; you had your fun, so give it back!”

He didn’t think so; finding something new about you made him curious to no bounds. And for it to be a bit of a suggestive side of you? Oh, how ashamed you were of him finding this out tickled him. “Damn, there’s so much on here…Have you ever written ‘bout shit we’ve done?”

You couldn’t believe he asked you that question — you couldn’t believe you were in this situation at all! Are you serious ”—ly asking me that?!?”

“I’m not hearin’ a ‘yes’ or ‘no.’” Now, this is just diving into a more profound level of embarrassment than you could handle. “Did’ya?”

“……………yes.”

“Wait, fr’ real?! Which ones?”

“I’m not telling you! Just give me my laptop—“

“Hell nah,” his elbow is strong enough to keep you at bay—how pathetic on your part being treated like a kid. “I’m curious to see what my lil’ sweetheart is tellin’ strangers ‘bout how we do our business—“

“I’m not telling them anything!!” You retort. “I-I just use our experience as a means of…references when I’m writing,” thumbs find themselves fidgeting together. “It…It helps when I don’t know how to describe a feeling, or….what it’s like during certain…..positions.” Was the room getting stuffy, or were you shrinking under the growing pressure of every word coming out of your mouth? Who knows. 

“Is there stuff y’ve written before that you’d like fr’ us to try?” Oh, for fuck’s sake, this was too much, bringing your –his– hoodie up to shield you from this predicament. And it only worsens when he stares your way, having you close up the hoodie by the drawstrings and collapse to his shoulder. Toji chuckles at your routing self, wrapping an arm around you. “Can’t even be honest fr’ a second.”

“Toji, pleaseeee,” whining doesn’t help, the older man moving the laptop out of your lazy attempt to retrieve it. “Give it baaack…!”

“Nnm, nnm, don’t wanna,” he places the device away to the ground and takes your hand with his. “Now I gotta read what weird shit you’ve been keepin’ ‘way from me.”

You shake your head frantically. “Please don’t! Don’t you think you’ve tormented me enough today?”

“Now, why would I ever get tired of fucking with ya?” The smirk on his face is still present after you open the hoodie to sneak a glare. “Shoulda thought ‘bout that and locked y’r laptop screen.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole…” his laugh at your words only proves your point, and you bury your face in his chest. This entire thing was so outrageous. How in the world were you this dumb enough not to double-check to make sure your computer was locked from prying eyes? What an amateurish move! Not even your closest friends know that you write fanfiction, so to have your boyfriend be the one to not only find out but bombard you with questions about your secret hobby is nothing short of humiliating. It can’t get any worse than this…

…Or so you thought.

“Hey,” you perk up to look at Toji. “You said ya got followers askin’ ya what they want you to write, right?” You nod meekly, twirling your thumbs with the bottom of your shirt. “Show me some.”

Appalled, you gawk, “Wh–why would I—”

“I know you have favorites from the hundreds I’ve been looking at for the past five minutes. So, are ya gonna show ��em to me, or am I gonna have to read every single one to find out?”He didn’t show interest in returning the laptop to you even after asking the question. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, baby; I bet ya can look it up on y’r phone or somethin’.”

Your pout deepens in defeat as you begrudgingly stuff a hand inside the pocket of your leggings to pull out your phone to click on an app. Your thumb clicks and scrolls for a few seconds before you peer to him and say, “…I do have some favorites.” 

Jesus, it hurt to admit that to someone, especially with your him of all people, who is without a doubt getting an absolute kick out of this, the fucking bastard! This was beyond embarrassing; nothing could ever top this moment. Indeed, there is nothing else he could have done that could have made this predicament any worse than it already is. At least that’s what you tell yourself to cope because Toji’s grin on his face says otherwise. And what he says afterward makes your blood shift to ice.

“Why don’t ya read ‘em to me.”

Yup, you were killing yourself tonight.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Go on; read that short one fr’ me.”

“Ahh—…Hahhh, ‘Sitting here and thinking…about your faves…Mmmm.”

For some reason, this felt so. Fucking. Wrong!

You already knew it was a bad idea for you to read your works to your boyfriend at his request. However, to be fulfilling said wish in this manner? The mortification had your ears ringing a thousandfold. 

How would you have foreseen this yourself, face stuffed to the pillow with your phone held up by your right hand with your legs spread up and your bottom propped up? Who the hell reads like this?! And on top of that, your boyfriend is alongside you, his body behind you. The inability to see what he’s doing arises uneasiness in the soul, quivers sneaking up as you feel the rough pads of his fingertips greet the skin of your ass after sneaking inside the oversized hoodie. 

Breath hitches at the slide of your panties, coming down for his hands to grope the flesh wholly. “To..ji…” his name leaves in shakes. 

“C’mon, baby,” you swallow thickly at the cupping of your chasm. Toji chuckles at the twitch felt on his palm, “Read it properly, yeah? Word for word.”

Oh, fuck, your brows trench together. “T…’Thinking about your faves pleasing you from behind. He knows he has to tease you a bit—Tmmm,” his lightly hits your butt. “‘B-By massaging your ass with his strong hands,” he does so, kneading your ass skillfully that has you involuntarily purring to his touch. “…’Keeping you still and relaxed so he can later feel you with his fingers and—“ his forefinger and middle slowly come from your clit to the entrance, biting your lips. “Nhhmm, hahhh.”

“Go on,” Toji scolds, the middle digit sliding up and down with a faint push. Your back quakes to the touch, fingers gripping the pillow. “What else is y’r fav doing?”

You inhale. “Mmmm…’and circle one of them around to warm you up—‘“ spit gulped down again when Toji’s digit did the exact thing as told. “‘And then, when he knows you’re ready for him, he sneaks them insi—‘ Aaaiiii!” His middle finger is shoved into your vagina, and your toes instantly curl before he pushes the rest ever so slowly.  “Oh! Ohhh, fuck…’He…then comes to your shoulder and says to your ear to make you tingle…”

“…’Stay still, sweetie,’” woah. You were not expecting that; you were too focused on trying to read your words, and Toji bending to your ear to read his part wasn’t noticed at all. You only hope he didn’t catch the clasp of your vaginal walls around his finger (he most definitely did), hoping the soft chortle meant nothing. “‘Gonna let me make y’ feel good, yeah?’” Jesus Christ, his gruff voice relayed this so intimately to your eardrums that your heart was beating too hard.

Toji’s finger goes faster, nearly having you almost drop your phone. Your face smooshes to the pillow from the scrape of his fingertip, biting on the pillowcase as he puts in the other finger. He whispers to your ear to keep going; unbelievable…So you lift your head and try. “J-J…’Just thinking about how easy he could make you cum—Mmmph! Wi-With his fingersss…scratching and rubbing your insides so precisely until you’re practically begging to mess his hand up’…”

“Oh, fr’ real?” The perk of his tone makes you anxious. “Well, don’ mind if I do.”

The pace of his ring and middle finger increase, and you gasp sharply. The onslaught of rubs to your inner channel is enough to have your lower half writhe despite Toji keeping your legs grounded with his single one. Oh, fucking Christ, your glasses up to your smooshed cheeks the more you try to conceal your cries, proven to be trivial as the seconds go by. 

“Aww, whaddaya think y’re doin’?” He coos with a kiss to your nape; you nearly shut down. His free hand takes your phone, “Tryin’ to hide that cute voice of y’rs from me? Fuck that,” he then removes his digits from your chasm as you yelp and makes you flip to your back. Oh, fuck no! Your hands go to cover your face—nope, Toji is quick to move them away. “Lemme see you, mama…Now, let’s see what else you should read fr’ me.” He swipes your phone screen, “This too wordy, this long as fuck—goddamn, baby; you writin’ whole ass novels or somethin’?”

“Shut up,” you reply as your legs move, and Toji’s left hand removes your undies. 

“Ah, this one!” He hands you back your cellular device. Your eyes catch the first sentence, and your face morphs into dread before staring back at him to meet his grin. “Go ‘head,” he says cooly, spreading your legs by the knees.

“…’Picture this: your favorite coming to your room and seeing you on your bed and striding to you to taste you,” you inhale deeply at the blow of air on your wet southern folds. “‘He crawls up to you while you’re busy scrolling on the phone, busying himself with placing kisses to your stomach and down to your undies. He’ll then take them off and spread your legs for him, greeting your privates with his ton’—Ghhh…!” Toji licks your slit leisurely; you gulp at the muscle perching between the lips of your labia. “Hahhh, shit…’The smell and taste of you are so inviting he can barely keep it together, virtually inching to stuff his face with your pussy. He kisses it, lips petting your clit,’” he does so, and you chew your bottom lip. “‘Then his tongue goes excruciatingly slow to e-explore your folds,” your exhale is shaky as Toji’s tongue laps and swirls; fuck, I can’t do this…

The older man, on the other hand, flips a switch and goes to town. You knew this was a bad idea; if there’s one thing Toji loved doing more than fucking your cunt, it’s eating it out. He pushes your legs up by the knees for easier access, the angle perfect for him to propel his mouth onto your entrance. You shriek, his nose frequently grinding the hood of your cunt as his scarred lips and tongue suck and lick you feverishly.

“—Tahhh! Ohhhshit, no…!” You cry, throwing your head back to the pillow. “Ahhnn, Tojiii, stop…not too fast—Oooh!”

He spits, mixing his saliva with your slick as he laves. “Mmmph, shit, taste ’o good,” Toji pushes his face further as he sucks on your clit, and you nearly choke on your sob. “Yeah, yeah, let ‘em out; scream like a real whore.” You jerk, but his hands firmly keep you down. “Keep goin’, cupcake, finish y’r reading.”

“Khhh, God, I can’t,” you gulp when emerald eyes peer toward you. “…’Before long, he’s too overwhelmed by you that he can’t take it anymore, stuffing his face between your legs and having you cry out his name in prayers—your phone is no longer a priority.’” Jesus, you can hear his grunts along with the lascivious sounds coming from below; he’s so fucking turned on. “‘Now he has your attention, playing with your…pussy like a toy just to hear you squeak.”  

“Fuck yeah,” he groans as he sticks his fore and middle digits into you. Fingers go to and fro frantically, and your free hand grabs his raven hair. “Christ, y’ sound so fuckin’ hot. More, gimme more,” a long and harsh kiss to your clit makes you want to arch so bad. “Good girl, good fuckin’ girl…”

You hiss at the graze of your vagina; keeping your eyes open is hard to do. Lips go agape, and your noises fly out with no restraint. Your legs tremble, impending in a wish to close from the curl of Toji’s fingers. Your senses become too keen, your nerves heightening with every massage of your walls, lick and slurp of your slick and clit. 

“Ohooo, nhhmm, fuck, Tojiiii,” another suck to your clit has you grip the sheets. “Stooop, please; I’m gonna cumm…!” 

However, your boyfriend has another idea in his head. “Oh no, you don’t, princess,” his fingers leave you hurriedly with a squeal. He yanks for your phone once more to find yet another piece of yours for you to read, giving you so little time to recuperate. Until he scoffs with a smirk, “Ohh, read this one aloud next.” 

You take the device returned to you cautiously, scanning the first few words that catch your eye. Curiosity snaps to apprehension, “W-wait, no, please!” Begging won’t work, but it doesn’t hurt to try. “Please, Toji, look for some—“

“Aht, aht,” the click of the tongue shuts you. “C’mon, sweetheart, that ain’t what y’re callin’ y’r fav right now.” He squeezes your thigh, “What’s my name?”

“Toji, pleas—“

“Mm, mm,” he pinches you, a warning. “Try again.”

Excitement Nervousness flicker through your soul, breathing tardily as you muster to answer. “Sorry…Daddy.” The title burnt your tongue when it left your mouth, and the smile lifted Toji’s scar even more. 

“Good,” he praises. “Now read.”

“…One of my followers asked about writing a post about deep impact, so it’s—“

“Deep impact?” He questions while spreading your legs. “The hell’s that?” 

“I-It’s a, uhh,” you push up your glasses. “A position where you…kinda, like, sit on one of my legs and lift the other to your shoulder.”

Black eyebrows rise. “Ohhh, somethin’ like this, huh?” Sturdy hands find your ankle and lift your leg to his shoulder, and Toji then moves to have your other leg in between his. Your lips flatten when the groin of his pants—aka, the pitched tent–touches your hole. He whistles, “Oh, now I got a new favorite to add fr’ later.” His words aren’t meant to jest, so you frown as he snickers. “Alright, what did you write for this?”

You lick your lips; why? Toji uses his free hand to bring his sweats down, not surprised by the lack of underwear as his erection springs out. His cock is standing and ready for you, the precum oozing out alluring your eyes and your lip bitten by excited teeth. Of course, your vagina is clenching to a void—anticipation is a hell of a drug affecting your entire figure. 

“Don’t get too distracted, mama,” he caught you eyeing him, lifting the hem of his wife’s beater to bite down on. Your ears and cheeks scorched at the sight of his abs and torso. “Read those words.”

Your gaze flickers to your phone while Toji lines his dick to your entrance, a gulp at the kiss of his glans and your inner labia. “…’Daddy has you propped in a deep impact, a position catered to mutual pleasure and closeness. He taps you with the tip to have you excited, then slowly pushes himself into your—Mmfff!…y-your warmth,” reminding yourself to maintain a steady breath; Toji pushes his cockhead into your slick as you’re distracted. A few seconds fly by, and he slips right in; a gasp exiting your puffy lips indicates so. “‘H–He gently shoves every inch and stretches you out,’” his girth is lethal, your eyes rolling up the further his tip goes, scrapping your texture and your opening suiting for his length. “‘A-And, it feels so good to have him making you full and good’—Hoohh?!?”

That’s it, that’s what you were anxious about—you felt the jab of his tip on your cervix. You freeze instantly, too shocked to breathe as the hit was spontaneous. Your body locks down for a quick second to process what happened.

Toji notices your tightened grip and hisses, “Fffuuckin, shit…! So tight,” his hips go sluggish, and you feel his veins and shaft brush nicely with your insides. You sneak a glance at his flashed abdomen; the flex of his abs as he pushes his pelvis in waves is a sight to see–enough to put you in a trance. 

You continue. “‘His hip work is pleasuring, having you wail and cry out f-for more…the sensation of Daddy’s dick venturing inside and hitting your sweet spots is enough to make your toes curl—Nhhaaa…”

He can sense you gripping on him more; fuck, it feels so good. His thrusts go a little faster, forming a minimal medium. You exhale through your nostrils at the change of pace, and grazes against your walls become periodic and long-lasting the deeper he goes.

 “Daaah, ahhh, f-fuuck,” you whimper aloud. “Tojiii, y’ feel so g—Nnnmm!?!“ You nearly swallow your tongue from the sudden pound of him, the rub of your G-spot too abrupt to predict. 

“Who?” God, you know he’s getting a good kick out of this, the fucker. He pushes his cock to the hilt, and it takes everything in your power not to babble from the overwhelming intensity. 

“Daddy, daddyyy, don’t…!” Correcting yourself as his fingers dance around your unattended clit. “I’m sorry, you just feel so good..”

That’s more like it. “Good girl,” he bends closer, his knees spreading further apart. He pushes the leg on his shoulder so that the angle is plausible for him to rut harder. You shriek and squirm to his enjoyment, “Keep readin’.”

“‘Y-…You’re cries become more shameful the harder and faster he goes,” Toji stimulates for a harsher pound; another hit to your cervix has you winded. Despite your gasping for air, he doesn’t relent, and you jerk to undulate to another poke. “Sh-shiiit, Jesusss…! ‘He pistons so hard, so deep, it’s difficult even to think straight when all you can think is—‘“ a choked sob from a slow pull before a devious snap of the hips. “A-All you c–an think…Ahahh!” Another nudge to your G-spot; this is so hellish!

The culprit scoffs softly. “Think ‘bout what, baby?” He swipes and pinches your clit to have you jolt and whine. “Tell Daddy the rest.” 

Fuck, I can’t take it anymore! The phone slips your hand, barely missing your head. “Daddyyy, I can’t!”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Another pinch to the bud pairs with a poke to your delicate womb. Oh, he’s such a dick! “Don’t wanna read fr’ me?” He chuckles aloud at you shaking your head ‘no’. “Why’s that?”

“C-Cuz, if you keep going, I’ll,” a head thrown back at another nip on your clitoris. “Ahh, I-I’ll…!” Shit, you can feel it, the climb rocking your bones to entail your soon climax. 

“What? Ya wanna cum on Daddy’s dick instead of readin’ like a sweetheart,” don’t believe the words; his faux disappointment doesn’t match the merciless thrusts and the devilish grin. “Wanna act like a whole slut and cum on me?”

“Yesss, yes, pleasee!!” You don’t care anymore; you want to let it out. “Please, Daddyyy, I wanna cummm!!”

“Heh, what a nasty girl you are—Nnnmm! Fuck, just milkin’ me dry, beggin’ fr’ it, huh?” The same fingers he used to play with your clit come to your lips to shove inside, forcing you to taste yourself. “Go ‘head, mama; let y’rself go, be the slut you really are…Hahhh, shit, c’mere,” he grabs for both your wrists with his free hand after taking off your glasses and propels you towards him at the same time as he pounds. Holy fuck, this position was getting rougher, pulling you in and hitting your cervix with accurate hits that you’re whining and twitching. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck! It’s too much, it’s all too much to bear, so it’s no wonder you climax in seconds.

You cry with the breach of your crescendo, your inner muscles contracting around the cock, hitting your womb. Your nerves are now peaked as the air is sensitive to your skin, and you feel so out of breath, everything happening all at once that you can’t keep up as you thank Toji in babbled prayers, still sucking on his fingers as your vagina flutters and coats him of your essence.

“Good job, cupcake,” he comes closer and removes his digits. “Can’t beat the real thing, right?” He cups and massages your cheeks before spitting into your mouth. 

You don’t even flinch, too fucked out to even care, just moaning to his lips as he brings you in for a passionate kiss as his hips keep going until he’s done and satisfied…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Ughhh, I can’t believe I just did that…”

“Pfft quit whinin’. Don’t act like ya didn’t enjoy it.”

“I hate you so fucking much, you know that?”

“Whatever y’ say, Ms. Novelist.” You grumble at the name before he brings the washcloth to wipe down your neck.  

You and Toji were now in the bathroom, your nude bodies squished together, with the warm water cleansing you both. Hair and skin damp, your back meshed to his front as you sit between his legs. The soft yellow lighting basks the bathroom with a warm glow as you two bathe in relaxation, a needed state after the excitement prior. 

You snatch the washcloth before Toji wipes your face clean off. “Why did you have to be so nosy, looking at my laptop for what?” You wipe his arm that rests on the rim of the tub. 

He rolls his eyes, knowing he’s in for a lecture. “Well, if ya didn’t want me to see, shoulda locked the shit.”

“That doesn’t excuse the fact that you’re nosy as hell! Could’ve just looked somewhere else or left the room!��

“Hmph, well, when you see the words ‘Down and Dirty’ all bolded and big and see another tab with a pic of a rimjob, who wouldn’t stop—“

“Okay, okay!” It would be best if you threw the cloth at him for chortling; such an indecorous personality for someone supposedly older than you. “You’re insufferable.”

“Right back at you,” he whispers to your ear and kisses your cheek. You sigh softly from his lips, resting your head on his shoulder while he pecks your chin. The hand in the water finds your thigh to grope and massage, and you moan at the touch and unwind.

Tranquility fills the cozy space between you two as the silence settles in, the humid air comforting to your nose and eyes, and the drip of the faucet plucking into the tub water is a soothing sound to cajole you into a dormant plane. 

However, even when relaxing, it doesn’t stop the bothersome feeling of asking Toji something. And where better than with you in his secure embrace? “Toji,” his name has him open an eye to look your way. “You don’t think I’m…weird, don’t you?”

He raises a brow. “Explain.”

“Like, don’t you find it weird that me, your partner, indulges in hobbies that are…you know, like that,” now your eyes trail away from his gaze. “Writing about fictional fantasies and such, looking up erotic material and stuff…”

A few seconds fly as he scoffs. “Baby, I’ve been lookin’ at porn way before I met you—“

“Th–That’s not what I meant??”

“Besides, it’s nothing more than just writin’ shit that doesn’t exist. Hmm, if anything, now I know y’re just as big of a pervert as I am.”

Anxiousness transitions to peeve. “You are so—“

“Do you like what you do?” 

The question takes you aback; the immediate serious tone switch wasn’t expected. “…I..yeah.”

“Are ya hurtin’ anyone?”

“No…at least I don’t want to.”

“Are ya hurtin’ y’reself?” You see what he’s doing, the glint shining from his viridian orb.

“No. I…like this hobby.”

Finally, a small smile contorts that scar of his. “Then I don’t mind it. It’s what ya like to do, so do whatever, sweetie.” He comes to kiss your nose and rest his forehead with yours. “I like ya bein’ a lil’ weird anyway.”

“Jackass…” And there you go, falling in love with him again. You cup his cheek, kiss the other, and repose onto his shoulder with a blissful sigh. 

“Now,” you blink back to him. “Can’t lie, think you gotta start callin’ me ‘Daddy’ from now on,” like a scratched record, your heart stops, especially with his mischievous smirk. “Where can I read the rest of y’r stuff at?”

“That’s it,” you ignore his annoying bark of laughter as you try to squirm out of his hold. “Let me out of here, get me out of this fucking tub.”

“Haha, hey, quit it; y’re spillin’ the water!”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header art by rororogi morgera + dividers by @/cafekitsune + @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[thinkinonsense]

WICKED

old man!logan howlett x young fem!reader

cw: cheating, heavy flirting, smut, kinda dark

authors note: i have no idea what came over me and i cannot explain it. also! gif credit to the amazing n talented @silverskyeline <333

he never should've gone to the bar. never should've let you run your pretty mouth. most definitely never should've bought you that martini. every weekend he watches you seduce the men at the bar until one of them falls into your trap.

logan would scoff, mumbling something under his breath about how stupid that bastard must be. despite the fact that the only thing holding him back from your advances was the thick gold band on his finger, reminding him of where his loyalty should be.

"lovely seeing you here again, logan."

he loathed your wicked smile and how your voice sounded like rain fall. trying his best to avoid staring into the eye of the storm but your presence demanded to be seen. practically ripping his hazel gaze off the wooden table and over to that tiny dress you were wearing. dark navy tight against your skin in a way that could make any man sin.

"missed ya' last weekend." you purr. "where were you at?"

"home." he states, gruffly.

"that's boring. why were you at home?"

"wedding anniversary."

the words made your tummy flip with excitement. you didn’t know much about logan outside of his favorite brands of alcohol, but you did know that he had a wife at home. he never mentioned her by name. sometimes, she would call the bar if it was “too late” for him to be out but other than that, she was a ghost.

“cute. you should bring her here one weekend.” you propose, almost making logan choke on his whisky. “bet she would love to see where you run and hide at night.”

“it’s not her kinda scene.” he responds.

“aw, i’m sure we would be friends.”

“doubtful.”

“and why’s that?” you fake pout.

logan leans in close before whispering, “don’t think she would appreciate you beggin’ for her husband to fuck you in a dirty bar bathroom every weekend.”

“i didn’t say we would stay friends.” you giggle, making his cock stir in his work pants. “also, the invite is still open if you miss fuckin’ someone younger.”

the second you are out of sight, off in the pool room next door annoying some other asshole, he groans under his breath. logan hated how well you read him. you knew he wanted you but you were smart enough to make him come crawling to you if he wanted to feel your tight cunt wrapped around him.

after a couple minutes, a few men left the room and logan got up to take their place. when he walked inside he saw it was empty except for you sitting in one of the chairs on your phone.

“glad you decided to join me.” you smile up at him.

logan ignores you instead going over to get a stick and start playing. you finish your martini and join him as he sets up the balls. catching you off guard, he tosses you a stick too.

“if i win, you leave me alone for good.” he huffs in your face.

“sure but what do i get when i win?” you smirk.

logan ignores your question and growls, “ladies first.”

it's dead silent as you bend over the pool table to line your stick up to the diamond. logan's far too busy staring at the wet spot on your light blue panties. he never admit it, even if you knew for sure that's where his eyes were. it wasn't until he lost sight of the spot that he realized you already took your shot.

"your turn, old man." you tease, moving out of his way.

the two of you go back and forth for a bit but you were growing tired of this game. instead you decided to make things even more interesting.

"so when i win, are you going to finally fuck me?" your bluntness always left logan speechless.

"you already know the answer to that, sweetheart." he replies, trying to focus before shooting.

"sure, blah, blah, blah, something wife." you mock with an eye roll that almost made logan chuckle. "but seriously? when was the last time you two had sex? you probably got cobwebs in there."

that got a small smirk out of him. one that you count as a win.

"it's just a band. it comes off, see?" you lean over and take the ring off of his finger, placing it on the table.

logan stared at it for too long. feeling the distance of his commitments. you turn his head towards you with a light hook on his grey bearded chin. the lust in his eyes told you that you had won.

"you know what else comes off that easily?" you whisper, lips inches from his. "my panties."

a good man would've walked away. a good man would've returned home to his wife. but logan wasn't a good man. never had been and never would be.

an animalistic urge fell over him, grabbing you with the ease of a rag doll and bending you over the pool table. the wedding band was inches from your parted lips, moaning prettily as logan spread you open with his thumbs and licked a wide strip up your cunt, burying his face in your arousal and letting it coat his beard until he could only taste you.

"f-fuck me." logan groans, pulling back to catch his breath. "taste better than i imagined."

"knew you wanted me." you smirk, feeling his middle finger circle your entrance before pushing in. a loud moan is pulled from your throat as he hits that spongey spot with ease.

"weren't lying 'bout being tight." logan marvels, watching the way you suck in his finger.

he attempts to push in his ring finger as well and you wish you could've seen his face while he struggle to get it in. quickly, you reach for the wedding ring next to you then grab his hand from inside you. fumbling to get the ring back on him before he questions you.

"what are you—"

"go on." you coax, looking back at him with dark eyes. "try it now."

logan shouldn't have been so turned on from the image of his wedding ring coated in your slick; but here he was watching it disappear and reappear inside of you.

"right—fuck! r-right there..." you pant, arching farther back to meet his thrusts.

"does it turn you on being a homewreaker?" logan asks, back up on his feet and nibbling at your ear. "knowing that you have a old married man fucking you with his wedding band on?"

"mhm..." you mumble against the table. he takes the opportunity to pick up his pace, feeling you clench down. "d-don't stop..."

within seconds, your gushing around his fingers and dripping down his hand. right when he pulled out of you, you turn around and push him back into one of the plush chairs to undo his belt. falling to your knees, you begin to stroke him, tracing his veins with your tongue and tapping the tip on it.

"always knew you had quite the mouth on ya', princess." he grunts with a fist full of your hair.

you smile, taking him all the way until his tip hit the back of your throat and the hairs at his base tickled your nose. logan was finding it harder and harder to control his animalistic urge while your gagging and drooling all over his lap. quickly, you release him with a pop and stand up to straddle him, lining him up to your entrance and sinking down slowly.

"shit, you're so fucking tight." he says, gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

"only for you, logan." you whine, grinding down on him, rocking back and forth.

roughly, logan pulls the rest of your dress off of you, throwing it on the floor somewhere behind you. large hands touching you all over in ways you've only dreamt of. meanwhile, your attacking his neck like a madwoman. biting and marking him up like he's yours.

desperately, logan fucks up into you, needing more. his tip nudges that sweet spot within you, making you moan loudly in his ear, encouraging him to go faster. so focused on the squealing of your soaked pussy. he captures your lips, kissing you tenderly. you can feel his high approaching, twitching inside of you, and you needed to do one last thing before it hit him.

carefully you pull away, gripping his chin and pulling him face to face with you. his eyes are blown out with desire as he stares at you.

"tell me your mine, lo." you whisper against his lips.

logan can feel you clench tightly around him, waiting for him to give into you completely. he presses his thumb down on your button, moving in fast circles to get you there with him.

"f-fuck, i'm yours, baby." he moans, coating your walls with spurts of his release. "i'm yours."

"t-that's right." you moan, kissing him roughly as your high washes over you.

"you look so pretty like this." he coos, watching the pleasure run over you.

for a moment the two of you sit still, trying to catch your breath. logan's mind races, not meaning to cum inside of you but it's far too late now.

"lets keep this a secret between the two of us, huh?" he says while you play with his hand, mischievously. before he can notice, you pocket the ring.

"sure thing, baby." you reply. "i'll gladly be your little secret but have fun explaining those marks to the old ball and chain."

logan looks down at you and that wicked smile of yours, only to realize just how fucked he is.

[heechwe]

night changes | 𝐥𝐡𝐬

୨୧ pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 3k ୨୧ genre: smut, fluff, hint of comedy ୨୧ tags: roomates to lovers au, pet names (love, baby, etc.), dirty talk, size kink, face sitting, 69, unprotected sex, creampie. ୨୧ synopsis: Maybe a citywide power outage is what you need to finally confess your feelings. Well, that and a risque card game. ➸ Birthday fic for the beautiful boy!! Also, the card game is fictional and takes inspiration from other card games like Hot Seat!

“How many candles do we have left?” You ask in the form of a groan, trying to find a bar of reception in your apartment. With the power suddenly lost from the blistering rainstorm outside, it’s a wonder when it will calm down and you’ll have access to the outside world again.

“Relax. I bought more a couple days ago when I was tracking the path of the storm. No big deal.” Heeseung begins lighting them and placing them around your shared apartment. By the time he’s finished, the candlelight gives enough coverage of the living spaces for you both to walk around without issue.

Heesung has always been good at that. He can prepare for the worst and keep a cool head in the midst of chaos, including when your fiery temper rears its head. But your fire comes in handy sometimes. When he doesn’t want to deal with talking to your landlord or fixing errors with the management company, you take the reins. The balance you both established is why you work so well as friends and roommates. 

“I wonder how long we’ll be out of power,” you mumble, drumming your fingers across the arm of the couch and trying not to have a meltdown. The cool air from the open windows provides some relief, even if you’re running hot from your spiked nerves.

“Well, whether it’s a few hours or a dozen, we just gotta make the best of it.” Heeseung smiles. Suddenly, his eyes widen and he claps his hands together. “How about board games?”

You giggle. “When was the last time you played a board game, Hee?”

“It’s been a minute,” he confesses, a shy smile on his lips. “But, hey! Never a better time than now.”

The two of you open the spare living room closet to grab a handful of board games you’ve collected since living in the apartment together. You rifle through them, Candyland immediately catching your eye. But Heeseung has other ideas.

“Oh! Let’s do Hot Topics!” Heeseung holds up the box with a smirk, immediately opening it to rifle through its contents.

“But there’s only two of us!”

“So? We’ll make it work!” He sits down on the living room rug and pats the spot next to him.

You oblige his request. How couldn’t you when he smiles at you in that way? With his cute cheeks and Adam's apple bobbing in laughter—no. You’re not going to trudge up these old feelings again, especially during such an unfortunate situation.

You’re friends and roommates, end of. 

Heeseung shuffles the cards and pulls out the first one on the top of the deck. “Alright, first one. All Play: Would I marry someone twice my age if it meant I never had to work again?” He considers the question, but you immediately let out a noise similar to one you would make when vomiting.

“No fucking way! I don’t want my husband one foot out the door!”

“Well, if I didn’t have to work at the ramen shop anymore—” Heeseung wiggles his eyebrows and you shove him in the shoulder. He expels a hearty laugh. “I’m kidding! I agree with you.”

The game continues on, prompts and questions so ridiculous they make any lingering anxiety about the storm ebb away, too lost in the game and your friend to notice the ever-present storm outside your door.

You take a new card from the deck, flipping it upside to reveal the prompt. “Dare: Stare at the player next to you for thirty seconds. The first one to break eye contact has to skip their turn.” You throw the card in the discarded pile without a care. “That’s so easy.”

“Bring it on.” You move positions to face Heeseung, his eyes immediately lighting up with the challenge presented to you both.

“Three, two, one,” you count down. “Go!”

Heeseung tries to make you break immediately with a goofy face, but you stand resolute, eyebrows furrowed and mouth in a thin line. But then, he stares you down with his bright eyes and soft smile, making your entire body go cold. This could not be happening. You aren’t feeling your stupid, childlike crush come back at you in full force. Not tonight. Not like this.

You had been so stern in keeping it stamped down the past two years you’ve been roommates. It hadn’t been easy, but with enough practice and denial, it seemed pretty easy to keep it at bay. But now, the only two people in the darkness of this room, you wonder how much longer your resolve can hold.

You fake a heavy cough and turn away. Heeseung screeches in victory with his arms raised up high. “Weak! You’re so weak.”

You roll your eyes and turn back to face the deck. “Whatever, dumbass. Pick the next card.”

He reads his new card aloud. “Truth: How long was your longest crush?” He releases an anxious laugh, and then throws the card into the pile amongst the other used ones. “Longest one’s still going.”

You turn your head to face him, but he’s only staring at the deck. He grabs the next card and ignores how his confession has created a new, heavy fog of tension. If Heeseung has a crush, one that’s apparently been in the works for awhile, neither Jake nor anyone else gave you the head’s up about it.

Heeseung reads the next challenge aloud. “Dare: Excite one player just by kissing them for 10 seconds. You’re not limited to the player’s lips.” His eyes go wide as he holds the card tightly between his fingers. “If you don’t want me to, I—“”

You laugh it off, taking the card from him and setting it on the floor. “It’s fine. It’s just a game, right?”

“Right.” Heeseung inches closer, your faces barely a few inches apart. You were prepared for him to kiss you on the mouth and that would be the end of it, but you tremble in pleasure when you realize his lips are suddenly attached to your neck.

A moan escapes your lips when he begins to suck on the space of your neck near your collarbone. He doesn’t use his hands at all. All it takes is his mouth, its soft pressure creating a swirling eruption within your stomach, begging to be released. He licks at your bruising skin, pressing his mouth there once more before stepping back.

When he’s back in his normal position, the timer goes off. “So, uh,” he says, cutting through the sudden awkward silence, “are you excited?”

You blush and bite down on your bottom lip hard, no words coming out in response. You turn your attention back to the deck. “F-Finally, my turn again!”

You turn another card for the next prompt, reading it in your head and wanting to jump out the window before Heeseung can see it. “Dare: Kiss the player you would most likely go on a date with on the cheek.”

You tell yourself to just get it over with, in spite of your jumbling nerves. Excuse it after as a technicality, him being the only living person in existence in the apartment to kiss for the challenge. End it there and hope the past few dares do not destroy the sanctity of your friendship.

You crawl on your hands to get close to Heeseung’s cheek, but before you can land the kiss, he turns his head and catches your mouth with his. You’re unprepared for the act, but your lips quickly become accustomed once you spend a second or two in his embrace. His lips are gentle, teasing, eager for you, and it makes your knees feel like cotton. 

He pulls you up from your position to rest in his lap, still pressing his mouth to yours. Suddenly, his tongue is licking at the roof of your mouth, and your body feels like a live wire. How did he have the power to jumpstart your nerves and set them on fire all at once?

You separate from him, confusion clouding your sudden desire. “Why’d you do that?”

“I wanted to.” Heeseung moves stray hairs from your face, the baby hairs clinging to your skin from the sweat. “Did you not want me to?”

“No, I did!” You giggle nervously. “I just didn’t know how you’d react if I said so.”

“Why did you never say anything before?” Heeseung looks genuinely confused and concerned. He wonders how much more obvious he had to have been. Before this moment, had he missed chances to give you the signs? Clearly so, with your stammered words and nervous limbs. He had to get better at his communication.

“Do you know how awkward it would’ve been if you hadn’t felt the same?” You ask him the rhetorical question, your eyebrow quirked up. “Just tiptoeing around the both of us knowing I have this exhaustive crush on you?”

Heeseung chuckles into your neck. If you described your crush in that way, his had to have been all-consuming, even if you were oblivious to it. “Exhaustive?”

“I mean,” you whisper, “do you know how hard it is to look at you and not want to jump you all the time?”

You feel his bulge tighten against his sweatpants, the sensation against your body making you gasp. Heeseung smirks in response. “Well, clearly it’s a mutual thing.”

The two of you resume kissing, both lost in the relief of your feelings mirroring each others’. In spite of the current storm still whipping the trees against your apartment building, you were so at ease wrapped around Heeseung like a vine.

If anything, Mother Nature is mimicking all the sensations bubbling up inside of you, close to reaching their boiling point with the way Heeseung expertly touches and squeezes your skin while his mouth covers your face in kisses.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” He asks as he lays you down on the living room rug, hands in your hair and lips magnetized to the spot on your neck where he had kissed you previously. “How long I’ve thought about being in your bed? Touching you, tasting you, feeling you.”

“Heeseung, please.” You inch his shirt up and over his head, admiring the divots and ridges of his newly-revealed muscles.

It isn't the first time you’ve seen him shirtless, but it’s only the beginning of the night, and you’re certain you’ll see parts of him you haven’t seen yet. The thought alone makes your body tingle in all the right places. “Stop talking and touch me more.”

“So impatient.” Heeseing releases a devilish laugh into the column of your throat. “I want to savor this. Savor you.”

“We have all the time in the world until the power goes out. I want you,” you whine, bucking your hips up into nothing but his clothed legs and hips, his bulge barely brushing your clothed heat. 

Heeseing hisses and makes you both sit up, his expression blown from lust. “Sit on my face.”

You laugh, hesitant yet excited. “What?”

He places a kiss on your lips with every pause between his words. “I. Said. Sit. On. My. Face.”

You listen to his tone, playfully demanding but completely serious. This is a new side of Heeseung you had never seen. The same humorous guy you felt butterflies for since the day you met, but with an edge of vulgarity that leaves you in impure anticipation. 

You tug off both your cotton shorts and underwear. You may still be wearing your tank top, but you imagine that will come off soon too.

You settle your body down on Heeseung’s awaiting tongue. Your body trembles when he takes an eager lick along your folds, his mouth immediately enveloped in your heat. “Jesus, are you always this wet?” He asks, voice muffled but still clear enough for you to hear.

“Only when I think of you,” you confess. Many nights alone proved the only way to get off was with the image of Heeseung’s face and body between your legs in your brain. Even if he was seven feet away on another overnight session of League of Legends, you had to get your fix.

“Fuck.” He pulls you down further onto his mouth, practically suffocating him as he laps at your cunt mercilessly. Your mouth hangs open in ecstasy, all the fantasies you held incomparable to this.

Heeseung’s hips match yours in their rhythm against his face, and you feel guilty the poor man is receiving no pleasure while you have all of it. You reach over to the top of his sweatpants and pull them down, his cock springing free from the material. The tip leaks a hefty amount of precum, and you smear it down his girthy length with one hand.

Heeseung moans against your center, but he pulls himself back. “You don’t have to–”

“You’re taking care of me,” you pant, “let me take care of you.”

You wrap your lips around his tip, experimenting with the pressure and size of him on your tongue. When he groans and growls in between your legs, lapping at your essence with even more fervor, you take his entire length in your mouth.

“God, you’re too good at this,” Heeseung moans, rolling his hips into your awaiting mouth and cursing when he feels the back of your throat. “I could have your mouth on me all fucking day.”

You continue like that for a while, tasting each other and teasing the waters until both of you are a mess. It’s a mesmerizing dance you’re in with him, chasing your highs together. But you’re unsure who will ask to take the next step. Removing your mouth from his with a resounding pop, you plead, “Please Hee, I want you inside of me.”

“Anything for you.” He gently gets up from between your legs and positions himself against the couch. He signals for you to sit on his lap, a playful grin on his lips. You do so without a second thought, anticipating his body molding to yours perfectly. How did the night start with you both planning another ramen-filled movie night and end up here?

You sink down onto him, the sudden fullness making your eyelids shut from the sensation. “Damn, you’re so tight,” he growls, slowly rocking you onto him with his hands on your hips. “Feels fucking incredible.”

“Y-You’re so big, Hee. It’s amazing.” You find your own pace, languidly riding him as the wind still rages on outside. Besides the weather, the sounds of your skin against his crowd the space of your apartment.

Heeseung removes your tank top quickly, clutching one of your breasts to knead the skin. “You like it, don’t you?” Heeseung whispers. “Being filled up by me, stretched out and fucked hard?” He takes the other breast into his mouth, latching his lips onto your nipple and swirling his tongue wickedly.

“Yes, fuck yes. Only by you, Hee.”

He bucks his hips up into you, your body slamming down on him in fast increments to compensate for his new rhythm. “Yeah, baby, tell the entire floor who’s making you feel this good.”

“Heeseung, fuck,” you scream out his name. It doesn’t matter if the rain and wind can’t conceal your sounds. All you care about is this moment, right here with him in your living room, all your desires coming to fruition. “Fuck, it’s so good.”

After more kisses and curses of pleasure leaving both of your lips, you feel the end deep in your stomach, the release tightening and ready to snap. “I’m gonna come,” you say.

“Ride me harder, baby,” he responds, moving his hand in between your bodies to rub your clit in a frenzy. “Use me. Come all over me.”

You do, feeling your body use what’s left of its energy to reach your peak quickly. You cry out a final time as your orgasm floods your senses, your body alive yet limp from the endorphins circulating through your system.

“Ah, fuck.” Heeseung spills inside of you mere seconds after, your sounds coupled with the feeling of your pulsing walls around him enough for his body to climax as well. He milks it all, hips rocking up into you to exhaust himself in an effort to feel his entire release.

You both slow down, but you relish in the feeling of the sudden warmth of Heeseung’s orgasm inside of you. It trickles down between your legs and onto Heeseung himself as he begins to pull out of you, and the sight may just make him rock-hard again. But he’ll save the image for another night.

Heeseung gives you a final, tender kiss before he stands up from his spot on the floor. He runs to the bathroom for a washcloth, wetting it to clean the both of you up. When he’s done, he takes great care in snuffing out the candles around the house.

You tease him for it, but he reminds you about the serious fire hazard of leaving them burning overnight, to which you agree. “Always one step ahead, babe,” Heeseung jokes.

He brings a blanket with him to cover the both of you up, your body immediately warmed by his. Your head rests on his bicep, his muscle the perfect pillow. 

In that moment, you’re content with not just the power being out, the only sounds being the storm and the air leaving your lungs. You’re content to be here in the dark with Heeseung, the feelings you repressed for so long not only released but reciprocated.

Heeseung kisses your forehead and hums you to sleep, his voice the last sound you hold onto before you’re whisked away to dreamland.

You wake up nestled in Heeseung’s arms on the living room floor, the blanket he grabbed barely covering both of your bodies. You hear the sound of your Roomba trying to connect to the bluetooth and feel the blue morning sky on your skin, telltale signs the power’s back on and the storm has gone on its way.

You smile to yourself, snuggling further into Heeseung’s neck and kissing the skin there. Who knew a power outage could bring two people together like this?

He rustles awake a moment later, his eyelashes fluttering open so beautifully. A smile stretches across his face when he sees what you’re doing. In the light of day, his face is even more breathtaking, and you’re grateful its expressions are reserved solely for you now. “Good morning.”

You blush. “Very good morning.”As you kiss him, invigorating his energy and leftover desire from the night prior, you think you’ll have to send the manufacturers of Hot Topics a thank-you card.

@yvnempire @sjylouvre @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kvanity-main @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

[daechwitatamic]

cherrybomb || csc

(banner by @sailorrhansol)

cherrybomb seungcheol x afab reader || angst smut fluff || exes2lovers, pacific rim universe NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Piloting a jaeger requires a rare ability called drifting - a neural connection with your co-pilot. You and Seungcheol are masters of the drift... until you have something in your head that you don't want him to see.

wc: 19.5k

warnings: language, heavy angst with happy ending, fight scenes, fight scenes written by an author with zero fighting or martial arts knowledge lmfao thus they are vague as possible, feelings heavy plot light and smut light, kissing and pretty generic (and brief) p in v smut

Author's note: thank you for @sailorrhansol for 1) accidentally sparking this idea, 2) agreeing to collab with me, 3) reading this along the way and hyping me up, and 4) beta-ing my mistakes, a million smooches for you ily

This fic takes place in the Pacific Rim universe but I honestly don't think you need to know the lore, everything you need to know should be explained. If you think something is unclear without prior pacific rim knowledge, shoot me a message privately and I'll make some edits and credit you for the insight!

Also in this universe: storm breaker by @/sailorhansol

Teaser:

“Marshall, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re calling me,” you admit. “You were there. You saw what happened. Seungcheol and I can’t drift anymore.”

“You couldn’t then,” he points out. “That was three years ago. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift… they’ve had time to mellow.”

He’s wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing has mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did then.

“Have you talked to him about this?” You’re afraid of the answer. 

The Marshall’s voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Choi will follow orders,” he says evenly, “and so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.”

“You can’t order us into being able to drift again,” you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest. 

“No,” the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, “but I can - and will - order you to try.”

Playlist: you're the smoke in my gun, blowin' like cherry bombs...

The first time you ever saw Choi Seungcheol, he was flipping a man four years his senior over his shoulder and slamming him into the ground. Satisfied, he staggered backwards, chest heaving from exertion, eyes narrowed in preparation for the next move.

That’s what Seungcheol did - he leveled whatever was in front of him, and he started watching for what was coming next before the body could even hit the ground.

That’s what made him a great jaeger pilot. Not the brute strength - strong men are dime a dozen, always have been - but the watching.

You’d marked him as your first choice.

You were both nineteen. You’d grown up in the Shatterdome, the only child to a couple who piloted a neon green jaeger named Charron’s Revenge. You knew everything about how jaegers and their teams worked by the time you were nine. You started training to fight years before that. There was never a question that you would follow in your parents’ giant, mechanical footsteps one day. You just needed the right partner.

You needed Seungcheol.

The jaeger program didn’t turn away recruits - everyone could do something - but there was an organized process to match up compatible pilots. Applying recruits would fight before an audience of previously-accepted but currently-unmatched potential pilots. The pilots would rank the fighters, choosing their top five based on perceived potential for compatibility.

Then, the roles would switch. The applicants became the audience. The audience became the show.

When it was your turn to fight, you silently pleaded with the universe that Seungcheol would mark you high as well. This was the only guarantee that you’d get a chance to spar with him, to test it out before the Marshall, who would make the final call.

Let him see, you begged. Let him see how perfectly we’d work together.

And, by some miracle, he did. In fact, he rated you first, as well.

Your sparring match went exactly how you expected - he barreled at you, and you dodged every move. He could easily take you out with a single blow, but he couldn’t get his hands on you, not when you used his own inertia against him at every turn. What you didn’t expect was your own inability to land a shot. For the whole fight, you were unable to move out of the defensive - keeping out of his reach took all of your effort.

It was a draw - the first sign of strong compatibility.

You didn’t talk after the match - your father whisked you away to recover before your second-rated match, and you didn’t see Seungcheol for the rest of the day.

The second-rated match was a dud. But you already knew, even then, that it didn’t matter.

You’d met your co-pilot. You’d found your partner.

—

He found you in the mess hall that night, dropping into an empty spot on the other side of the table, his tray in his hands. His black hair was loose and wavy, and his right arm sported a sizeable bruise that he definitely didn’t get from you.

“I know who you are,” he said by way of greeting. You raised a brow at him, waiting. “Your parents piloted Charron’s Revenge.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “That better not be why you picked me.”

He gave his head an annoyed little flick. “Of course not. I picked you because you’re fluid - and I’m not.”

Appeased, you felt your hackles settle back down. “That’s true,” you allowed. “You’re not fluid. But you’re purposeful, and-”

You were interrupted when Yoon Jeonghan dropped into the seat to your left, chuckling under his breath as he fixed his long, dark hair into a spiky ponytail at the back of his head.

“Cherry, did you hear?” he asked you, ignoring the new-comer. “The crew for Fatal Rapids got called back in for misconduct.”

“Choi Seungcheol, Yoon Jeonghan,” you said, introducing the two young men. “Hannie does more than gossip, I promise. He’s one of the pilots for Devil’s Advocates. Their drop stats are insane.”

“In practice only,” Jeonghan demurred. “For now.”

“Cherry?” Seungcheol parroted, raising a dark brow. “That’s not what I wrote on my paper earlier.”

“Just a nickname,” you explained. When you were very small, you’d struggled with the name of your parents’ jaeger, calling it Cherry’s Revenge instead of Charron’s, and the crew - who doted on you like their own - started the habit of calling you Cherry. Somehow, it had spread, and stuck. “Only my parents use my real name. But you can call me whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“No,” he said, frowning as if deeply considering his options. “I like it.”

You folded your arms on the table, leaning in to peer at Seungcheol. “So, what’s your story? You’ve heard of me. I haven’t heard of you.”

He shrugged, glanced around, then decided he could talk freely. There’s something about being in a room that’s positively teeming with people and conversation - it gives you privacy without feeling too intimate. You’re not alone.

“Not much of a story, not like you,” he admitted. “I grew up thinking I’d take over my dad’s business. We lost my dad… then, we lost the business. I have no marketable skillset, and university was out of the question. But…” He trailed off, then met your gaze firmly. Something in his look demanded you forgo any pity or sympathy, demanded you take him seriously. “I’m strong. So I came here. I came to fight.”

You sidestepped the bruises he’d bared. “Not like me,” you repeated with a bit of a scoff. “I hate to disappoint you, but my parents are the pilots - the story is theirs. I don’t have one, not yet.”

Something playful glinted in his eyes, the first true sign of personality you’d seen. “So all the rumors about the Princess of the Shatterdome aren’t true?”

Your jaw dropped. You’d heard the nickname before - it was never meant nicely. You tried to ignore it as best you could - people could think what they wanted. When you had a crew, when you had a jaeger, you’d be able to prove them wrong. “What rumors?”

“You’re spoiled,” Jeonghan supplied, having decided he was part of the conversation after all. “Entitled.”

You spluttered as Jeonghan stood, giving you a cheerful pat on the shoulder. “And bitchy! That’s just what I’ve heard. Of course I know better. Anyway, I’ve got to go. Love ya!”

You stared incredulously after him as he disappeared, your face burning with embarrassment and your heart hammering with adrenaline. Fight, your systems told you.

If only you could.

Seungcheol bit back a smile, reaching out to pat your arm placatingly.

“I don’t…” you started to say, but your voice caught in your throat. You cleared it, tried again. “I don’t think I really deserve all that.”

He nodded, lips pushed into a semblance of a thoughtful pout. “What I’d heard,” he said calmly, “is that you’re a hell of a fighter, scary smart, and that you take no shit. Unless it’s from your friends, apparently.”

This made a bitter little laugh bubble from you. You still simmered with humiliation, feared that maybe he’d decide he didn’t want to co-pilot with you after all.

“I think it’s up to you which story gets told,” he said finally.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “That’s what I always said. So… let’s get started.”

—

You and Seungcheol lucked out - the team that had been recalled for misconduct were terminated from their posts in the weeks following the sparring trials, and their jaeger Fatal Rapids had been disassembled, the parts up for grabs.

You and Seungcheol repurposed Rapids’s main frame, your crew working to individualize the bot to your needs as best they could. You splurged on quad-processors for her legs to allow your jaeger to keep up with how you move - quick and lithe. Seungcheol lobbied for (and won) some extra power in the top half, and you compromised and chose a mix of red and blue sections for her paintjob.

Duellona Fury, you named her. Duellona for you, the destroyer. Fury for Seungcheol, because that was where his fight came from.

You got to know Seungcheol’s fury very well. Especially when you started trying to drift.

None of it happened fast - not the building of your machine, nor your neural handshake. In fact, you didn’t pilot Duellona Fury together for a whole calendar year.

You started with physical compatibility - you sparred almost all day, every day. You fought - with each other and against each other - until all you could do was lay on the ground and pant, blinking to make the ceiling stay in focus.

Seungcheol may not have grown up training in the Shatterdome the way you did, but he kept up without complaint. You learned his way - force and strength - and he learned the way you favored - to weave and dodge.

The fighting was the easy part.

You had never drifted with someone you had true drift compatibility with. Seungcheol had never drifted at all. The Marshall wouldn’t even consider hooking the two of you up to the machine until you went through the proper training.

On the day you and Seungcheol were officially declared as co-pilots-in-training, you both stood below the half-built shell of your towering jaeger, sparks flying and drills screaming as the crew worked on her.

Your Marshall looked seriously at his new team-in-training. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll meditate together. Talk to each other. Get deep about it. If you’ve talked about it out here-” he swept an arm across the deck, “-it won’t take hold so strongly in there.” He’d jabbed a finger in the upward direction of Duellona Fury.

Seungcheol didn’t look at you, nor the Marshall. Instead, he kept his eyes on Duellona's unfinished frame, stories above you. “Yes, Sir,” he said steadily.

Your parents weren’t technically retired yet, the year you and Seungcheol started training together. Charron’s Revenge still sat in the well below the Shatterdome. They still lived on the base, still took part in daily training. They hadn’t been called into a fight in years, though; the assignments went to the younger crews.

You took dinner in their quarters instead of the mess hall, that night.

“Congratulations,” your father said warmly from across the table. “You worked hard to get here.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling shy beneath the praise. “I hope the drift will work for me and Choi Seungcheol.”

“What do you think of him?” your mother had asked, her sharp eyes honing in on you, watching your reactions.

“I think he’s a great fighter,” you said. “The rest… I guess I’ll have to learn.”

“Do you trust him? Can you trust him out there, when the sea and the wind are trying to knock you down, and hell itself rises up from the depths?”

You swallowed. She’s right for her intensity - they will be putting their daughter’s life in her co-pilot’s hands, every time there’s a fight. You knew firsthand how terrifying it was to stand in the tech bay and wait, not knowing if your loved ones will make it back.

You thought about how you and Seungcheol fight together in the sparring rooms. You thought about how you weaved and your opponent followed your movement, only to be knocked sideways. You thought of how Seungcheol followed your motion backwards, ducked in tandem with you to avoid a hit, and how you followed his momentum forward and up to attack. Your bodies followed each other like they were magnetized. And Seungcheol was always watching for the next hit.

“Yes,” you said, so quietly that you cleared your throat and said it again. “Yes, I trust him.”

“Then we wish you luck,” your father said, and raised his glass. “To Duellona Fury.”

“To Duellona Fury,” you echoed.

On your way out of the quarters, later, you slowed as you passed the wall where they hung their accolades and awards, the newspaper clippings, photos, and medals. Before your eyes they aged - the photographs changing through the years, no longer showing a bright, fiery couple, instead displaying proof of passing time: a baby bump, then a toddler, then a child beaming alongside them as if she’d done what they had done; greying hairs, softening bodies, deepening of wrinkles. Then the pictures stopped.

You never asked them if they missed it.

—

You and Seungcheol started meditating together the next morning; it seemed logical to begin at the easiest step. In an empty sparring room, you sat facing each other, knees touching.

“Have you done this before?” you asked, as you both settled in, shifting weight and adjusting ankles.

“Not with someone else,” he admitted, lips protruding in a bit of a pout. “Only alone.”

You nodded. You’d grown up learning all of this - the right way to fight as a team member, how to be in tune for a neural connection. It led to you teaching Seungcheol often - yet when you fought together, any leadership fell away.

“Normally,” you explained, “you focus on your breath, keeping your mind clear. But for our practice, you want to focus on our breath. We breathe together. And when your mind wanders, your awareness should be coming to peace with my presence there. Like, making a path for the neural connection - for later. So there’s no resistance.”

“Have you done this before?” Seungcheol asked.

You wobbled your head around - not yes, but not no. “I’ve practiced it - I’ve done the meditation with partners. But I’ve never moved forward to an actual drift with anyone.”

This seemed to appease him, and he settled his weight backwards, letting his hands rest near his knees.

You let your eyes float closed and inhaled, listening and feeling for Seungcheol’s inhale to end, letting your breath out when he did. It took no time to match your breaths, to let your mind go blissfully quiet. You focused on feeling open, readable - any thought that floated through your mind, you pretended he could hear, too. You tried to feel and release any defensiveness, any urge to close off.

When the timer went off, it surprised you. You opened your eyes, and the feeling that struck you was this -

It was surprising to see Seungcheol before you. It hadn’t felt like he was beside you. It had felt like he was you.

You meditated, you fought, and finally, you talked.

Laying on the sparring room floor, your head somewhere near Seungcheol’s shins, he asked you, “Where do you wish you were right now? If you weren’t here.”

You laughed at yourself before answering, knowing how silly you would sound. “In a tree.”

A disbelieving smile played on his lips, almost as if he wasn’t sure you weren’t making fun of him somehow. “A tree?”

“No, really,” you insisted, still smiling a little. “There’s not a lot of nature here, in case you didn’t notice. I grew up in the Dome - never got to leave, much.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond to this, just nodded like he understood, his small smile going a bit tight around the edges.

You frowned, reading him exactly. “You think I’m sheltered,” you observed. It wasn’t a question. He couldn’t say no.

He looked at you, then. “You were sheltered,” he said, voice low. “But when I say it, I don’t mean naive. I just think… there’s a lot of world out there. A lot of things to see. You won’t see any of it if you spend your entire life under the Dome.”

You nod, accepting this. “I won’t see any of it if it gets destroyed, either. There’s a lot of world out there - that we’re trying to keep safe.”

Seungcheol watched you intently for a moment, lips downturned and gaze heavy. Then, he asked, “Have you ever seen a kaiju? I mean - in person?”

“Sort of,” you mumbled.

He’d rolled from his back to his front, closer to you, putting you shoulder to shoulder. “Kind of seems like a yes-or-no question.”

Your lips twisted. “Then, no. But I’ve stood in the bay and listened to Mission Control talk my mom and dad through a fight dozens of times, watched Charron’s Revenge on the screens and prayed I wouldn’t see her get sawed in half.”

You stopped, trailed a finger through the thin layer of dirt on the floor. “I know it’s not the same as looking one in the face myself,” you whispered. “But the fear… shouldn’t that fear count, shouldn’t it feel the same?”

Seungcheol swallowed, trailed his own finger through the dirt until his fingertip just barely touched yours. It felt like energy sizzled in the centimeter between your pointer and his.

“When Menaceclaw attacked,” he said, “he missed my home by one block. We watched him go by from the sidewalk. I wasn’t even as tall as his foot. But even with him towering over the buildings, taking them down without even trying, I don’t think what I felt was afraid. I think I just felt resigned. Like I knew, at seven, that even though we survived this one… nothing was going to be… the same, or okay. I don’t know.”

“You knew what you lost,” you said quietly. “Part of you did.”

He looked up at you, nudged his finger into yours. “You never knew anything different. It wasn’t a loss. The fear was just always part of the deal.”

You rolled sideways, laying your head on your bicep for a pillow, regarding the dark-eyed, dark-haired young man across from you. His face scrunched in a laugh, brows furrowing and lips pouting.

“What?” he asked through the quiet laugh. “Why are you looking at me?”

“What else?” you mused. “What else am I going to find when we go tiptoeing through your memories?”

He smiled faintly and then mirrored you, laying his head on his arm, his eyes swimming as he thought.

“A lot of my family, probably,” he said. “A lot of fighting. Menaceclaw. Probably some very mid sex.”

You laughed without meaning to. “My condolences?”

He grinned at you, pleased. “Eh, what can you do? I try to treat everything like a learning experience.”

You laughed again, and his smile grew, gums showing. “What about you?” he asked off-handedly.

“Mid sex?” you asked, eyebrows raising. “I hate to inform you, Choi Seungcheol, but I don’t do anything mid.”

“No,” he protested, laughing, reaching out to gently shake your shoulder. “I meant - what will we see when it’s your turn?”

“The Dome,” you said, half-joking - but it was true. “Training. My parents. Their fights, their accomplishments.”

And, as a true drift partner should, he understood what you weren’t saying.

“We’ll have our turn,” he promised, pushing himself to sit up, then stand, reaching down to help you up. “We’re gonna be fucking unstoppable. Let’s go again.”

Fire sparking behind your ribs, you nodded seriously, then reached up to take his hand.

—

Weeks of sparring melded into months of meditation and talking. The next phase of training co-pilots was learning to drift in one of the simulators - but not in a jaeger. Not yet.

You and Seungcheol finished training in one of the sparring rooms shortly before dinner would be served in the mess hall.

“Meet you there?” you asked, still half-breathless, your body starting to ache as the adrenaline from a fight melted away.

“Sure,” he agreed, and you disappeared into the changing rooms, scrubbing the sweat and dirt away as quickly as you could. You changed into something clean and made your way to the mess hall.

You scanned for familiar faces, frowning when your normal table seemed to be occupied by a team of new recruits that you didn’t know.

Seungcheol appeared at your elbow, frowning dramatically. “Our table,” he whined.

“There’s Chan and Wylie,” you said, nodding to another corner where your friends sat practically on top of each other. Chan and Wylie had never understood personal space, not when it came to one another. They barely noticed when you and Seungcheol plopped onto the benches next to them, but Seungkwan did.

“You’re bleeding, Cherry,” he said, before inhaling an entire mouthful of rice.

You started to scan your arms - you didn’t feel pain anywhere - but Seungcheol found it first, gingerly swiping his thumb along your cheekbone.

“Sorry, Cherry,” he murmured. “I should’ve pulled that punch.”

“No you shouldn’t have,” you grumbled, swatting at his hand and wiping roughly at the spot, your hand coming away with a small smear of red - nothing to be alarmed about. It would stop on its own. “You pull shots in practice, you’ll hesitate in the field.”

“She’s right,” Chan said from his physical tangle with Wylie. “What you practice will show up in your muscle memory. You’ve got to mean it, every time.”

Wylie reached across his arms and took a bite from his plate, then asked, “Did you guys see the new jaeger?”

“I did,” Seungkwan said eagerly. “Chaser Supernova, or something like that? She’s smaller, but she’s supposed to be fast.”

“Is that her team at our normal table?” you asked dryly, shooting the rookies a dark look over your shoulder. Seungcheol jostled you playfully, sending you a smile that brought you back.

The bench dipped to your left, and you turned to see Soonyoung - one of Seungkwan’s two co-pilots - settle in.

“Talking about Supernova?” he asked, hands busy opening his drink. “They seem okay - they’re a trio, like us.”

“Where is Seokmin?” Seungkwan asked, scanning the room. “I haven’t seen him in like two hours.”

“Talking to Jihoon, I think,” Soonyoung answered absently, focused on his meal. “He lost another co-pilot today.”

“Not again,” you and Seungcheol both blurted, matching levels of exasperation.

“That was freaky,” Wylie said, just as Chan told you, “You two are acting like us, now.”

“We do not need another Chan-and-Wylie,” Seungkwan said seriously, shaking his head.

Seungcheol sent you a sideways, sheepish grin.

“We won’t be,” he promised the group, but his eyes were still on you.

—

The simulators were built to be exact replicas of the conn-pod, so that trainees could get used to the feeling of being strapped in, of moving with the gear. But the real purpose was to practice the neural handshake without risking damage - to the jaeger, to the tech bay, to each other.

“Don’t be nervous,” you told Seungcheol as the tech team worked around you both like a choreographed dance.

“I’m never nervous,” he said, suddenly cocky.

If you could reach his hand from where you were strapped in, you would have. If you understood anything about Seungcheol - if any part of him mirrored you - it was the way he showcased bravado, the way he used it as his most-familiar mask.

“It’s only practice,” you reminded him. “And it’s only me.”

He licked his lips quickly, eyes darting to the side and then back to you. Then, he gave you a small nod.

“Normally,” your chief tech - a beautiful woman with jet-black hair named Nainsi - told you, “right now, you would be ready for the drop. In the simulator, we skip that step because we aren’t dropping onto a jaeger. Instead, we’ll engage the pilot to pilot connection protocol sequence.”

You and Seungcheol nod in tandem.

“You’re all good?” Nainsi checks. “Then I’m going back into the tech bay - you’ll hear me through the intercom.”

Alone in the simulator, you met Seungcheol’s gaze and couldn’t help the excited grin that spread across your face. Finally, finally you were here. Once you could do this successfully, the next step was to fight in your own jaeger - to drop into Duellona Fury and walk into the sea.

He didn’t return your smile, instead giving you a tight nod, expression serious.

Over the intercom, you said clearly, “Ready and aligned.”

Nainsi answered, “Prepare for neural handshake.”

You took a deep breath and steeled yourself as the artificial voice of the simulator’s tech system spoke around you, 3… 2… 1… neural handshake initiating…

At first, you thought something went wrong. Everything went red behind your eyelids, and you blinked, instinctively trying to clear it away.

The red faded, and you found yourself in Seungcheol’s childhood home. You didn’t know how you knew that - you just knew. It was as familiar to you, inside the drift, as your own. You knew that to your left was a small kitchen with two broken floor tiles; you knew - without having ever seen it - that to your right was a narrow hallway that led to a bathroom and two small bedrooms.

Two small boys played on the carpet; rather, the smaller one played with some toy cars while the other watched the television with rapture. Behind them, at the kitchen table, a woman typed busily on an outdated laptop, bags heavy under her eyes.

Somewhere around you, a voice floated by, telling you, neural handshake strong and holding.

You could see Seungcheol in your periphery - the adult Seungcheol, the Seungcheol of now - as he looked at his mother, his brother, himself.

“It’s not real,” you reminded him gently. “It’s just a memory.”

“I know,” he said back, voice hushed, as if he might scare them away. “It’s just… good to see them.”

The house evaporated as gently as morning dew under a mid-morning sun; you stood in a schoolyard. Seungcheol, the small one, had a bloody lip and a mean swing.

You felt a rush of affection for him - him, the child, face contorting with misplaced anger, using strength as a bandage. You wanted to stand in front of him, between him and the anger, him and the other kids, and let him take a breath. You wanted to tell him to step with his punch to get more power. You wanted to put a hand on his shoulder and tell him, you’re going to be fine.

And he knew all of it, because he was in your mind.

Seungcheol - your Seungcheol - walked away from the swarm of children egging on the fight and opened a door. You followed.

Inside was not the school, but a hospital room. Your body jolted forward, distracting and alarming. You heard, faintly, a series of beeps, that robotic voice needling in your ears, saying, calibration failure… recalibrating in 3… 2… 1…

“It’s only a memory,” you said again, but the warning beeps were coming stronger, louder, more clearly. The hospital room looked opaque, and Seungcheol walked backwards towards you, away from it, herding you both out of the room. The room - a bed, a pulled curtain, a lot of white - flickered, like a glitch, and then vanished, leaving you standing in the simulator.

Neural handshake disengaged…

“Seungcheol!” you yelled, pulling your helmet off and wheeling on him as best you could with most of your body still strapped in. “What the hell was that? You pushed me out!”

He was breathing hard, eyes a little wild. “Not that,” he said, a little ragged. “I’ll let you in but - not that.”

“You don’t get to choose!” you snapped. Part of you knew this was just growing pains, he’d never drifted before, he was learning. But the rest of you smarted and stung - both from his rejection and from your failure to train, to succeed, to check off this final step before you could get inside your jaeger. “It’s kind of an all-or-nothing thing!”

He let out a billow of air, reaching a hand up to rub at his face. “Sorry. I’ll… let’s try again.”

You didn’t answer, fuming silently instead.

“I’m sorry, Cherry,” he said. “The stuff with my dad…”

“You can’t cherry-pick what we see and what we don’t,” you fired back. His eyes shot to yours and his mouth quirked and you read the joke all over his face. “Don’t you laugh, Seungcheol, it’s not funny!”

But you were laughing through the scolding.

“Stop,” you whined.

Your anger defused, he looked at you again, taking a bracing breath. “It’s not about you,” he tried to explain. “I’m not keeping you out. I’m keeping me out.”

“Don’t chase the rabbit,” you told him, shaking your head. “See what it wants you to see and move on. Find the next door. If you stand there and let your hurt - or your, I don’t know… grief - rise up… that’s when we’re going to have trouble.”

“Find the next door,” he repeated, eyes on the floor. “Got it.”

“You can’t push it away,” you reminded him, “but you don’t have to stay in it, either.”

He nodded, eyes already lighting up, ready to go again.

The second time, you saw him steel himself before opening that same door, watching carefully as he shuffled inside, only looking sideways at the hospital room that materialized around you.

“Seungcheol.”

He turned to look at you, wide-eyed, but you hadn’t called him. The voice, weak and hoarse, had come from the other side of the fluttering curtain.

The glitching started almost immediately - the image around you flickering like a bad wall projection. Something rocked beneath your feet, an earthquake only inside your minds.

You opened your mouth, started to tell him, you don’t have to stay, to remind him that he could move forward. Instead, you heard yourself say, “I’m here.”

The tremors under your feet quivered to a stop. You watched with trepidation and Seungcheol closed his eyes and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Then, he held his hand out, waiting.

You slipped your hand into his, and then he turned and continued walking, ignoring his father’s memory calling out to him. The flickering stopped, the picture you were part of brightening again as you found the next door, stepped through, left his pain behind.

—

It got easier quickly. Seungcheol’s ability to press on, to maintain focus, strengthened.

The strolls through your mind went easier - you’d had years to practice maintaining focus, waiting until after to let the emotions hit you.

Seungcheol learned to be ready for you, after. He’d sit with you, silent, and breathe in tandem as you worked to let go, to release the images of Charron’s Revenge on the tech bay screen, the sounds of your parents’ frantic communication as they fought together, the fear crawling its way up your legs every time until someone in the bay said, “Charron’s Revenge, cleared to return.” The loneliness of being the only kid in the Dome, having no outlet except fighting. Everything that threatened your mind while you piloted, everything that you had to save for later - save for him.

You were both freshly turned twenty when you got green-lit to drive.

“Seungcheol!” you called across the mess hall, practically racing to your table. He turned, eyebrows raised, as you crossed the large room.

“We’re approved to drop!” you told him excitedly. It churned in you - finally, finally you could fight, you could prove what you could do, you could help. “We’re on the drop schedule for tomorrow!”

His grin was unfettered, unfiltered, just for you. He reached up a fist and you bumped it enthusiastically. You were too excited to eat, too excited to sleep. You tossed and turned, imagining experiencing a drop for the first time, imagining striding through the mighty sea like it was nothing, imagining staring down hell itself and bringing it to its knees.

You were still awake when you heard the alarms down the hall. Yours didn’t go off, because you weren’t on duty, weren’t approved to fight.

Down the hall, there was a flurry of commotion - shouting, rushing, people pushing past you as they pulled on boots and jackets.

“Cat-3 in the west bay,” someone shouted.

“Deploying Devil’s Advocate!”

You reached the tech bay, trying to stay out of the way but not unseen. When the Marshall strode by, you stepped sideways.

“Let us drop,” you said quickly, knowing time was precious. “It’ll be like practice. We can be back-up. We’ll hang back.”

“Absolutely not,” the Marshall said, already moving to work past you. “You’re not approved yet. We don’t need a liability right now.”

“We’re scheduled for tomorrow!” you protested, and then you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“We’ll get our turn,” Seungcheol told you quietly. Of course he’d come out, of course he found you.

You deflated. “It could have been us. We are hours from approval.”

He gave your shoulder a tiny shake. “We’ll get our turn,” he repeated. “Don’t make trouble.”

You glowered, but you knew he was right. “Fine,” you grumbled as Joshua and Jeonghan slinked past you in matching jackets and matching shit-eating grins. You stayed out of the way as they prepared to drop.

You stayed through the fight, listened to the control room buzz and chatter, until you heard, “Devil’s Advocate, cleared to return.”

Only then did you try to go back to sleep. Seungcheol gave your shoulder one more squeeze.

“Tomorrow,” he promised.

“Tomorrow,” you repeated.

—

Some people feel God at church. The history of tradition and the sanctity of ritual speak to them, help them feel part of something, help them feel that unnameable swell of something spiritual.

Some people feel God in nature. The patterns of the universe, the way math exists without human touch, the harmonies and patterns that seem too intricate for coincidence help them believe in a planner’s touch. The beauty of the outdoors allows them to wonder, to feel like they belong as a piece of this clockwork.

But you - you felt God when you stood before your jaeger, marveling at the power, the beauty, how it feels like yours, how it feels like Seungcheol before you’re even inside it. Duellona Fury promises you power, promises you purpose.

That hand was on your shoulder again, and it slid down to the center of your back before removing itself.

Beside you, Seungcheol stared up at your glorious machine.

“She looks sick,” he said, the grin taking over his face.

“I can’t wait to fuck shit up,” you murmured, your reverent tone at odds with the flippancy of your words.

“Ready?” the Marshall asked you, coming up to your left. “We’ll get you calibrated and dropped, and then you’ll do a lap of the bay. We’re sending out Pretty Savage just in case you run into trouble.”

The defensiveness rose in you quick, like a snakebite.

“We don’t need a babysitter,” Seungcheol said, voice hard. You reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze - a reminder to watch it, just as his hand on your shoulder frequently did for you.

“It’s just safety protocol.” The Marshall was unphased by the outburst. “Have fun, you two. Enjoy your first joy-ride.”

You screamed when you dropped, the exhilaration rushing out of you as Duellona Fury fell story after story before slowing and attaching to your jaeger’s mainframe.

Goosebumps raised along your arms when the Shatterdome’s sea-doors slid open, shudders traveling your body as you and Seungcheol stepped together, Duellona Fury stepping with you, her gigantic, metal form following every movement.

For the first time in your whole, careful life, you felt powerful. Your jaeger cut through the ocean waves like they were nothing, making an easy perimeter of the bay. In your head, you could somehow both hear and feel Seungcheol’s delight, his low-simmering desire to fight, to do something a perfect mirror of your own.

“How is it?” Soonyoung’s voice crackled in your ears, reminding you that Pretty Savage wasn’t far behind you.

“Incredible,” Seungcheol answered him, at the same time that you said, “It’s everything.”

It didn’t matter that you came from a family of pilots. It didn’t matter that you were raised in the Dome, training since you were young. None of that mattered. You were born for this - born to fight for your planet, born for Duellona Fury, born for Choi Seungcheol.

—

The west bay became Duellona’s playground; you and Seungcheol were often assigned to patrol there.

It was only a few months in that you faced a kaiju for the first time.

“Come in, Duellona Fury,” Nainsi’s voice came through. “We have a reading just a few miles north of you. Cat-2. Approaching at -”

Duellona Fury was turning due north before the command was even given.

“Are you ready for this?” you shouted to Seungcheol as Duellona slid through the water, the adrenaline singing in your system already.

“You know I am,” he answered, something hard in it, and the thrill in your stomach sparked.

When the sea split in half, the kaiju rising from the depths with an unearthly roar, you sank into a defensive stance, feeling Seungcheol move beside you, doing the same.

“Let’s fucking go,” Seungcheol said darkly, and launched forward, your arms rearing back for momentum before the first swing. The punch landed solidly, your whole body shaking once as the kaiju faltered backwards a few steps.

It opened its mouth and you glimpsed three rows of teeth bigger than a cow before it was lunging at you; Duellona Fury lurched. You tried to duck sideways as Seungcheol tried to move towards your opponent.

The moment of indecision cost you - the kaiju got its teeth on Duellona’s shoulder, knocking you back several steps. Beside you, Seungcheol roared as sparks flew near the bite.

“Are we breached?” you yelled, trying to steady your balance again.

“Not yet!” he yelled back, and you swung again, a hit landing hard enough to knock the kaiju loose, spitting it back into the sea.

You tried to move into a defensive crouch again; again, the jaeger faltered.

“Cherry!” Seungcheol yelled, desperation laced in his voice. “Cherry, don’t fight me!”

“Move with me!” you answered, and he did, miraculously, Duellona dodging left before an incoming attack.

Don’t fight me.

You rocked forward with Seungcheol as soon as you were clear of the kaiju’s trajectory, just as you’d done in practice thousands of times. Back in sync, Duellona Fury landed a kick to the kaiju’s middle that sent it stumbling.

“We’ve got him,” you said, feeling a win.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Seungcheol warned you. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the kaiju exploded from the dark ocean, limbs flailing as it flew towards you.

Duellona’s arms came up and locked it in battle, the impact shaking you so hard that your teeth chattered against each other. You groaned with exertion as you tried to match its strength.

“I don’t think we can hold it,” you managed through grit teeth.

“We’ve got this,” your partner promised, and with a mighty shove, you managed to flip the beast over your shoulder and beneath the waves.

“Drop the bombs and head for the east side,” you said quickly, already moving. Duellona Fury followed your command, turning and starting an easy run through the bay’s churning waters, away from where the kaiju was struggling to its feet, furious and vengeful. As she ran, she dropped three small explosives, about sixty feet apart. The explosives slipped into the ocean depths.

“Ready?” Seungcheol asked, a little breathless. “Are we far enough away?”

“Light him up,” you replied. Seungcheol reached up and tapped the button; somewhere behind you, the ocean exploded.

—

“How’s your shoulder?” you asked, later, in the med bay.

“Not that bad,” Seungcheol said, but you could see the blood-stains on the bandaging.

“It won’t happen again,” you promised. “I think I just… practiced alone for so long. I forgot to listen. I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol shook his hand, eyes finding yours. “There’s nothing to forgive, Cherry. Forget about it.” Then, he brightened. “You know what I want to do?”

“What?” you asked, not entirely past feeling guilty.

His smile was devilish. “I want to go celebrate our first fucking kill.”

– 

You marked the passing of two years in statistics.

Three hundred and forty-six explosives detonated.

Two hundred and eighty-three drops. Two hundred and eight-three kills. 

Seventy-two mainframe repairs.

Twenty-eight achievement awards.

Nine television interviews.

Six upgrades.

One ill-informed “vacation” during which you both itched with anxiety, spending the whole time messaging your friends back in the Shatterdome desperately, praying you wouldn’t miss a fight in which you were needed.

Seven hundred and thirty days of living in and around Seungcheol’s mind and heart. But that stat should’ve gone first.

It was a good high. Your team had a good run.

It wasn’t a kaiju that reduced it to ash, not an attack that took your team out of the rotation of main fighters and sent your jaeger to gather rust and dust below the Dome. It was your own stupid heart.

There were a lot of moments that could have been it. Each time you walked into a fight knowing the danger, each time he ended up in the med bay reeking of antibacterial ointment and resentment. Each time you slid into your place beside him - space he saved only for you. Each time his voice bidding you goodnight from the bottom bunk was the last thing you heard at the end of the day. Any of these moments might have been the one to make you stop, gasp, suddenly slammed with understanding. That you loved him, that he was everything you couldn’t bear to be without, that he was part of you. But they weren’t.

There was no moment of realization at all.

Instead, it slowly seeped into your consciousness, as gently and naturally as morning dew collecting on pre-dawn petals. The knowledge clung to you, as impossible to ignore as damp feet after running barefoot through the yard just after sunrise.

If you knew something, that meant your co-pilot would know it, too.

Unless you tucked it away, pushed it down deep and cast his attention elsewhere, a mental sleight-of-hand. Look here instead. 

You were twenty-three, on a routine patrol, when Mission Control radioed Duellona that there was a reading in the bay.

“Looks like it’s only a Cat-1,” Mission Control told you.

“On it,” you told them, feeling your body already mirroring Seungcheol’s as Duellona picked up her pace, striding through the waves. 

You glanced sideways at him, and immediately wished you hadn’t. He was already zoned in, eyes focused and jaw sharp as he concentrated. 

He caught your gaze for only a second. “Focus, Cherry,” he cautioned. “Don’t get cocky.”

“I would never,” you retorted, and he laughed. You were both cocky; you both knew it.

For a second, things felt better. 

The fight was almost easy, when the ocean seemed to split in two and the waves fell away like wrapping paper to reveal the kaiju you’d been sent for. 

You swung and ducked, dropping explosives strategically, Seungcheol moving in unison with you. There was something graceful about it - something beautiful in the sync, something holy in the way your muscles mimicked each other’s. 

This is what happens when sunlight hits morning dew: it warms, lifts, makes the air humid and sticky until it burns away. 

It rose up in you, your love for him, infusing the air around you, infusing the neural handshake that he was deeply imbedded in.

No. 

You panicked, tried to do several things at once - tried to shove the feeling down, tried to think of something else, tried to push Seungcheol’s consciousness out of yours.

Duellona Fury lurched around you, shuddering. 

“Cherry!” Seungcheol screamed to your left, and then the kaiju hit, its full weight slamming into Duellona’s mainframe.

You both staggered, trying to right yourselves, as the machines around you blinked and beeped and rebooted. 

Seungcheol grunted under the neural weight of driving alone as you gasped and closed your eyes, trying desperately to fix it. Around you, you heard the floating words - recalibrating.

“Recalibrate faster!” you shouted, glancing sideways to see your co-pilot struggling to hold the monster in place, his face contorting with effort, arms straining against the machinery. He bared his gritted teeth, exhaling in a hiss between them. 

You gave yourself a shake, bouncing on the balls of your feet, desperate for the connection to take again so you could pick up your half, take the literal weight from him. As soon as you felt the neural handshake, you gave a mighty shove and Duellona flipped the monster backwards, the ocean receding and then coming back to slam her shins, swallowing the monster whole.

You both sank into a defensive stance, ready for the beast to rise again.

“What was that?” Seungcheol demanded, later, as he sat in the med bay, waiting for his nosebleed to stop. The nosebleed you’d caused by letting him carry a neural load meant for two.

“I don’t know,” you lied, still panicked and desperate. 

“Bullshit,” Seungcheol countered, eyes narrowed. He reached up and pulled the cotton away from his face, examining it. “I’m fine now,” he announced, and tossed the wad into a nearby trash bin, standing.

You fought the urge to cower, knowing he’d never let it go if you did. You followed him silently out of the med bay and back towards your dormitories. Halfway there, he slowed, then stopped.

Then, more calmly this time, he asked, “What happened, Cherry? You pushed me out.”

There was a slight pout to it, a sliver of hurt, and it sliced through you like something tangible, like you were actually wounded from it, like it might actually bleed.

“I don’t know,” you repeated. Guilt poked at you until you relented, gave him something that was at least partly true.  “I got scared.” 

“That can’t happen, and you know it,” he said seriously, his large frame casting a long shadow to your left as he leaned into your space. “You can’t keep secrets - that’s piloting 101. We’ve got to handle it. You know what’s at stake here.”

You did; you did, and that was entirely the problem. It wasn’t just feelings, it wasn’t just your relationship with Seungcheol at stake. It was your relationship with your co-pilot - your ability to fight was at stake, your ability to keep others safe. Your legacy.

Your parents’ wall of pictures flashed in your mind.

“I’m going to my mom and dad’s for a while,” you said quietly. 

He nodded, let you run away - trusted you to come back to him when you were ready, trusted you to let him in.

You weren’t sure if he was right or wrong, as you walked away and left him behind.

You didn’t go to your parents’, though. Instead, you went to the tech bay and sat, watching Duellona undergo simple repairs from her fight. You stayed there, the metal cold beneath your thighs, watching the tech team buff over a scratch on your jaeger’s torso, until someone dropped into the spot next to you, bumping their shoulder roughly into yours.

“Where’s Seungcheol?” Wylie, who co-piloted Fury Striker with Chan, was your closest friend in the Dome besides Seungcheol. 

“He’s pissed at me,” you answered, looking sideways, because the question had really meant, why isn’t Seungcheol with you? 

You weren’t sure she’d understand what you were going through - she and Chan had been obsessed with each other since they were kids. Neither of them had ever had to fear that their love for each other would mess anything up. It had been part of their deal from the start.

“What’d you do?” Wylie demanded, turning her full, unfettered attention on you. You wanted to shrink from the intensity of it - but that was always how Wylie worked: full wattage, all the time.

“Almost got us killed by a fucking Cat-1 tonight,” you muttered, angry at yourself, angry at your heart.

Wylie smacked your arm hard enough to send you sideways. “Cherry!” she scolded. 

“There was something I didn’t want him to see.” You said it in your head first, weighed the words, then forced them through your teeth. You hoped she’d just know what it was, hoped you wouldn’t have to force those words past muscle and bone, too.

Wylie’s face dropped into irritation. “Cherry,” she repeated, disappointment dripping from the two syllables.

You looked up at Duellona Fury again. 

“You can’t do that,” she told you, giving your ankle a little kick for emphasis. “You know you can’t do that.”

You can’t love him? Or, you can’t keep secrets from him?

You didn’t ask. You didn’t want to know the answer.

Seungcheol was waiting up for you when you finally returned to the dorm. You opened the door to find the first room - an entryway and kitchen, both - dimly lit. Beyond it, in the small sitting space, Seungcheol sat facing the door, his chin in his hand.

You knew the look on his face. You knew it so well that you almost ran from it, almost turned right around and went back out to the hallway.

Brows slightly furrowed, mouth a straight line, jaw tight. Eyes focused, locked in. It was the face he made in training before he bodied someone. It was the face he made in the field before an offensive strike. It meant he had his sights on a target, a problem, and he was about to throw everything he had at it.

And right now, you were the problem.

“Hey?” you tried meekly.

He nodded. Licked his lips. Stood. 

He’s pissed at me, you’d told Wylie. The energy radiating from your co-pilot was much more complex than that, the air around you palpably tense and teetering.

“How was it at your parents’?” he asked, voice low. 

You took one tentative step closer. “I didn’t go,” you admitted. One lie between you was already more than you wanted. “I watched them patch up Duellona instead. Talked to Wylie a little.”

He nodded, eyes still on you. Nervousness coursed through you, but it would be a lie - another one - to say it wasn’t laced with a little excitement. He was stunning, always, but like this - it almost took your breath away.

If he was in your mind right now, there’d be no question. He’d know all of it. The attraction, the desire, the fear, the affection, the love, the need. All of it. 

His eyes caught on a bruise peeking out from the short sleeve of your top. “You should’ve had them look at that,” he said, reaching out like he wanted to run his fingers over the dark splotch, but he was just too far away, fingertips closing around the air just an inch or two away. 

You shook your head. “You needed attention first. You carried the neural load alone.” Because of me.

“Only for a minute.”

“A minute too long. I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

It hung between you. You don’t know if you’d inched forward or he had, or both, but you were close enough to touch now when you hadn’t been just seconds ago.

He lifted his eyes, his gaze locking on yours. In the dim room, his eyes shone black. “You pushed me out.”

It was an accusation, but it was also a question.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, barely able to say it, your voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. “Seungcheol, I was scared.”

Maybe he was in your head. Maybe he did know all of it.

“Don’t be,” he told you. “Don’t be scared.”

His arms were around you though you didn’t see him move. It wasn’t the first time you’d let him embrace you - after a fight, in relief, or in victorious delight, or sometimes just in sleepy affection at the end of a long day. It was far from the first time that you’d found comfort in the space between his arms, strong and capable around your frame, your forehead pressed against his sternum as his heart beat directly into your bones. 

But it was the first time that his fingers, confident and sure, tipped under your chin, guiding you to look up at him, guiding your mouth to meet his.

You don’t know if you melted or exploded - it was somehow both at once. You gripped his back, feeling the muscles move beneath his t-shirt, relaxing into his hold and focusing on the feel of his full lips firm and hungry against your own. This was everything - everything you’d wanted, everything you were afraid of, everything you needed, everything that could rip your life apart.

You didn’t mean to whine, but it slipped up your throat and into the gasped space between your lips and his as you tried to pull in a desperate breath. He responded with a grunt, walking you backwards until the edge of the kitchen counter jutted into your lower back. His hands traveled, up to the back of your neck, back down to the slight curve of your waist, around to the back of your ass. He tugged your hips against his roughly, and you let your head fall back, panting, head spinning.

“Cherry,” he breathed against the newly bared stretch of your neck, his lips close enough to drag against your skin as he spoke.

Your hands found the back of his neck, gave the slightest tug upwards, and he followed, bringing his mouth back to yours. His tongue pressed yours briefly, your moan muffled entirely by his mouth as you tried to press him closer, closer, as if you wanted your rib-cages to meld, to slip together like fitting puzzle pieces. 

His hand slipped lower from your ass and wrapped around your thighs, taking only a second to lift you onto the counter behind you. You wrapped yourself around him immediately, pulling him into the space between your legs, arms around his neck, pulling him in, wanting to feel every bit of him against you. 

His hands found the hem of your shirt and lifted; you raised your arms in compliance and felt the cotton slip over your head and your hands.

“Yours,” you murmured, but he had already reached back between his shoulder blades, his own top joining yours on the floor.

Your hands found him on their own, sliding over his skin, fingers dipping between muscles, thumbs sweeping over shadows.

You kissed until you turned liquid, molten, your fingers wrapped in his hair. His fingers mapped every inch of your skin, as if his job was to report back on every previously unknown dip, every rough circle, every beauty mark or blemish. His fingers traced them all, his hands passing over you reverently.

The brush of his bare chest against your own was torturous; delicious until you were full, until you couldn’t take it anymore, until the electric-sharp thrill became uncomfortable. You tilted backwards, creating more space between your torsos but pushing your hips firmly into his.

You both groaned at the contact. You could feel the heat and weight of him now, and everything instinctual within you urged you to shift further, to bring that heat and heaviness closer to the part of you that ached for it. 

He pressed his hips into you without reservation, your core clenching in response to the movement and the friction. 

Then he leaned back, his hands gripping the edge of the counter, his arms bracketing you on either side, his chest heaving as he struggled to control his breathing. He drank you in, his eyes as molten as you felt. You leaned back on your elbows and met his gaze.

The moment expanded; nothing existed but his eyes and the pant of his breath and the way he smelled like he’d just finished a fight and the way he felt between your thighs, unmovable and steady.

Neither of you was connected to jaeger machinery, but you may as well have been, because you knew without a shadow of a doubt that your minds were connected, the drift be damned. Your eyes locked, you knew he felt everything you felt - the gravity of what you were doing, the love that drove you, the fire coursing through you. If there was going to be hesitation or questioning, this was the moment, this was the pause. But you were one, your minds were one, and there was none of that. 

His unvoiced question definitively answered by the certainty that flowed between you, Seungcheol moved to lift you again, taking you easily from the countertop into the dark of the room you share, settling you on your back on his bottom bunk.

Above you, mostly shadowed, was your other half, the only person who knew and understood every cobwebbed corner of your consciousness, the only person who had walked through your mind and found himself mirrored in every way that mattered. He was beautiful in the fractured light, his expression serious and gaze intense. 

You reached up to slide your thumb along his jaw and his eyes fluttered closed, his breath leaving him as in relief, as if you’d made some kind of admission. 

Making love to Seungcheol felt like drifting. His eyes on you as his fingers pulled you apart felt the same as the careful way he’d watch you when your memories got emotional, like he was watching for any sign that you weren’t okay, that you needed more or less or him. 

The way his breath and shoulders shuddered when he pressed into you for the first time felt the same as when he faltered in face of his father’s memory; both times, his fingers laced through yours and held tight until you could both breathe again.

He felt how you’d always known he would. Perfect - a perfect fit for you, a physical compatibility you had never tested but had always trusted would be there. He took you apart without even trying, and all you could do was hold onto him, feel all of him, feel all of it, and try to remember to breathe.

You didn’t speak as you moved together in the dark; the only sounds in the tight room were muted gasps, tiny moans muffled against necks, skin on skin, the obscene squelching sounds that accompanied each snap of his hips. You didn’t say the words that your lips tried to form - it’s so much, go slow for a little, Seungcheol, I love you, more - please, don’t stop. Maybe he heard them. Maybe this was a different way to drift, one that didn’t need wires.

You did your best to hold his gaze, losing sight of him only when you strained up to kiss him, when you nuzzled your face into the warmth between his neck and shoulder and gasped against a wave of sensation, when you couldn’t help but close them as they rolled back, your toes curling. 

He pressed his forehead to yours when he finished, your name slipping out of him, as if it had been literally squeezed from his lungs. “Cherry… Cherry…”

You lay together in silence for a long time, feeling your hearts slow, your skin cool. Your thumb traced his jaw again and again, slow, worshipful. “Cheol,” you whispered. My Cheol. My everything. You didn’t say the rest as you lay together in the quiet, in the dark, your heartbeats competing. 

You didn’t know that you’d drifted together for the last time. You didn’t know that your ability to neural connect could be broken.

–

The wind whips around you, stinging your face. You barely flinch. When you’d first relocated here, three years ago, the cold had made you literally cry during your first month. Just from having to walk from the door of the dormitory across the yard to the mess hall dorm, the intensity of it had sent you spiraling into misery - damning the circumstances that had sent you here, away from everyone and everything you knew and loved, to a place where the air hurt. 

You were sure it would hurt, this intensely, forever.

But time eased the sting, and despite your doubts you did adjust. Now the early morning wind feels bracing and refreshing rather than painful. You’ve adjusted to a lot of things since relocating to a small training center in Alakanuk, Alaska: the climate, the food, the no-frills campus you lived and worked on. Being away from your parents, from Wylie and Chan and Seungkwan and Jeonghan and all the other pilots you were friends with at the Shatterdome.

Being away from Seungcheol. Being partnerless, a half instead of a whole. 

Being unable to pilot, unable to fight. 

Being brokenhearted.

Just like the cold, the pain of your losses was the same - the sting of heartbreak and loneliness and homesickness faded to something ignorable, something you could keep tucked tight in the back of your mind. 

You can hear the noise from inside the mess hall before you even cross the courtyard. There are short of fifty girls ranging from ages seven to eighteen being housed here, but from the noise you’d swear it was at least a hundred. 

The buildings are single-storied, painted with a heavily-chipping grey-blue that sometimes seems to belong to the mist you often get rolling in from the ocean. When you’d first come, you’d legitimately thought they were painted that way as camouflage, meant to blend in with the sea. The other trainers had a good laugh about that. 

As you cross the courtyard between the trainers’ dorms and the mess hall, you breathe deeply, eyes on the birds alight above you. After a lifetime in the Shatterdome, you don’t take for granted the fresh air you’re afforded as you pass between buildings, outside, the sky open and changing above. You don’t take for granted the rhythm of the ocean, the cries of the gulls, nor the distant treeline.

It was Seungcheol who had noted that you were sheltered, having never lived outside of the Dome. 

It was Seungcheol you could blame - at least halfway - for your relocation here, where there wasn’t a jaeger or even a city for hundreds of miles. 

When you pull open the flimsy door to the mess hall, the noise triples. Several of the girls call out to greet you, and you give them a quick wave as you head to the table where the staff eats.

“You’re later than normal,” one of the other instructors notes as you reach for a piece of bread.

You shrug lightly, unbothered. “Still have plenty of time before the first class. What day is today, Thursday? I’ve got the little ones first, right?”

The all-girls training center is meant to teach fighting and the groundworks for drifting, but no jaegers are housed here, no teams launch into the icy bay. The girls here will grow up to pilot - if they get selected, if they get paired with a partner. 

You’re mostly here to teach them to fight, the way you trained in the Dome, but you do plenty more. Help brush hair in the mornings, console tearful faces, teach games and sports, mediate arguments. You also got sucked into running one literacy class a week, though you still haven’t figured out how that happened. 

It would be a lie to say this wasn’t fulfilling, that you didn’t love the girls you cared for, that you weren’t happy here with the ocean and birds and trees and laughter. In many ways, the seclusion of this training center is exactly what you needed to get back on your feet, to find strength in yourself, to heal with distance and time.

But, god, what you would give for a real fight. What you would give to feel both loved and threatened by Wylie, to rib at the guys, to hug your mom. What you would give to hear Seungcheol’s teasing pout, to catch his gaze across the span of your jaeger and know what his body and yours will do, to feel his fingers just barely graze your back when he knows you need to be reminded to focus.

The final time you’d tried, the neural connection never took. It was like trying to connect with a stranger. It had simply been still, a thing that was never alive.

“Don’t do this,” Seungcheol had begged, and that had been the nail in the coffin.

Don’t do this, he’d said. It had landed like blame. Like everything was your fault, and only yours. Like you had broken the connection on purpose, were keeping him out, barricading your mind from his when you desperately wanted everything to go right back to normal.

After that failure, you didn’t tell him you were asking to be reassigned. You didn’t want to give him the chance to say don’t do this a second time.

You’ve just ended a class, the girls starting to filter out through the training room’s side door towards the mess hall for lunch, when the center’s Administrator calls your name from the door.

“There’s a call for you on my line. I have them holding.”

A call? 

Adrenaline races through you; it has to be an emergency. Your parents and friends can reach you on your own device, which is tucked into your back pocket. To call the mainline here at the center means this is a base-to-base call, not a personal one.

You’ve only been in this office a handful of times in your few years here, and you shuffle awkwardly around the desk and pick up the receiver that sits abandoned on the chipped, wooden desktop. 

You greet the person on the line with your real name. 

“Cherry?”

Your Marshall - your old Marshall, from the Dome - sounds unsure if he has the right person on the line. No one has called you Cherry in three years. Even your parents have used your given name the few times they’ve said it on your weekly calls home.

“It’s me,” you affirm. “Is everything okay? My parents?”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, and you heave a relieved breath. “Everyone is fine. This is official business. I want to call you in.”

You shake your head, frowning, well aware that he can’t see your reaction. Your body has said no, but you force yourself to ask, “Me? Why?”

“We’re down a few teams,” the Marshall says. “And -”

“You’ve got more recruits than places to put them,” you counter before he can finish. “Call one of the new teams up. Call three new teams up. You don’t need me.”

“We do - we need teams with experience, teams that are ready. Not rookies bumbling around looking for mistakes. We need precision. We need Duellona Fury.”

Your Marshall lays out the situation: the teams that are out, the problems they’re having at the breach - less time between attacks, more monsters at once. You’ve seen this before, you all have, and there’s protocol in place - protocol that starts with all hands on deck. 

You shake your head again. From the door, the Administrator of the center watches you seriously, like she knows you’re being taken away. 

“Marshall, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re calling me,” you admit. “What can I give you? I can’t pilot Duellona.”

Not anymore. 

The Marshall sighs, like he knew this argument was coming and didn’t have a good response. 

“I think you can,” he says finally. “I’m not saying it will be easy, and I’m not saying it will happen quickly or without effort. But I think you can.”

“No,” you say, the first time you’ve voiced it. “You were there. You saw what happened. We can’t drift anymore.”

“You couldn’t then,” he points out. “That was three years ago. You’ve both had a lot of time to…. You’ve both had a lot of time since then. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift… they’ve had time to mellow.”

This blow knocks you into silence. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, eyes steadfastly on the warped wood of the desk, fingers toying absently with the Administrator’s pen. 

He’s wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing had mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did three years ago. The splitting ache in your chest that you’ve felt every day since you became aware of loving him has only worked its way deeper with time. 

And Seungcheol’s anger? The anger and betrayal he’d leveled at you, when he was sure you were keeping him out of your head on purpose? You couldn’t speak for him, but if you had to guess, there weren’t enough years in a human life to let that hurt mellow into something safe enough to drift with.

“Have you talked to him about this?” You’re afraid of the answer. 

The Marshall hesitates. “Not yet.”

“You might want to do that first,” you point out. “Before flying me back only to have him refuse.” 

The Marshall’s voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Choi will follow orders,” he says evenly, “and so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.”

“You can’t order us into being able to drift again,” you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest. 

“No,” the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, “but I can - and will - order you to try.”

The girls cry when you tell them you’re leaving, and it makes you want to cry, too. You hold it together as you give them hugs, hold it together as you pack your single bag of belongings. You hold it together in the passenger seat of the center’s only beat-up van, waving out the back window as the training center fades away.

It’s standing on the deck of the ferry, the coast receding and the sea wind clawing at your face, that you let it go. You bury your face behind your hands and feel it release behind your ribs. You cry for all of it - for leaving the girls behind, for leaving a place that had sheltered you like a sanctuary. For the time you’d lost at the Dome, for the fights you’d sat out, for the years with your parents and friends that had slipped away like sand between your fingers. For your fear that Seungcheol will turn you away, just as hurt and angry as he was one thousand and ninety-five days ago. 

You’d been so determined to keep him from walking through the depths of your love for him, in the drift. You were so scared it would be too much, too intense, too much emotion for the drift. You’d been scared it would be too much for him - that the weight of it would inherently ask for more than he could give you in return. You’d been scared it would ruin your partnership, your compatibility, your capability to co-pilot.

But that had happened anyway. You almost have to laugh. 

As furiously as your tears begin, they peter out quickly. You take a few deep gulps of salty air, use the backs of your hands to wipe at your cheeks and beneath your nose. As you calm down, you keep your eyes on the horizon, your hands tight on the ship’s railing, and you let your mind wander back to Seungcheol. Here, thousands of miles away, you let yourself think back to those last weeks before you left the Shatterdome. You let yourself wonder, for the first time, what exactly caused everything to crumble.

You’d been so afraid to let Seungcheol into your head once the loving him had taken over. Why had it scared you so badly? As you keep your eyes on the grey of the horizon, you puzzle it out in your mind.

Had it been the uncertainty? That had certainly played a part. Did Seungcheol love you, back then? If he didn’t, everything between you could have changed - your friendship, your partnership, your ability to drift. It hadn’t seemed worth the risk to lose it all - his presence in your life, your ability to fight together. 

But maybe he had. If he did love you, back then… that would have changed things, too. What if starting something romantic affected your drift? There were too many maybes, too many variables. It had seemed safe to push it all down, to try and keep him away from it. To try and keep things the same.

Of course, you’d lost it all anyway.

Even if he did love you three years ago, you think as the sea air whips around you, did he love you the way you loved him? What if it had been too much - the way you could breathe once he was with you, the way you kept each other in check - what if he had loved you, but not that much?

Had it been a mistake to keep him out? Maybe. But it could have been just as catastrophic to let him in. There was no way to know, now.

You turn away from the ship’s railing, away from the horizon and the sea, away from your mistakes. There’s no use looking back like this. You can’t change it. You aren’t even sure you can fix it.

You were hoping to sleep on the plane, but you’re woefully awake well after take-off. Determined not to keep ruminating on what had happened before you left, instead you wonder what awaits you now.

The most-likely scenario, you think, professional and polite - but cold. Like you, he takes duty and responsibility seriously. The airplane bumps, a pocket of air jostling the small craft, and your hands find the armrests and cling tight until it stops.

The best case scenario, of course, would be that enough time has passed that Seungcheol’s hurt has faded. Maybe, you think, maybe he’s moved on from harboring that anger. Maybe he’ll greet you warmly, maybe you’ll pick up right where you left off.

This hope, this day-dream, aches, so much that you blink it away and turn to watch the clouds through the window, a desperate distraction. You crave Seungcheol - you crave feeling safe with his arms around you, you crave the elation you’d feel when he entered the room you were in, you crave the peace that comes with two minds engaged in neural handshake - the peace of someone’s mind interlaced with your own, understanding you, operating with you, picking up half of your mental lift.

You crave his giggle when you say something stupid in the dark of the dorm before bed, his pout when he feels like he isn’t getting enough attention, you crave his voice echoing in your head long after he’s gone asleep because you heard him talk to you all day long. 

You crave his lips on yours, his teeth on your neck, his hands on your body, even if you only had it once. You’ve craved it ever since.

You crave closing your eyes and pressing your forehead to his sternum, feeling safe and quiet and like you belong. You miss the sanctuary of that space, chest to chest with him, something sacred in the way it exists only for you.

You know you can’t have it - any of it. The daydream isn’t real. Your curse will be to crave it forever, alone.

When you arrive at the Shatterdome, it’s your parents who greet you just inside. For a moment, you’re happy to be back, overcome with emotion as you hug them tight. They’ve aged in these three years. You’ve missed them awfully. You only tell them the latter. 

They walk with you to the Marshall’s office, where you’re meant to report upon arrival. 

You hesitate, covering the moment by tugging your duffle’s strap higher on your shoulder. Your mother reads you anyway, reaching out and giving your shoulder a squeeze. 

“It will be okay,” she whispers. 

Your father catches on. “You’ve faced down worse,” he reasons. 

You disagree. There’s no monster in the sea bigger than your love for Seungcheol, no wounding possible that could hurt more than losing him has. But you appreciate the sentiment, so you give them each a grateful nod, tell them you’ll visit after dinner, and turn to knock on the door.

“Come in,” the Marshall’s voice carries through the door, and you turn the knob and step inside. 

All you see is Seungcheol; the Marshall, the office furniture, the flickering screens on the walls all snap into nonexistence in the presence of your former lover. He’s the only thing in the room that comes into focus. Everything else is just fuzzy noise.

His face wavers for a moment when your eyes meet his, the muscles rippling as he fights to get them under control. 

You don’t know what reaction he’s fighting. You don’t know if he’s feeling happiness or hatred. You don’t know if he’s fighting a smile or a scowl.

You give him a quick bow in greeting, and he returns it. His face is stone, now, his mouth tight and eyes flat. 

He turns to face the Marshall, to receive orders, so you do the same.

“I trust your travel went well?” the Marshall begins.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Even the single syllable of yes will come out of your mouth like gravel and dirt and sand, getting everywhere, leaving a trail.

“Your orders,” he says then, a bit of a sigh on his tone - as if he knows the uphill battle this will be, “are to reconnect as best you can. You’ll follow your old schedule. You’ll spar, you’ll meditate, and you’ll talk. After some time, we’ll try the drift again, see if the connection has recovered any.”

Seungcheol’s voice startles you when he speaks. “How long do you imagine it will be before we try?” he asks, just cold enough to have a sliver of sarcasm in it. 

The Marshall’s eyes narrow, just slightly, as if he’d caught it. “That’s entirely up to you two,” he says evenly. “When you were young and hungry to fight, you trained yourselves into exhaustion. You spent every waking second trying to cultivate the bond that would carry you into your jaeger. With the same intention and drive, I imagine you could be piloting Duellona within the week.”

You fight to keep your chin up, your eyes on the Marshall, instead of ducking your head and watching the floor. The Marshall lifts his arm and glances at his watch. 

“Your allotted time in Sparring Room 7 begins on the hour,” he says. This is his way of dismissing you.

In the hallway, you pause. “I’m just going to drop my bag in the dorm,” you say quietly, not looking at Seungcheol. 

He gives a tight nod. “Fine,” he says, and turns to go the other way, towards the sparring and training rooms. Clearly he intends to meet you there. You heave a deep breath, and turn back towards the wing with the dorms.

Stepping into the dorm you used to share with Seungcheol hits you harder than you thought it would. You’re not sure what you expected - to feel like coming home, maybe, or perhaps to be slapped with the memories of you and Seungcheol together, dancing around each other as you hurried to get dressed for a drop, lazing around in the sitting area after a full day of training. And, of course, the single night you’d spent together.

Neither thing happens. You aren’t overcome by a feeling of nostalgia and love, nor are you inundated by memories of what you’ve lost. Instead, the room feels exactly as it is: empty and still.

Your footsteps’ echoes taunt you as you walk through the kitchen, the sitting area, and into the bedroom. It’s pristine to the point of detriment; it feels like no one lives there. You set your bag on the floor near the foot of the bed - you can unpack later, after training - and turn to go.

Strangely, it’s stepping into the training room that slams you with memory and nostalgia. The wood cool beneath your feet, the vague smell of sweat and citrus-y cleaner, the sounds of punches landing and grunts of effort from the training rooms on either side - they all cocoon you in history, making goosebumps rise on your arms as the emotions surround you.

It makes sense, you think, as Seungcheol glances over his shoulder at the sound of your arrival. He doesn’t speak to you, just swaggers to the center of the room and takes a stance you recognize from Form One. Your body leads you opposite him, muscle memory guiding you into the first form you ever learned with him. It makes sense that this would be what felt like home - your minds going empty together, your bodies following the steps in unison. The sparring forms are the closest you can get to drifting without an actual neural connection.

Well, that and sleeping together, but you don’t see that on your agenda.

You stare at him across the invisible circle between you and try to read him. His face is cold and empty, but that already tells you so much about what he’s feeling. Seungcheol was never cold with you. When you fought together he slipped into that mode you loved so much - ready to level anything, chin lifted, eyes narrowed, confident and so very strong. But it was when you were together outside the fights that you had loved him best - often pouting, lips protruding, voice lifting into a whine. And the best of all - that smile, dimples creating shadows that beg for your thumb to press them, eyes squeezing shut with happiness or laughter.

Something must show on your face, because you watch the muscles in Seungcheol’s upper body untense, as if he’d been ready to fight and recognized that you weren’t.

“I’m good,” you mutter quickly, before he can ask. It feels better to lie to him before he actually asks you, like that’s somehow less dishonest. “Let’s go.”

Form One is basic - no hits, no fancy moves. At the training center, you’d teach it to the littlest ones until they had it memorized. It was really about control and communication - precision and alignment with your partner. You had to breathe together as your feet traced opposite circles across the knots in the wooden floor. You had to rise and bend in unison. It was about watching and listening.

You and Seungcheol could - literally, you’d tried more than once - do it blindfolded in perfect step with one another. Before. You don’t know if you still can. But, now, unblindfolded, it’s too easy.

You move through forms one through six without incident - both of you flowing as easily as water.

Form Seven is the first form that incorporates actual hits and blocks. You’ll have to touch for the first time, even if it’s forearm to forearm or ankle to shoulder. You move right as he moves left, crouch and circle as his right foot flies over your head, stand and punch where you know his open hand will be waiting to stop you.

It is, and you press your fist against it for just a second before spinning away to continue the form. You ache, even as your body continues following the steps, to have him entirely again - to meet his eyes and smile the way you both used to, because you were pleased with what your bodies could do. Because you had each other, completely.

After the tenth form, you bow, turn, and walk out of the ring. You drink some water, your back to him. Years ago you’d have used this break to chat, but you don’t know what to say to him. You’re scared that he’ll shut down anything you say, whether you choose small talk or go straight for the heart of the problem, and you honestly don’t think you can shoulder his rejection right now. So you stay quiet.

After a few short minutes of rest, you return to the center of the room. This is when you’ll spar for real.

You and Seungcheol had done this for years before things went wrong. You’d long ago adjusted to how hard you should hit, how to dodge his moves, how to make this a dance as much as a fight. Now, you feel like it’s your first time again.

Seungcheol attacks as you’d expect - all offensive, pushy, succeeding in herding you backwards even as you dodge each blow. You know his goal is to flip you, and normally you can avoid that by forcing him to go on the defensive as he avoids your own hits. Simply dodging won’t be enough - eventually he’ll cage you in unless you distract him.

You throw yourself into a summersault and manage to get behind him - an opportune moment to strike. You shift your weight to follow the blow as you twist your hips to send a kick towards his unprotected head. He turns just too late - the blow will land.

You can’t do it. You freeze, your core working to keep you upright as you fight your own momentum, halting the kick inches from his temple.

You know immediately that pulling the hit was a mistake. His eyes narrow, and he sweeps his foot at the ankle you’re balancing on. You crash to the ground, heaving a breath and taking quick inventory.

You aren’t hurt. Not this time.

“Get up, Cherry,” he says darkly, moving back to the center to start again. “And don’t do that shit again.”

He comes at you full force in the next match, too. You dodge and weave, but you don’t try to strike. You know he knows it; this isn’t how it used to work. You can almost feel him get angrier as you fight, but you can’t make yourself hit back. You want him to knock you down, you deserve to take some shots.

You take two blows to the back and one to a shoulder; you fall back unsteadily but manage to find your footing and roll away from his next kick.

The match continues - you taking a handful of blows, though none with the force to level you, and Seungcheol with his lip curled in fury.

“If you’re not going to fight, then leave,” he spits.

“Would if I could,” you retort without thinking. You mean that you don’t want to be here like this - not talking, cold, at odds. But you know it reads as not wanting to be here at all.

It seems like everything you say and do only hurts him more.

“I didn’t mean -” you start, and Seungcheol takes your arms and flips you over his shoulders.

“Don’t waste my fucking time,” he says, brushing his hands together and stepping back to give you room to pick yourself up.

“Don’t curse at me,” you answer, pushing yourself to your hands and knees, pausing to catch your breath before rising fully again.

He shakes his head, rolls his eyes a little.

You hate this side of him.

You know you deserve it. For pushing him out. For leaving him here. For loving him, messing everything up, when he never asked for that.

“Seungcheol,” you say, but he ignores you, pacing a few steps and then turning to face you, lowering himself into a defensive stance, ready to spar again.

“Cheol,” you try again. “Listen to me.”

“Marshall scheduled us time to talk later,” he says flatly. “Right now we’re scheduled to fight. So fight me, Cherry. Let’s go.”

The rest of the hour continues the same. By the time it’s over, Seungcheol storms out without speaking to you, furious over every single pulled punch.

You don’t know what to do to make it all better.

You shower quickly, dressing in dry linens, and then re-emerge for the hours you’re scheduled to meditate together. You hope that maybe this will help the situation - maybe not talking will be good for you, give you a chance to feel your connection without the chance to fuck it up with words.

You’re wrong; trying to meditate together is just as desperately fruitless as sparring had been.

You can’t focus at all - can’t shift your attention to your breath, to your body, to the earth beneath you, to the energy of your partner.

Your partner is the distraction, though he sits perfectly still, eyes closed. He might as well be yelling. His shoulders are tight, his jaw still clenched. Anger radiates off him so strongly that it makes your stomach hurt, makes you want to cower from it. You can’t stop watching him, hoping you’ll see him relax, hoping you’ll see the moment that he lets go.

He doesn’t.

“Your eyes are supposed to be closed,” he murmurs, and you feel your face heat, embarrassed that he knew you were watching him.

“I can’t,” you admit. Maybe, you think, you should just be brutally honest, starting now. It’s not like you could make this worse. “I can’t stop noticing how angry -”

“Then stop pissing me off,” he snaps, eyes opening. “Just a suggestion.”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” you cry, and push yourself to stand. You’re not sure why - maybe just to pace. “You never used to talk to me like this. Who are you?”

He looks at the floor, the first sign of guilt you’ve seen since you came home.

“Fine,” he finally bites back, and you know it’s as close to sorry as you’ll get. “I’ll reign it in. Sit back down.”

You shift your weight, arms crossed defensively across your chest, and close your eyes, deciding.

“Sit down, Cherry,” he repeats, and it’s gentler now. That’s what makes you cave, and you settle back across from him.

He’s less tense this time, so you eventually manage to close your eyes and count your breaths. But you’re still feeling for him, reaching for him in your mind, and coming up with nothing between you fingers. Touching him is as possible as touching the fog that used to blanket the training center, thick enough to blind you but impossible to grasp.

The pain feels like a cramp, except it’s behind your ribs instead of in your muscles. The pain grips and tightens, takes over. You want him, you want to be his again, you want to be inside these walls - where you used to fit comfortably. The fact that you’re out here, without him, aches so badly it makes you nauseated.

You want to beg him - let me in again, let me back in, let me be close to you again.

It won’t do any good, and you know it.

He was yours - you had him, you knew him, you could reach out to him and he’d pick you up. You’d taken it for granted, and you’d run away from it. You’d chosen to let it go, and now all you get is this: Seungcheol, cold and closed. Seungcheol, hating you for everything that happened.

—

Dinner is just as bad.

You go to the mess hall eager to see Wylie and Jeonghan and Seungkwan and all the other friends you haven’t seen in years. Wylie screeches like a banshee when she spots you, crossing the mess hall in a blur and hugging you so tightly that you both stagger, off balance, until Seungkwan joins the hug and rights you again.

“I missed you both so much,” you whisper, the only vulnerability anyone’s going to get out of you today.

“Then don’t leave again!” Wylie snaps, but you know the admonishment is full of love.

“I can’t promise,” you admit. Honestly, you’ve already made up your mind - you want to go back to Alaska. You’re not wanted here, not by the person who matters. What good are you, taking up a bed, if you can’t drift?

You’ve already given up hope that he’ll come around.

Seated at the table, you listen while your friends fill you in on what you’ve missed in three years - the fights in the bay, the new teams of pilots, the illnesses and injuries. You almost don’t notice Seungcheol silently takes a seat on Jeonghan’s other side, but something in you prickles, like you’ve sensed him.

The tension around the table heightens; the conversation goes a little stilted. When it’s apparent that he’s going to ignore you two seats down from him, Wylie slaps her hand flat on the tabletop.

“Come on, Seungcheol,” she scolds, and you’re sure no one wonders what she means.

His face goes dark so quickly it’s alarming. “Don’t,” he tells her darkly, one finger coming up to point at her in warning.

Her own eyes narrow and dart to her fork. Beside her, Chan’s eyes pingpong between them. He’s probably wondering if he should hold her back or join her.

“It’s fine,” you mutter, grabbing your tray and making to rise. “I’ll go.”

“Cherry, no,” Wylie protests, and then turns a glower onto your ex-co-pilot as if to say see what you did?

“It’s fine,” you repeat, standing. “I told my mom and dad I’d come by.”

You slink out before anyone else can argue.

You can’t even be mad at him - you did this by pushing him away. You hammered every last nail in the coffin by requesting to transfer. You pushed him out and you left him behind and now you have to face the reality that you can’t have him anymore. He isn’t yours, not anymore.

When you return to your dorm, he’s already in bed, the lights out. He’s facing the wall so you can only see his back, can only see the angry, tight shoulder poking out the top of the sheets. It tells you everything you need to know.

You don’t try to talk to him. You just go to bed.

—

You spend four days identically - fighting while sparring, not meditating, and avoiding Seungcheol’s ice-out. On the fifth day, your Marshall loses patience and changes your schedule. Your entire day is blocked to working on Duellona’s mainframe - buffing, repainting, greasing, and anything else you’re able to handle on your own.

“Since you can’t do anything else useful,” he adds, and you avoid Seungcheol’s eyes, ashamed.

Standing under Duellona’s unlit frame fills you with guilt. It feels like you’re letting her down, disappointing her by letting her rust here, failing your half of the bargain. You run your hands gently over the metal, finding the rough spots that need attention. Somewhere to your left, you can hear the telltale sounds of Seungcheol tightening bolts.

You work in silence for hours.

Eventually, you crack. You’re not sure if it’s the monotony of the task, the tension woven into the silence between you too, or being so close to your jaeger but unable to fight in it - maybe a combination. Something pushes at you from the inside, like a balloon trying to inflate under your skin and running out of room.

You flop backwards on the metal walkway, the grooves digging into your back. “What are we doing?” you ask, and you hear the tool Seungcheol had been using cling loudly as he sets it down.

“Following orders?” he says, stepping around Duellona’s side to look at you. “Fixing up the jaeger?”

“Fixing up the jaeger we don’t get to pilot?” you ask, sitting back up to look at him better.

“Is that what you’re here for?” he asks, the sudden ferocity of it surprising you. “To fight? Is that why you came back?”

You reach up to the walkway’s railing and pull yourself up. You feel yourself frowning at his question, at the heat behind it. 

“I’m back because the Marshall gave me an order,” you say slowly. 

“And that’s it?” he demands. 

You stare at him. You feel sure there’s more to the question, more that he’s asking. You feel sure, after knowing Choi Seungcheol down to the last molecule, that he’s really asking, you didn’t come back for me?

And it confuses you. You try to think about your split from his perspective: you’d shut him out, then slept with him, and then vanished. You’d made a lot of assumptions about his anger since then. You assumed he was angry at you for pushing him out of your head. You assumed he was angry at you for sleeping with him and then leaving. You assumed he was angry with you for ruining your drift, for ripping him away from the ability to fight. You assumed he was angry because he never knew why - never knew what it was that you were so desperate to hide, never knew why sleeping together had made things so much worse that the neural connection had fizzled into nothing altogether.

Is there more to it, his anger?

Should you call him on it, should you ask?

You take too long deciding. Seungcheol scoffs, like he’s disgusted with you. “I should have known,” he says coldly. “Princess of the Shatterdome, I should have known you only cared about piloting - about your legacy.”

This is something you’ve never said to him - that your desire to shine as brightly as your parents has weighed on you. This is something he’d pulled from the drift, something he only knew from tiptoeing around your mind before a fight. 

“That isn’t fair,” you say, your voice hard. “Is there another reason I should have come back? I’d love to hear it.”

He hears the challenge as it is - you didn’t ask me to come back, the Marshall did. You let me go.

He has nothing to say for himself, just stares back at you, eyes narrowed in anger, chest moving too quickly as he battles with his temper.

“Exactly,” you say curtly. The victory stings. It doesn’t feel like a win at all. “The bottom line is I’m here now, and we can pilot again if we can get our shit together.”

He shakes his head. “You left,” he says finally. “That’s the bottom line. You decided you were out, you decided you didn’t want me in your head, and then you left.”

He watches you, waits for you to say something. When you don’t, he lets out a derisive little laugh. “We’re both wasting our time here. The drift won’t work. We aren’t going to fix it.”

For the first time, fear slices through you like steel. “You can’t know that,” you say. You hear the fear in the way your voice comes out low and rounded, barely sounding like you at all.

“I can,” he retorts. “You know how I know? Because I don’t want to. You wanted me out of your head so badly? You got it. Can’t turn back now.”

He heads for the ladder, swings around and finds the third rung down with ease.

“So that’s it?” you ask his retreating form. Your heart is hammering and you’re starting to get tunnel vision. 

The only answer he gives you are his feet hitting each new rung with a clunk and a vibration that rattles up your legs.

—

You go to the training rooms alone and run through the forms just to do something; your mind turns the problem over and over as your body goes through the motions. After, you take a longer shower than normal, letting the water run hotter than you normally would.

After, you go to the Marshall’s office, determined. Or maybe resigned.

When he opens the door, he already looks irritated, like he knew exactly who would be on the other side.

“Requesting an audience,” you say flatly, fighting the instinct to cross your arms defensively.

He glances at his watch. “Five minutes.”

You step inside but leave the door open.

“I’m requesting transfer back to Alakanuk,” you tell him as evenly as you can manage. You’re sure he’s not surprised. “Seungcheol has made it very clear that we won’t be fighting together again. If that’s the case, then I can’t do anything useful here. But in Alakanuk I can.”

You pause, looking to see if you can read anything on the Marshall’s face - any hint that he’s considering what you’re saying, or that it’s a lost cause. He gives you nothing.

“Please,” you say. “Those girls need me. If I can’t help here, I can help them.”

The Marshall tilts his head just slightly. “Surely anyone can teach little girls the forms.”

You shake your head. “It’s more than that, and you know it. It’s not about the forms. I love those girls. I came back here to follow orders, and I tried. But if it isn’t going to happen… Please, don’t make me waste time here if I can be with them instead.”

The silence when you stop speaking seems to last for hours. Your heart pounds, and you work on keeping your breathing even. If he tells you no, you might just lose it, just give up entirely.

Finally, he takes a breath and seems to consider you. “If,” he says, and your eyes widen with hope, “your co-pilot agrees, then I will reassign you back to Alaska. But only if he will agree.”

“No problem,” you say quickly. Seungcheol was the one who said it was over. He should have no problem letting you leave.

When you step out of the Marshall’s office, Seungcheol steps out of the shadows. You should be surprised to see him, but in the Shatterdome it feels right that he just is wherever you are. That’s always how it was, before.

You look at him disdainfully. “I assume you heard that conversation?”

He nods, once.

“So?” you ask. “Will you tell him you approve, so I can go?”

For the first time since you returned, Seungcheol smiles, tight and sarcastic.

“No,” he says easily, like it’s kind of funny.

Fury erupts inside you; you can’t even pinpoint where in your body it stems from. “Why?” you demand. “Because you feel like I took something from you, so you want to take something from me?”

He doesn’t respond to this. You know you’re right. You know him. You know his mind.

“I hate to fuck up your narrative,” you spit at him, “but I’ve lost out here just as much as you have. You’re not the only one who lost the ability to fight. You’re not the only one who lost their partner.”

You wish you could tell him the rest - you’re not the one who spent three years with a broken heart on top of it. He had lost you as a partner and a friend - you had lost him in the same ways, and you’d had to harbor your broken heart.

He shakes his head. “Poor baby,” he bites sarcastically, and then takes off down the hallway, into the dark.

—

You stop sleeping at the dorm. Sometimes you sleep at your parents’, sometimes on Wylie and Chan’s tiny couch, sometimes in bed with Seungkwan, who kicks at you and whines that you take up too much space. Sometimes you sleep inside Duellona Fury, sitting up, your back against her metal frame.

The Marshall seems to have taken some pity on you. He schedules your mornings training the Dome’s recruits, and lets Seungcheol get back to what he was doing in your absence - which seems to be on track to move up in rank, to maybe become a Marshall himself, someday. It isn’t quite the same as being back with your girls, but training recruits feels at least somewhat fulfilling. And it keeps you and Seungcheol busy - separately - until afternoon.

Then, he schedules you to spar.

In your first week, you’d been unwilling to hit Seungcheol. You’d been feeling guilty for hurting him, sad for your time apart, hopeful that if you were soft to him, then he’d be soft back to you.

Now, you’re fucking furious.

For the first time, when the match begins, you hit him first. He’s surprised for only a second, eyebrows shooting up as he stumbles for balance, and then you watch something delighted and devilish fall over his face. Like he knows exactly what dance this is, and he’s been learning the steps in secret.

The match is brutal, reminiscent of your very first one, when you were both nineteen. You throw hit after hit his way; he blocks or dodges all of them. But he can’t get a hit on you either - you’re too quick, spurred on by fury. You’ve been angry in a fight before. But you’ve never been angry at him.

You spin and throw up a kick, expecting his forearm to rise and block it. Instead, you knock him in the jaw.

He grunts, hand flying up to cover his mouth, and you drop your stance with a gasp.

“Shit!” you cry, hurrying closer. “I’m so sorry! Are you bleeding? Let me look.”

“‘M fine,” he mutters thickly from behind his hand, but you ignore him. For a second, things are how they used to be between you. He lets you peel his hand away, lets you gingerly turn his head this way and that, even opens up so you can check his teeth.

“You’re gonna have a fat lip,” you tell him regretfully. “But nothing’s bleeding. Teeth look okay. Anything loose in there?”

He pokes around his teeth with his pinky. “Nope.”

You take a step back, cowed. “I’m really sorry.”

He laughs a little, wryly. “I bet you feel better, though.”

You bite back a smile. “Actually…” you say, and he laughs again. You both do.

Somehow, this seems to be the thing that cracks the anger you’ve both been encased in, unable to move forward or backward. You feel melted, and you wonder if he feels freer now, too.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you say. You mean the kick, but the words land heavy.

He avoids your gaze. “I need some water,” he says, turning and heading to the side of the room.

You do the same, sitting heavily on the bench where your water waits for you.

“Hey,” he says, and you look over, brows raised in anticipation. “Tell me about Alaska.”

You can’t help but smile.

“It’s so beautiful,” you tell him. “God, Cheol, the ocean there. And the birds, and the snow…”

He’s watching you, listening, but while he listens he stands and heads to the center of the ring, settling into a starting form. With a small smile, you follow, standing opposite him. He starts an easy match that’s mostly just following the eighth form. It includes some hits and blocks, but you both do them gently, easily, circling each other slowly.

“So you liked it?” he asks. You can hear how hard he’s working to make it sound casual.

“It was so beautiful,” you admit before ducking below a kick. “But it was also… really hard.”

“What was the best part?” he asks.

You smile, block a hit. He almost gets his hands on you for a flip, but you dodge around behind him. He turns to follow you. “Weirdly, it was taking care of them outside of class. We - the instructors - we kind of their moms, away from home, you know? I’m the one who knew Yejin won’t sleep unless someone sits by her bed for a while. I’m the one that knew that Farrah and Salome only argue because they’re competitive. I’m the one that knew that Maria and Anjali don’t know their times-tables, that Ximena can’t brush her own hair, or that Iseul is allergic to fish. I loved them. I loved knowing them.”

He looks at you for a long time. “Maybe you should go back,” he says finally.

It feels like a trap. 

You look at the floor, at the wall, then finally back at him. “If you’ll do this for real,” you say carefully, “then I’d rather be here. If we’re actually trying, then I don’t want to go.”

He’s quiet for a long time. Finally, he swallows hard, not looking at you.

“What was the worst part?”

There’s only one answer.

“Missing you,” you say. “Losing you.”

He manages to get both of your arms and hauls you over his shoulders. You land on your back so hard that the air is knocked out of your lungs and your eyes close protectively. For a second, you lay there panting, waiting for the pain in your back to settle down, waiting for the stars behind your eyelids to calm.

When you open them again, the ceiling coming into focus above you, the room is empty.

–

You have a hunch on where you can find him, and you head to the jaeger bay. Sure enough, he’s sitting below Duellona, knees to his chest, staring up at her.

You sit next to him and he doesn’t get up and leave, which you take as a good sign.

“I can’t do this if you’re not all in,” he tells you without looking at you. “You walked away from me once. I can’t let you back in my head if there’s any possibility you’ll walk away again. If you’re with me, I need you to be with me.”

Something prickles in the back of your head. You feel like you’re starting to realize something - the seed of an understanding is pushing delicately through the dirt, but hasn’t yet spread out its leaves under the warmth of the sun yet.

Something about his hurt. Something about why.

“I think we should try to drift,” you tell him.

This seems to startle him - he forgets to be cold, turns to look at you, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I can tell you how much I missed you,” you reason, “and tell you about how I spent every minute just… steeped in regret. Or we can walk through it - you can see for yourself.”

You know what you’re risking. If he gets into your head now, he’ll see it all - he’ll know everything, he’ll be able to feel for himself the depth of your loss, the height of your love. 

But what’s the harm, now? You can’t lose him twice. Maybe it’ll be enough for him to realize you hadn’t left him because you didn’t care about him. Maybe it’ll be enough for his forgiveness. 

Maybe then, he’ll tell the Marshall to let you go back to Alakanuk. 

It’s Seungkwan you bother, since he’d been in mission control before finding his team of co-pilots. The sideways look he gives you as he walks to your conn pod is withering, but you know better than to take it personally.

You buzz with nerves. The last time you’d tried this, the neural handshake hadn’t even connected. There had just been nothing.

The second you hear neural handshake initiating, you almost sob with relief. You can’t even pay attention to the memories - Seungcheol’s memories - floating around you; you want to collapse, to press your palms to the ground and thank the universe for letting you back in.

His first memories are a breeze - the ones you’ve jogged through together hundreds of times: his first home, his school, his father’s hospital room, the Dome. Then you slow your pace, because this is new.

You’re facing the landing dock on the Shatterdome’s roof. Seungcheol stands with his back to you, watching through the glass walls as a helicopter waits, the pilot talking into his headset.

You watch yourself walk towards the chopper’s open door. You watch yourself leave, remember how hard it was to not look back.

You hadn’t known that Seungcheol had been there, that he had seen you go.

The pain that accompanies the memory hits you like you’re drowning, like it’s too deep and you can’t feel the bottom, and you feel the machinery falter around you.

“Hey,” you say quietly. “I’m with you.”

He nods, still doesn’t look at you. But the beeping stops, the connection holding. 

There’s knowledge in this memory, knowledge in this pain. Seungcheol’s thoughts in this moment read in your head as clearly as if he said them aloud - I did this. I pushed her too far; I made her run.

You can’t stay here, can’t let him wallow in the memory of pain. You had to move forward - that’s how the drift works. Reluctantly you step towards the door, glancing over your shoulder to see if he’s following. 

He is. His jaw is tight and fists are clenched, but he is.

When the next memory - not in order of chronology, clearly - appears before you, you want to vanish into the floor. You’re watching yourselves in Seungcheol’s bed. Thankfully, you’re sleeping - this was after. But in the memory, Seungcheol is awake, laying on his side, his eyes drinking in your sleeping form.

The emotions and the knowledge come with it in an instant. The tenderness and the love he felt in that moment surround you now in the memory, unignorable, impossible to mistake. 

He had loved you. He had known you loved him, and he was showing you how he felt. The understanding slams you so hard that you think you stop breathing.

“Seungcheol,” you whisper. Around you, the scene begins to flicker, the connection starting to react to the oversaturation of emotion.

“We can talk about it after,” he says, voice hard. “Don’t stay in it. Find the next door.”

Your eyes find the door, but you feel frozen. You want the connection to drop, you want to unlock yourself from the stupid drive-suit and throw yourself into his arms, you want to apologize for leaving him thinking he’d pushed you away, thinking that he scared you into running.

“Cherry,” he warns. “The drift can’t -”

You know. 

And you owe him your side of the story.

You take a steeling breath and head for the door. You don’t take his hand. You don’t know if you deserve to, if he’d want you to.

When you step through the doors, you’re confused - you’re still in your dorm. Your bodies are both in the bed.

Now, though, Seungcheol sleeps, and you - the memory of you - sits on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands. 

You feel the emotion the memory holds, which means Seungcheol does, too.

Fear. It’s still fear - fear that he’ll know, fear that what you just did together will make it worse, make it harder to hide. 

Beside you, Seungcheol’s eyes go wide. 

“We have to move on,” you tell him. He looks at you, then back at the memory. 

“You -?” he starts to ask.

“After,” you tell him firmly. “We’ll talk after.”

You open the door, and you’re suddenly outside, surrounded by white.

Alaska.

The emotion knocks you over with the fury of an ocean wave - even though you know you’re not supposed to let it. This was how you had felt every day that you were gone, and it screams at you now, determined to be heart, determined to be felt. The loneliness, the regret, the despair and heartbreak all rise up in you, overtaking you, as snow falls gently and silently around you.

And the love. That never went away. That never mellowed, as the Marshall had put it.

If he didn’t know before, he has to know now. There’s no way he couldn’t.

Seungcheol squeezes your hand, and you almost jump. You look down at your linked fingers in shock, then up at him, eyes wide.

“We should go back and talk about this,” he tells you, but his grip on you is firm, assuring.

“Okay. It’s this way,” you tell him, trying to breathe, and you lead him by the hand through the snow. The fog strengthens as you walk, until you can’t see anything but grey, can’t see anything but Seungcheol’s hand in yours.

You continue on. You know where to go. When you step through, the fog vanishes as if it was never there, nothing gradual about it. With the fog gone, you can see clearly where you are - inside Duellona Fury’s conn-pod.

As you begin to work on the straps, you call through the intercom, “Kwan? We… need some privacy. We’ve got to talk - alone.”

His voice crackles back at you. “Yes, I’m leaving, I’m already gone. If you hear popcorn crunching, no you don’t.”

Seungcheol gives you a flat look. “Let’s go home and talk,” he suggests.

Home.

You are so afraid and so hopeful. You don’t know how to juggle both.

Back in your small living space, you sit like you’re meditating.

“Let’s figure this out,” he says. “No lies.”

“No lies,” you agree. Your knees touch, and you reach to take his hands. He lets you, giving your fingers a squeeze.

“You knew,” you say first, bordering on accusation. “I was trying so hard to hide how I felt about you… but you knew.”

He nods, his eyes on you. “And you,” he says slowly, “didn’t… know? That I knew?”

You shake your head, confirming. “I didn’t know. I thought I hid it.”

He smiles at you, a little placating. “Not as well as you would have liked.”

“And you…” You chicken out, swallow, force yourself to be brave. “You… loved me, too?”

He nods. “I did.” 

The air leaves your lungs so forcefully that you bend over, pressing your forehead to the tops of your hands. He pulls his hands from yours and you feel his touch, firm and reassuring, cupping your shoulders and rubbing his thumbs along them.

“We felt the same,” you echo into your shins. “You loved me.”

“Cherry,” he says above you, his voice like a plea. “I don’t understand why - when we… when I… I felt like once I forced you to look at it, it was too much. You ran.”

You sit with this for a minute, stunned and processing. His hands are back in yours, which you take as a good sign. 

“You thought… wait. You thought, after that night, that I knew how you felt, too?”

He nods. “I thought you knew,” he says, confusion still present in his tone. “I thought we both knew. I thought if it was out in the open, the glitch in the drift would be fixed.”

You wipe at your face, trying to breathe. “And instead,” you realize, “we couldn’t even connect, because I was still trying to hide it from you, and then you were hurt. I thought it was broken. I thought we really broke it forever.”

He looks at you in wonder. “That’s why you left,” he breathes, and you know he’s understanding this for the first time. “You thought we made the problem worse.”

It’s your turn to nod. “After we…I mean, I knew if I couldn’t hide it from you before that night, there was no chance I’d be able to hide it after. I kept you out in the first place because I… was afraid. I was afraid for you to see how much I loved you. It seemed… hopeless to keep trying.”

The words lay bloody between you, but his grip on your hands is strong, and you take another breath.

You push on, adding, “I was afraid it would be too much. I was afraid everything would change.”

Which it did, you think. He nods, like he hears this, like he agrees.

He releases you and leans back, blowing out a loud breath. “We’re so fucking stupid,” he says, and you splutter out a laugh.

“We really are.”

“I can’t believe we lost three years over that,” he says.

“I can’t believe you thought it was your fault that I left.”

“I can’t believe you left in the first place.”

This makes you smile, guilty. “That’s fair.”

You push yourself to stand; Seungcheol mirrors you, as if you’re already in the neural handshake, bodies working in tandem. 

“Cherry,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “It could never be too much. I love you. I’m crazy about you. I’m only me when I’m with you.”

You remember him, the night you’d slept together, telling you, don’t be afraid. He’d told you, after all, and you’d missed it entirely.

You close the distance between your bodies and kiss him hard. His arms circle your waist immediately, like they were waiting for you. He kisses you back hungrily. His mouth meets yours eagerly, his tongue stroking yours confidently before he shifts his attention to your jaw, your neck, then your mouth again. His hands don’t wander this time - instead he holds you so firmly it almost hurts, like he won’t let you move an inch, won’t let you out of his grasp ever again.

You cradle his face between your hands, let your teeth gently scrape along his bottom lip. “Cheol,” you whisper, then kiss him again. “You’re everything.” It’s what you should have said aloud the night you’d slept with him.

When the kiss breaks, he presses his lips to the top of your head and holds them there, melting around you a little. You give his middle a squeeze, revel in his heartbeat surrounding you like music.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t just say it.”

“Me too,” you tell him, holding him just a little tighter. “I should never have tried to hide it from you in the first place.”

He kisses your temple, and you hold each other, silently, each grappling with the time you’d wasted apart. 

You’re interrupted by a knock. You break apart, puzzled. You’re even more puzzled to see your Marshall at the door, and Seungkwan literally bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.

“I’ve heard your drift is working again,” the Marshall says dryly. 

You look over your shoulder at Seungcheol, grinning. “Seems like it.”

“There’s a Cat-1 reading in the bay. I was about to alarm for Pretty Savage to drop, but Savage’s team insisted I give you the opportunity first. They can follow as backup. How do you feel?”

Seungcheol is at your side. He looks at you, his face open and raw. “Well?” he asks you. “Are you in, or are you out?”

“I’m in,” you tell him seriously. “I’m with you.”

You thrum with excitement as a tech team helps strap you into the drive-suits, and you can’t help but shoot Seungcheol a wild grin, your happiness alive and unbounded. 

You tell mission control - Nainsi, probably, just like the old days - “Ready and aligned.”

Mission Control - definitely Nainsi - responds, “Prepare for neural handshake.”

The artificial voice bounces around you - 3… 2… 1… neural handshake initiating…

Around you, the machines flicker busily. Neural handshake strong and holding. Now calibrating…

You’re crying, but you ignore it. You beam through tears, looking sideways at your co-pilot. His eyes dance as he smiles back at you. You want to unstrap yourself to the drivesuit and go kiss his dimples, the dimples you hadn’t seen in years. You resist the urge.

“Ready to drop?”  He looks sideways at you, sly. 

You scoff at him, your own grin cocky and sure, like you’re twenty again, like nothing had ever been broken between you. “Been ready. Let’s light ‘em up.”

– end

thank you so much for reading!!!!

stay tuned for more fics in this universe! Wylie and Chan will get their own fic written by @sailorrhansol, as will Woozi! I'm also planning a Vernon x Reader in this universe, too! Should be a fun time!!

[upsidedownmvnson]

you can take it | eddie munson smut

summary: eddie gets jealous at a gig and reminds you exactly who you belong with :)

warnings: dacryphilia, just pure filth, rough sex, daddy kink, name calling in bed, jealous boyfriend, shy!reader, voyuerism

You really were innocent in the whole situation.

You were at The Hideout, watching your boyfriend Eddie perform. You sat alone at the bar, sipping on something sweet and fizzy the bartender made you, on the house.

Someone approached you, introducing himself as Eric. He didn't leave when you mentioned you had a boyfriend, but he didn't make any moves on you either, he was just speaking to you, so you didn't feel concerned about it.

The only rule you and Eddie had about hanging out with other people is as long as they're not into you, it's totally fine. Because usually, Eddie is a pretty level headed guy, especially when it comes to you. He loves you, and trusts that you love him, and only him.

However, there are a few people that push Eddie's buttons just by existing. You knew about Jason Carver, but who you didn't know about was Eric Heely, lead singer of Hotels of Fire, another band that frequents gigs at The Hideout. And an industrial pain in Eddie's ass.

And now, he was leaning against the bar talking to you while Eddie played the rest of his show.

And Eddie was getting pissed off.

He didn't like the idea of this guy talking to you, but what he really hated was that this guy was using you to get a rise out of him, and worse yet, it was fucking working. Eddie's neck was getting hot, and he'd long lost his usual grin. Instead, it was replaced with a tight scowl, a really annoyed grimace that probably would've signalled something was wrong if you would just look at Eddie.

But no, you were talking with Eric, sipping on your drink. He could tell from there that you weren't doing anything wrong at all. You saw the best in people, and if you had said you weren't interested, you would trust the other person to take that as an answer. But Eddie knew better. Eddie knew that Eric wasn't just trying to make a new friend, he was trying to ruin Eddie's night.

By the time you realized you were in trouble, it was far too late. Eddie had already decided that you needed to be taught a lesson.

And once you're in hell, only the devil can get you out.

You noticed Eddie's grimace, and put two and two together when you saw your new friend waving at Eddie, smug smile on his face.

"Do you know Eddie?" you asked, growing suspicious.

"Oh yeah," he said, making sure Eddie was looking at him before tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "We go way back."

You reacted quickly, getting out of your chair and smacking that guys hand away from you. You were clearly telling him off, but Eddie just wished you would get away from that guy.

Eddie, still not angry with you, was fuming. Eric had touched you. He touched you without your permission, and you felt uncomfortable, Eddie could see that. The music turned aggressive, and his bandmates could see the scene unfolding in front of them, and they didn't know what was going to happen.

After cutting the song short, Eddie announced their set was over.

His friends looked at each other questioningly, as there was still supposed to be another few songs, but they wrapped up anyway, unplugging their instruments and beginning to disassemble. Eddie threw the van keys to Gareth, and didn't say a word as he rushed over to 'save' you.

You met Eddie halfway, trying to assure him that you didn't do anything. Eric was behind you smirking at the damage he'd done to Eddie's mood.

"Baby," he cooed, rubbing your arms. "I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at him." Eddie nodded over to Eric, and followed up by flipping him off. "Go over with Gareth, okay? I wouldn't trust this guy near your drink." Eddie plucked the beverage out of your hands, and while he doubted that Eric did anything to it, he just wasn't willing to risk it.

Eddie stormed over to Eric, and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

"If you ever lay your hands on her again, I will kill you. Do you understand that? I will kill you."

"Death threats? Eddie, don't you think you're being a little dramatic? She was totally into it."

"If you interpret recoiling as into it, you're a predator." Eddie had to get out of here before he did something he would regret. Before he got the band barred from the only place they could find to play. "Stay away from us."

"Whatever, freak."

Eddie let go of Eric's shirt, turning on his heel and focusing on just getting back to you and calming down. Was he mad? Jealous? Pissed off? Yes, yes, and yes.

"Eddie?" you asked, as he approached you, but he didn't answer, just grabbed your hand and pulled you close, closing the gap between you and laying a big, fat kiss on you in front of everyone. You melted into him, not really caring who saw. Eddie loved pda, always had, loved showing everyone that you were his, and he was yours.

Hid hands wrapped around your waist, holding you as he leaned into you, bending your back and forcing your chest into his. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, taking in the intoxicating smell of him. Eddie, sweat covered and sexy.

"Eddie," you mumbled against his mouth, "let's pack up and just get out of here," you said, pulling away from him finally.

"Yeah," he agreed, "good idea."

And you could see the fire in his eyes. You could feel the way he tried to push into you. You were in trouble, but you weren't scared, you were excited.

"Are you ready to help us pack up?" Jeff asked, "or would you just like us to watch you make out some more."

"No one was forcing you to watch," Eddie said, his tone level and casual. None of his usual joking manner. "I'll bring the van around."

Eddie pulled you behind him. He wouldn't be letting you alone with that guy fucking lurking around. You were guided out the back door, and through the dark parking lot behind the bar. Eddie always parked in the same corner, far enough away from the door where he could secure a quick deal or two during his shows.

Even through the rage, you thought he was being a perfect gentleman by opening the passenger side door for you, but you should've known better. In this mood, you should've expected him to be dirty, dirty, dirty...

When you moved to get in, he pushed you down, bending you over the seat. With your ass in the air, he lifted your skirt and pulled your panties down to your knees, immediately smacking your ass three fast times. It stung, the sudden intrusion of pain was a delightful surprise. He groped your ass for a second, mumbling something about it being his.

"I fucking love this ass," he muttered, sliding his fingers down through your already soaking wet folds. "And this pussy."

Two rough fingers found your clit, rubbing small, quick circles around the little bud.

"I need to get you home," he said, plunging those fingers inside you. "Like, right now."

"We should h-help pack up," you said, only to be met with another smack on your ass from his free hand. He wasn't holding you down, you could've easily asked him to stop and he would've. But you didn't want to. And he knew that.

"Just need a minute," he said, falling to his knees. The concret scraped his knees, but he didn't care. He needed this to calm down. Then he could go pack up and get you home and deal with the rest of his frustrations. "Jus' a little taste," he whispered, leaning forward and diving into your pussy like it was the cure to all his problems. Which it kind of was, honestly.

One hand was gripping your thigh, right where it met your ass, holding it open so he could lick, and suck and just taste you. The other hand, slid around you to rub slow circles on your clit again, but not enough to get you off. He didn't want to overwhelm you already, and he definitely didn't want you to cum yet.

"Eddie," you moaned, biting your hand to keep quiet. "They're waiting for us."

"Don't care," he mumbled, continuing to eat you out, right there in the parking lot. It wouldn't be the first time you'd done something here in the parking lot, but it was the first time where you weren't hidden inside the van.

"Eddie," you moaned, as he licked up your slit and dipped into your tight little hole with his tongue, before pulling away entirely, letting the cool breeze blow across your wet centre, and you whined, wishing he would continue. He laughed, leaving your clit behind to grip both your ass cheeks in his calloused hands, the rough fingers felt amazing against your soft skin. He bit one of your ass cheeks, and kissed the other. And then slapped both at the same time.

And you got ready for him to fuck you. But instead he tucked his erection into the band of his jeans, and pulled your panties back up. He fixed your skirt, and then guided you to sit in the van.

"You're so good," he mused, his bad mood already lessening. "So beautiful."

You blushed, suddenly bashful about what he'd done.

"Now let's get the fuck out of here," he said, closing the passenger door and rushing around to the front. He drove to the otherside of the lot, completely unfazed by his voyeuristic tendencies.

The guys were already moving stuff outside, and leaving it by the backdoor.

"We were afraid to come over there," Gareth joked, loading stuff into the back. He found it even funnier when he caught the blush creeping over your neck and cheeks. He didn't say anything else about it. But he knew that there was some truth to it all.

"Just hurry up," Eddie said, impatience catching up with him. "I'm in a bad mood, I just fucking hate that guy."

"Yeah, that guy is a dick." Gareth shook his head. "But it's not like she would've let him do anything."

"Obviously," he muttered, and closed the back of the door. "It pisses me off that he would even try to use her like that though, like she's less of a person. It's just, it's gross."

"It is gross," he agreed. "Well, we're out of here. I think I'll catch a ride with Jeff. You seem, uh... busy."

"I think that's for the best."

The drive home was silent, except for the radio playing quietly between you. Eddie's hand gripped your thigh, tightly, possessively. He was thinking of all the ways he was going to fuck you. All the ways he was going to make you cum. All over his face, his cock, his fingers. He couldn't think about anything else. He loathed the idea that Eric probably thought he could get with you. It made it him fucking furious. The more he stewed about it, the more angry he got.

It was time to remind you that there was no one on Earth that could fuck you like he can.

He trusted you fully, but he was going to remind you anyway.

"Eddie?" you asked, "Are you sure you're not mad at me?"

"I'm sure, my love." He traded his grip on your thigh for your hand, which he brought to his lips to place several chaste kisses to your knuckles. It was sweet how much you cared about his feelings, and boundaries. "I just need to make sure you're properly fucked. I've been fucking you softly lately, and I love that," he smiled, and you were blushing, the topic of conversation making you bashful, "but it's time for Daddy to really fuck your brains out."

"Eddie!"

"Time to make my little mouse cum again and again," he continued, "until you're screaming and begging me to stop." He continued to kiss your hand as he spoke, "but you won't want me to stop, not really."

"Don't be dirty," you whispered, shy about the way he was speaking to you. But you loved it. You were soaking wet, clenching your thighs together, thinking about all the ways Eddie would have you. All the ways you would totally and fully give yourself to him.

"Oh baby," he cooed, "tonight we will be filthy, and I think," he let go of your hand, "I'll start now."

And with that he slipped his hand between your thighs, pushing them open. He wasted no time in grabbing your panties, yanking them over to the side and slipping his fingers between your folds.

"So fucking wet," he moaned, slipping a finger inside you, "and so fucking tight." He groaned, taking the finger out and popping it into his mouth. "And sweet."

You were breathing heavily, so turned on by how Eddie was acting. He'd dominated you before, but this was different. Like he was trying to prove something. He was trying to prove to himself that he was the right one for you, that he was the one you wanted and needed.

"I want you to be good for me tonight," he said, moving back between your legs and fingering you again. This time with two thick fingers, and his thumb on your clit. He knew everything by feel, his eyes never left the road. He knew where to touch, and what to do to please you. "Just do what I say and you'll be rewarded."

"Okay," you whispered, speechless at what was going on. You pulled your knee up onto the passenger side door to give him more access to you. To let him in deeper.

"Good girl," he cooed, "off to a good start."

He removed his hand again, and you whined at the loss of contact, but he shut you up by sticking his fingers into your mouth. "Taste that, honey? It's my favourite thing in the world." He kept his fingers in your mouth for a moment, until he felt your tongue swirl around the digits. "You're gunna suck my cock as soon as we get inside your house, and you're not gunna stop until I tell you to stop."

You nodded, and he pulled his fingers out, returning to gripping your thigh like at the start. You were throbbing, thinking 'please touch me again,' over and over and over in your head until you were sure he knew what you were thinking, because his smug smirk returned.

"Look at you, fucking begging for it, looking at me like that isn't gunna be enough, doll. You're not calling the shots tonight."

"Can I suck your cock now?" you asked, and he smiled.

"No," he said. "Keep your hands to yourself."

And suddenly your hands were magnets, and he was what they were attracted to. You wanted to touch him, to play with his hair, or his jacket. Touch his thighs, or any piece of exposed skin you could find. You needed him. You wanted him to be inside you, anyway possible. The lay restlessly on your lap, just keening to touch him.

You clenched your thighs together again, and Eddie tutted at you. "Don't do that, your pleasure is all for me tonight."

"Eddie..." you whined, hiking your leg up higher, trying to entice him to return to his work between your legs. But he didn't budge, just smirked as you whined and writhed in his passenger seat. He loved it like this, he liked how fucking feral you got for him.

And he especially loved how smug it made him when one of the guys sat in that seat, knowing all the dirty things he'd done to you in this van.

He killed the engine, parking crooked in your driveway. No one was home, it was a recipe for a perfect night.

"Don't even have to be quiet," he mused, "you're really in for it, little mouse."

And you were quick to exit the van, and excitedly head into the house. You were only a few steps in, leaning on the wall and trying to kick your shoes off when Eddie slammed the front door, grabbing your hand and turning you back around to him.

"I said 'as soon as we get inside'," and he pulled you down until you feel on your knees. "I didn't say take anything off."

He pushed your face into his bulge, the jean rubbing against your cheek, and the zipper cold on your nose.

You undid his belt above you, fumbling because you couldn't really see it. You pulled it through the loops, and he grabbed it from you before you could discard it.

"Take my pants off," he muttered, letting go of your hair. And you obeyed, tongue tied and soaking wet. Throbbing in your panties. Eddie had never been like this. And you wanted more. You wanted more than you knew.

While you worked on his jeans, he wrapped the belt around your neck. Not to choke you, but to hold it there, as if it was a promise. A promise to keep you in line. You sucked your lip into your mouth, salivating at the sight of his dick springing to life, free from the confines of his ripped jeans. His sexy, sexy ripped jeans.

You started teasingly, licking the underside of his dick slowly, but he yanked the belt, causing it to tighten ever so slightly. "I said, suck my dick!" he raised his voice, annoyed that he had to repeat himself a third time.

You whimpered, putting the tip in your mouth, and he thrusted into your mouth, forcing himself into your throat as you choked and gagged.

"If you want to stop at any point just tap twice or say Atari," he said, a softer tone taking over for a moment, he pulled back a bit, making you look up at him, "tap twice now if you understand."

You tapped his leg twice, and then you gagged on his dick as he thrusted it down your throat again. "Good girl," he muttered, dick twitching at the view he had. Belt wrapped around your throat like a leash, tears filling your eyes and his dick hit the back of your throat. You didn't even have to move, because Eddie couldn't control himself from grabbing your hair, and guiding you to suck his dick exactly how he wanted it.

Eddie was fucking your face, a foot from the front door. If anyone came onto the porch they'd hear the wet squelching of Eddie thrusting into your mouth, or the coughing caused by the intrusion.

"That's fucking unreal, little mouse," he muttered, throwing his head back and his continued gripping your hair by the roots, moving your head up and down on his thick cock. "You take daddy so well."

Your hands gripped his thighs, trying to ignore the painful throbbing of your ignored pussy, while Eddie takes his pleasure. "You look so pretty like this," he said, returning his attention to you. Tears made their escape down your cheeks, dragging your mascara with them.

He gave the belt some slack, and you backed off of him, sucking in a few big gulps of air.

"I didn't know you could take it so good, baby," he cooed, "Daddy's good little slut."

You nodded eagerly, not sure if you were allowed to talk or not. You leaned forward to take him back in your mouth, doing everything you had been before, but without Eddie's guiding hand, you did it yourself, shoving his cock to the back of your throat where you coughed and gagged around him.

His groans were delightful. Eddie moans were music, filling you you with pride and desire. You pulled away again for some more air, and he looked at you with a devilish smirk.

"Come up here," he said, yanking on the belt, forcing you back to your feet.

The belt dangled when he let it go, and he just looked at you for a second. Your hair was messy, cheeks covered in wet makeup, puffy lips, belt hanging loosely around your neck, and glossy eyes that made Eddie swoon, for just a moment. And then he smirked, rubbing his thumbs across your cheek, trying to remove some of the mascara, but he just smudged it more. He smiled.

"Did you like that?" he asked, wanting to make sure you were liking this otherside of him. You nodded. "Why don't you bend of that couch over there? Hmm? Show daddy that ass he loves so much."

You did as he asked, bending yourself over the armrest of the couch. Irritated by all the clothes still on, but Eddie said not to take anything off, and you wanted to be his good girl. Even your sneakers were still on.

You looked behind at him, and he had taken all his clothes off, and was roughly palming his cock in his hand. One finger looped around your panties, yanking them down your legs and off, landing somewhere on the floor. He winked at you, making you blush. He gripped your ass tightly, his thumb linger dangerously close to your asshole.

He spread you open, slapping his cock against your asshole a couple times, mumbling, "I'll have to give this tight little hole a try sometime..." but he slid down to the wet, sopping hole of your pussy, testing the readiness of it by slipping the tip in. Your pussy basically sucked him in, begging him to give it to you. "So fucking wet and ready baby, so fucking good for me."

Instead of fucking you like you desperately needed, he just popped the tip in and out a couple times, spreading your wetness down to your clit and up to your ass.

And then he was lined up to your pussy again, holding himself at your hole, and you whimpered, looking over your shoulder at him, glossy eyes begging for him.

"Why so quiet, little mouse? I want to hear you," he said, moving his cock down to your clit again, and then right back up to your centre.

"Please," you begged, voice breaking with anticipation.

"Please what?"

"Please... please fuck me Daddy," you begged, "please fuck me, I've been so good, I want it. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!" you begged.

And in one swift movement he grabbed the belt again, yanking it tight, constricting your throat just enough for you to feel the threat of choking, and also thrusting himself fully inside you. You screamed at the sudden invasion, but it felt so fucking good. The belt slightly constricting you, forcing your head back, and Eddie suddenly balls deep inside you made you scream you loved it so much. His other hand gripped your ass, the skirt bunching up in his palm.

Like how he treated your face, he was roughly fucking into you, each pump going all the way out before slamming back in. Each move was calculated, your head being forced back felt... so fucking good. He slapped your ass, flipping your skirt up.

You muttered unintelligible syllables, just grunts and moans as he took all of you.

You were taking him so well, your pussy was gripping him so tightly. Fuck, Eddie couldn't take it, but he didn't want to cum yet. Didn't want it to end.

You were breathing heavy, getting close to finishing, and Eddie could feel it. He knew the signs of your orgasm, and right when you were about to fall off that edge, he stopped entirely, pulling out and letting your orgasm shatter to pieces, not giving you any sense of relief. Instead, you were left with a painful thump in your clit.

Eddie touched it slowly and softly, giving nowhere near enough to coax you back to your orgasm, but enough to soothe the throbbing of neglect your poor pussy felt.

You whined, trying to push yourself back on him, and it made him chuckle. You looked so desperate for him. You wanted him. And Eddie finally got back his confidence that he was the only one for you. A fact you'd never doubted.

He loosened the belt, taking it off completely, and flipped you over, so you were standing again, leaning back against the couch. He moved your hair out of the way to make sure he didn't do any damage, and he didn't. It was just a little red, with a few small marks where the edges had rubbed into you. But he'd never pulled it tight enough to hurt you.

And then his movements were caring, just for a moment, just enough time to slide off your skirt, and then your shirt and bra. He slowly undressed you, stroking his cock slowly. He worshipped your body, hands dragging slowly across all newly exposed skin.

"So fucking pretty, baby," he said, "and you take it so well, who knew you had this kind of ... perseverance?"

"I want to cum," you pouted, "and I want you to fuck me full."

Eddie's eyes widened at your words, and his usual cheeky grin returned. "Oh, baby, you don't even know what you're asking for," he groaned, biting his bottom look as he took in your disheveled appearance.

"Yes, I do," you challenged, "please?"

And he pushed you back, letting you fall onto the couch cushions. And you crawled backwards as he climbed over the couch, stalking up your body like you were his prey.

He wedged himself in between your thighs, lining him up with your pussy and shoving it back in, hitting every part of you. He stayed still inside you, every inch of him covered with you. And he kissed you. He kissed you with his tongue, teeth, with his hands. He was all over you, covering every sense and taking the attention of all your thoughts.

"I love you," he muttered, "I love you so much."

"I love you too," you whispered.

"Good," he smirked, "now take it."

And he was thrusting into you like he didn't love you at all. Hitting every part of you that was only for him to hit. Each slap of his hips hitting into your thighs hurt, but only in the most pleasurable way. You moaned, wrapping your legs around him, trying to somehow bring him in harder, deeper.

One hand by your head, holding him up, the other latching around your throat as he kissed you, all tongues and sloppy. the only sounds being the squelching of your painfully wet pussy and your tiny whimpers, being lost in his mouth.

"I want you to cum," he said, pulling himself away from your mouth, keeping his eyes locked onto your as you moaned under him, breathless and sweaty. "Now, I want you to cum now," he said, angling himself differently, and thrusting harder, hitting you in a spot that made you feel like you were gunna explode.

You were going to explode, especially when he ordered, "touch yourself, make yourself cum."

Like a good girl, you rubbed small circles over your clit, helping him bring yourself back to that ledge you so desperately wanted to jump off.

Your walls tightened around him, and it was different. It was different than every other time. You were chanting his name, moaning "Eddie," over and over until you came, screaming his name and feeling elecricity down to your toes. Every part of you was on fire, and your muscles tightened, pulling him in closer while you squirted, for the very first time, soaking Eddie and the couch, pushing him out of your pussy.

He moved quickly, putting two fingers roughly inside you and moving them with ferocity as he coaxed you through the biggest orgasm you'd ever had. You screamed, loudly, honestly worrying Eddie that the neighbours would hear, so he clamped another hand over your mouth, keeping the noise contained. Your muffled screams just coaxed him to an orgasm on their own, he was sure of it.

He had been close to his climax, but this new change of events was okay with him. He could've cum just from knowing how well he satisfied you.

Your heavy breathing continued for a minute, and in a cock drunk state you looked at him, smiling stupidly while he just watched you, still softly fingering you, keeping his eyes locked on yours.

"I made you squirt," he said, stupid, goofy grin all over his face. He continued stroking his fingers in you.

"You didn't cum," you pouted, looking at his still rock hard cock.

"Guess we'll have to just start all over again, pretty petal, but why don't we get you some water first."

And before you understood what was happening, two were standing in the kitchen, Eddie bending you over the counter and slipping his cock back inside you, wrapping his arms around you to hold you close, and to get his fingers back on you clit. Your back pressed into his chest, and he pumped into you slowly.

"More," you muttered, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts.

"Hmm," he mused, grinning down at the sight of your ass slapping against his abdomen. "I don't know if you can take it..."

"I can," you whined, trying to fuck yourself harder on his cock, but his arms restricted you, not letting you take what you wanted.

"Tell me you can take it," he said, "convince me that you can take it."

And you wriggled free of his grip, climbing onto the counter and laying on your back. Eddie watched with a grin on his face, as you spread your legs wide for him, angling yourself at the perfect height for him to ravage you again. He took his place between your thighs, and rubbed himself up and down on your pussy.

"I can take it," you promised, "I want you to fuck me like you hate me, daddy."

"Is that what you want?" he asked, continuing to slide his tip through your juices, leaving a trail down to your asshole. He popped the tip into your pussy, pulling it out almost immediately.

"Please," you whined, "please fuck me, I can take it. I love it, I want you to hurt me. I want you to fuck me until you fuck me full of your cum. I want you to take it all out on me," you begged, staring straight into his eyes.

"Dirty little mouse," he said. He loved when you broke out of your shell. When you could talk about all your dirty desires with him. "Let's go to bed," he said, wicked smile ever present. "I want to ruin you on those cute pink sheets of yours."

He took your hand, helping you off the counter, like a gentlemen, and then followed you to your room.

"On your knees on the bed," he said as soon as you got in the room. You you crawled on, ass in the air over the edge of the bed, shaking your ass the perfect spot for him to come take you, he did just that, walking up behind you and thrusting two of his fingers into your hole. You moaned, and he moved them aggressively, hitting that delicious spot roughly over and over, and over.

"I'm gunna fuck you full, alright." He was mumbling behind you, working his fingers quickly, hitting your g-spot like he own it and twirling circles around your clit. "Just gotta make you cum again real quick, and then I'm gunna fuck you totally full of my babies." He grinned, turned on by the imagery of you, all round and pregnant with his baby. Maybe one day...

You were getting close again, your arms buckled and you fell onto your chest, your cheek squishing into the soft duvet Eddie loved so much.

It was too much, he knew you too well. You couldn't resist if you wanted to. You moaned knowing he was right, he was going to make you cum again, quickly and with ease. His tongue poked out in complete concentration, followed by a smile as he felt you tighten up. Standing up, he kept the circles on your clit going, but quickly switched out his fingers for his cock, angling himself until he felt your g-spot again.

You screamed again, muffling yourself in the blankets. And the feeling of his big dick penetrating you when you were that close, made you come undone again, you came around his cock, clenching him so tightly he threw his head back in pleasure.

He moved away from your clit, letting his dick be your only guide through another orgasm, and he was back to gripping your ass. He fucking loved that ass. He spanked it, gripped it, held it open, and then out of nowhere he leaned forward to grab a fistful of your hair, pulling you back up, and holding it taut so you were forced to stay on your hands. You moaned, the pain was just another sensation of pleasure.

"You stay like that baby, looks so fucking good." He groaned, his dick twitching inside you, he was close. He wanted to cum so fucking bad, he needed the relief.

Tears rolled down your cheeks, the pleasure so great that you couldn't contain it. Couldn't even speak. Eddie fucked you stupid, and you didn't want him to stop. You wanted to be ruined by him. You wanted him to take total claim of you, marking you as his for the rest of forever.

"So fucking good -" he grunted, thrusting harder into you, hitting the back wall with every thrust, making sure to hit you with his full length everytime. "So fuck tight baby, you're so fucking tight. That's all for me, yeah? Just for me," he mumbled, thumb poking into your asshole, and you moaned.

"For you," you muttered weakly, pathetically. You could barely get the words out, the new sensation of his fingers proding a new hole made your pussy tighten again.

"I think I can get you there one more time, huh? What do you say, puppet? Cum for daddy one more time?"

You nodded, feeling like you were close already. He let go of your hair and you leaned forward, arching your back as much as possible to give him even more access to you. He spread your ass open so he could see it all. Watch as he pummeled your little pussy.

"Gunna c.." you moaned, "gunna please."

"What's that? I don't know what you're saying down there baby."

"I'm g-gunna fuck," you whined, "it's- again."

"What're you? Stupid? Use your words, baby, tell me," he cooed, egging you on when he knew damn well what you were saying, and your walls became impossibly tight around him.

"I'm gunna cum," you whined, finding your voice finally, and you continued to raise it as you said, "please, daddy. Please, I'm gunna fucking cum, you fuck me so good."

"Was that so hard?" he asked, finding your clit with a wet thumb and rubbing circles on it until he felt you come undone again, biting the duvet to keep from wailing and alerting the whole fucking town to what Eddie doing.

He couldn't hold back anymore, and he followed through on his promises, continuing to fuck you as he came ribbons into your cunt, the liquids pooling up and dripping out around his cock. He watched with stars in his eyes at the sight of your pretty pussy taking all his juices.

He slowed down, his dick still inside you but softer. He cooed at you, praising you for being so good.

"Baby, that was... wow," he said, pulling out of you. He ran a comforting hand down your back, gripping your ass gently one more time. "I love you, I love you so much."

Eddie ran a finger over your pussy, to your clit, making your whole body jerk when he touched it. Your cum and his mashed together, an indistinguishable mess between your legs. You didn't move, just stayed face down ass up while Eddie worshipped up, touching you softly all over the place.

"My love," he said, taking your hand softly, returning to his nurturing boyfriend stat like he hadn't just treated you like a whore. His whore... "C'mon sweet girl, let's go get some water and a shower."

[kaitawrites]

Silent Whispers 

Wolverine (Logan Howlett) x Mutant!Reader 

Part Two of Silent Whispers

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Character Death, Jealousy, Logan getting slapped

AN: I DO NOT APPROVE OF ABUSE WITHIN ROMANTIC (ANY) RELATIONSHIPS!! I also got the idea from this fic by @moonpascal

The sound of blankets ruffling and the howling wind coming through a window doesn’t stop the murmurings from Logan. His body tosses and turns. At first you couldn’t make out what he was saying. You sit up in the bed, getting ready to wake him up. “Jean” The name came out softly through his lips. If you weren’t paying attention, you would have missed it. It would’ve mixed with the flow of the wind. 

Everything in you stops as you stare at Logan’s blissful form. So many thoughts ran through your mind. After all this time, he’s still thinking about her. You can feel the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You shake your head in hopes in getting rid of the thoughts. But it was futile. “Jean…” He whispers again. In a frenzy, he begins to repeat her name non-stop. You just couldn’t take it anymore and ran out of the room. 

The next day the energy shift was obvious between you and Logan. You had begun to avoid him. It was to the point that even Ororo pulled you to aside. “Hey, What’s wrong?” You look away from her and fold your arms. “Nothing, Nothing is wrong” Storm raises an eyebrow at your words. “So why is your forehead frowning?” You use your hands to cover your forehead. “Me and my frowning forehead are out of here!” You take quick pace to leave the room, Storm right behind you. “It’s ok, you can trust me. You can tell me what’s going on! Just tell me what’s going on.” Thats when you whip around to face her, tears beginning to stream down your face. 

“He doesn’t love me, Ororo. He doesn’t love me. I will always be second place to him.” Storm’s eyebrows knit together. Everything piecing together in her mind. She takes hold of your hands, a tight grip in fear you might run again. “It’s probably not what you think. Have you tried speaking to him? You know how extreme his nightmares are.” You scoff. “You wasn’t there. You don’t know how I feel. I was laying right next to him but his mind was on another woman. Not what I think? What else is there to think? He’s been in love with her since I met him. Even before that. I’m just a placeholder.” 

Storm furrows her eyebrows. “Don’t be like that. Just talk to him.” You rip your hands away from her. “He did enough talking last night.” You are out the door before Storm could possibly say anything else. As you storm down the hall, out of the corner of your eye you see Logan. The rage that you were already feeling amplified tenfolds. You can already hear his footsteps right behind you, calling your name. You are quick to run up the stairs to your room, locking the door behind you. 

You pick up your bag from under your bed, getting ready to fill them up with your things. That’s when you start to hear the banging. Logan calling your name repeatedly. “What’s the matter? You’ve been avoiding me all day. You know I won’t understand if you don’t tell me what’s going on.” Blood boiling within your body as you angrily throw things into the bag. “Understand me? Shouldn’t you understand yourself? Maybe understand your horrible nightmares.” It goes silent for a moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bub.” 

You zip up the bag. “Try again, James.” You make a quick pace to open the door. There Logan stands before you, confusion written all over his face. “You’re full of shit.” Logan cracks a smile. “I get that often.” Your hand whips across his smug face, causing a bit of blood dripping out of his mouth. “I get that often too.” 

You grimace at his words, tears threatening to spill once again. “Why am I not good enough for you? Why is it always HER?! Jean, Jean, Jean. It’s always about her. When am I going to be your number one? When is it gonna just be me in your heart?” 

Logan grabs ahold of you. “Don’t say things like that. I love you with everything in me.” You stare into Logan’s eyes before letting out a sigh. “Let go of me, Logan.” He reluctantly let’s go of your shoulders. You turn to pick up your bag off the bed. “I really did love you with my whole being. My heart, my soul, everything. And I am not going to be second place to someone I love.” Before Logan to respond, you (dramatically) jumped out the window and disappear in the dark. 

Marvel Masterlist

(mostly logan lol)

[thedensworld]

Illogical Project | C.Sc

Pairing: Ceo! Seungcheol x reader

Genre: fluff, humor, stranger to crush

Summary: It was just a project to get rid of a side chick, but Seungcheol fall. Deeply.

I was having so much fun writing this! Part 2 yall ask is here

Seungcheol didn’t have to do this. But he needed to do it. Logic flew right out the window the moment he’d typed your name into the company group website. Imagine his surprise when your profile popped up, revealing you were part of the marketing team—under his own label, no less.

The woman sneaking around with his cousin’s fiancé was one of his employees?

Seungcheol let out a dry laugh. Well, this just got interesting. It shouldn’t be too hard to get rid of you.

It has been two years since Jiyeon, his cousin, and Jeonghan got engaged. Their engagement had been more of a business deal than a love story. And although Jiyeon’s engagement to Jeonghan was supposed to be purely transactional, it had been a lifesaver for Seungcheol. Thanks to her, he no longer had to endure his grandfather’s endless nagging about getting married.

But then, yesterday happened.

“Jeonghan’s been cheating on me!” Jiyeon had wailed, storming into his office like a whirlwind. Seungcheol hadn’t thought much of it—Jiyeon tended to exaggerate. He’d been about to brush it off with some nonchalant comment until she hit him with: “I think I’m going to call off the engagement.”

Hold up. What?

That wasn’t part of the plan. Jiyeon couldn’t break off the engagement! Without it, Seungcheol’s peace and freedom would go down the drain. He’d be right back to enduring those endless blind dates set up by his grandfather. Dinners with girls whose names he’d forget before dessert even arrived. Absolutely not.

Which led him to this moment, finding you—Jeonghan’s secret girlfriend. His smirk widened. If cutting you out of the picture meant keeping Jiyeon on board, then so be it. He’d convince you to take your cheating ways elsewhere.

Who would’ve thought his biggest problem was one of his own subordinates?

If anyone could see him now—Seungcheol, the company CEO, scrolling through employee profiles like a suspicious boyfriend—it would be mortifying. But hey, desperate times called for desperate measures. And there was no way he was letting his hard-earned freedom slip away because of Jeonghan’s wandering eyes and your sneaky rendezvous.

*

"Mr. Choi has been acting strange lately," your manager said as she returned from his office, a puzzled look on her face.

"He’s refused every ad plan we’ve pitched to him. And now he’s specifically asked for you to handle it."

Your brows shot up in surprise as you pointed at yourself. “Me?”

“Yes, you. He wants you in his office in ten minutes—with the best idea you can bring to the table.”

“Wait, ten minutes?!” You shot up from your chair, scrambling to find the folder you always kept at your desk. Panic set in as you grabbed your iPad—your lifeline filled with every concept, draft, and half-baked idea you’d ever had. “Why are you just telling me this now?”

Ms. Shin shrugged nonchalantly, already turning her attention back to her own tasks. “It slipped my mind. Good luck!”

You let out a frustrated sigh. Typical Ms. Shin. She was a perpetual headache wrapped up in business casual attire. Just yesterday, she’d dumped her entire presentation prep on you, claiming she was “too busy” to handle it herself. Never mind the fact that you were the one who’d developed almost every campaign concept the department had used for the past two years.

But still, you remained a shadow. Despite your efforts, you were practically invisible in the department—overworked and unnoticed.

As you rushed to the elevator, the thought crossed your mind: Why did Mr. Choi want to see you now?

Was he starting to see through Ms. Shin’s facade and realize where the real work was coming from? Your heart raced with a mix of excitement and anxiety. This could either be a breakthrough… or a complete disaster.

Jeonghan used to tell you a lot about Seungcheol, his college friend. From what you’d heard, Seungcheol was the embodiment of professionalism. He wouldn’t judge you for staying in the shadows to support your boss all these years, but that didn’t make him any less intimidating. The truth was, you didn’t know him well enough to understand what went on in his mind.

To you, Mr. Choi was just your boss’s boss—the executive you occasionally spotted from a distance as he strode through the office with that air of authority and responsibility. He was the face of Heidos Food, a man who commanded respect and led by example. His dedication and work ethic were part of the reason you’d decided to join this label among the Heidos Group’s many subsidiaries.

Taking a deep breath, you managed a smile at his secretary. “Mr. Choi is expecting me,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

The secretary gave a curt nod and led you to the door. You couldn’t help but feel small as you stood before it, staring at the imposing wood panel. The secretary knocked gently and stepped aside, motioning for you to enter.

This was it—your first time stepping into the office of the man who practically ran the entire division.

Your heart pounded wildly in your chest as you took a deep breath and stepped inside.

What could he possibly want from me?

"It was disappointing, Ms. Ji."

Your heart sank as Mr. Choi’s voice sliced through the silence after you wrapped up the impromptu presentation.

“I don’t see your idea being as innovative as I expected. The format feels repetitive—similar to every program the marketing department has produced over the past few years.”

You bit your tongue, resisting the urge to argue. How could you not? Internally, you were screaming. Of course, everything looked the same—they were all your ideas! Yet, it wasn’t like you could point that out to him.

Instead, you forced yourself to respond with a calm, “I’m sorry, sir.”

Mr. Choi tapped his pen thoughtfully against the desk, his gaze never leaving your face. “But,” he continued slowly, “it does have potential. It just needs a bit more… observation and refinement. Do you think you can handle this project, Ms. Ji? It’s rather risky.”

His question caught you off guard. Risky? Since when did Mr. Choi—who typically preferred playing it safe—assign risky projects to subordinates? Still, you couldn’t let this opportunity slip away.

“I’m confident I can handle it, sir. If you trust me, I’ll deliver.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he nodded. “Good. In that case, pack some clothes. We’re going to Singapore for a seminar tomorrow.”

What?!

You blinked at him, stunned. Singapore? Tomorrow? You hadn’t even processed what just happened before he dismissed you, turning his attention back to his paperwork as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you.

*

Seungcheol had no idea where your confidence came from. He’d incidentally overheard your phone conversation with Jeonghan earlier, and it was all sweet and annoyingly romantic.

Alright, maybe it wasn’t exactly accidental. Maybe he intentionally eavesdropped—just a little—but who could blame him? He couldn’t believe how bold you were to have such an intimate call with Jeonghan right in front of him.

So, people are right when they say love is thrilling when you’re playing with fire, he mused, his annoyance growing.

"You should pay attention to her more," he heard you say, your voice dropping to a softer tone that made Seungcheol’s scowl deepen.

Then you added, with a laugh that sounded entirely too carefree, "You’re right, I’m the better companion."

He felt his jaw clench involuntarily. Companion, huh? The nerve of you—being all cozy with Jeonghan right under his nose. He was already irritated by this whole situation, but now he had to endure your lovey-dovey chatter too?

“Alright, I gotta go. Bye... Have a nice day!” you finished, your voice as sweet as honey.

The moment you hung up, Seungcheol snapped himself into a more composed posture, acting as if he hadn’t just been caught leaning against the wall, listening like a gossip. He made a show of dropping himself onto the couch in front of you.

To his further irritation, you looked up with an even brighter smile.

“What should I do today, sir?” you asked, voice cheerful and professional, as if you hadn’t just been caught cooing over the phone.

Seungcheol had to think. There was really nothing too strenuous on the agenda for you today, but a part of him—call it the vindictive part—wanted to see you squirm, especially after witnessing your little show of affection for Jeonghan.

“Take notes on everything,” he ordered, watching your expression closely. “Mingle with everyone. Join every discussion. Since I’ll be attending a separate meeting, make sure you don’t make a fool out of our company. Got it?”

You nodded and jotted everything down like the diligent employee you were. “Okay, noted, sir.”

Seungcheol let out a sigh, not quite satisfied with the reaction—or lack thereof. “Can I trust you with this?”

Your smile remained unwavering as you met his gaze. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

Something about your calm composure only made him want to push you further.

How could you be this unbothered?

On the last day of the seminar, Seungcheol could hardly believe it when his company was presented with an award of appreciation—all thanks to your hard work over the past few days. He had known you were good, but he hadn’t expected you to exceed everyone’s expectations this much.

But what truly grated on his nerves was the way people kept talking about you: “That woman with brains, bravery, and beauty,” they said, almost in awe.

Is this a business seminar or some kind of beauty pageant? he grumbled internally, irritated by how many times he’d heard those words. Every time someone praised your creativity and wit, it felt like another jab. Yet, even he couldn’t deny you deserved the recognition. The achievement might have been unexpected, but it wasn’t entirely surprising.

Now, he found himself sitting at a high-end restaurant for lunch, just hours before their flight back to South Korea. You sat stiffly across from him, clearly uncomfortable. After refusing his invitation five times and trying to hitch a ride to the airport with his secretary instead, here you were—reluctantly.

“You can choose whatever you’d like, Ms. Ji. You’ve earned it,” Seungcheol said, not looking up from his menu as he spoke.

You mumbled a polite acknowledgment, your gaze glued to the menu. Seungcheol raised his hand to call the waitress over and glanced at you, waiting for your order. His eyes widened in surprise when you rattled off your request in perfect, fluent Malay.

“Wait—you can speak the language?” he asked, caught off guard.

You nodded casually. “Yes, I studied and graduated here.”

“Hmm,” Seungcheol murmured thoughtfully. He tapped his fingers against the table, considering your response. “With that kind of portfolio, you could easily settle into a bigger company. Why stay at Heidos Food?”

To his surprise, you shook your head, rejecting the notion. “No, Heidos Food is the perfect fit for me.”

Seungcheol raised a brow. He couldn’t tell if you were just being polite or genuinely meant it. “And why is that?”

You paused, looking a little hesitant before speaking. “Five years ago, I had just graduated, and I attended the company’s anniversary event with someone I knew. I saw your speech there—it was incredible. It motivated me to become a part of Heidos Foods. I applied several times, went through multiple interviews, and finally got my position three years ago.”

Seungcheol didn’t like the way your story painted him as an integral figure in your career choice. He didn’t want to think he was that important. And yet, there was no denying that something about the way you spoke made him pause. He found himself strangely flattered—and maybe a little more intrigued than he wanted to admit.

He glanced away, clearing his throat. Stop it, Seungcheol. She’s not special.

But the thought wouldn’t leave him. He kept stealing glances at you, wondering how he had overlooked these little details about you. Maybe there really was something to what everyone kept saying: brains, bravery, and beauty—all rolled into one package.

No, he told himself sternly. Focus.

Slowly, Seungcheol found himself losing sight of his initial motive for getting to know you better—the desire to uncover the truth behind your connection with Jeonghan. As he spent more time with you, your charm and intelligence began to weave a spell around him, shifting his focus from suspicion to genuine curiosity.

The more he learned about you, the more he realized how difficult it was to see you as just a subordinate or a rival in Jeonghan’s affections.

He hadn’t planned on feeling this way, and it unsettled him. What started as a calculated move to monitor your interactions had transformed into something entirely different.

Seungcheol caught himself daydreaming about your conversations, replaying moments that made him smile. He was drawn to you in ways he hadn’t expected, and that realization left him both exhilarated and confused.

As his initial purpose faded into the background, a new question took root in his mind: What if getting close to you had become the most intriguing project of all?

*

“Can you send Ms. Ji to my office after this? There’s something I need to discuss with her.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but she just left the building a few minutes ago due to personal business. She didn’t provide any details.”

Seungcheol nodded in frustration as Ms. Shin, your manager, wrapped up her paperwork. It had been two weeks since the two of you returned from the business trip, and he still found himself at a crossroads. He was working diligently to create a void that would justify getting rid of you, especially concerning your relationship with Jeonghan.

Alright, if he could be honest; he didn’t want to lose a gem like you from the company. The idea of you being Jeonghan’s “side chick” was almost infuriating, especially given your intelligence and undeniable beauty.

Yeah, Seungcheol couldn’t deny that your beauty truly shone when you were focused on your work, and he found it charming every time he handed you a new challenge.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed with a call from Jiyeon, his cousin. He picked it up, immediately greeted by her sobs.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, his protective instincts kicking in.

“Jeonghan…” Jiyeon cried, her voice trembling as she choked out his name.

“What did that bastard do now?”

There was no immediate response, just the sound of her muffled cries. Then, through the tears, Seungcheol finally heard her say, “He had a car accident after we fought. He’s in the hospital now.”

Within moments, Seungcheol found himself standing outside the operating room with Jiyeon by his side. To his surprise, he spotted you sitting quietly in a corner, clearly distressed. So here you were, the “personal business” Ms. Shin had mentioned.

“Let’s get you something to drink,” he said gently, placing a reassuring hand on Jiyeon’s shoulder and guiding her away from the waiting area. He handed her a can of soda as they sat down together.

“We fought on the phone,” Jiyeon explained, her voice still shaky. “I mentioned his side chick, and he denied it. He said he had no one besides me. I didn’t believe him, and then he said he would explain everything when he came to my office, but he got into a car accident.”

Seungcheol nodded, processing her words. “Y/N was there,” he said, gesturing toward you in the corner. “Y/N. She’s the one Jeonghan was supposedly seeing,” he added, his voice laced with confusion.

Jiyeon’s brow furrowed in frustration as she shook her head. “No, they are siblings. They have the same mother,” she sobbed, her voice breaking under the weight of her emotions.

Seungcheol’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What? They’re siblings?”

“Yes,” Jiyeon replied, her expression a mixture of sadness and relief. “That explains everything. I thought he was cheating on me, but it turns out he was just trying to protect her.”

The weight of this shocking revelation shifted the tension in the room, leaving both of them momentarily speechless. Seungcheol leaned back against the wall, trying to digest the news.

Jiyeon wiped her tears, glancing toward you again. “I need to talk to her,” she said, determination filling her voice. “She deserves an explanation.”

Seungcheol nodded in agreement, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. Maybe this would clear the air and mend the rift between you.

*

"Has she done this a lot to you?" Seungcheol heard your voice coming from inside the room as he and Jiyeon were about to enter. Both of them paused instinctively, hovering just outside the door.

"She accused you of cheating. She put you in this situation!" Your tone was laced with a rage Seungcheol had never heard from you before. There was an intensity, a fierceness in your voice that was completely unfamiliar to him.

"I could’ve lost you…”

Jeonghan’s voice was soft, barely audible, as if trying to calm you down. “I’m fine, Y/N. I promise. It’s not her fault.”

Jiyeon, who had been poised to enter the room, suddenly froze, her eyes widening in realization. She glanced at Seungcheol, and he could see the confusion and guilt reflecting in her gaze. Before she could turn away, you stepped out of the room, your eyes red and swollen. The sight of Seungcheol and Jiyeon standing there, having clearly overheard the conversation, caught you off guard, but you quickly composed yourself.

You cleared your throat and walked past them with your head held high, your expression a perfect mask of indifference, as if you didn’t realize—or perhaps didn’t care—that they’d been listening in.

Seungcheol watched you go, his mind spinning. He couldn’t help but be reminded of the college days when he and Jeonghan had shared a dorm room. As the only Korean students on campus, they naturally gravitated toward each other. He recalled Jeonghan often mentioning his younger sister—a sibling from the same mother who was in middle school at the time. Seungcheol had never met her, but from Jeonghan’s stories, it was clear how much he treasured her.

"I get a headache every time she doesn’t pick up my call!" Jeonghan would grumble late at night, throwing his phone down in frustration. “She’s so stubborn, but she’s all I’ve got.”

And now, it all clicked into place. The sister Jeonghan had spoken of so fondly, the one he worried about constantly, was you. You, the woman who had captivated his attention with your intelligence and charm, were Jeonghan’s sister. Someone who had been right under his nose this entire time.

*

The hum of the office printer was the only sound in the room as you carefully gathered the documents you needed to submit. Steeling yourself, you walked to Seungcheol’s office and knocked gently before stepping inside.

Seungcheol glanced up from his computer when he heard the door open. The usual lighthearted banter that had developed between the two of you was noticeably absent as you approached his desk and placed the file in front of him.

“Here’s the proposal, sir. It needs your signature,” you said softly, keeping your eyes on the document and not on him.

Seungcheol picked up the pen, his gaze shifting between the file and your calm, composed demeanor. After scribbling his signature on the dotted line, he cleared his throat, an awkward tension hanging between you two.

“Is… Jeonghan doing better?” Seungcheol asked cautiously, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice finally holding a hint of warmth. “He’s recovering well. The doctors said he’ll be discharged tomorrow.”

Seungcheol nodded, a small wave of relief washing over him. “That’s good to hear. I’m glad he’s getting better. If you need more time off, just let me know. I know you’ve been the one taking care of him.”

You shook your head gently. “No, thank you. There’s already an assigned nurse for him. I’ll be back to work as usual.”

The air between you two was thick with unspoken words and awkwardness. Seungcheol felt the weight of everything he had said and done, of the suspicion that had once tainted every interaction he’d had with you. He knew it was his fault the dynamic between you had shifted so drastically, and now, he was fumbling, unsure of how to bridge the gap he had created.

“I—” Seungcheol hesitated, his usual poise and confidence faltering. “I know I messed up… and I don’t blame you if things don’t go back to the way they were. I just… I miss the way we used to work together, the way we used to talk.”

You blinked, taken aback by his admission. But even then, you didn’t respond with the same enthusiasm you used to. Instead, you offered him a small, understanding smile.

“Thank you for understanding, sir,” was all you said before you excused yourself and walked out of his office.

Seungcheol watched you go, the emptiness in his chest expanding. He had been wrong—terribly, embarrassingly wrong—and now he was paying the price for his foolish assumptions. He had shattered the easy camaraderie that once existed between you, and now, he was left with the cold, polite exchanges that felt more like a punishment than anything else.

You were here, right in front of him, but you felt more distant than ever.

*

You knew exactly what had been happening to you, but you tried to deny it until it finally affected you like it did today. Ms. Shin had already lectured you with words you never imagined she would use, all because of a rare moment of clumsiness that you didn’t even see coming. You had too much on your plate, and the project Mr. Choi had assigned to you was nearing its deadline. In the midst of it all, you accidentally forgot to send an anniversary message to one of your most loyal clients, and Ms. Shin had to do damage control.

“They were very offended, Y/N,” Ms. Shin snapped, her voice carrying throughout the office as she reprimanded you in front of everyone. You stood there, hands clasped in front of you, listening to her and internally cursing yourself for letting things slip, all because you couldn’t get Mr. Choi’s words out of your mind.

“I miss the way we used to work together.”

“I miss—”

“I’ll be reporting this to HR. I can’t handle this kind of negligence anymore.” Ms. Shin concluded sharply, her words reverberating through the office. A collective gasp came from your colleagues, who were too stunned to react.

Later that day, you found yourself sitting in the HR director’s office, replaying Ms. Shin’s words in your mind. You expected another round of the same scolding, but what came next blindsided you completely.

“We’ve received reports about you neglecting your responsibilities over the past three months, and unfortunately, we can’t tolerate this any longer. Please clear your desk before the workday ends,” the HR director said, his tone dismissive.

“What?” The shock was apparent on your face. No warning letter, no opportunity to explain—just an immediate termination.

“You’re firing me?” you whispered, still in disbelief.

“Effective immediately.” His tone was final, and there was no room for negotiation. You were jobless. Just like that.

You felt a scream building up inside you, a storm of emotions you didn’t know how to release. Anger, frustration, betrayal—every word they’d said felt unfair, and you were powerless to fight it. Who were you to contest it? Just another employee, replaceable, forgotten.

By the time you made it home, Jeonghan was the first to greet you, his face lighting up in surprise. “You’re home early?” he chirped, clearly not expecting you at this hour. Ever since he was discharged from the hospital, he had been staying at your place, recovering until he could get around without any help.

His smile quickly faded when he noticed the cardboard box in your hands. His expression crumpled with worry as you dropped the box onto the table with a heavy thud. “Are you… fired?” Jeonghan asked hesitantly, as if he couldn’t believe his own words.

You nodded, letting out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, they fired me. Fuck Heidos. I’m going to start my own advertising company!”

Jeonghan blinked, caught off guard by your outburst. “Alright, slow down. I appreciate the enthusiasm, but what happened?” he asked, concern lacing his tone.

You shrugged, collapsing onto the couch in exhaustion. The last thing you wanted was to relive today’s events by recounting them to your brother. You just wanted to forget.

“Does Seungcheol know about this?” Jeonghan pressed on, not noticing how drained you were. “He told me you were handling a project together. Was this his decision?”

“Do you need a marketing staff?” you deflected, throwing the question back at him, trying to steer the conversation away.

“No, I don’t. But if you’re interested, I can make some room for you.”

You shook your head immediately. The last thing you wanted was to work for your brother’s company out of pity or nepotism. It wasn’t like you hadn’t considered it before, but joining his business now would feel like a defeat.

“I told you, you could’ve joined my company from the start,” Jeonghan murmured softly, his tone far gentler than before. “The Heidos you were so proud of has finally turned its back on you, huh?”

You groaned and stood up abruptly, your heavy steps echoing through the small living room as you stormed off to your bedroom. You slammed the door behind you, cutting off whatever else Jeonghan had to say.

“Yeah, Heidos finally threw me out,” you muttered bitterly to yourself as you leaned against the door. The company you had dreamed of working for, the place you’d given your blood, sweat, and tears for over the years—had thrown you out without so much as a second thought.

You took a deep breath, but it didn’t ease the tightness in your chest. This was the company you had stayed up nights for, the one you’d gone above and beyond for every single day. You’d fought your way in, made a name for yourself, only to be discarded like you were nothing.

And all you could think about was how everything had spiraled ever since that conversation with Seungcheol. How his simple words had shaken your confidence, distracted you, and caused this downward spiral.

But the worst part?

You still cared what he thought.

You sat on the edge of your bed, staring blankly at the wall as Jeonghan's words replayed in your mind, taunting you.

Heidos finally turned its back on you.

Was that it, though? Was it really the company you were angry with? Or was there something more?

Your gaze dropped to the floor as a bitter realization crept in. Were you really interested in Heidos all along? Or was it Mr. Choi?

You closed your eyes and let out a slow breath, your thoughts drifting back to the first time you saw him in person. It was during Heidos’s anniversary gala, a grand event that showcased the company's milestones.

But there he was—Choi Seungcheol, the CEO’s son, standing on the grand stage, delivering a speech with the kind of charisma that made everyone hang on to his every word. He talked about vision, about passion, about how Heidos wasn’t just a business—it was a dream they all built together.

You remembered the way his eyes scanned the room as if acknowledging everyone’s efforts personally, his voice carrying conviction and authority. He seemed approachable yet untouchable at the same time. There was a spark in him that drew you in, like a flame you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by, even if it meant risking getting burned.

When he mentioned the value of individual contributions, you couldn’t help but imagine yourself as one of those valued employees he spoke of. That night, you had felt an overwhelming sense of pride, a hope that you, too, could be part of something bigger. Part of his vision. It made you work harder, push through every obstacle, and make a name for yourself in the company.

But what if, beneath all those aspirations, it was his approval you were really after?

Had it always been about earning a place at Heidos, or had it been about being acknowledged by him? Did your heart race because of the accomplishments, or was it because of the fleeting interactions you had with him?

You tried to shake off the thoughts, but the memories kept flooding back.

There was the time he complimented your work during a company meeting, the way he’d asked for your opinion during a discussion, and, of course, the project where you saw a different side of him—where he was more than just the stern, high-and-mighty executive everyone knew him as.

"I miss the way we used to work together."

His words echoed in your mind, laced with regret and something you couldn’t quite place. Had you let those words affect you more than they should have? Had you crossed a line somewhere between professionalism and personal admiration?

You huffed out a breath and rubbed your face with your hands. It was hard to admit, but maybe you were chasing after more than just a career.

Maybe it was a person.

“Are you really that naive?” you muttered to yourself, almost laughing at how pathetic it sounded. “You got yourself fired because you couldn’t get over a few words from Choi Seungcheol. Great job, Y/N.”

What had you been thinking? That you meant something more to him? That the way he looked at you was anything other than superficial interest? Maybe you’d been reading into things too much, letting your emotions cloud your judgment.

After all, the way he’d treated you—suspicious, distrustful, wary—it all pointed to how little he thought of you. You were a pawn in his game of protecting Jiyeon. The only reason he ever looked your way was because he thought you were a threat.

And yet… you wanted to believe there had been something more. Something genuine. But now, everything felt tainted.

Because if Heidos was no longer an option, then you’d just have to prove to yourself that you could rise even without the company’s name backing you up.

But first, you’d have to figure out a way to keep your heart in check—especially when it came to him.

“Forget it, Y/N,” you whispered to yourself, staring at your reflection in the bedroom mirror. “Forget about Choi Seungcheol. He was never part of your plan, anyway.”

*

It was his first day back in the office after a week-long business trip, and Seungcheol finally had a chance to sit down and get back into his routine. His secretary entered the room with his usual coffee, already prepared with a list of updates and meetings for the day. He rattled them off efficiently, detailing every appointment and task Seungcheol needed to be aware of.

“I want to know the update on the project Ms. Ji is handling,” Seungcheol said, glancing at the folder in front of him, half-expecting to see her familiar name.

There was a brief pause, and when his secretary responded, the answer was something Seungcheol never anticipated.

“She’s no longer part of our staff, sir.”

Seungcheol frowned, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. “What do you mean?” he asked, the question carrying a sharp edge.

“She was terminated a week ago due to negligence in fulfilling her responsibilities,” the secretary explained carefully. “The report came from Ms. Shin, and HR approved it immediately.”

Seungcheol’s scowl deepened, the irritation evident in the tightening of his jaw. He leaned back in his chair, processing the information. “Ms. Ji was managing a critical project with me,” he said, his voice lowering. “Her status required my approval. How is it possible I wasn’t informed about this?”

His secretary’s shoulders tensed, and he hesitated before replying, “I’m terribly sorry, sir. You were occupied with meetings and engagements throughout the week, and I only received the details two days ago myself.”

“Busy or not, I should have been notified immediately.” Seungcheol’s voice was dangerously calm. He glanced at the stack of files on his desk, his mind already racing to piece together what could’ve gone wrong. “I want Ms. Shin and Mr. Kim from HR in my office—now.”

“Yes, sir,” the secretary replied quickly, bowing slightly before leaving the room to carry out Seungcheol’s orders.

Seungcheol’s gaze shifted to the half-empty coffee cup, his thoughts a blur of anger and disbelief. Fired? For negligence? That didn’t add up. He knew you weren't perfect, but you were dedicated and thorough. You had handled complex projects before, and while you had your flaws, negligence was never one of them.

Something wasn’t right.

The door opened again a few minutes later, and Ms. Shin walked in, followed closely by Mr. Kim. Both looked apprehensive, likely sensing the storm brewing from the tension in the air.

“Explain,” Seungcheol said without preamble, his eyes fixed on Ms. Shin. “Why was Ms. Ji terminated, and why was I not informed?”

Ms. Shin cleared her throat, meeting his gaze with a strained smile. “Sir, there were multiple instances where Ms. Ji failed to meet her deadlines and deliverables, which impacted the team’s performance. I reported this to HR, and after reviewing her recent performance records, they decided to let her go.”

“And whose idea was it to keep this from me?” Seungcheol’s voice was low and dangerous.

“We didn’t intend to keep it from you, sir,” Mr. Kim interjected cautiously.

“The decision was made quickly due to the urgency of the situation. Given that you were away and Ms. Shin was the acting supervisor for that period, we thought it best to handle it internally until we could brief you properly.”

Seungcheol’s gaze shifted between the two of them, his displeasure evident. “I don’t appreciate decisions being made without my knowledge, especially when it concerns a project directly under my supervision. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” they both answered in unison, looking visibly uncomfortable.

“Ms. Ji was fired without a formal warning or disciplinary review?” Seungcheol continued, his voice hardening. “Was she given no chance to explain herself or defend her performance?”

Ms. Shin shifted uneasily, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. “Sir, she had been making several mistakes, and her focus seemed to be elsewhere. It was affecting her work quality. We couldn’t afford to let it slide any longer.”

“Was this decision truly about her work, or something else?” Seungcheol pressed, his gaze narrowing. “Because from what I’ve seen, she was one of the most consistent performers on the team. I want a full report on the matter by the end of today.”

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Kim replied quickly, while Ms. Shin’s jaw tightened, her frustration barely masked.

“Dismissed,” Seungcheol said curtly, waving them out of his office.

*

You practically jumped out of your bed when you saw an incoming call from Mr. Choi flash across your phone screen. Heart racing, you scrambled to sit up straight before answering.

“I’m outside your place.”

What?

You blinked, staring at yourself in the mirror in disbelief. Just moments ago, you had been in a post-drama-marathon daze, slouched in bed after indulging in a series binge you could never afford the time for before. And now, the very man who occupied your thoughts far more than he should—the Choi Seungcheol—was calling to announce that he was outside your apartment?

“Uh—can you give me ten minutes? I’m not exactly looking presentable at the moment,” you stammered, glancing down at your wrinkled pajamas and messy hair. Your reflection screamed “I-just-woke-up” and “don’t-look-at-me”.

“I—what I mean is!” You quickly corrected yourself, flustered. “I just woke up, so I might look a little… disgusting.”

The last word fell out awkwardly, and you cringed inwardly. Of all the words you could’ve chosen…

“Take your time, Ms. Ji.” His voice was calm, almost amused. You heard the call click off, leaving you in stunned silence.

Oh God, what was he doing here?

You dashed into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and washing your face in record time. The face staring back at you looked different now—the long hair you used to style meticulously was gone, impulsively cut to shoulder length last week in a fit of frustration and exhaustion. You sighed and brushed it diligently, making it look as presentable as possible. Changing out of your pajamas into something more decent—a casual blouse and jeans—you took a deep breath before heading outside.

Stepping out of your building, you spotted his sleek car parked along the road, and there he was—slipping out of the driver’s seat, looking effortlessly handsome despite the casualness of his attire. His usual sharp suit was gone, replaced by a simple white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Even without the formal suit jacket, his presence seemed to dominate the entire street. You couldn’t help but stare for a moment, struggling to reconcile this man’s unexpected appearance outside your home with the same person you admired from afar at work.

Focus, Y/N.

“How are you?” Seungcheol asked, his gaze soft as it met yours.

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer verbally, so you just nodded stiffly, offering a tight smile. The truth was, you weren’t okay—not even close. And a part of you wanted him to understand that without you having to spell it out. But another part of you was wary, unsure how much he even knew or cared about what happened.

“I just found out about your termination this morning,” he began, and you blinked in surprise. You hadn’t expected this to be the topic of conversation. “I’m so sorry.”

You stood there, rooted in place as you stared at him. What was going on?

“I shouldn’t have let Ms. Shin handle things like that,” he continued, voice low, the frustration evident in his tone. “I knew she’s been trying to drag you down all this time. I knew you were the one carrying the department, handling all the toughest projects… That’s why I’m sorry.”

The Choi Seungcheol, the man who exuded confidence and charisma at every turn, now looked uncharacteristically small and uncertain standing before you. The apology caught you off guard. You had prepared yourself for cold professionalism, or maybe even indifference. But not this.

“I won’t force you to come back to the company,” he said gently. “That’s entirely your choice.”

He paused, looking as if he was weighing his next words carefully, then took a deep breath. “But I don’t want to lose the chance to tell you…”

Your heart thumped loudly in your chest as his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity in his gaze making it hard to breathe.

“I might like you,” he confessed, his voice almost a whisper. “Romantically.”

What?!

The world seemed to freeze around you as you stared at him, your mind racing to process his words. Seungcheol… liked you? The very same Choi Seungcheol who spent years being distant and impossible to read? He liked you, romantically? This couldn’t be real.

“I—I don’t know when it happened,” he continued, his expression a mixture of vulnerability and resolve. “But somewhere along the way, I realized I was looking forward to seeing you every day. You were more than just a competent employee; you were someone I admired. And then… I started to miss you.”

The sincerity in his words left you speechless. You glanced down, unable to meet his gaze as you tried to figure out what to say. Was it possible that you hadn’t just admired him from afar but had harbored deeper feelings too?

“I understand if this is too much for you right now,” he said softly, stepping back as if to give you space. “I just needed you to know… I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when I should’ve been. And I’m sorry that you had to go through all of this because of me.”

His voice was gentle, and for a moment, the street around you seemed to blur, leaving just the two of you standing there, suspended in this unexpected moment.

What could you possibly say? Words failed you, so you did the only thing you could—you nodded, acknowledging his apology and his confession, still unsure if you were dreaming or awake.

“Thank you… for telling me,” you managed to say quietly.

Things could never go back to the way they used to be.

[ramp-it-up]

Cassandra’s Muse

Summary: Your job is to distract and read all who dare to go against Cassandra. And you take pride in your work

Word count: 2.5 K

Pairing: Deadpool x Reader; Wolverine x Reader; Johnny Storm x Reader; Deadpool x Wolverine x Johnny Storm x Empath Reader

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. S MUT Not Beta’d. DEADPOOL X WOLVERINE SPOILERS AHEAD of this line!Read at your own risk. S MUT! Morally Grey reader, sex worker reader, reader is an empath, lots of dark emotions, group sex, oral (m & f receiving) pansexual touch and intentions (it's Deadpool, folks) explicit sex acts, raw p in v (wrap it up), anal sex (f receiving) rough sex, dvp, squirting, copius amounts of cum, bukakke, after care. Reader has pet names from each hero: Sweets, Sweetie, Sweetheart.

A/N: Ok. I had to do it. If you inspired this, you know who you are, you menace. 😘 This occurs within an imagined scene between the scene where Pyro captures Johnny, Wade and Logan and when they were delivered to Cassandra Nova. This is pure filth. Let me know you like it by liking, commenting and reblogging!

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

————

“Let me put your hair up for you. So pretty.”

Wade Wilson cooed down at you to the music of his shackles clinking as he gently pulled your cloud of hair up and out of the way. 

“Need to have a clear view of you hoovering that anaconda.”

Your lips were stretched around Johnny Storm’s thick, tan cock as his blue eyes stared down at you and a steam of eloquent pornography flowed from his lips.

“Mm. That throat is so gatdamn tight Sweetheart. Can’t wait to fuck that tight little wet gash of yours. Holy shit, that’s good. I know you can take it deeper. I know you can. Such a sweet little innocent slut for us.”

He had no idea. You were in service to Cassandra. She called you her muse, a tool to service her future victims so that when she felt their minds up, she had something more to get off on. You were her little slut, her psychic empath who fed off of other’s joy and you loved your job.

Giving others joy got you off something fierce. The fact that Cassandra loved it and that kept you alive was an added bonus.

Johnny’s hand snaked around the back of your neck to encourage you to take more of him. You looked up at him, eyes wide with tears streaming down your cheeks, while saliva escaped from your stretched-out lips.

“So pretty for us like this, Sweetie.”

Wade’s mask almost seemed to be emotive as he looked down on you, his long fingers fisting his cock with increasing speed as he watched you take Johnny down. It was disconcerting that he was completely naked except for his mask, but that was none of your business. He was sincere, despite the sarcastic monologue.

“I’ve always wanted to say that in real life and not just in my 1D/Destial crossover fanfics on Tumblr. Username is MrsLarryDestiel (no spaces) if you want to follow.”

Wade was leaning over to Johnny, who had steam rising from his head as he gazed down at you with devotion. You felt his amusement at this entire scenario. You tried to smile back around him, even though you knew his affection was only due to your skill.

After all, you’d just met him less than an hour earlier. 

“Get your hand off my ass before I burn it off, Wade.”

“Was just trying to help you push it in her tiny little mouth. Wasn’t trying to cop a feel of what looks a lot like America’s Ass, not really,” quipped Wade who was stroking and looking down at Johnny’s derriere.

Before anyone got injured, you pulled off of the hot one’s dick and licked Wade’s thick plum shaped tip.

“Sssss. Ahhhh, yes!”

 Wade groaned and threw his head back.

 “Suck that dick like your life depends on it, Sweetie. It may be our very last night on earth. I mean, in the void.”

You sensed no fear in Wade, only irreverence.

You followed his direction and opened wide as he slid his long, thick, Deadpool dick along your outstretched tongue. Wade was still talking, of course, even as he made eyes at Logan, who was lurking on the edges of the light, pulling on his dick with two hands and making low, almost indiscernible grunts. 

Now there were about a thousand different emotions coming off him, irritation, rage, despair, grief, a deep sadness, and foremost right now, need and frustration. You tried to watch him through your tear-filled eyes.

Wade and Johnny took turns with your mouth as Logan just moved nearer, his large, impressive cock raging against those impossible abs. His stare, and his body, made you drip even more in the dirt floor of the cave they were captive in for the night.

You needed him inside you, to at least extinguish his need. But yours was growing too.

“Why don’t you relax over there while we get her ready, Mr. Grumpy Pants. Little Miss Triple Threat looks like she’s almost ready to take three cocks at once in all of her holes.”

The Wolverine grunted, but went to a spot just a few feet away and reclined against a cave wall as he continued to handle himself.

Wade looked down at you and stroked your hair again, stage whispering to you as you deep throated Johnny’s cock down your throat.

“I know he seems like a party pooper and not down for this at all, but the fact that his beautiful meat is hard and leaking precum, which is delicious, bee tee dubs, oh, AND HE'S NAKED, means he definitely is.”

You smiled around the dick in your mouth and nodded as you pulled off Johnny, a string of saliva connecting you three as Wade grabbed you by the hair and plunged down your throat, barely giving you time to take a breath.

As you choked, you could see Logan jacking off faster from the corner of your eye as you swallowed Wade whole. Even with the mask, you could tell when his eyes rolled back into his head as you took every single inch.

“Get over here and sit on my dick.”

You were surprised at Logan’s voice, not having heard much of it during his ride in the cage, except to tell Wade and Johnny to shut up. Currently, his tone was more intense and raspy with desire.

You did as you were told and the action moved from the fireside to where Logan was reclining. 

“Move the fuck around, asshole.”

Wade stomped his foot.

“That’s what I’m trying to give you, Wolvie, baby.”

But he moved from in front of you so that you could take your throne.

“C’mere.” 

Logan reached up for you, the tender gesture a contrast for the crude situation you are in: fucking these men because it was the last night of their lives, which it almost surely was. You knew when Pyro let you into the cave halfway to her lair where they stopped for the night that no one escaped Cassandra.

You almost felt sorry for them. But when you read their emotions, you sensed no fear in these heroes. Only a myriad of other things including pent up tension, stress and desire for you. And for freedom. Or at least the sensation of being free.

Fucking all three of them would free your own soul, if only for the short time you would spend with them. They were all fine, and they looked like they would be a good time. If they only knew that your purpose was distraction, to keep them busy and not trying to escape.

If you searched their emotions hard enough you might find that they knew what you were about, and that they didn't care.

You accepted the offer of Logan’s hands and settled on his muscular thighs, glancing at the other men stroking themselves by firelight to the sight of you stretching yourself around the thick head of Logan Howlett, the Wolverine’s, cock.

Their attention only made you wetter and you slid further down Logan’s thick staff than you thought you could. When Johnny and Wade each grabbed a nipple as you whined and got even slicker the sensations allowed you to encase that extra inch at the base of him.

You were so full, not having been stretched like this in a while with a human, visually pleasing partner in a long time. You moaned in pleasure and closed your eyes, biting your lip at the delicious sting of taking him.

Logan looked up into your eyes and then commanded you with that deep, sexy voice.

“Open your eyes, look at us, and bounce on this cock Sweets.”

The smack on your ass spurred you on as Johnny leaned against the wall, watching your tits bounce as he jacked himself, and Wade got behind you, straddling Logan's thighs and rubbing them. You thought you knew what was coming next as you felt Wade’s hot breath on your shoulder as his hard length slid through your slick folds. But you were surprised as he entered you, although not in the hole you expected.

Within a few seconds, Wade was nestled deep within your cunt, cock alongside Logan’s in your snug sleeve, making you mad with pleasure. An obscene groan from you accompanied Logan’s warning to Deadpool.

“Watch it fuck face.”

Loan’s voice was husky, and there was a glimmer of a smirk as he grasped your breasts, roughly pulling on your nipples. Fear of his claws coming out and injuring you caused the contractions of pleasure in your belly to quicken, even as Wade sassed him back.

“You can fuck my face later buddy. Right now, let’s both concentrate on fucking this beautiful, nice, accommodating lady’s beautiful, nice accommodating cunt..”

The two men fell into an oddly synchronistic, sinful rhythm, both of them filling you to the brim in the best way possible, sexy groans finally replacing the smart words coming from Wade and literal grunts and groans coming from Logan.

Johnny moved, filling your mouth and causing your moans to vibrate around his shaft as Logan and Wade fucked you stupid.

“Holy fuck!”

Johnny rasped as you started sucking his balls, your legs shaking as Logan and Wade pounded you into oblivion. You feel a tremendous pressure and you tried to run from what was coming, but Wade’s fingers were circling your clit and Logan’s hands are around your waist, his mouth latched onto your left nipple. That and the feeling of Johnny’s fingers massaging your scalp collided to make your impending doom come much more quickly.

You pulled off of Johnny's unit to scream.

“Oh shit, oh shit, ohhhhhh shitttttt, I- I- I- I’m cummingggg!”

“Holy shit, she's gushing like Old Faithful all around us!”

You soaked Logan as you squirted, seemingly never endingly, all over. everywhere. Wade slipped out of you and so did Logan, but instead of giving someone else a turn with your pussy, Logan growled in your hair and pitched you forward onto his chest with his hands underneath your thighs. 

“Want that ass.”

You clenched around nothing as Logan lifted you up and squeezed your ass cheek in order to give his hard, thick cock access to your puckered hole. You were so wet that he kept slipping around until you felt Wade reach in and grab Logan’s dick, pumping it a couple of times before guiding it home inside your tight ass.

You saw the sneer, and you heard the ‘schnick’ of Logan’s claws coming out and Wade’s giggle as he explained. 

“Just trying to help with the mission, Boss.”

You didn’t care about any of it as your head lolled back on your shoulders because Logan was filling you up deliciously.

Wade retreated and pulled his mask up to lick his fingers. He and Johnny resumed stroking as they watched Logan pounding you mercilessly from below, your cum making it embarrassingly easy. You locked eyes with him, and grabbed the tufts on top of his hair for purchase as you screamed and came again, just from his cock in your ass.

"Ahhhhh! Shittttt!"

“Mmmmnhhh! Incoming, Sweets”

Logan’s cum spurted inside you and began to leak out around his cock, making you even messier than before.

“Ugh. Fuck. So good.” 

He kissed your forehead as he softened inside you, then lifted your thigh to slide out from underneath you. You braced yourself on the wall as you tried to catch your breath and savored the feeling of him dripping down your legs and the peace, if only momentary, emanating from his soul. You didn’t realize that your eyes were closed until you felt  a new desperation accompanied by a hand on your arm and two hands on your ass. 

“Don’t usually go for sloppy seconds, but I’ll take it tonight.”

Johnny’s sparkling blue eyes and sincerity held you captive. His tender kiss on your lips distracted you as you felt Wade’s hands on your ass and you lowered yourself down around Johnny’s long cock.

Johnny slipped easily inside you because Wade and Logan had stretched you out, but he was so hot, literally, that you quickly clenched down on him. Your hands caressed his shoulders and trailed down his sternum and his happy trail to where you were connected. 

The way he looked at you from under his long eyelashes made you want to give him a show. You bit your lip and circled your clit, earning a groan and an appreciative stare from him as you started to ride. 

You sensed a sudden a wave of mischievousness from Wade and felt his tongue in our ass. He moaned, sending vibrations up your spine as he caused you to clench around his wet muscle and Johnny’s cock. He slurped you up, and pulled away momentarily to come up and whisper in your ear.

“Mmmm. You and Logan taste so good. You’re doing amazing, Sweetie.

He was down again and licking you clean, causing irritation to emanate from Johnny.

“I’m tryna cum, here, Wilson. Stop licking my balls, you jerkoff.”

Wade came up and wiped his mouth.

“So sorry, that was a total mistake. Didn’t mean to touch your huge, full, sexy balls with my velvet tongue. Not at all, Johnny.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m trying to concentrate on this Sweetheart right. Here.”

Johnny kicked Wade away, stroked upward to make you moan, and then grabbed you by the neck as he flipped you over onto your back, grasping your thighs and folded you in half like a pretzel. 

“You ready to take this hot cock?”

You nodded enthusiastically as Johnny Storm began to fuck you relentlessly, his long cock reaching that magic spot inside you as you tightened around him, much to your chagrin.

It was going to be over too soon. You wanted him to use you longer.

“Mmmmph, Darlin’ I feel you, still so tight around me even after these two knuckle heads fucked your cunt silly. Should be loose, but damn, girl. C’mon. Cum for me like you did for Wolverine and Wade. Gimme that shit.”

Johnny reached down and strummed your clit, as Wade came and held your legs in place, his oddly beautiful cock hard against his abdomen. You stretched your neck and teabagged him, earning a choked, garbled moan, and no words from him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Logan standing over you and stroking his hard-for-you-again dick.

“Shit, shit, sheeeeiiittttttttt this pussy is so good. Fuck!”

Johnny pulled out and stood over your body as you scrambled up on your knees to open your mouth for your reward. The men gathered around you as first Johnny spurted white, hot cum all over your face, then Logan jerked on your tits, rubbing his bulbous tip all over your nipples, and Wade just sprayed everywhere as he watched the show.

You collapsed on your knees, wiping your face as strong arms lifted you up and took you to the other side of the cave and started washing you off with a bucket of water that had been warming by the fire. You looked up into Logan’s eyes and he avoided your gaze, concentrating on getting the cum out of your hair.

“You can rest now. We’ll cook up this bird that Pyro threw in here for food and you can sleep for a while.”

You sensed genuine tenderness, and another spark of a future need within him. You knew that they would wake you up for more than food later.

And you were more than okay with that. 

So you just smiled at him as his hand trailed the water down your body, this moment a respite for all of you, in the chaos of Cassandra’s world.

——

If you liked it, hit Reblog!

[rootedinrevisions]

Enough for You

SUMMARY: Heavily based on/inspired by Enough for You by Olivia Rodrigo. After months of chasing storms and harboring unspoken feelings, the moment of truth finally arrives. When Tyler returns to the team with someone new by his side, it shatters the hope you secretly held onto. In the aftermath of his abandonment, you're left grappling with heartache, wondering why you were never enough for him. As Tyler tries to make amends for leaving, the conversation takes a painful turn when he confronts the feelings he never knew existed. But some apologies can't fix what’s been broken, and all you want is to go back to the way things were—before you let him into your heart.

WARNINGS: Angst. Unrequited love.

WORD COUNT: 6.3k (sorry, not sorry)

Note: This is angsty as hell! I've been going through some heavy stuff in my personal life that has me feeling extra angsty. This fic is filled with angst and heartbreak so just be aware. This is how I'm coping with what I'm dealing with in my own life. Hope you enjoy xx

TAG LIST: @omgbrianab I @shanimallina87

The bathroom mirror reflected a version of yourself you’d rarely put on display. Your hair was curled just the right way, and your makeup, while subtle, was meticulously done. You hadn’t planned on going all out like this initially, but after scrolling through pictures of girls Tyler had been seen with—girls with flawless hair and expertly done makeup—you couldn’t help but wonder if that was what it would take for him to notice you.

Tyler Owens. The name that had taken up too much space in your mind for the past several months. He was more than just the leader of The Wranglers team or your boss; he was the man you’d fallen for. Hard. And you didn’t just want him to see you as a friend anymore.

The rest of the team was downstairs already, probably gearing up for the day’s shoot. Normally, you’d be there early too, grabbing coffee with Boone or discussing ideas with Lily. Today, though, you needed these extra few minutes. Maybe, just maybe, today was the day Tyler would finally notice you.

You gave yourself a final look, smoothing down your shirt, and headed out of the room. By the time you reached the lobby, the team was already gathered, discussing plans for the day. 

Boone was the first to see you, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Whoa! Look at you! You clean up nice,” he teased, though his tone was genuinely complimentary.

Lily turned at the sound of Boone’s voice and smiled. “You look amazing! What’s the occasion?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but you shrugged it off. “No occasion. Just felt like switching things up.”

The compliments kept coming. Dexter, who was typically more reserved, gave you an approving nod. But the one person you hoped would notice? He hadn’t said a word.

Tyler stood off to the side, his focus on something entirely unrelated, fiddling with his storm-chasing gear on his truck. He didn’t even glance your way, and your heart sank a little.

Boone, always quick to read a room, smirked and nudged Tyler’s shoulder. “Hey, man, what do you think? She’s looking good today, right?”

Tyler paused for a brief moment, barely looking up from his equipment. His expression didn’t change as he muttered, “I’m not really the compliment type, Boone.”

Your stomach dropped at his response. You had been hoping—no, counting—on some kind of reaction, but his indifference stung more than you’d expected. You tried to brush it off, hiding the hurt with a forced smile, but inside, the disappointment was palpable.

Lily shot you a sympathetic look, sensing the tension. 

Boone, never one to let an awkward moment slide, gave Tyler an exaggerated look of disbelief. “Not the compliment type? Man, give her something. She looks great.”

Tyler shrugged as if the whole thing didn’t matter. “She always looks fine,” he said simply and then turned his attention back to his gear.

Fine.

The word echoed in your head, and for the first time that morning, you felt foolish for trying so hard. You had put in all that extra effort to be noticed, to be something more in his eyes, but apparently, "fine" was all you were.

You forced yourself to join in the conversation with the others, but the sting of his words stayed with you. As the group began to move toward the parking lot to load up the vehicles, you fell into step beside Lily. She bumped her shoulder against yours lightly.

“He’s an idiot,” she whispered, offering a small, supportive smile.

You tried to laugh, though it came out hollow. “Yeah, well, I knew that already.”

But knowing it didn’t make it hurt any less.

The Wranglers’ convoy made its way out of town, the early morning sun casting a golden hue over the horizon. The team was running on fumes, both literally and figuratively, so when Boone pulled into a gas station, everyone seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. While the others went about refueling the vehicles and stretching their legs, you spotted a small coffee shop across the street.

A chance to bring back some caffeine, but more importantly, a chance to do something for Tyler.

Without thinking twice, you hurried across the road, the familiar smell of roasted beans hitting you as soon as you stepped inside the shop. The bell above the door chimed, and the barista greeted you with a smile. You rattled off two orders: one for yourself and one for Tyler—black coffee, extra shot of espresso. You didn’t even need to ask what he wanted; you’d known his usual for months, committing it to memory in a way that only someone who cared a little too much would.

Within minutes, you were heading back to the gas station, clutching both cups in your hands. A tiny flicker of hope sparked inside you���maybe this would be the moment Tyler noticed. Maybe the fact that you remembered his drink order without needing to ask would mean something to him.

You spotted him leaning against the truck, his arms crossed as he waited for the tank to fill. His focus was elsewhere, probably already thinking ahead to the day’s chase, completely oblivious to the fact that you were heading his way with a small gesture of care.

“Here,” you said, holding out the cup toward him.

Tyler looked down at the coffee, momentarily confused before taking it from your hand. He raised an eyebrow, almost as if he hadn’t expected it.

“Black coffee. Extra shot of espresso,” you said softly, your heart picking up speed as you recited his order, hoping the words would register with him. Hoping that he’d realize you didn’t need to ask because you already knew.

He paused for a moment, his eyes flickering to yours briefly before he gave a slight nod. “Thanks,” he muttered, bringing the cup to his lips and taking his first sip.

That was it. Just a nod. No smile, no acknowledgment of the fact that you’d remembered his exact order, nothing. The flicker of hope you’d felt moments earlier dimmed into something closer to disappointment.

You stood there, feeling a bit like a fool for expecting anything more. After all, this was Tyler Owens—the same Tyler who never gave out compliments, the same Tyler who always kept his emotions locked up tight. Why had you thought this would be any different?

You shifted on your feet, holding your own cup a little tighter. “I thought you might need a pick-me-up,” you added, trying to keep the conversation going, hoping for... something.

He nodded again, glancing back toward the others as Boone finished filling up the tank. “Appreciate it,” he said flatly, his focus already shifting away from you and back to the task at hand.

You forced a smile, though the sting of his indifference was hard to ignore. You weren’t expecting grand gestures, but maybe just a little more than a nod. With the wind knocked out of your sails, you turned and headed toward the other side of the truck, sipping your own coffee, the bitter taste mirroring the feeling settling in your chest.

Lily caught your eye from where she stood talking to Dexter, and she shot you a questioning look as if to say, How’d it go? You gave her a small shake of your head and shrugged, silently communicating that it hadn’t gone the way you’d hoped.

The team loaded back into the vehicles, ready to hit the road again, but as you climbed into your seat, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of it all. The weight of always trying, always hoping—only to come up short.

And the worst part? No matter how much it stung, you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop caring, couldn’t stop hoping that maybe, one day, Tyler Owens would notice you the way you’d been noticing him all along.

The Wranglers team hit the open road, the small town shrinking behind them as fields stretched out on either side of the highway. You sat in the front passenger seat of Tyler’s truck, a map spread across your lap, though you both knew you wouldn’t really need it. Tyler had been storm chasing for years, and he could practically navigate these roads in his sleep. Your job as navigator was mostly just for show, a formality, but you took it seriously nonetheless—just like being the DJ.

Tyler drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between you, his gaze focused on the road ahead. The rest of the convoy followed behind, the team moving as one unit, always in sync, always chasing the next storm.

You unlocked your phone and scrolled through your Spotify library, stopping at the playlist you had saved specifically for moments like this. The one titled simply “Tyler.” A collection of his favorite songs, the ones you’d spent months curating, learning the words to, and playing on repeat just to feel a little closer to him.

You had watched him during countless drives, noting which songs made him tap his fingers against the steering wheel, which ones he hummed along to, and—on rare occasions—which ones he’d actually sing under his breath. The playlist was like a map of his soul, each song a clue to who he was beneath the surface.

You pressed play, the first song filtering through the truck’s speakers, a familiar beat that you knew he liked. Your heart raced a little as you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he’d notice.

The music filled the space between you, the silence replaced by lyrics you knew by heart—not because they were your favorite songs, but because they were his.

Tyler’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t look over, didn’t comment. He just drove, his eyes fixed on the road as if the music were simply background noise.

You shifted in your seat, trying to hide your disappointment. Maybe he hadn’t realized yet. It was still early in the playlist, after all. You tapped your fingers against your knee, silently mouthing the words to the song, hoping that at some point, he’d notice. That he’d realize you weren’t just playing random songs—you were playing his songs. The ones that made him smile or relax, the ones that you knew by heart because of him.

Another song began, this one more upbeat. You couldn’t help but glance at him again, waiting for some kind of reaction—a nod, a hum, anything to show that he recognized the playlist as his own.

But if he noticed, he didn’t let it show. His face remained unreadable, his focus unbroken as the miles ticked by beneath the tires. He was calm, in control, as always.

You felt the familiar pang of disappointment settling in your chest, but you pushed it down, telling yourself not to get your hopes up. Tyler wasn’t the type to express things outwardly. You knew that. You’d known it from the beginning, but still... a part of you had hoped that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

You swallowed the feeling, keeping your gaze out the window, watching the landscape blur past. The music continued, your playlist running through the songs you’d carefully chosen, each one holding a piece of him. You wanted to believe that, at some point, he’d hear it. That he’d realize how much you’d been paying attention all along.

But for now, the road stretched on, and Tyler remained as distant as ever, his silence louder than the music that filled the truck.`

A week later, after a long day of chasing storms, the team had found their way to a small bar on the outskirts of town. The neon lights flickered in the windows, casting a soft glow over the worn-out booths and the dartboard that had seen better days. You followed them inside, but your mind wasn’t on the drinks or the games of pool and darts that the others had already started.

You slipped into a booth in the corner, away from the noise, with your bag slung over your shoulder. From it, you pulled out a book—the book. It was a self-help book you’d noticed Tyler reading last week when he thought no one was watching. You had immediately ordered a copy, telling yourself that it was purely out of interest, but deep down, you knew why. You hoped that if Tyler saw you reading it, he’d think you were smart. Maybe even that you shared the same interests. Maybe he'd even come over and talk to you about it.

The cover felt smooth under your fingers as you opened it, pretending to lose yourself in the words, but really, your eyes kept darting toward the team as they laughed and played darts a few feet away. Tyler stood at the dartboard, one hand gripping a beer, the other lazily aiming for the bullseye. His concentration was unwavering, just as it had been all day on the road, but you couldn’t help but glance his way every few minutes, hoping—wishing—he’d look over and see you.

You settled back against the worn leather of the booth, opening the book to where you’d bookmarked a random page. The words blurred slightly, not because you weren’t capable of understanding them, but because your mind wasn’t truly on the text. Instead, it wandered to the what-ifs, the scenarios where Tyler would walk over, slide into the booth across from you, and ask what you thought of the book. Maybe he’d smile, that rare but breathtaking smile you’d seen a hundred times, and the two of you would actually talk. Not just the usual team banter or logistics about the next chase, but really talk.

But as the minutes passed, the background noise of laughter and clinking glasses felt like a reminder of just how far away that possibility was. Tyler was still over by the dartboard, chatting with Boone as they took turns tossing darts. He hadn’t even glanced in your direction since they’d arrived at the bar.

You tried to focus on the book again, reading the same line twice before finally giving in and glancing at him once more. Nothing. No flicker of recognition that you were there, no acknowledgment of the effort you had put into reading his book, hoping it would make you stand out.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, and you leaned your elbow on the table, resting your chin in your hand. Maybe you were trying too hard. Maybe all the little things—the playlist, the coffee, the book—were just things he’d never notice. Or maybe, and this thought stung the most, maybe you were invisible to him in that way. A friend. A coworker. But nothing more.

You looked down at the book again, reading a few more lines as if they could somehow distract you from the tight knot forming in your chest.

A few minutes later, Boone called out to you, holding up a pool cue as if inviting you to join their game. You shook your head, waving them off with a small smile, holding up the book as an excuse. Boone shrugged and turned back to Tyler, who was lining up his next throw.

For a split second, Tyler’s eyes flicked toward you. Your heart jumped, but before you could even process it, he threw the dart and turned back to the game as if the moment had never happened.

The diner was warm, the kind of warmth that came from too many bodies crammed into small booths and the lingering scent of coffee and fried food in the air. You sat across from Boone, your hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had gone cold, staring blankly at the chipped rim. The conversation around you was a low hum, drowned out by the thoughts racing through your head.

Tyler had left without a word this morning. Just gone. No explanation, no heads-up. Just a quick exchange with Dexter about her—Kate. The girl from Storm Par. The girl who’d seemed to have swept Tyler off his feet in the last two days. You hated to admit it, but the jealousy gnawed at you, each thought of them together, of him abandoning the team, felt like another crack in your resolve.

Boone nudged your arm, drawing you back to the present. “You alright?” His voice was low, concerned, but you just nodded, forcing a smile.

“I’m fine,” you lied.

Across from you, Ben, the British journalist tagging along with the team, was flipping through his notebook, occasionally scribbling something down. You could tell he was enjoying the chaos of American storm chasing, but his eyes kept flicking toward the empty seat next to you, the one Tyler should have been occupying. Everyone had noticed his absence, but no one had said much. Not directly, anyway.

Lily leaned over, her elbow brushing against Dani as they huddled together over their phones. “He’ll call,” Lily said with forced optimism, glancing at you. “Tyler sometimes does this—goes off on his own for a bit. He’ll be back.”

Dexter and Dani nodded in agreement, but Boone wasn’t so convinced. You weren’t either. Tyler wasn’t just gone. He was with her, and it stung more than you cared to admit.

Night came, and still no word from Tyler. You’d tried calling him once, your stomach twisted in knots, but there was no answer. No response. You wanted to believe Lily and the others, that he would come back, but every passing hour chipped away at that hope.

The next morning, the skies had shifted. Clouds churned ominously in the distance, the kind of promising sight that normally would have Tyler barking orders and loading up the gear. But today, there was just a quiet, palpable tension as the team stood in the parking lot of the motel, debating whether to head out without him.

“I don’t know,” Boone muttered, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the horizon. “Feels wrong going out without Tyler.”

You felt the same. It felt like a piece of the team was missing, the driving force behind it all, but the skies were waiting. And so was Ben. You glanced at the journalist, who had been watching you closely, eager for the action he’d come all the way from England to document. You couldn’t let his time go to waste.

“We have to go,” you said, your voice steady, even though your insides were anything but. “We’ve got the van and the RV. We can still get some good footage, even without Tyler’s truck.”

The team exchanged glances, unsure. But you stepped forward, taking the lead. “Lily’s drone can get us the close-up shots we need, and we’ve still got the cameras. We can’t afford to wait. We’ve got to keep the channel going, and we need content.”

Dexter raised an eyebrow, impressed by your sudden shift into leadership, but Boone still looked hesitant. “What about Tyler?” he asked, voicing what everyone else was thinking.

You forced a calm you didn’t really feel. “Tyler will catch up with us when he’s ready. Right now, we can’t just sit around. The storm’s not going to wait for us.”

Boone finally nodded, and with that, the decision was made. You piled into the van with Lily and the rest of the crew, leaving behind the uncertainty of where Tyler was, or when he’d come back. Ben hopped in last, his camera at the ready, his excitement barely contained as you pulled out onto the open road.

As you sat in the passenger seat, guiding them toward the brewing storm, a familiar weight settled in your chest. You were used to being the one behind the scenes, managing social media, making sure the team’s content reached the masses. But now, as the makeshift team lead in Tyler’s absence, you couldn’t help but wonder—if he ever did come back, would things ever be the same between you two?

Your fingers hovered over your phone, tempted to try calling him again. But instead, you locked the screen and turned your focus to the skies ahead. You had a team to lead now. Tyler’s absence hurt, but it wasn’t going to stop you.

The morning air hung heavy, thick with the kind of heat that settled into your bones. You were leaning against the side of the van, arms crossed over your chest, trying not to let the frustration bubbling under your skin show. Boone stood beside you, his phone buzzing on the dashboard where he’d tossed it. You both glanced at the screen as Tyler’s name flashed across it.

Boone let it ring, his jaw clenched tight. After a few seconds, it went to voicemail. Neither of you said a word, but the tension between you spoke volumes. Tyler was trying to reach out, but neither of you were ready to hear him out just yet.

Moments later, Lily’s phone chimed. She didn’t hesitate, picking it up and putting it on speaker before Tyler had a chance to duck out. "Hey, Tyler," she greeted, her voice neutral.

"You ready for the next chase?" she asked, her tone deceptively light, but you could hear the undercurrent of curiosity.

But before she could say anything more, Tyler cut her off. “No, we’re gonna need you guys for something.”

Lily raised an eyebrow, and Boone shot you a sideways glance, his brow furrowing in confusion. You mirrored his look. We’ll? What did Tyler mean by that?

Lily pressed, “Do we need to drive all the way to Sapulpa?”

Tyler’s voice was quick to respond. “No, no. We’ll come to you.”

That we echoed in your mind, sinking deeper with each moment of silence that followed. You exchanged another look with Boone, but neither of you said anything. There was an uneasy feeling settling in, but none of you knew exactly what to make of it.

Minutes later, a text from Tyler buzzed through to your phone. You looked down to see the name and address of a trailer company. “What is this?” you muttered, sharing the text with Boone and the others.

“I guess we’re about to find out,” Dexter said, climbing into the van with a shrug.

When you arrived at the lot, confusion still lingered in the air as the team climbed out of the van. The parking lot was full of trailers, rows upon rows of them in every size and shape imaginable, glinting under the afternoon sun. The purpose of being here was still unclear.

Then you spotted Tyler’s truck pulling in. The familiar hum of the engine sent your heart rate spiking, but it wasn’t just him that got out.

Kate. She emerged from the passenger side, her face lit up with that same easy smile she’d been wearing ever since the two of them had met.

You felt the knot tighten in your stomach, the same one that had been there since she’d entered the picture two days ago. Dani was the first to break the silence. “You finally made it,” she called, a hint of relief in her voice.

Tyler gave her a smile as he stepped up to the group. “Ben, you stuck around,” he greeted the journalist, shaking his hand as Ben nodded.

“Turns out there’s more to this story than I thought,” Ben said, eyeing Tyler with curiosity.

Tyler grinned. “We got a new ending for you.”

Meanwhile, Dexter raised his hand in a mock salute toward Kate. “Look who it is. City girl.” He shot her a grin that was almost welcoming. Almost.

Lily wasn’t far behind. “What’s up, Kate?” she asked, sounding a little too casual as she strolled over to them.

Kate smiled, sliding easily into conversation with Dexter and Lily like she had been part of the crew all along. You watched as they started chatting about storm footage, Lily showing her clips on her phone from the chase the team had gone on without Tyler and Kate. It wasn’t just that they were talking, though. It was the way Kate’s eyes lit up at the footage, the way she leaned in closer, asking about Lily’s drone.

"Can you rig that drone to collect data?" Kate asked, her interest piqued.

Lily nodded, explaining how Cairo, her drone, worked and all the modifications she’d made. Watching Kate take such an interest in the team felt like watching her slip further into Tyler’s world. A world that, for so long, had felt like yours.

Tyler, meanwhile, was making his way over to Boone, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, buddy," he began, his voice sincere. "I’m sorry."

Boone didn’t look at him, his jaw set. "Man, you abandoned me," Boone muttered, his voice tight with hurt. "I don’t know nothin’ about no makeup-"

Tyler cut him off with a smirk. “How about we launch some new rockets?”

Boone’s expression shifted, the tension breaking as he perked up. "You said rockets?" His tone was a mix of surprise and cautious excitement.

Tyler nodded, a grin forming. “I did.”

For a moment, it felt like the old Tyler and Boone—the way they always found common ground no matter what. But that still left you.

Tyler turned toward you, taking a few steps in your direction, his face softening. "I’m sorry," he began, but before he could get out anything more, Dani and the salesman walked up.

The apology hung in the air, unfinished, as you stood there, watching him. He hadn’t called you, hadn’t reached out directly. And now, standing in front of you with Kate by his side, the apology felt... hollow.

The van's engine hummed steadily as you followed behind Tyler’s truck, the road stretching endlessly ahead. You hadn’t spoken a word since leaving the trailer lot. The silence between you and Lily was thick, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. Outside, the sky was bruised with the remnants of a setting sun, casting long shadows over the landscape. But inside the van, it felt like the world had dimmed.

Your eyes were locked on the truck ahead, on the faint silhouette of Tyler’s head just visible through the back window. You knew Kate was sitting there, right beside him, and the thought twisted in your chest like a knife. You blinked, trying to hold it together, but the tears came anyway, silent and hot as they slid down your cheeks.

Lily glanced over at you, her brows knitting together in concern. She didn’t say anything at first, just watched you quietly, giving you space. But you could feel her eyes on you, the way she hesitated before speaking.

“Hey…” her voice was soft, cautious. “You okay?”

It was a ridiculous question, really, but it was all she could say. You shook your head slightly, trying to wipe the tears away with the sleeve of your jacket, but they kept coming, harder now.

Lily sighed, her hand reaching across the seat to give your arm a gentle squeeze. She didn’t need to say it—you both knew. She had been the only one who knew. The only one you had confided in about how you felt about Tyler. She had believed, just like you, that maybe he’d wake up and see what was right in front of him.

But now... now it was clear. He had found someone else. Someone more exciting, more interesting. Someone like Kate.

The tears fell faster, and you pressed your fist to your mouth, trying to keep the sobs at bay. But your mind wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t let you escape from the reality of it. Tyler hadn’t just left you behind. He had abandoned you without a second thought, without even realizing how much it hurt. One second he was there, and the next he was gone. Gone like you meant nothing.

And you were left wondering what you’d done wrong. Why you were never enough.

Lily’s voice broke through the whirlwind of thoughts. “You know… none of this is your fault, right?”

You let out a shaky breath, but didn’t respond. How could it not be? You must have done something—been something—wrong for him to walk away like that, like you didn’t even matter.

“He’s a fool, you know,” Lily continued, her voice firmer now. “I really thought he’d pull his head out of his ass eventually. Realize what’s right in front of him.”

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “He never even saw me.”

Lily didn’t argue, and you were grateful for that. Because it was true. Tyler hadn’t seen you—not the way you wanted him to. You had spent so long hoping, waiting for him to notice, to realize that you loved him more than anyone ever could. But he didn’t. He found someone else instead, someone new and shiny like Kate.

Your thoughts spiraled further, the pain gnawing at you from the inside. You could barely breathe through it. God, Tyler couldn’t have cared less about someone who had loved him more. Loved him with everything you had.

“I’d say he broke my heart,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “but I think he broke a lot more than that.”

Lily’s hand was back on your arm, squeezing tighter this time. “You deserved better. You still do.”

You nodded, though it didn’t feel like that right now. All you’d ever wanted was to be enough for him. Just enough to be seen, to be cared for the way you cared for him. But that had been too much to ask.

The miles passed by, the road stretching endlessly ahead, just like this ache inside you. You watched the truck in front of you, the taillights glowing faintly as Tyler drove on, oblivious. You couldn’t help but wonder if he ever thought of you at all—or if he was too caught up in Kate’s orbit now to even notice the wreckage he’d left behind.

You turned to look at Lily, her eyes full of empathy. “I don’t think I ever stood a chance, did I?” you asked quietly.

Lily’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she shook her head softly. “No. I don’t think it was ever about you. He’s just… lost. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

You nodded, feeling that hollow truth settle in your bones. You weren’t sure what hurt more—the fact that he didn’t see you or the realization that you might have been waiting for someone who was never really yours to begin with.

The air was still, thick with the calm before the storm. The team had scattered, gathering near the RV to eat lunch and regroup before they moved on. Laughter echoed from where Dani, Dexter, and Lily sat in lawn chairs, enjoying the brief pause in the chase. Ben, Boone, and Tyler stood near Tyler's truck, their conversation drowned out by the low hum of the wind sweeping across the open field.

But you weren’t with them. You hadn’t been all day.

You sat alone in the van, the door open, your legs pulled up to your chest as you rested your forehead on your knees. Your eyes were closed, trying to block out the ache that had settled deep inside your chest. The tears had dried, but your face still felt tight from the tracks they left behind. You just wanted to disappear, to not feel the way you did.

Tyler’s laughter drifted over from where he stood with the others, and the sound made your heart twist painfully. He had no idea, no clue what was going on inside you.

Until Lily caught his eye.

She saw him glance toward the van, saw him hesitate, his body half-turned as if he wanted to approach but wasn’t sure if he should. She knew it was only a matter of time before he’d find out—before your carefully hidden feelings were laid bare. The thought of you sitting there, hurting like this, was eating her alive.

With a deep breath, Lily made the decision. She walked over to where Tyler stood, tapping him on the shoulder.

“Tyler, can we talk for a second?”

He glanced down at her, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

Lily glanced toward you in the van, then back at Tyler. Her voice dropped to a more serious tone. “It’s about her. I think... I think you need to know something.”

Tyler’s expression changed instantly. His eyes followed hers to where you sat, and he felt the weight of her words before she even said them. “What is it?”

Lily sighed. “She’s not just upset about the team. About you leaving. It’s more than that.” She hesitated, then spoke more quietly. “She’s been hurt by you bringing Kate on board. Especially without saying anything.”

Tyler frowned, confusion flickering across his face. “Hurt? Why would—”

“She cares about you, Tyler,” Lily interrupted. “More than you realize.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He stood there, frozen for a moment, processing what Lily had just told him. “Wait… you mean…?”

Lily nodded. “She’s had feelings for you for a long time. And when you left, it broke her. Then when you came back… with Kate...” Lily trailed off, not needing to finish the thought. The silence said enough.

Tyler felt the weight of it all settling on his shoulders. Guilt gnawed at him, the realization sinking in. He looked back toward you, sitting alone in the van, your back to him.

“Damn…” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know.”

“I know,” Lily replied softly. “But now you do.”

Tyler gave her a nod, his jaw clenched as he turned and started walking toward the van. His footsteps were slow, hesitant. The closer he got, the clearer it became—he hadn’t just hurt you by abandoning the team. He’d hurt you far worse without even realizing it.

He stopped halfway to the van, watching you. He could see it now—the tension in your shoulders, the way your head was bowed like you were trying to hold everything inside. It gutted him. But he wasn’t sure if approaching was the right thing to do.

After a moment, he made the choice. He walked the rest of the way to the van, coming to a stop just beside the open door. You didn’t look up at first, didn’t acknowledge his presence. But you knew he was there.

He sat down beside you, careful not to sit too close. The silence between you was thick, heavy with everything unspoken.

“I’m sorry,” Tyler started, his voice low. “For leaving. For abandoning you guys. It wasn’t fair to put all that on you.”

You still didn’t look at him, but he saw the way your hands tightened around your knees.

“I saw the footage,” he continued, trying to offer something, anything that might make it better. “You did great. You really stepped up. Led the team better than I could have.”

You said nothing, just kept your gaze down, the ache in your chest only growing with each word. None of this was what you needed to hear.

Tyler let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look… I talked to Lily. She told me…”

At that, you finally lifted your head, your heart lurching at the sound of those words. She told him. You felt the sting of betrayal—Lily had said too much.

“Tyler, don’t,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

But he didn’t stop. He needed to say it, needed to acknowledge it. “I didn’t know, okay? I didn’t know you felt that way. And I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

You closed your eyes, your breath shaky as you tried to keep it together. “Please… just don’t.”

But he pressed on, his voice softer now. “I do care about you. I really do. But not in the way you want me to.”

Those words felt like a slap, and you swallowed hard, fighting the tears that threatened to fall again.

“I don’t need your apology,” you finally said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay strong. “I don’t need your pity either.”

Tyler’s brows furrowed. “It’s not pity. I just… I want to make things right.”

You shook your head, letting out a bitter laugh that was more of a sob. “You can’t fix this, Tyler. You can’t just… say you’re sorry and make it all go away.”

He watched you, pain flickering in his eyes. He hated that he had done this to you, hated that his actions had caused you this kind of hurt.

“I never asked for much,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I just wanted to be enough. Enough for you to notice me. To see me.”

Tyler looked away, guilt settling in his gut like a lead weight. “I’m sorry.”

The words fell flat. Meaningless.

You turned away from him, trying to gather the pieces of yourself that felt so shattered. “It was just a stupid crush anyway,” you muttered, forcing a small, hollow laugh. “I’ll get over it.”

But both of you knew that wasn’t true. It wasn’t just a crush. It had been so much more than that. And now… now it felt like you had lost something you couldn’t get back.

Tyler sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “If there’s anything I can do—”

“There’s nothing you can do,” you interrupted, your voice firmer now. “I just want to go back to before. Before I met you. Before I let myself believe there was a chance.”

He stayed silent, not knowing what else to say. He had broken something inside you, and no amount of apologies would fix it.

You wiped your eyes, standing up from the van. “I’ll be fine,” you said quietly, though it was more for yourself than for him.

And with that, you walked away, leaving Tyler sitting there, watching you go, knowing he had lost something he didn’t even realize he had.

[rosenclaws]

Hi again! 👋

I'm throwing another request at ya since you did such an awesome job with the last fic idea I requested. (Thank you again for that)

This time with the OG Logan and all his kitty cat hair glory lol.

The reader has similar powers to scarlet witch. Like telekinetic powers, levitation, etc. Can it be a scenario where she loses connection (like how wanda feels connected to vision) with Logan and thinks that he's dead and she just snaps. The villians who claims they killed him mock her and she pulls the move like wanda did in Endgame where she's like you took everything from me, and the villians don't know who she is and she's like you will and just goes full beast mode on the villians involved.

Bonus, Logans alive, he just was knocked out real bad and sees the whole fight happen and was like wow I love her and they reunite and it ends all fluffy with a kiss, maybe a proposal? Lol 😘

Heartbeat || Logan Howlett x Reader

a/n: This was such a great request and I have to say I really loved writing this. I did. go a little angstier than I thought I would and its darker than I expected it to turn out but I really hope you like it. Your mutant name is firefly. Also. I still haven't seen the movies so I apologize if its not accurate to how the X-Men work or anything im sorry sdakfjl;

warnings: fake out death, violence, blood, killing, angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending, the reader goes on a rampage, he calls you honey, reader almost dies, creepy ass villian guy.

wc: 2.3k

"You alright there honey?" Logan's hand gently rests on your shoulder.

You're staring blankly out the jet window, watching the clouds pass by as you ready yourself for what is pretty much a suicide mission. A whole organization that had been hiding underground, dedicated to eradicating mutants.

They've studied you. Planned. They know things, your strengths, your weaknesses. A few people had infiltrated their base and what they found...It made you shiver. Photos and articles and deeply personal information.

They had photos of you and Logan.

It made you paranoid sometimes. Like they were always watching. So you had to put a stop to it as soon as possible. You didn't go on missions often. Your powers were, quite destructive. Powerful yes but not always needed but the X-Men needed everyone they could. You take a deep breath and try to smile convincingly.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Logan snorts and cocks an eyebrow.

"You're lying right through those pretty teeth." There's an air of fear in the jet. You all know what might happen if you don't succeed.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. Promise."

"Yeah they're no match for the Wolverine and Firefly." Scott teases making Logan roll his eyes. Scott just loved messing with Logan, taking any jab he can to lighten the mood.

"Can it bub." He turns his attention back to you, happy to see a small smile on your face. Logan takes your hand and places it on his chest. Your hands glow as you reach deep and feel his heartbeat.

"See?" You take a deep breath as you listen.

Sometimes you got too much into your own head. Your powers were tricky and when you got overwhelmed Logan always knew how to calm you down. The world around you fades as you focus on the beat of his heart. The rise and fall of his chest. He was your rock. The jet jolts and Logan holds onto you as you stumble.

"Think I got time for a quick smoke before we head out?"

"No you do not." Storm walks up to the two of you, she shoos Logan away who reluctantly leaves.

"We're landing in 10 minutes, are you ready Firefly?" You take a deep breath and nod.

You stare at your hands as you little particles of orange start to sprout from your fingers. You had control of your powers most of the time but they were still a work in progress but you knew that this mission was important so you couldn't afford to lose control.

Once the jet lands Scott and Storm tell everyone the plan again. This was for the future of mutant kind and there was a lot at stake. Each of you had a small usb drive that would corrupt and destroy any files still left in their system. Infiltrate and destroy all of their plans.

"Do you feel like pancakes?" Logan asks as you step out of the jet.

"What?" He shrugs and stands a little taller.

"There's this diner, open all night. Thought that after you'd want to get something to eat." You know what he's doing. Trying to make you feel better, to believe that you'll make it out alive. You can't die if you have a plans.

"Sure Logan, pancakes sounds great."

"Then it's a date." Logan heads in the opposite direction of you.

He's part of the brute force while you slip into the shadows. Still it pains you to be away from him. A storm rumbles in the distance and you hurry off to your position, afraid of what was to come. Still you keep going.

This was going to end tonight.

"Shit!" You hiss as a bullet wizzes past you.

Things had went to shit pretty quickly and it's an all out brawl now. With a wave of your hands soldiers go flying to who knows where. You sneak behind one and infiltrate his mind. Using his fears to show you exactly where the main computer was being held. He falls to the ground and you step over him as you sneak inside.

It was getting bad, you could feel it. Feel the tiredness and pain your friends were feeling. The guards fall one by one as you make it to the center console room. Exhaustion was creeping up on you. Your powers exerting every bit of strength you had. Still you knew what had to be done.

You plugged in the usb drive and watched as the system crashes, deleting every single bit of information they could have on the X-Men. Then you slowly envelop the console with your powers, crushing it until there's nothing left. You press your finger to your ear, alerting the team you had wiped their main computer in the comms. There's nothing but static on the other end.

"Guys?" You feel your heart start to race as you run out of the building.

"Hello? Anyone? Storm, Jean, Logan?" Still nothing.

Suddenly you feel this horrible, horrible pit in your chest. You stop in your tracks. Blood running cold as terrible feeling washes over you. Logan. You can't explain it, but somethings wrong.

"Logan!" You plead into your comms for him to respond.

You burst through the doors and back onto the field. Your breath hitching as you see the destruction in front of you. For any normal villain's they would have been nothing in the way of you guys, but these people knew exactly who you were. Exactly how to stop each and every one of you.

It was a losing battle.

Your eyes dart around as you send blast after blast, trying to help but with every move of your hands you feel weaker. Suddenly you hear a loud yell, you turn around to see Logan driving his claws deep into the chest of someone. You feel relieved seeing him still standing.

"Logan!" You call out to him and he looks your way. There's blood splattered all over his face and he looks worried. He runs towards you as fast as he could go.

"Get down!" He roars.

BANG

It all happens so slowly.

You look to your side to see a man with a gun aimed right at you. The exhaustion plagues your brain as you react too late. You see Logan running at you. A desperate look in his face as he jumps at you. You hit the ground and so does Logan. He rolls away and lays still. To your horror there's a bullet right in his forehead.

"Logan!" You screech.

You scramble to his side. He's not getting up. Why is he not getting up? He heals. He should be fine. His healing factor should have kicked in so why isn't he getting up. You reach out to him but someone grabs your leg before you can. Your hands dig into the ground as you're yanked back. Dragged to the center of the field.

"Get the fuck off me!" You kick your feet and scream loudly.

Your hands glow but you're face is shoved to the ground, a foot on your neck slowly stopping the air from entering your lungs. You can feel your strength draining. You try and use your powers but you can't.

"He's dead sweetheart. Think we don't know about that neat little regeneration of his?" The man above you laughs and you start to feel sick.

"We're not fucking stupid." He takes his foot off your neck and you gasp for air. He reaches down and grabs you by the neck, forcing you to turn and look at Logan.

"Where's that healing of his now?" Logan remains unmoving, you try and reach out to him. Using any bit of your power to search for him but nothing. You can't feel anything. Tears start to fall as you let out an anguished cry.

"I thought you were supposed to be strong? We heard so much about you and now look at you." He lets go of your neck and you crawl to your knees. Clutching your chest as sobs wrack your body.

"Don't worry though," You hear a gun cock behind you.

"It'll be over soon. Go ahead and say hi to your little boyfriend for us."

You look up at him and feel nothing but an overwhelming amount of pure rage. How fucking dare they. They threatened your life, your friends, your world. They took your peace. They took Logan. The love of your life, he died saving you. Your hands glow bright orange, your chest heaving as you glare at the man standing in front of you.

"Oh look at that, looks like you can do something." He sneers. You chuckle darkly. Tilting your head to the side you smile. Your eyes start to glow as you become strangely calm.

"You took everything from me...So I'm going to take it all from you." You scream as a large wave of energy bursts from your body.

A wave knocking back everyone in your radius including your team. The line of friend and foe blur as you go on a rampage. Disposing of anyone who came after you with ease.

"Firefly!" Storm calls out to you, you were becoming uncontrollable. No one can even get near you. Jean tries to get into your head but you block her out.

No one can get to you now.

They took him from you and you were going to make him pay. You stalk to the ones that were foolish enough to stay. Though they were crawling away now, pleading for mercy. It almost makes you laugh. They were showing no mercy when they planned to eradicate you and your friends. Why would you show them any now?

"That's enough!" Scott fires a beam to stop you in your tracks.

"They're surrendering." He reaches out to you but you push him away.

"I don't care." You snarl. You raise your hand and lift the stragglers up in the air. You're about to slam them to the ground but someone grabs onto your wrist.

"Stop!" The grip is tight as they spin you around. The glow in your eyes fade as you take in who stands in front of you.

"Logan?" You whisper. You try and shake your hand free but he doesn't budge.

"Let them go, honey." He says gently.

"They tried to kill you." You feel the fire come back but Logan does everything he can to calm it.

"But they didn't. They can't hurt us anymore." Still you don't move. He loosens the grip on your hand, taking your other hand and placing it on his chest.

"I'm alive, just feel." Slowly you lower your hand, softly letting the men fall as the rest of the team deal with them as you collapse into Logan's arms.

"I thought you were dead!” You cried. You rest your head against his chest, hand still gripping his suit.

“You weren’t moving and I, I couldn’t feel you.” He cradles the back of your head and holds you tight.

“I’m so sorry I scared you honey, I’m alive. Just knocked out for a little bit.” Logan feels horrible.

Maybe if he had been a little quicker you both would be okay and you wouldn’t have had to deal with any of that. He grabs your face and kisses you with an intensity you've never felt. It's sloppy and desperate but full of life. He's alive. He's telling you that he's alive.

When you pull apart there's still tears streaming down your face. Still so overwhelmed from everything. He lets you cry into his chest as he soothes you. Wiping away the tears as they come.

"I love you so much." He whispers so only you can hear.

The rest of the team watch but don’t say a word. Letting the two of you sit there as long as you need. Soon your tears dry up but you don’t let go of Logan.

It’s a quiet walk to the jet. Everyone is absolutely drained. You lean on Logan's shoulder as he draws shapes on your thigh with his thumb. Your hand rests on his wrist, pressing into his pulse just to make sure he's still breathing.

"Pancakes." You say quietly. Logan looks over in slight confusion.

"Huh?"

"You promised me pancakes," You crack a tired smile.

Logan stares at you for a moment before laughing in disbelief. The weight of what happened finally catching up to him. How close he was to losing it all, how close you were to complete destruction. The toll it's taken on everyone in the jet. The last thing on anyone's mind mind should be doing anything other than sleeping for a week yet pancakes feel like the best fucking idea ever.

"Yeah we can get pancakes honey, as many as you want." He kisses your forehead and places his chin on your head.

"With chocolate chips?" You ask playfully.

"I'll make 'em put in extra. Just for you." You hum happily as you lean in closer to him.

It's still a long flight back and one by one everyone starts to fall asleep. Soon it's just the rumbling of the plane. You look up to see Logan has fallen asleep, you watch his chest rise and fall. Just for a little bit.

He grumbles in his sleep, twitching slightly. There's a scowl on his face as he starts to shift more. Quietly you tap your fingers against his head, taking away his nightmares. He stops moving, relaxing under your touch. You smile softly as you slide your hand down to his chest.

Closing your eyes you feel his heart again. In the back of your mind swirls the horrible memories of today but you choose to ignore them for now. You close your eyes and allow yourself to rest. The steady beat of his heart acting as the perfect lullaby.

Just a steady reminder that everythings okay, there's nothing to fear anymore.

Thump

Thump

Thump

[bluetimeombre]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Notice

Sometimes, even the big bad wolf needs his calm, in his case, it's you.

[finally I got the request out for introverted reader. I to love this idea, I do genuinly believe Logan would just love someone he could relax with after all the pain he's been through- like him and Kayla in Wolverine which we don't talk about enough. I hope you enjoy, I tried to get it out quicker but i'm working on other little thing for Hugh and Logan, so keep your eyes out. No warnings for this, accept fluff and a little angst cause i'm a sucker for it.]

Logan couldn't pin point the moment he noticed you but once he had, there was no going back.

Everything- everyone- in the mansion was hard to handle. All 100% all the time. Storm, the Professor, even Jean grated him enough of the times. With their insistence he join the team, with the nagging, the missions, the danger rooms, the blah blah blah.

So when he was out for a run, blowing the steam Scott had given him that morning, and he spotted you surrounded by students, huddled by a tree, he paused. He very almost ran into a kid as he did, squinting at you as you practically glowed in the sun.

Was that your mutation? To glow? To capture his attention?

You were showing the kids something, and they all listened, enamoured. As he would be, with your smile, your ... calm.

You caught him staring and faltered. He only crossed his arms over his chest and watched as you tried to continue teaching. Eventually, you set the class on some task and Logan slowly made his way to you.

"Hello Logan," you greeted.

He didn't know why it surprised him you knew his name, you must have been here longer than he had for you to teach. He watched you as you watched the children, noticing how you pulled at the sleeves of your jumper down over your hands. "What are they doin'?" he asked, gesturing to the kids.

"Just learning about life," you mumbled. That was your mutation, a connection the nature, to the trees and the very life that hummed under you.

So very different to him, who took life with the swipe of his claws.

"I'll er, see you," you added before walking away from him.

Logan couldn't shake you for the rest of the day. He walked by your class room later, saying hello to you. He never had before. That night, he found he couldn't sleep and he walked by your bedroom which just so happened to be on his way. The door was open ajar and you were no where to be seen.

You were down in the kitchen, sitting in an armchair by the window with a book in your lap and a steaming how cup of coffee next to you. He approached quietly, watching from the doorway as you were bathed in moonlight.

Eventually, as you went to grab your hot coffee, you spotted him. "Logan?" you spilled a bit over your hand, seething and putting it down. "Sorry, I- I didn't see you there."

He smirked. "Kinda the idea."

He ducked under a counter and pulled out a beer from his secret stash. He took some kitchen roll as he did before walking over to you, gesturing down to the empty chair across from you.

You nodded and he sat, taking the cap of the beer with his teeth and spitting it on the floor. "We don't have beer here," you said.

Logan raised a brow. "No? huh," he took a swig, watching you. "Here." he put his beer next to your coffee and takes your hand, wiping away the coffee.

"I'm ok," you mumble, though letting him dab it away.

"Just making sure, bub," he said, glancing up at you. You'd closed the book but kept a finger where he'd interrupted. "What are you reading?"

You seemed shocked that he asked as you have to think for a moment. "Oh just um, a book."

"A book, huh?" he hummed.

"A book," you repeated.

"What's it about?" he asked, leaning back and taking his beer again.

You shake your head, curling into yourself. "It's just about... art history. Read it?"

He smirked. "I don't read."

You nod, pursing your lips and adjusting the book in your lap. Your head, turned down.

He watched your for a second. He saw your eyes turn around the page but you didn't seem to be taking it in. He sipped his beer and tried to think of another way to start a conversation with you. Not that the silence wasn't welcome, it was after all the noise of the day, but he wanted to hear your voice. He wanted to know your voice even when he knew nothing else. "Wanna know how I snuck beer in this place?"

You glanced up at him, closing your book again. "Do I want to know?"

"Well, it's a neat little trick," he said, spinning the bottle around.

"And if Charles's comes snooping?" you ask.

He shrugs. "Then there's plenty of kids for me to blame it on," he said. "C'mon, you telling me you're not a rule breaker?"

You laugh at the very idea. "No. No, i'm not."

"Why not? Afraid you might get a taste for it?" he teased.

You blushed and he found delight in that.

Most nights, that how it went. In the day he was dealing with everyone's bullshit and at night he'd find you in your chair, reading or what you called crocheting. You even tried to teach him once but in a fit of anger that he couldn't get it, his claws slashed out and tore it.

Logan apologised but to his delight you laughed only.

In the day he always sort you out, or watched from afar as you taught, or sat in the sun. You never participated in danger room sessions. But you were no less a friend to Ororo or Jean, sometimes he'd catch you outside with Scott, talking and laughing and he found he'd never wanted to rip Summer's head from him more.

"I didn't know you and Summer's were... close," he said one night the two of you were in the kitchen. You were hunched over paper, drawing whatever you could see in the dark garden while he fixed himself up a sandwich.

"We've worked together for years," you said, "we were in the same classes together too."

"And you don't find him a pain in the ass?" he asked.

You chuckled. "Not as much as you, Logan, I expect."

Logan hummed a laugh and came over to you, offering you half the sandwich.

You peered at him and he insisted. “I’m not hungry.”

“You barley ate anything at lunch, c’mon, it’s my speciality.”

In the night, the two of you ate in silence, simply enjoying each others company.

Logan was simply fine admiring you for half the night. "Why don't you talk much?"

You glance is way, pulling your sweater back down. "I just don't have much to say."

"C'mon, i'm sure you do," he said. "Seems like everyone always has something to say round here.”

“I don’t have anything useful to contribute,” you shrug, taking a bite of what he made for you.

Something like pride filled him. He didn’t know that doing the plain old domestic stuff could mean so much to him, because when it was only him, he never cared, but you, god, there was no limit to what he felt for you. “That’s not true,” he said, leaning over closer to you. “Wanna hear every thought that pops into that pretty little head.”

You glance his way, blushing. You swallow your food and wipe away the crumbs. “And why is that, Logan?”

He frowned at the question. “Because it’s you. I-I like you, bub. Better than anyone else in this place,” he said. This place wasn’t descriptive enough for him. “I like you most in the whole world.”

After that little confession that had you stunned, Logan was all over you. Most the days when he has nothing to do he followed you around like a puppy, even chose to help out in classes just to be close to you.

It was worth every second, just to hear your voice and see you get passionate.

Slowly, you started to note this and finally opened up to him more. You’d talk about the books you were reading or invite him to your favourite spots in the garden. You’d even tried to crochet for him.

It was peace, and in his life time of war, Logan never thought he’d deserve it.

But peace never lasted long for him.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

The mission was supposed to be a quick and done deal: investigate the factory and rescue any mutants stuck, but he hadn’t accounted for the mutant who poisoned his mind.

He was in the pale corridors of the facility before his mind took him to the mansion. It was wrecked, holes in walls and windows shattered. There was blood splattered like a painting. Slowly, he wondered the corridors, every step a tremble.

There were children, lying in blood, as well as Storm, Jean, Scott, but then, there was you.

Logan screamed. Logan yelled, he fell to his knees and crawled the rest of the way there. To you. His skin was was soaking in your blood, his hands clawing to get to you, to bring in your body to his. He cried out, nuzzilng his face in your neck.

It didn't feel like a dream, it felt painfully real. It wasn't until there was a searing pain in the back of his head that his eyesight blurred and the blood was gone, so were you.

"It wasn't real, Logan," said Scott, pulling him up. "It was just a dream. It wasn't real."

Logan couldn't register who was pulling him up, or who was talking to him. As his vision cleared, he looked for you and all he knew was that he couldn't find you. "Y-Y/N?"

"She's at home, Logan, c'mon." Scott managed to assort the rest of the team and get them to the jet before flying at a never before seen speed to get back to the mansion.

Logan's knee jittered as he remembered your voice. As he remembered your smile and the way you blushed whenever he looked at you long enough. The soft brush of your touch and the scent your hair carried in the wind. He tried to remember it all, as if when he returns, you won't be there.

Before the jet had even landed, as the sun rose over the school, Logan was jumping out and stalking into the place. He tried not to run, not to give into the urgency.

He went to your bedroom first, but you weren't there. Your sheets were tossed aside and it was empty. So was your classroom.

The sweat started rolling down as he looked around. It was so early, nobody else was up but he was sure with his heavy steps and ragged breaths, he was waking everyone up.

"Y/N? no, no, no," he mumbled. He eventually made it out, taking deep gulps of air and searching the grounds.

You stood with your back to him, a blanket wrapped around you and bathing in the soft light.

"Y/N?"

By the time you'd turned around, Logan was already catapulting into you, sweeping you from your feet and bringing you into his chest. His hand tangled in your hair, breathing you in.

"Logan?" you mumbled, arms awkwardly coming around him. "Everything alright?"

His head shook. "I thought... I thought you-" he found the strength to pull away from you, taking in every detail like he'd never see you again. "I missed you, bub."

There was accusation in your eyes but you didn't voice them. Instead, your knuckles brushed his cheek, smoothing away the lines of stress.

That night, with his head in your lap, you read to him. And Logan knew, nothing would ever happen to you.

He would make sure of it.

taglist (thank you! let me know if you want to be added for more hugh and logan or removed): @oatmilkriver, @angstdaddy, @chronicallybubbly, @white-wolf-buckaroo, @th3mrskory

[starfinss]

ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ — ʀᴏʀᴏɴᴏᴀ ᴢᴏʀᴏ

𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: One Piece

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Roronoa Zoro + Reader

𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: NSFW 

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 7,375

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: He’d gotten jealous when some random idiot hit on you, and you realized you didn’t mind that jealousy. The frenzied make out session in that tiny closet was just the result of that realization.

You hadn’t spoken a word about the situation since that day. That was two weeks ago.

And then it happened again.

Storms were the worst.

You used to love them, before you became a pirate. You found contentment in listening to them; the musical sound of rain against the window, thunder growling overhead, lulling you to sleep. Peaceful. That’s what you thought of them. There was a certain kind of incomparable coziness that came with laying tucked into bed while a storm raged outside. You were inside, warm and dry, in your own little bubble of warmth.

But that was then, and this was now. 

You knew you were in trouble when the sky had been blood red that morning, indicating the coming storm. It was just like the old mariner’s rhyme said, though thanks to Nami, you now knew the science behind it. Something about how the red color came from high water content in the atmosphere. You couldn’t remember the exact words she’d said.

Science or no, storms spelled trouble for sailors of any kind, even the kind that engaged in certain illegal activities such as piracy. Life was easy when the water was calm and the weather cooperated. Storms were a complication, and this one was no exception.

The low visibility, torrential rain, and rough water forced the Merry to dock at a tiny island town you didn’t even catch the name of, with you and the other Straw Hats left to find a motel or some other form of lodgings, since the rocking of the ship was making it hard to even stand up straight, let alone fall asleep. 

And that led you to now. Drenched and miserable, and standing in the shabby lobby of the town’s motel. 

“A room for six, please.”

The clerk looked at your captain for a moment before speaking.

“For six, sir?”

Luffy whirled around, counting the group out on his fingers before facing the clerk again. 

“Yep,” he said, and even unable to see his face, you knew he was grinning. “Six. One bed should do.”

Nami looked at Luffy in askance, clearing her throat. 

“Sorry about him, he’s an idiot,” she said, “how about six individual rooms?”

“A waste of Berry,” Luffy countered, waving off the navigator, “just give us the biggest bed you have.”

Nami sighed, running her hand through her hair, which was plastered to her forehead with rainwater. Your own was no different.

“Luffy, there’s absolutely no way we can all fit in one bed,” Nami said, then turned to the clerk, “we’ll take six rooms, if you have them available.”

The clerk nodded, clearly pleased with Nami’s much more reasonable request, turning his back to the group to check a clipboard. 

“We have five available, miss,” he said, “four with singles, one with a double.”

A hush fell over the crew as you took in the information. You chewed your lip. This was fine. You could just share with Nami. You were both women, so it made sense that way. Plus, you knew she didn’t snore, so you’d get a comfortable night’s sleep. You were just about to say something about this when Luffy beat you to it. 

“Who wants to share with me?”

Nami didn’t even look at him. “Not happening.”

Luffy wilted. “Why not?”

“What do you mean ‘why not?’”

Luffy looked offended. “I’m great at sharing beds!”

You figured this was as good a time as any to bring your idea up. “Nami—”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Nami said, more to Luffy than you, “you guys figure it out. I need a shower.”

“Wait, Nami,” you tried again, but she was already turning away, disappearing down the hall after collecting a key from the clerk, leaving you dumbstruck. 

Usopp gave you a look of sympathy. You appreciated that, even if it didn’t fix anything.

“Let her go,” he said, “she’s the one who navigated us through the storm to this island. She deserves her own bed.”

He was right, but that didn’t remove you from the awkward spot you were in. Your wet clothing was starting to get cold, and you were beginning to shiver, so it was suddenly less important who you may end up sharing with. 

“I’m still okay with sharing,” Luffy said, oblivious to any awkwardness, “anyone?”

You chewed your lip. You didn’t want to share with Luffy, and no offense to Usopp, but you weren’t all that keen about sharing with him either. He was your friend and you cared for him, but being that close in proximity with him would just be awkward. Sanji was similar in that regard. 

And that left Zoro. 

Zoro was different. 

You weren’t entirely sure how to define your relationship with the swordsman. It didn’t start off as smooth sailing, for lack of better terms. From the moment you met, you were constantly bickering. He was just as hard headed as you were, resulting in anything from petty spats to full blown arguments. The unstoppable force meets the immovable object, though it was hard to tell just who was what in that regard. 

Then the ‘incident’ happened, and things got even more complicated.

You shook yourself from your thoughts. You were too tired to deal with stupid feelings and the way Zoro’s eyes were boring into the back of your head. He had to be thinking exactly the same thing as you, and the thought of that simultaneously pissed you off and made your stomach twist in confusing knots. 

“I’ll take one for the team,” you said, breaking yourself from your thoughts, “one of you shares with me. It’s up to you which one it is. I’m going to take a shower.”

Without another word, you grabbed the key to the room with the double from the clerk, stalking off down the hall.

You jammed the key into the keyhole, stepping inside the room after you reached the door. It was a small room, a little shabby, but clean enough. The bed was on the left wall, centered beneath a painting of either a whale or some kind of indistinct mythical creature, you were unable to tell. The wooden floor was covered with a well worn striped carpet. The far wall was mostly taken up by a lumpy-looking red sofa, as well as two windows, both rather small and covered by threadbare curtains the color of watered down mud. Everything in the room had a sort of well-used air to it. As you entered, you got rid of your boots, leaving them by the door to dry out. 

All you’d brought along was yourself and a small rucksack with a nightdress you’d grabbed from your things, as well as a fresh change of clothing for the morning. You were starting to smell like fish and brine, so you made your way to the incredibly cramped bathroom connected to the room, quickly peeling off your clothes. 

Your skin was cold as you turned on the water in the standing shower, and you shuddered as you stepped under it. Thank God for the hot water. You half-expected it to be cold, which wasn’t uncommon in backwater motels like this one.

There was a half-full bottle of shampoo, seemingly left over from the last guest, and you hesitated to use it, but you also didn’t want to go to bed smelling like the worst parts of the ocean, so you squeezed some into your palm, lathering it into your hair. 

You knew what you were doing. You knew exactly who would follow you into this room. You groaned inwardly, your forehead thudding against the tile wall of the shower. You blamed that stupid jammed door for all of this. You blamed the idiot at the bar who hit on you, and the alcohol, and everything that led up to you being trapped in a closet with Zoro while bounty hunters trashed the building looking for your crew. 

Because that stupid series of events were what made you realize you had feelings for Zoro. And now things were weird. 

Silence filled by bickering was left empty and awkward, and the way Zoro kept looking at you when he thought you couldn't see didn’t help at all. Neither did the way his hands would linger on your waist if he passed you, just a brush of his fingers, sending electric shocks up your spine. And neither did the way he’d rest a palm on your thigh when you sat beside him at the dinner table. Nami was the first to notice the shift, though it was Sanji who deduced that something had happened between the two of you when you were shut in that closet, not that you’d ever tell him what it was, despite all his prying.

And something had. 

You remembered the buzz of alcohol fading as you bickered aimlessly, pressed closer than comfortable as Zoro struggled with the door. You remembered the way you snapped, something about how confusing he was being, and then he was gathering you into his arms, crushing his lips against yours, and how he’d crowded you against the wall behind you soon after. You remembered how his hands felt, drifting down your body to grab at your hips, how his tongue tasted like the whiskey he’d been drinking before, and how just his touch alone made you feel like you were losing your mind.

He’d gotten jealous when some random idiot hit on you, and you realized you didn’t mind that jealousy. The frenzied make out session in that tiny closet was just the result of that realization.

You hadn’t spoken a word about the situation since that day. That was two weeks ago.

And then it happened again. 

That was one week ago. You’d been in the kitchen, fixing yourself a sandwich late at night when Zoro appeared with the same idea. It started with you trying to bring up the closet incident, and ended with you caged against the countertop by Zoro’s arms, his mouth hot against yours, your fingers in his hair. 

And that wasn’t spoken of, either. 

You wanted to talk to him about it. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. You’d tried to approach Zoro about it, only to either chicken out, or end up with even more questions. It was incredibly strange, not only because it was out of character for Zoro to beat around the bush, but also because he seemed just as awkward as you were about it all. 

Maybe this would force his hand, you supposed. Or maybe he’d ignore you, though that was unlikely for obvious reasons, and you’d end up spending the night in the same bed as Luffy or something.

Through the thrum of the running water, you heard the door to the main room open, then close again. You couldn’t hear anything else, however, and whoever had just entered didn’t bother to announce their presence, but you were already pretty sure you knew who it was. You took a breath before turning off the shower, wringing out your hair before stepping out.

You toweled yourself dry before finger combing your hair, making sure to get rid of any knots before putting on your underwear and pulling your nightgown on over your head. 

You opened the bathroom door, pausing briefly when you saw Zoro sitting on the bed, busy unlacing his boots. He turned to look at you when you entered, clearly intending to only spare a glance, but his gaze lingered, doing a full sweep of your body. You suddenly felt self-conscious, tugging the bottom of your nightgown down further.

You shook it off. This was fine. You had him alone now. He had no way of escaping the discussion that needed to happen. 

With a breath, you circled the bed, sitting down with your back to him.

“We need to talk,” you said, “no more avoiding it.”

Zoro said nothing. You heard a soft thud as he tossed his boots away, followed by the rustle of fabric. 

“Zoro,” you said, “I’m serious.”

“Can we do this another time?” He said, finally, and you sighed, annoyed.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t feel like it right now.”

You turned around to face him finally. He was standing now, and wearing less clothing than when he’d first entered the room. His shirt was gone, as was the haramaki he usually wore. The latter was laid out on the nightstand alongside his swords, the former clutched in one of his hands. You didn’t blame him for taking it off, it was surely soaked with rainwater, but him being shirtless really wasn’t helpful at the moment. Infuriatingly, you felt heat rising to your cheeks. 

“I don’t care,” you said, “you haven't ‘felt like it’ in two fucking weeks. We made out, Zoro. Twice. Plus… everything else. That happened. We can’t pretend it didn’t.”

“We did,” Zoro said, crossing to the bathroom. He left the door open as he wrung his shirt out into the sink, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

“There,” he said, “we talked about it. Are we done?”

You rose to your feet, arms crossed. “No. I need to know why. I need to know what that meant.”

Zoro turned to face you, leaning back against the sink basin. “What do you think it means?”

You tossed your hands up in frustration. “I don’t know. You kissed me. Both times.”

He shrugged, infuriatingly nonchalant, his face as impassive as always, though something about him was unmistakably smug. “I did.”

Zoro folded the shirt over the edge of the sink, moving to lean in the doorway. You cleared your throat, taking a step forward as well.

“Is that a problem?” He continued, eyes lifting at the corners in taunting mirth, “it didn’t seem like it at the time.”

“If it’s this easy to acknowledge it, why didn’t you talk about it at all? You got jealous, Zoro.”

Another shrug. Then a scoff, a near laugh, as he pushed off the doorframe to cross over to you. 

“I did,” he said, “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you. Don’t tell me you’d rather have been in that closet with that stupid drunk rather than me. Or that you’d rather be with someone else in that kitchen. Or, y’know. Everything else.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Of course not. Why would you even think that?”

A flash of mischief appeared in his dark eyes. “So you liked kissing me?”

You avoided his gaze, displeased with the way he’d taken control of the situation. “That isn’t the point. The point is—”

But you didn’t get to finish. Because before you could even finish being annoyed with him, Zoro was grabbing you by the shoulders, pressing his mouth to yours. It was a chaste, quick kiss, but it still left you speechless and reeling.

“And what about that one?”

You blinked, your thoughts a jumble of nonsense.  “Still not the point,” you managed, “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you, Zoro, this isn’t—”

Another kiss, deeper this time. You gasped in surprise, fighting back the urge to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Stupid, infuriating man, doing stupid, confusing things to you. You pressed your hand against his chest, pushing him gently, just to get a word in before he pulled you back in.

“Zoro,” you said, “what do you want?”

“You,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Fuck it. Fuck this, fuck him. This stupid moss-headed moron was messing with you, he had to be, and you could tell from the way he was smiling at you, crooked and devious, like the cat that got the cream. He liked seeing your confusion and uncertainty. He’d just been waiting for this, for you to snap. You stared at him furiously and wild-eyed before it was your turn to pull him in, your mouth colliding with his. 

Zoro’s hands rose to cup your cheeks, then shifted down to land on your waist, and you were moving, back colliding with the wall beside the bed. He tasted like whiskey again, which was puzzling since he hadn’t had any to drink that you knew of, though, knowing him, he probably had a flask stowed somewhere. 

It was almost a relief to kiss him, like a salve being applied to a burn, and you had to stop yourself from crying out as his hands drifted down to your hips, squeezing, his knee pressing at the close of your thighs. Zoro had been like a cat before, playing with his prey. Now he was going in for the kill. 

But two could play at that game. 

You slid your hands down from where they’d been folded behind his neck, flattening against his strong chest. Your fingers trailed down the defined muscle, pressing into the dips and curves of his abdominals, finally catching on the waistband of his trousers. Your thumb dipped into the ridge of muscle at his waist, nail scraping gently against the warm skin, and you felt him shudder, breath catching. 

His hand caught your wrist, with no particular strength, but enough to warn you of what you were getting yourself into. You responded by taking his lower lip between your teeth, tugging gently before linking your mouths together again. You knew what your were doing, and you knew what would happen if you riled him up more.

That did it. Zoro sighed against your mouth, a slow release of breath that seemed to display his rapidly fraying restraint, especially as you twisted your wrist free of his grip, fingers trailing up his sides, making him shiver. His grip on your hips tightened, the fabric of your nightgown bunching between his fingers, causing the garment to ride up, but you hardly cared, not when his knee was slotting itself between your thighs, pressing flush against your clothed cunt. 

The slow, easy grind made you gasp into Zoro’s mouth, hips twitching, but he was holding you down, firm against the wall, still an utterly infuriating tease, even now. You retaliated by palming him through his trousers, slow and deliberate, and he broke the kiss to look at you, breath heavy, gaze heated.

“You sure you wanna do that?” He warned, “you’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I like getting burned,” you shot back, defiant.

Amusement danced in his dark eyes, his lip catching between his teeth as he fought a smile, and it was then that you noticed his face was flecked with countless freckles, a constellation across his cheeks. Absently, you wanted to kiss each and every one of them.

But the thought was ejected from your mind as he was kissing you again, tongue pressing into your mouth, and your fingers found his hair as he pulled your leg up to rest against his hip. Then his hand was between your thighs, broad palm against your clothed center, fingers pressing against the rapidly dampening fabric, dragging so slowly that it made you crazy, but his opposite hand was still holding you in place, unwavering, even as you squirmed in his hold.

Zoro’s fingers slid to your clit, pressing through the fabric of your panties, making you gasp into his mouth, the sound devolving into a low moan as he pressed again, rubbing in slow, lazy circles. He kissed you deeper, slower still, making you arch into him as his hand tightened its grip on your hip, pushing the fabric of your nightgown up higher, then sliding beneath to touch your bare skin. 

Fuck, the feel of his palm, rough and worn and calloused, against your flesh, it felt like perfection, and your body twisted as his fingers pressed against the bend of your waist, his touch like a simmering heat. 

“Touch me,” you blurted, muffled by his mouth, and he pulled back to look at you, amused.

“Aren’t I already doing that, doll?”

Your defiance was draining away more and more as the seconds ticked by, especially at the sound of his voice. It was a low, rough sound, husky and heated, and it made suffocating arousal shoot down your spine. It was almost embarrassing just how quickly he’d gotten you like this, only with his hands and stupid, smart mouth. 

“You know what I mean, jerk,” you shot back, but he simply chuckled, fingers sliding away from your clit to press at your entrance, pushing the fabric of your panties against your heated skin. 

You squirmed, but he held you still, his grip like iron on your body. You felt his breath against your skin, making you shudder, one hand gripping at his wrist, the one between your legs. His mouth brushed against the curve of your shoulder, dragging up the column of your throat, teeth grazing the spot just beneath your jaw, and you almost felt lightheaded. 

His fingers pressed against your panties again, aided well by the wetness that was soaking through the fabric, causing your body to jolt in his hold, back arching against the wall when his index finger circled your clit again. 

“Zoro,” you gasped, fighting for control, “please.”

“Please?” He rumbled, “‘please’ what?”

Your head fell back against the wall, eyes squeezing closed as he pressed down against your clit. Fuck, how were you already so wet? His mouth skated down your throat to your collarbone, teeth grazing your skin before you felt his tongue dart out, dipping lower, towards the top of your already low-cut nightgown.

“Just take them off,” you blurted, head swimming, “do it properly.”

Instead of doing what you said, he simply pushed the fabric aside, but before you could counter, his fingers were dragging along your cunt, teasing, and you let out a low whine. His mouth attached itself to your throat, teeth sinking into the tender flesh and making you cry out. His tongue smoothed over the spot he’d bitten before repeating the action. 

Slowly, his fingers sank inside of you, and your hands were grasping at his hair, making him groan against your skin, a sound that only riled you up further. He moved away from your throat to rest his forehead against yours, and when your eyes fluttered closed, he crooked his fingers inside of you, forcing a cry from your throat.

“Eyes on me,” he whispered, “don’t look away.”

A flush of arousal flooded your system at the request, and you realized how much of a struggle fulfilling it was as he began to move. His fingers were able to reach much deeper than your own were, not to mention that they were thicker. The slow, almost tortuous pace he’d adopted made the friction of his rough palm against your clit even sweeter. 

Gasping, breathless, your hands curled around his forearms as you clambered for any kind of purchase, anything to keep you anchored. Your eyes were still locked with his, leaving you unable to hide the flush on your cheeks, the desperation in your gaze. 

His eyes were growing wild. Famished and dark as midnight, his gaze slid down your body to what he was doing between your legs, and you watched in rapture as his lips parted, drawing a shuddering, stricken breath at the sight. You squeezed his arm, forcing him to look up at you.

“Don’t break your own rule,” you said, voice heated, and amusement flashed on his face.

“Minx,” he countered, palm grinding against your clit, and you let out a startled moan.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he rasped, “that’s what I wanna hear.”

You groaned, both in pleasure and in frustration. “Then go faster.”

He chuckled, full lips pulling into a roguish half smile. 

“Oh no,” he said, fingers curling inside of you, making your back arch, “I intend on taking my time with you. You have no idea what you do to me, do you? What you make me feel? I wanna savor this.”

His thumb moved to your clit, rubbing in slow circles, and you bit your lip to muffle your gasp of pleasure. This was embarrassing. You were so defiant before, but some pretty words and his stupid, pretty hands were enough to make all of that crumble.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t bite back. 

One of your hands slid down his chest again, fumbling with his belt before tugging it off. He was already hard, something evident through the fabric of his slacks, and when you pressed your palm against him, you got the pleasure of hearing him gasp.

You tugged at his button for a moment before it came unsnapped, then pulled down his zipper before reaching down past the fabric, palming him through his underwear. He shuddered under your touch, a muscle in his jaw tensing as you explored, breath coming out in a sharp burst when your thumb ran over his clothed tip. His eyes briefly flicked away from yours as you focused on that spot, rubbing in circles, making him grunt, and when you pressed down, ever so gently, he groaned.

“You’re making it hard to focus,” he said, and the way he was looking at you was almost predatory.

You looked at him through your lashes, causing his breath to hitch. “Good.”

Finally, you pushed his underwear down, tugging him free and catching him in your hand.

Fuck.

He was thick. Your fingers only barely met as you wrapped your hand around him, and his length was worth mentioning as well. Six and a half inches, you’d guess, maybe even seven. It was oddly pretty, too, with a pink flush. He was a good deal bigger than anything you’d been expecting, not that you thought about Zoro’s dick with any kind of frequency. 

You took him into your hand, rubbing at his leaking tip, smearing precum with your thumb, an action that made him groan. You stroked him slowly, just as slow as he was touching you, and you watched as he fought to keep his eyes on you, lashes fluttering. His jaw clenched, hips shifting towards your hand as you thumbed his tip, sliding your fingers down to rub the underside of him. 

Zoro’s breath left him in a burst, hips twitching forward, the hand on your waist tightening its grip to nearly bruising. His fingers curled inside of you, making your back arch, free hand flying to grab at the back of his head, tangling into his hair. Your eyes were still locked, and you wanted to kiss him so badly, but you wouldn’t be the one to break, not when he was still going so slowly it was driving you crazy.

So you sped up. You knew you’d catch hell for this, but you decided that whether or not you’d be able to walk tomorrow was a problem for then, when your thoughts weren’t blurry with arousal. 

You touched him in quick, even strokes, squeezing at the tip each time, and you got to listen to him growl, his hand slipping from your waist to press against the wall beside your head, fingers fanning out. You could tell from the quickness of his breaths that he was trying to keep control, and then he was speeding up, making you falter.

The curl of his long fingers as he pumped them in and out of you, creating a sound that should’ve embarrassed you, but really only aroused you more. Your brows pitched up, pressing together, because fuck, it almost burned after how slow he’d been going before, making you squirm, and his hand was grabbing at your wrist, pinning the hand that had been touching him to the wall. 

“Eyes on me, darling,” he hissed, voice heated, “you wanted faster? I’ll give you faster.”

You couldn’t help but moan as he pushed his fingers deeper, hitting all the right spots, mouth just grazing yours as you squirmed against the wall, bucking your hips against his hand. He was playing you like a damn instrument, thumb firm against your clit, and he rewarded you with deep thrusts of his fingers every time you cried out. You could feel your orgasm rapidly approaching, and your fingers knotted in Zoro’s hair, eyes half lidded, pleading. He groaned, low and rough, just at the sight of your stricken expression.

His hand left your wrist to run up your body, stopping on your clothed chest, and he pushed the fabric down below your breasts, causing the straps to slip down your shoulders. His palm pressed against a breast, and your breath shuddered. Your hips jumped when he gently squeezed, rubbing a thumb over one of your nipples. He caught the nipple between his fingers, pulling, rolling it between them, and the sensation shot straight down between your legs. 

You were close. It was almost maddening, how good it all felt, and you could hardly focus on anything but Zoro’s hand between your legs, and how you were grinding down into his touch, chasing your high. He let you do as you pleased, gaze downright famished as he watched your face twist in ecstasy. You let out a loud, desperate whine, a near sob as he pushed his fingers deeper, thumb on your clit, driving you into that desperate build that comes just before you tip over the edge.

“Zoro,” you managed, voice strained, “Zoro, please.”

He said nothing, only replying with a growl as he crushed his lips against yours, frenzied and hungry, and your nails dug into his scalp as he brought you to your end, sending you toppling over that edge and into oblivion. 

You saw spots as you came, and he broke the kiss to watch your face, gaze dark as your head knocked back against the wall, hips bucking wildly against his hand, because it was all you could do not to scream, one of your hands slamming over your mouth, teeth sinking into your palm. You were squeezing around his fingers, spasms wracking your body, his name on your tongue like a broken prayer. Zoro pulled your hand away from your mouth, diving in to kiss you, deep and passionate, his tongue tangling with yours, and you moaned into his mouth as he worked you through your climax and into the realm of overstimulation. 

You were halfway towards a second orgasm when he finally pulled away, and you slumped against the wall, boneless, breath uneven and heavy. Zoro’s mouth pressed against the side of your throat, trailing up to your ear.

“Think you can handle more?”

You smiled, still breathless, looking at him through your lashes. “Let me catch my breath.”

“Tired already?” He taunted.

You responded by pushing off the wall to drop your nightgown off your body, followed by your panties. Zoro’s eyes raked down your figure, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and then he was pulling you to him, mouth hot against yours. You could feel his bare cock pressed against your stomach, and his hands slid down your hips to your thighs, boosting you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

His mouth trailed down your throat, sucking hard enough to surely leave marks, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. You pressed your hips forward, grinding against him, and he moaned into your skin, his grip on your body growing tighter. He was growing impatient, you could tell. But so were you.

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” he husked, and you whined, pressing your hips against him once again.

“Then do it,” you said.

That was all it took. You were suddenly moving, tossed onto the bed, and you watched as Zoro slid his trousers down his legs before he was taking his place above you. His mouth was hot against you, and you wrapped your legs around his hips, growing more impatient by the second, something that didn’t go unnoticed.

“So needy,” he chuckled, lips brushing against your jaw, and you arched your back, shifting your body against him, making him hiss between his teeth.

“So cocky for someone who was telling me how bad he wanted to fuck me,” you countered, “are you all talk, then, demon?”

His eyes flashed, thrilled and amused, and you knew you were in for it, but not one part of you cared. In fact, you welcomed it. Obviously just as impatient as you were, he was prying your thighs farther apart, his body slotting between them.

You felt his tip at your entrance, pressing forward, and you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch as he pushed inside, and fuck, even just that was a stretch. Your head fell back, breath uneven. You felt Zoro’s mouth against your neck, and he was pushing forwards just a bit more, making you whine.

“Fuck,” you gasped, “fuck, you’re too big.”

“Relax,” he urged, voice rough, “it’s too fuckin’ tight, you gotta relax.”

You took a breath through your nose, fingers knotting into the duvet beneath your body. You took another breath as he sunk deeper, the stretch bordering on painful, but you could take it, even if it felt new and strange. 

Zoro’s face was flushed pleasantly pink, a sight that would be endearing in any other context, and you watched his teeth grit as he pushed forward again.

“You can take it,” he whispered, encouraging, “shit, relax, relax.”

You lifted your hips, allowing him to take hold of them, using them as leverage to push the rest of the way in, finally bottoming out.

“Fuck,” Zoro gasped, voice breathless and stricken, “fuck, that’s it, I knew you could take it— shit—”

His sentence was cut off by a loud groan, and you yanked him down into a kiss, appreciating how still he was being, despite his rapidly unraveling restraint, but you could hardly wait, even as your body protested at the unfamiliar feeling of being stuffed so full. You shifted your hips forward, your breath leaving your lungs in a sudden burst, and you heard Zoro groan in response.

“Move,” you gasped, “please.”

He gave a shallow little thrust, then another one, slightly deeper, and you felt his hands grip your waist as he pulled his hips back, only to thrust forward, filling you once more. 

You gave a choked, helpless moan as he thrust again, and fuck, you didn’t think you’d ever felt so full in your life. The stretch was rapidly making your thoughts turn to nonsense, head emptied out, and not one part of you cared at all.

Zoro adopted a pace that had you rocking back against the bed, head falling into the pillows, and he was dipping his head down to meet your mouth in a heavy kiss. His hands found your legs, pushing them up to wind around his waist, shifting his hips back to an angle that made your head spin. 

“Right there,” you slurred, “Zoro, Zoro, right there— so good.”

He gave a low, indulgent groan, his hands smoothing over your body, grabbing at your waist, tugging you flush against him before he was thrusting again, stuffing you full, forcing a sudden moan to fall from your lips. 

The room was filled with the sounds of skin on skin, mixed with your breathy, bitten-off moans and his soft grunts, and fuck, you didn’t know it would feel this good. It definitely wouldn’t be the last time this happened, not when it was more than evident that what you felt for Zoro was far from one-sided, and certainly not when it made you feel like this. 

Your nails dug into Zoro’s back as he fucked into you, and he gave a stronger thrust, breath shuddering. You watched a muscle in his jaw tense, twitching, eyes squeezing shut as you tightened around him. His head dipped to connect his mouth with the curve of your shoulder, dragging down to your chest, and his lips pressed against your nipple. His tongue passed over the sensitive flesh, making you arch into him, squirming, and his grip grew tighter.

“You don’t know how much I thought about this,” he breathed, hips rocking forward, “how many times I imagined fucking you in that closet. You’re so fucking gorgeous, with that smart-ass mouth. And you love this, don’t you? You’ve wanted this, too.”

You let out a shrill wine as he ground his hips against you, the base of his cock rubbing against your clit. Your hips lifted to meet his thrusts, making him groan, and he was holding you down, one hand on your lower stomach as he shifted back onto his knees, tugging your thighs around his hips. 

“I wanted this,” you slurred, back arching as he ground his hips against yours just right, “thought about it, too.”

Zoro’s hands tightened on your thighs, and you sobbed in bliss as he ground himself against you, the friction combined with the way he made sure to hit your clit with the base of his cock with every roll of his hips making it hard to even see straight. 

You tossed your head back, whimpering, and you weren’t going to last, not when he was doing everything he could to make you writhe. Each thrust left your head empty, breath heavy and rough.

“Harder,” you gasped, “c’mon, Zoro, give it to me.”

You felt his hands find the backs of your knees, lifting them to your sides to use as leverage as he pushed deeper with a heavy groan. His mouth met your throat, and then he was biting down, but the pain was nothing compared to the overwhelming pleasure, the two mixing into an intoxicating feeling. Deep, hard thrusts sent you into incoherency, and when one of his hands left your leg to press a thumb to your clit, you let out a whine of his name.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Zoro groaned, “you’re gettin’ close, yeah?”

You could do no more than nod as he took your body with abandon, your climax so close it was driving you insane. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers in his hair, and he groaned in your ear as you bucked up against him. You were totally drunk on pleasure, overwhelmed. He was the center of your world at that moment as he thrust deep into you, the rough pad of his thumb working you into madness.

You bit down on Zoro’s shoulder, sobbing in bliss as your orgasm hit you, washing over you like a tidal wave. His name was the only word on your tongue as he worked you through it, repeating it like unholy scripture until you could do no more than whimper in ecstasy, nails digging into his back. 

“Fuck— fuck!” You heard him cry, hips stuttering, “one more, do that again, I need to feel that again.”

And he was hiking one of your legs over his shoulder as his pace turned borderline punishing, leaving you helpless, unable to do anything other than lay there and take it, but you hardly had the wherewithal to even protest, not as he worked your over-sensitive body to its very limits. 

His nails dug into your thigh, a growl tearing from his throat as his thrusts grew erratic. Your head was empty, completely fucked out, thoughts filled only with jumbled thoughts of the man above you as he fucked you, deep and hard. You felt tears beading at your lash line as Zoro worked you towards yet another climax, and you yanked him down into a sloppy kiss in crazed desperation for as much contact as possible.

“Gonna cum,” you choked, “Zoro, fuck—”

“Do it,” he snarled, “fuck, do it, cum on my cock— yeah!”

You felt yourself gush on his dick, muffling your scream in the crook of his neck, vision spotty, and you knew you’d get addicted to this, addicted to him, but you knew neither of you cared at all about that fact, not when he was chanting your name, chasing his release as you squeezed around him in a vice grip. His pace was relentless, entirely indulgent, and you could feel him twitching inside of you.

“Wanna fill you,” he gasped, desperate, completely undone, “let me, will you let me?”

Unable to form words, you only nodded, yanking him down into another kiss as he thrust all the way in, stuffing you completely full, moaning into your mouth as he pulsed inside of you, his hands bruising in their grip on your body. Heat bloomed inside of you, making you whimper against his mouth, and you slowly rocked your hips to help him through the euphoria of it all, something that made blunt nails dig into your flesh.

Together, you lay panting, breathless and undone, tangled together. Zoro broke the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your neck, breathing erratically, and it was a few tense moments before he was slowly pulling out, rolling off of you to lay beside you.

“That can’t be a one time thing,” you said, after you found your voice, and Zoro huffed what may have been a laugh.

“Fuck no.”

A few beats of silence passed before the bed creaked, and another few passed before you felt a towel between your thighs, wiping you clean. Then, the blankets were being pulled back, and you were being tucked under them. Zoro climbed in shortly after, tugging you to lay against his body.

Silence passed some more, and you almost thought Zoro had fallen asleep before he spoke.

“You make me feel things I’m not used to,” he said.

You stole closer, curling into him, resting your head on his chest.

“How long have I done that?”

He pressed his nose into your hair. “Since I met you.”

You snorted. “Bullshit. You didn’t like me when we met.”

“I did,” he said, “I’m being serious. You’re gorgeous and strong, and you know it. You don’t back down. You made me feel things I’ve never felt before for anyone. I didn’t know how to handle that, so I acted like an idiot.”

You smirked. “Hell of a time to tell me that, after you fucked my brains out. You had a crush, so you acted like a little kid on the playground, is that it?”

A snort. “Yeah, pretty much. Never said I was proud of it.”

You laughed, enjoying the warmth of his body against yours.

“I feel the same,” you said, “when you kissed me in that closet, I realized it. You could’ve just asked me to get a drink, though.”

Zoro smiled. “Sure, I could’ve. But this was way more fun.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Teasing me relentlessly?”

“Yep. Do you have a problem with that?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, several. But I’ll pay you back for that in due time.”

“Give it your best shot. I look forward to it.”

Idle chatter continued for a little while before you began to doze off. You felt Zoro tug you closer as you fell asleep, and for once since you started sailing with the Straw Hats, you were actually thankful for storms.

And, as you felt Zoro’s lips press against the crown of your head, you were excited for the future.

“You had fun last night.”

You turned to look at Nami from your spot at the front railings of the Merry, eyes slowly growing wide.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure,” she said, “play that game. But maybe try a little harder to cover up the hickies next time you and Zoro… spend the night together.”

Shit.

“Nami, I’m sorry,” you relented, “it sort of just happened.”

She snickered. “Usopp told me he basically forbade anyone from taking the room with you after you left the lobby.”

You put your face in your hands, thoroughly embarrassed. “Usopp knows?”

“He isn’t stupid, anyone could’ve figured out what might happen. The hickies are just confirmation.”

“Confirmation for what?”

You bristled at the sound of Zoro’s voice, stiffening when he crossed the deck to reach you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. 

“You know what I’m talking about,” Nami said, and Zoro smirked, smugness radiating off of him in waves.

“Do I?”

She rolled her eyes. “Why else would she be walking funny?”

Zoro shrugged, nonchalant, still smug as ever. “I guess we’ll never know.”

And as he tugged you closer, nose pressing into your hair as Nami turned to walk away, you couldn't help but smile.