#the purest unit of them all

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Love Stings

Yandere Male Aqrabuamelu (scorpion man) x Chubby Female Reader (CW: Violent Noncon, oviposition, paralytic venom, reader gets stung, stalking, stalking, scratching, biting, claiming bites, crying, mild scent kink, blood, mild blood kink, Stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, escape attempt, general yandere behavior) Word Count: 4.7k (This was commissioned at the end of September. It is hard for me to write afab reader. Don't worry though, I do not accept payment until I am done or almost done. The customer wished to remain anon. I hope everyone likes it.)

To most people, the wastelands of Treregar were just that, wastelands. Harsh sunlight, miles of seemingly endless sand, with water sources few and far between. Nothing but the hardiest flora and fauna could survive there for any significant length of time. Let alone thrive indefinitely.

But you were not most people. You were a scientist. And to scientists, the wastes were a gold mine of research potential. Some of the strangest creatures and plants called this place home. And with the country now open to outsiders, researchers wanted to make a breakthrough there. You were in search of biological samples that could have medicinal properties.

But the wilder parts of this country were very dangerous. Especially the desert wastes. There were even reports of explorers and scientists going missing and of large chitinous beasts prowling the sands. But you were not going to be deterred by a few tall tales. The others had probably fallen prey to the harsh environment if anything.

Still... it didn't hurt to have a couple bodyguards. You had arranged an escort of a couple fairly priced and reliable mercenaries, two large men by the names of Mr. Whitley and Mr. Matthews, to accompany you while you procured samples for study.

You also came with fully stocked packs and kept to a region near a small river. You didn't believe in letting stories run your life, but there was no need to take unnecessary risks either.

The first thing you did on your arrival, after setting up a base camp with your escorts, was starting your task by taking samples of the river water and the muck at the bottom. There was a good possibility of finding new microbes that could be of interest.

The water was crystal clear, perhaps the purest you had ever seen, and there were no signs of anything dangerous. The biggest danger was the heat. Despite the water submerging your legs and wetting your arms whenever you collected a sample the heat was still stifling.

But you had known what you were signing up for when you started all this and it would only get harder as you started collecting samples outside of the water.

When you collected plant and insect specimens from the fertile banks of the river you had to keep wiping the sweat from your brow. You kept the samples preserved in a specially cooled container that would allow you to study them at length later when you were back home.

Once you had all that you had gathered that day packed away, you ate alone in your tent, Mr. Whitley and Mr. Matthews were not exactly the best company, but that was okay. It wasn’t their companionship that they were being paid for.

When you had finished your meal, if you could even call one unit of mystery field rations a meal, you decided that it would be a good idea to go to bed early. Tomorrow’s adventure would be deeper into the wastes and you would need all the rest you could manage. It was going to be a bit rough on you. You were used to working in laboratory conditions not out in the field. But you knew what you were getting yourself into.

Whitley and Matthews guarded the camp in shifts, but even under their protection you couldn’t shake the feeling like you were being watched as you settled into an uneasy sleep.

On day two of the expedition, after eating another bland ration for breakfast and refilling your water supplies, you found something before you even set out. Odd tracks outside your camp, a good bit away but they were still close enough to creep you out a bit. Whatever had made them was not small.

But you had protection from any threats and you were handy with the knife you kept in your belt at all times. And whatever had made the tracks was gone now. You put it out of your mind and pushed onward.

As the cooler morning hours passed, you were really suffering as you had to start your trek into the desert proper. The organisms suited to such a brutal environment were what you were really interested in. Far more so than what lived in the relatively cool waters.

The sun beat down upon you with all the heat it could manage but still you trudged on. Miles and miles of sand. Stopping only to diligently take new samples and record field notes any time you encountered something new and promising.

You and your guards were overheated, exhausted, and aching. But it would surely be worth it for the scientific knowledge gained by your collective suffering. You all had finally started the long march back to camp when you could have sworn you felt like you were being watched. Whitley must have noticed something off as well as he stopped your trek home to look around. But the worry was discarded when in the distance a giant wall of sand materialized as if from nowhere, It rushed towards you like a great red tidal wave.

A sudden sandstorm.

It was upon you and your escorts in a thrice, you could see nothing at all in front of you as looking up for even a moment would invite the angry sands to scratch at your delicate eyes. From all your studies on the region in your preparation for this trip you had found sandstorms to be very rare this time of year. Your luck was astoundingly terrible.

All you could do in this situation was stay low to the ground, wait it out, and hope that you and your body guards didn’t get blown away. You also prayed that they both had the good sense to not try to walk in this mess. That would only welcome disaster. Trying to stumble about in this weather was a guaranteed method to find yourself lost and stranded in the desert.

On and on the storm raged, sand scraping and biting into any exposed flesh, until finally the whirling winds gradually declined before subsiding altogether. Leaving no trace of what had just transpired except scratches on your arms and legs and the ebbing adrenaline leaving your system rendering you shaky on your feet.

You were sore and stiff from laying in the same position so long. You took a good look around you only to discover that disaster had indeed been welcomed. Neither Whitley or Matthews were anywhere in your sight. Idiots. They were large men, not easily slipped up by the storm and rolled down a hill as you were. The weather couldn’t have pushed them very far. They clearly decided to keep trying to travel despite the obvious foolishness.

Well… they were not exactly getting paid for their brain power. But they were paid to keep you safe. To guard you. And they couldn’t exactly do that if they were determined to be idiots who wandered away from you!

When you made your report they were certainly getting docked for this.

Assuming that you all met back up. You probably would. Eventually. If they lacked a compass like you did then they could just head east until they hit the river and then travel up until they hit the camp. If they didn’t have one they would have to wait a little while and see what direction the sun headed in.

The direction the sun sets actually changes a bit throughout the year, but the autumn equinox had only just transpired so it would certainly set at the most west that it was possible for it to set.

You hoped those two knew that. Surely they did.

Right then you had to focus on yourself though. Without those two you were far more vulnerable. You were not really worried about the wildlife or anything such as that, but if you became injured or something all alone then you would be screwed. Something as simple as a sprained ankle could mean your death out in this blistering environment if you were left exposed to the elements long enough.

You shouldn’t have ventured so far from camp. Your body was aching with exhaustion. You were a bit on the chubby side and your body was not used to being pushed so hard. You perked up when you saw a large figure of a man standing in the distance walking in the same general direction as you were.

“WHITLEY! HEY, OVER HERE!!”

He evidently heard you as he turned around to face your direction and started walking towards you. As you got closer you could tell that other than a few abrasions from the storm he did not seem to be in bad shape.

“I am glad I found you”

You wanted to tell him he would not have had to worry about finding one another if he had just stayed put but you thought better of it and held your tongue.

“I think something may be watching us, I don’t know. I just have an uneasiness and feel like the air has shifted with a barely noticeable scent. I lost my sword in the storm.”

“Then… we better hurry back to camp… Maybe Matthews will be there…”

“Right.”

You noticed he had undone his dagger from his belt and was holding it close, ready to lash out if something attacked the two of you. He may not have had his longer blade but you knew he was still deadly with that one. He would surely protect yo-

The sand in front of you shifted, and from it sprung a beast of colossal size. Hard black chitinous plating gleamed in the sunlight, covering a monstrous form from top to bottom. It was a hulking beast with a human shaped torso on top of the body of a massive scorpion.

Whitley, to his credit, didn’t hesitate. He dodged the tail that struck at him with terrifying speed. He jumped up high and slammed his combat knife into the chitin covered chest of the beast. His blade was deflected as if by plate armor. The tail struck again at an angle Whitley couldn’t dodge in time and his arm was impaled by a wickedly sharp stinger. He twitched in pain for a moment then went limp before being pushed aside by the clawed arm of the scorpion half of the great beast before you.

Then the thing turned its gaze to you. Unblinking, glossy, entirely black eyes stared you down. If eyes were the windows into one’s soul then those eyes let you look into the soul of a demon.

Hopeless though it may be with the speed of the monstrosity you did the only thing your fear stricken brain could think of. You ran.

You ran and you didn’t look back. Cruel though it may have been, you found yourself thinking that maybe it would let you go since it had already taken down Mr. Whitley. Many predatory beasts did not take down more than what they needed.

But the scorpion hybrid wasn’t after food. Humans were not in his diet. No, he was after something much better than a meal. He was after a mate. A nice wet cunt to stuff full of his eggs.

When Kurnugi first caught your scent in the wind a couple days ago he was instantly intrigued, he had never smelled something quite so enticing before. He had to investigate. Though a few miles away he sniffed out your camp and watched for a while.

He didn’t really like the thought of humans in his territory but he stopped himself from attacking and scaring you all away because of you. Your smell was nice, sure, but now that he had seen you he knew he had to know more. You looked so delightfully fragile and soft. He wanted to watch you a bit longer before deciding what to do with you all.

Kurnugi observed you as you went about your tasks at the river. Delicate hands carefully tending to samples. He did not understand why you were doing it, but he liked the thought of those careful little human hands tending to his dick.

At first the scorpion man thought that perhaps the two large males with you were mates of yours but concluded that wasn’t the case as they never shared your nest, never physically touched you, and hardly verbally communicated with you. They seemed to just guard you and keep a lookout.

But they had been unable to spot Kurnugi given how well he stuck to the shadows, used sand to submerge himself partially, and carefully remained downwind of his quarry.

The longer he watched the more he realized how good a mate you would make. Too weak to ever oppose or escape him and he could tell by the way you collected and analyzed your little samples that you must be very intelligent. And you were just so much softer than anything he had ever encountered in this rugged environment. Surely if you were in a place as brutal as this then you’d need much better and dedicated protection than the ones you seemed to call Whitley and Matthews.

Kurnugi was much larger and stronger than any two humans, of course, no matter how well built they were. But they had long metal blades that may be able to get between his natural armor plates. Better to stalk your group for a while and wait for a moment of weakness.

He discreetly followed your party as you traveled away from your base camp and readied himself to attack when he noticed how tired all of you looked. Then the sandstorm struck.

Even a desert evolved being such as a mighty aqrabuamelu would not travel during a sandstorm.

When it passed he could tell by the scents he detected that your group was split up. This was even better. First he went after Matthews, then incapacitated Whitley before your very eyes. He had made sure not to kill them. No, they would surely be taken and bred by other desert creatures. There were many that loved humans.

And then there was you. It was cute how you thought you could escape from him so easily. He allowed you to try, watching in amusement as your tired chubby legs did their best to carry you away from him.

And then he rushed towards you, he closed the distance in surprisingly few seconds and stabbed your soft rear with the tip of his stinger. He was careful not to stab too deeply, but it was still pretty painful. You thrashed for a few seconds before crumpling to the sand.

The venom had paralyzed you, no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t get your limbs to cooperate at all. You could still feel everything though. The sand on your face, the tears about to burst from your eyes. You were certain death was what awaited you.

Instead the scorpion simply bent over to gently scoop you up in his humanoid arms. He held you close and buried his nose in your neck to revel in the intoxicating smell of his new mate, now finally in his possession.

The amorous aqrabuamelu rushed off to his den, holding you tightly to his hard body as he did so. He was excited to get you acclimated to your new home, and to his cock. He was sure after his displays of strength that he would have you moaning for his eggs in no time. Luckily his home wasn’t too far.

The entire trip he happily talked in a chittery voice to you, though you had absolutely no idea what he was saying. He sounded extremely excited though and rubbed your back soothingly as he spoke.

When he came to the entrance to his abode and scuttled into the cave in such a hurry that he almost tripped over himself. He placed you, all nice and paralyzed for him, on his raised pile of bedding and made short work of your clothing. Every inch of skin from your soft human breasts to your inviting pussy were laid bare under his hungry gaze.

He pulled you to the edge of his nest over to where he was standing. He gripped your thighs with his large hands and slowly spread your legs, as if unwrapping a precious gift. Savoring the moment before it was entirely open.

The venom was still coursing effectively through your veins, offering you no recourse. You could only stare into the terrifying red eyes of this abomination as he looked at you and drooled. His intent with you becoming all the more evident as his engorged cock protruded fully from the genital slit at the meeting of his scorpion and humanoid body segments.

There was no way something like that could enter a human without some degree of pain.

Seeing it you wanted to scream. To kick and fight. But you were a prisoner in your own body. All the struggle you could force out of your body were choked cries and grunts of fear.

The scorpion caressed your sides in a gesture meant to be comforting to his scared little mate, but any touch from him only brought about more terror.

He crouched down at the edge of the bed so that his head was level with your crotch. He inhaled the scent deeply before licking the outer folds of your sex.

"Mmmm~"

You could feel it in your entire body as he hummed loudly in contentment. Your flavor was better than he could have imagined.

Your cunt was wetter than it had ever been before. A fact that made you all the more frustrated and angry at yourself. It was bad enough you couldn't get your body to move.

Kurnugi was making out with your entrance, gripping your hips painfully and drawing blood as he lost himself in thoughts about you carrying his spawn.

He enjoyed every heavenly drop of your juices, mixing in a heavy amount of his saliva into you so that you were as lubricated as possible.

He decided you were as ready as you could be and rose up to press his cock against you.

Kurnugi rubbed the tip of his strange inhuman prick against your pussy, grinding against it. He let out a low moan as he plunged into you all at once, unable to hold himself back from doing so any longer. The paralytic you had been drugged with must have started to wear off by that point because as he shoved himself into you you were finally able to scream a bit and grip the bedding beneath you.

The length was insane but the worst part was the thickness. It was like it was trying to rip you open. He gave you time to adjust before he began his thrusting, but there was just no getting adjusted to that type of size in such a short amount of time without a lot more preparation.

You flinched and gasped in pain as he began slowly moving in and out of you.

The scent and sight of the bit of your blood that mixed with your fluids and smeared on his cock only seemed to excite him and he increased the pace, the outline of his cock plainly visible under the skin of your belly. He used one of his hands to rub at the outline as it moved back and forth inside of you, effectively giving himself a handjob while he bred you.

He lowered his head to your chest and ferally bit and licked at your breasts. Instinct demanding he marked and claimed what was, by all laws of the desert, his property.

After what seemed like an eternity you finally had acclimated to the size of the man taking you and began feeling less pain with flashes of pleasure. Chasing those brief flashes, you weakly grinded into each thrust from the scorpion.

Kurnigi’s roaming mouth had found your neck and was sucking and nipping at your soft skin there as if his life depended on it.

The stimulation was only feeling better as the two of you continued, your cries of fear and pain having long since been replaced by weak lusty moans and shivers of delight. You came a couple times and by the third you were completely fucked out. You had never orgasmed so hard in your life and were barely aware of anything other than that nice feeling between your shaky legs.

Kurnugi finally hit his climax as well and bit your neck hard as he did so, injecting something into your neck to leave a permanent claiming mark on you. You flinched in pain but it receded quickly, you were too out of it to really care what he did to you at that point.

Until you felt him cum into you. Your eyes went wide at the sensation as you felt relatively large round masses being pumped deeply into you.

Eggs.

You were shocked and disgusted, but there was nothing to be done about it then. You let the aqrabuamelu lick your various scratches and bite wounds clean before tucking you in with blankets so you could sleep while he made a meal.

He was so jubilant that his pregnant little mate was cozy in his nest while he took care of you. He had a nice home, a large territory, and now a soft mate to dote on and stuff full of his big prick whenever he needed to. Life was perfect.

THREE MONTHS LATER:

It had been around three months since you had been abducted. And it was hours since you had run away from the monstrosity that had kidnapped you. His name was Kurnugi, you had learned, managing very limited communication with the brute. He had finally let his guard down, finally trusted you since you had never been anything but compliant since you had been with him, and he had finally left you alone to go hunt for a longer period of time.

You did not waste the opportunity, it was clear that your bodyguards had not managed to leave the desert, probably succumbing to exposure. Either that or no one had cared to send a search party to look for you thinking you were a lost cause. So it was up to you to rescue yourself.

Once more your legs burned with a familiar exhaustion. Kurnugi was a skilled hunter that moved fast. Once he returned to his den he would begin tracking you immediately. If you were going to succeed then you had to get as much distance between yourself and that cave as you could possibly manage. It didn’t help that you were pregnant with his many eggs. It surely made travel more difficult.

As you made your way up the river you considered walking in it to hide your scent, but you decided against it. The wind was blowing your scent in the direction that you were fleeing from so it wouldn’t help you at all. The slog through the water would only slow you down. And that was the last thing that you needed right then.

The last thing other than suddenly finding yourself laying with your back against the hot sand and looking up with an absolutely outraged Kurnugi looking down at you with a malicious grin on his face.

How had he snuck up on you so silently?

You had expected to be immediately paralyzed by one of his stings, but the scorpion had other things in mind. He wasn’t just angry. He was hurt. You had tried to leave him the first opportunity you had. Had he not proven himself against lesser males to be a strong mate? Had he not provided food and water and shared his home with you? Had he not given you a nice belly full of eggs as any mate would desire?

The aqrabuamelu clearly had to show you your place. He had been too gentle with you. Not done enough to prove that you were, beyond any whisper of a doubt, his property.

And in that vein of thinking he did not bother with his venom, no, he wanted you to have the full ability of movement and still be just as utterly powerless to do anything to avoid him using you as he saw fit.

He pushed you over onto the ground and flipped you so that you were facing the sand with your ass up. Then, right in the middle of the desert, he ripped off the pants he had made for you out of leather and plant fibers.

Kurnugi crouched so that his cock was level with your cunt, his strong hands gripping your hips so hard that they would undoubtedly be bruised. You cried out and struggled just as pathetically as he had predicted that you would.

“Please! Please NO!!! I’ll behave! I-I’ll never leave again. KURNUGI PLEA-”

Your words became a pained shriek as he interrupted them by ramming his entire dick straight into you. No prep at all. He understood your cries for mercy and carried on anyway.

Each thrust into you was slow, powerful, and deliberate, driving your face into the sand as his nails bit into your flesh.

You were right about one thing. You’d never try to leave him again after this. He was going to fuck it into your brain so you’d have no chance of forgetting.

Tears dripped down your face, wicked away by the thirsty air and ground. Your legs shook and you would have collapsed were it not for the strong hands propping you up. Your abused cunt felt like it was being torn apart.

Kurnugi was once more excited by the scent of your blood and began pulling you back and forth over his prick like you were just a cock sleeve built for his pleasure. All you could do was sob and take it and try not to puke.

With a final slam he came in you hard. No eggs this time, since you were already full of them, just fluid that thankfully soothed your insides, if only a bit.

The anger of the aqrabuamelu was finally quelled and he panted with his throbbing cock still twitching and pumping cum into you. He picked you up and renewed the bite mark he had left on you. He did not have to since it was permanent, but he wanted to so you’d remember you were branded property.

Luckily the pain from the bite had been swallowed up by the disorientation and pain from the rape.

A small comfort.

Kurnugi picked you up effortlessly and cradled you close to him.

You couldn’t quite tell what he had said, but you knew it was meant to be soothing. He rubbed your back and chittered sweetly in that foreign language of his. Evidently happy to have that nasty business out of the way and content in the knowledge that you wouldn’t be trying that again.

7 MONTHS LATER:

You couldn’t wait for the eggs inside you to hatch. Kurnugi had assured you that you would be a great parent and since the eggs absorb the DNA of the parent they are deposited in he was confident that they would be the cutest babies in the entire world.

He was so wonderful to you. He doted on you and helped take you for walks when you were restless. He caught or foraged and then prepared all of your meals. He cuddled you close and kissed your swollen belly and made every effort to cheer you up when you were feeling down.

And you were sweet to him too, you learned how to craft things from the leather and fibers he made so you made him little trinkets that he either wore or decorated the den with. And you always greeted him by kissing him softly whenever he came home.

Things were a lot easier now that you could communicate.

And now that you understood that you could never go anywhere without him and to try to do so would be very hurtful for the both of you.

But why would you ever want to do something like that?

[themareverine]

God Laughs | DoFP!Logan x fem!OC

synopsis: 'I'll love you in every time, Logan, that I know. Just say the word." So much hinged on so little, and it doesn’t make any damn sense. They all knew it—their moments, any of them, ceased to exist if he didn't do this—this unspeakable thing, the only thing that would keep any of them alive.

warnings: time travel elements, AU, pre-established relationship, some angst, a big age gap due to time travel, a little angst, unedited, will do later, PG-13. 🌶️🌶️🌶️

a/n: happy thirtieth birthday to me. 🎉🥂i am sorry this is so long, but i'm actually not, and this fic has been taking up space in my brain for like a month and a half. please enjoy.

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Time in the ether is both cold, and slow. 

Being alive 200 years leaves Logan nowhere near shortchanged when it comes to dreams. Really the only peace a man who cannot die—a living weapon—finds is sleep, walking in and out of dreams. Digging graves to bury secrets, the horrors of living. Phantoms of his living moments, somehow though, manage to follow him into REM, into the colorful, twisting pictures of dreamstate—they rob him of purest joys. Highest highs. Through their boneless fingers he falls, time and again, even in his sleep—some nights, he doesn’t even rest. Barely breathes. Just wrestles with the things his mind shoves into dark recesses during daylight, vampires bleeding him dry. 

And much like the nightmares that find him as he fitfully sleeps, the ether between time is equally harrowing. A scythe that cuts slow and deep, through certainties and everything humans, once, thought they understood.

Nothing in the world like it, slipping through the sands of a timeglass—lives already lived, time already elapsed. Unable to fully blot from the universe moments already bled, God Himself, Logan is sure, laughs—laughs as he chases moments, daylights. Nights. Stretches of time in the bend of space the Almighty must just chuckle at. No more than a mouse chasing reward, trapped in the grand scheme of an oversized cat. 

He’d jumped through the waters of time before. Drowning in pain, his body fighting to stay alive and knit together when travel would otherwise viscerally rip apart.

Logan supposes it is not far removed from shaking a bottle, a tornado of contents spinning together to form some perfect union of chaos and beauty, bouncing off walls and wholly contained within units of matter. Hurricane on steroids, rushing to find somewhere to land, but in no hurry to do so all at the same damn time.

That is what the ether feels like—a hurried state of asystole, neverending, that somehow doesn’t seem to mind at all. And Logan has never felt more intimate, precise pain than he does here, filtering through time and space—everything hurts. Whitehot fire that laps at his spine, racking every thought, every movement, every cell with the finest, knife-edge agony.

Like a blacksmith’s hammer beating to life creation from the hottest flame he burns, beat into oblivion while slowly knitting together something that resembles signs of life. 

 “Need you to do this, Pryde.”

Kitty had an overwhelming ability, he knew. Taxed her to the point of soul crushing. He’d rocketed through time, balancing in her hands, times before—and some part of him always felt her during the process, guiding and sifting his moments in the past through careful, graceful hands.

Truly gifted, Logan understood this was not a bowl of cherries request—he knew it would shave years off her life, steal heartbeats she’d never get back. Days of recovery, horrors of readjusting back to the present. Not a light lift for either of them—as he was ripped apart only to be stitched back together in a younger, former life, she was there, with nobody to put her back together as strain and pain played her like a drum. 

And as painful as it was, Logan knew Kitty—she would die for things like this, consequences be damned. Young and reckless, she’d skipped through the folds of the time space continuum for less than what he was asking, but one’s own desires were another thing entirely. Couldn’t fault her for that. If he were able to rip open the universe, go back to former days, well—he didn’t know. So many nightmares, so many phantoms.

Logan wasn’t even sure if he was whole, anymore. 

“And you’re sure you wanna do this, Logan?” 

Cigars had never tasted so flat, so sour. Maybe if he rolled it through his fingers harder, it would shapen up. But nothing could change the broil in his gut, the ripple of consequences hanging out on the edge of history. They all knew it—their moments, any of them, ceased to exist if he didn't do this—this unspeakable thing, this thing God had gifted. To ensure his future, the future of Charles Xavier, had never felt so—so cold. Dead. Excruciating. 

So much hinged on so little, and it doesn’t make any damn sense. And then the voice of reason, a cherubim amongst thieves. Stealing minutes, ripping away time none of them have. Light in a universe of darkness, his sun. Adonis to his Icharus, Aphrodite to his eternal, cold war—she’d looked as if the world had stopped, and in a way, it was not far off. His world had stopped spinning, their world. Threatened to collapse. 

“Kitty, we have to. We need to–if we don’t, we don’t have this conversation.” 

No other conviction necessary. Decided, on a whim—on the bleeding edge of should we? they’d made a plan. Go back decades, retrace steps already taken. Cool trails already blazed. Forge new irons, cast new stones—do everything to ensure this moment, this moment that cannot be barren, paralyzed. Do what God commissions, what heaven allows.

Follow me, Logan. 

A bed of stone had never felt more like a grave, and the very idea sends an unfamiliar shiver down his spine. Like a seance, candles burn in the darkness—easier for Pryde. But in some twisted way, Logan finds it fitting—fitting, this supernatural undertone. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wishes it were light. Prays for morning, for the innocence of blinding daylight streaming through open windows, the fresh bounce of sun on his skin. Something about this being dark, tucked under the earth, feels eerie. Backwards. Graven.

Man was not meant to live in the dirt, but to die there—man was not meant to venture alone. 

I'll love you in every time, Logan, that I know. Just say the word.

Pain in his chest had ripped him from the cool ether, snapped him awake in an arctic sweat. Pebbled with goosebumps and twisted in damp sheets, he’d ripped off the layers of blankets with gusto enough to carve canyons.

Rousted from apparent sleeping arrangements, the world swims as he attempts to scrub life back into his face—to feel. 

Parts of him were still sorting themselves out deep in his tissues, Logan could almost count his cells unscrambling. Never would he wish the kinesthetics of memories sorting themselves into brain matter on any man, enemy or otherwise.

One thing was painfully clear from the jump, a branding iron seared into the folds of his brain—her face. Her features. Every moment spent together, every sweet nothing she’d ever said. Honey salve on gaping wounds, he could smell her. Taste her, even in time.

It’s the one memory that doesn’t need sorting, that seems welded into his biology, his very being—her.

Her face, her name, her laugh. More a part of him than he’d ever know, he carries her in the low of his spine, a simmering heat that starves. A man could die, aching for a woman like he burns for her.

Aching in memories that feel foreign in this body, like dreams. But they are more real than he’ll ever confess—more real than sunlight or air, than scripture etched into faraway stones. The song of the world, the prayer of the universe.

Logan had never believed in soulmates—until fate had split him down the middle. He’d never known he was missing part of himself, until he’d tasted her goodness. Her sweetness. Her beauty and strength and insecurity that had fallen through his fingers like butter.

Time is his enemy, and there’s very little room to reminisce. That comes later. Much, much later.

Her presence a grounding rod to the now and here, excitement pistons through him like a locomotive. Logan wasn’t around in this period of her life, decades ago. He’d met her years after—in the blossoming glow of things to come. He can only fathom where she is, what she does in the twilight years of knowing him—of better, safer years.

Often he catches himself, watching her march through the days of their life together, wondering where she’d have gone, who she would’ve become if not for him. What better she’d have done in the world, what good she may have accomplished beyond his tether. 

Never lasts long, though. He mauls the high fantasy of letting her leave. Crushes the beastial part  of him that warns she’s better off without him, navigating life alone. Safer, whole. Selfishness always catapults his justifications, his rationales. She stays, she’s yours, and nobody else gets her. Just the way it is, and he’d worked hard to ensure it. Logan wears enough blood to fill a reservoir—blood she’d helped him spill. Lives he’d taken for her. The cost for her was higher, atmospheric—he’d rob hell to pay it, even today.

And in a way, he isn’t far off. 

Thoughts of her send him buzzing with a little thrill he hasn’t known since boyhood, pulses his brain. Windows in this room are his stage, daylight a rapturous, blinding audience that sparkles with anticipation. He breathes and feels her, somewhere, in this universe.

There’s a presence, an energy— the world is alive with the promise of her, things to come. He doesn’t know how, perhaps it’s cosmic, built into the foundations of God’s creation. Or maybe it’s divine, maybe supernatural. Maybe just biology. Whatever it is, it tastes sweet, pulses through him like a live wire strung tight on five thousand molten-lava volts. 

A groan slips through streaks of daylight crisscrossing the floor through floor-length, heavy curtains. Logan all but springboards from bed, about-facing with the poise and grace of a fighter much younger than himself, heart racing. Somehow he manages self-control—the claws don’t come. Instead, his arm draws back into a fist far quicker than he remembers, almost sending him off balance. His arm—it weighs next to nothing. 

Mind spinning, he remembers. Adamantium—no adamantium. It’s a foreign, blissful feeling. At this point in his lifetime he hadn’t been cursed with steel bones, hadn’t been ripped apart to be stitched back together into whatever atrocity hell had born across the earth. Hadn’t been anyone’s lab animal, a plaything. That would come, he imagines—and briefly, Logan wonders if he’ll remember this feeling. If it will crop up in memories when he returns to his time, when future Logan is put back in time, and this is all but a dream. 

It doesn’t matter—assumptions come to a burning halt when blonde hair flips from beneath the covers of his former grave, his resurrection site. Blonde spirals of curl, muffled from obvious extramarital affairs, spill over milky skin. A hit of perfume hangs out beneath his nose, but it’s seared like a branding iron with the familiar, unmistakable scent of sex. Orgasm rides the air like it’s a jet plane, and very quickly Logan can’t breathe.

Thoughts spin through his brain, a kaleidoscope of horror and shame and confusion, watching his bedmate rise into a stretch not all that far removed from a cat.

He doesn’t remember this. Oh, fuck, not even a little. His future self’s mind pistons for any recollection, any silver cord of remembrance of who she could be, but it comes up blank. Distressingly blank, pitifully void. A blackhole of lust and perverted nothingness, his stomach hollows. Pitches up against his esophagus. And Logan isn’t a man to easily toss his cookies, but—he’s not far off. His dick numbs as she glances over her shoulder. 

“You’re awake,” voice heavily tainted with sleep, his feet suddenly burn with the itch to move. Get the hell outta dodge. Eyes scout the room quickly, picking out pieces of clothing he can only pray belong to this version of himself. “It’s early, if you’re hungry I can make breakfast—” 

Unable to think of anything —get the hell out of here, Logan, “—no!” It’s more of a bark than it is an answer, and he bristles, fingers swiping at the discarded pants hanging out on the floor by his feet. Wrangles into them in time enough to split atoms. Hiking them up his legs, he works the belt, tongue suddenly thicker than winter molasses as it attacks his back molars, trying to raise some moisture in the Sahara his mouth has become. 

He doesn’t miss his bedfellow flinching, though. Her shoulder shifts a little sharply in reaction, and he curses himself. “Girls are sensitive creatures, Logan,” years from now, she’s suddenly so there in his brain matter. Cascaded by the sun, rapturous in white. He can feel her against his ribs, her smile cutting paths through territory unexplored in the dark chambers of him, “Be careful with us, love.” 

Spiraling blonde curl and bare shoulders say everything that clothes don’t have to, and he’d laugh if this wasn’t the most depraved thing he’d ever felt crawling through his gut, clawing like it’s hell. Future him remembers wandering through these mirages of life—mindless fucks, one-night stands that get him off, little more than cold graves of satisfaction. Briefly he wonders what the fuck, what happened to him. Once detached, now he’s tethered to starlight, stars to which he breathes to revolve.

Fingers burning, weightlessness threatens to topple him like Rome, conquering him slowly. 

Shifting her hair in front of her, he feels a twinge of appreciation run him through—but he isn’t surprised. In a different world, he’d move mountains for a girl with curls the color of how he takes the coffee she so faithfully makes; curls that flick and move in private dances for him, God’s perfect design, conceived among the canyons of time. It’s a foreign memory, amputated almost—umbilicated to nothing in this world to give it life, but he knows. He just feels them tangle through his fingers something perfect, in a way that hair never has.

Always a sucker for a girl with curls—they were different. Feral. Wild. 

His canines hit sharply on the plush of his bottom lip as the stranger angles to shift against the sheets, probably to face him. Logan  all but bullrushes the mattress to put a hand on her shoulder, “—sorry,” bumbling like an idiot, he sucks in a breath, “not real hungry, but thanks. ‘S early, go back to sleep—I gotta hit the road,” barely above a constrained whisper, adds a little pressure to his hand to encourage the behavior.

She complies, and he dives for his shirt and what he can only assume is his jacket tangled in the sheets of his side of the bed. 

Surprisingly, she says zilch. Content to let the subject drop, a mercy from God. Thank you God. He’s dressed. Barely registered that punch of hunger a good fuck always leaves behind before he’s out the door, palming his jeans for keys—bingo.

Fingers grazing sunglasses in his pocket, he slips them on the low of his nose. Shakes in his blood tell him he needs a smoke, booze, something for the cold edge peaking through his bones. 

Spinning keys to the punched-out and snowkissed Bronco on his finger, Logan slips out the door, fighting boots onto his feet as he skirts the curb, looking for his ride. 

It takes him a day to find her.

Well, more specifically, twenty-two hours—and finding isn’t the right word for it, either. He knows where she’ll be, she said so herself before he’d slipped into the sands. There’s only one place in the world she’d ever received formal education, property lines of a familiar farm and prairie grass amidst old farmhouses teaching her more than any public education ever could.

He’d been there, her childhood home, more than a dozen times. Been here, tasted this air. Watched the frost kick up on windows, slick up highways that have carried him all over farmland America, almost-Canada. The wilds of this place remain, scattered in and out of industrial complexes and pop up bedroom communities. 

She’d always hated it here, all the snow and cold — people. Made no sense, honestly. She’d loved their home in Alberta, where winter was, in a sense, arguably worse. Had fostered a love for that place unlike anyone he knew, and he was from there. Never complained, though.

Logan had always known, secretly, that she missed the States, its freedoms and culture, a pretty that rivaled none. Faithfully and with duty she’d followed him everywhere, skiptracing across the globe like it was a game of hopscotch and not a fight for life.

While he’d been running all his life, she’d been firmly rooted—but he’d be damned if she didn’t pluck roots to keep after him, to keep them alive. Together they’d rested their heads in some less than Eden hotspots, places phantoms wouldn’t even tread—places purity went to die, holiness turned its face. 

She’d counted it joy, just to scout the lines of living beside him. I’ll love you in every time, Logan.

If the tires on his Bronco could heave, they would. Twenty-two hours and no sleep, Logan could pretty well feel exhaustion lapping up the marrow of his bones, needling away at his eyes. Highway 7 signs, painted with snow and wobbling in straight winds greet him as he guides his Ford off the asphalt, out from between guiding lines that had shifted oh so many times the last day and a half—prophecy not much unlike his life.

And pushing the Bronco along the tree-lined lane, lights shining in the last fingers of fading night, Logan realizes that he’s white-knuckling the steerwheel. Maybe for the first time in his life. 

He’s never been an anxious soul. Never a point to it, anxiety was wasted emotion. But all the same he feels a pit open in the depth of his gut, a fierce burning not unlike a lake flaming with inferno heat rising up his spine. Feeling feverish, his palms pearl with moisture.

A quick glance in the rearview at the darkness hanging out under his eyes punches home the marriage of piglet pink rising beneath his unkempt shave, which is now a handful of days overgrown. Muttering, he guides the wheel with a knee, working fingers through his hair—it’s thick. Dark, darker than future him remembers, styled in a way he hasn’t worn in at least four decades. 

Popping the Ford to a stop in a parking spot overshadowed with packed, plowed snow, he snaps the shift into park. Sits there, in his leather jacket and jeans, staring at the front door of the college complex. A stone Goliath, it towers in the fading darkness, sunlight beginning to stretch the horizon to a new morning. There’s a few cars belonging to the overly ambitious, his eyes scan them. 

Logan remembers the plan, all the details of the debrief—of a dossier that came from her lips, to his ears. Not a stitch of paperwork, no documentation to erase. So unlike the old days.

The most informal of the informal, perched across his lap, topless and smiling as her nails pull sharply at the flesh stretched across his collarbones. Scarlet lines to match fake but not inexpensive nails, he forgets how she manages them in an apocalyptic world. Twilight their only audience, four walls conferenced them as she’d relay detail after sweet detail, his brain pulsing with the weight of her against his chest.

If he closes his eyes, he can feel her again—even in a body that doesn’t even know her. 

His dick twitches with a needy throb that reminds him where he is, where she isn’t. Absently his mind spins, his hand skates across the bench seat of the 70s Bronco, palming for her familiar presence. Void coldness ices over the space, and when the Wolverine opens his eyes, the cab is deceptively empty.

Forty years from now his brain weaves an image of her, flashing like a film reel. Supplants her in this seat next to him, smiling—-as young and beautiful as she was the day he met her, age hardly more than a number even as it joins itself at her hip. 

Hips bucking up off the bench out of habit, with rebellion, his head falls back over the seat. Sinks lower on the bench, knees kissing the dashboard as the heels of his boots dig into the floorboards, anchored to nothingness. Bone grating against bone on his back teeth, the growl he releases is animalistic.

Painful, sharp, it licks up the heat in his blood. He palms at his cock buried in his jeans, suffocating in heat. Her mouth, sucking at his pulse, tongue flicking against his—tasting like lipstick, like chap and sweat. How her hair brushes his shoulder, raises his skin like he doesn’t remember. Her little noises, breathy little moans. Praying his name as he feasts on her presence, consumes her closeness, union almost supernatural, galactic. Otherworldly, divine. 

And it hurts, his starvation for her. Loneliness he doesn’t remember cracks like a whip, canyons open his spine to perform surgeries that’ll leave him a barren, cold wasteland. Oh, fuck.

God, he missed her—hasn’t been gone but two days, and he misses her. An unmovable hunger mountains in the low of his belly, rearing an ugly head Logan knows won’t be turned but only one way.

A way that won’t exist for another decade, ten long years of arctic cold. 

You’re a sick fuck, Logan.

Eyes snap open, pops the latch on the door. Freezing wind chases in and smothers tornado heat kicked up in the cab, amongst the radio buttons and film developing on the windows from his hot breath. Slipping out, Logan bats the door closed behind him. Pockets his keys. Considers the landscape, it’s pretty, then looks to the front door.

Marching after it, his eyes sweep the parking lot—her car. It’s here, sentinelled, standing guard in an otherwise empty lot of asphalt and fading starlight. 

He chuckles, shakes his head. Much to his surprise when he tries the door, heavy doors open. Unlocked. Whisking inside like a silent shadow, Logan breaches the foyer. The first coordinator. Nobody is here, hallways as dark as skeletons in squirreled-away closets, the air stuffy with age and ventilated air.

An old smell creeps up and down the hallway, wraps around him—but it’s quiet. Serene. She said it would be, one of the happiest places of my youth, Lo, and she doesn’t really lie. It bleeds from walls like open arteries. 

Something hangs in the air, a sweet lightness, airlessness that he can breathe, but doesn’t know. When his finger brushes the wall, curiously, the earth doesn’t split open, the air doesn’t move—-it’s just still. Unmoving. Patient, like a lover. Fortressed between thick pines and Midwestern snow, it’s a sleeping giant Logan doesn’t know. When he pauses to listen, to think, he can feel it try to touch him—-that weightlessness, that solace.

He could sleep here a thousand years, felt like he could breathe for the first time in a century. 

Unsure where his feet point, but he knows where to go. Senior year, first class is theatre—-she’ll be in the auditorium.

One by one he ticks off the details in his brain, smoothing his hand over his mouth, trying not to miss his past, his future, whatever the hell it was. But parts of him claw to go back, memories that don’t belong in this body—and very suddenly, Logan wishes for the first time he were older, time wasn’t now. That he survived long enough for the day, ten years from now, that the rest of his life came marching through the doors of a dimly lit bar to rattle steel cages.

Wandering corridors eventually finds him standing outside the door. Metaphorically, crossing this threshold will change his life—it will ensure the future of everyone he’s come to care for, to know. It will ensure them, in a life far from now that feels faraway down and lightyears away.

He opens this door, crosses the place where carpet meets cheap linoleum, and he’d write in stone events that will play out forty years from now. 

And he hesitates, only briefly. Hand hovering over the knob of the double doors, waiting for something to tap him on the shoulder. Opportunity to rip him away, fate to call out behind him, stop, you fool. His blood sings with anticipation, ripping through his ears in a way that blocks out everything but him in the shadows, standing here.

Waiting has never felt so smothering, so earthquake. It’s hard to swallow, but he manages. About to open the door, movement behind makes him flinch. 

“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow! Creeps in this petty pace from day to day—to the last syllable of recorded time—and all our yesterdays have lighted fools—” 

Oh, shit. If that doesn’t fit. 

For the first time in nearly 200 years, Logan’s heart stops functioning.

He forgets to breathe, the familiar weight of suffocation launching his lungs forward, pitching them against his ribs. Every part of him simmers with flames of ice he hadn’t known but only one other time in his life, fingers itching as they rest at his sides, motionless. Paralyzed.

But that twinge of ache, deep in his skeleton, rockets to life between the bones of his hand—-and Logan lifts one, to consider the claws. But there are none, they are still sheathed deep within himself, but they echo. They ring and shake, trembling as the speech continues again, restarts. This time louder, with more life—from the gut, it stirs him in a way that pays homage to curiosity killing cats. 

Carefully he pops open the door, peeks through. Light spills through the opening, warm tones that force him back, squinting as his eyes adjust. Washed in light and emptiness, the room is vast. Pitches down to a floorstage, theatrical seating a quiet giant waiting to throw stones.

Instead, the air is still, motionless among the seats. Only thing moving within the four walls is the body rearranging a rolling podium, collecting things off the floor. Running lines under rushed breath, bare feet so at home center stage that it is almost treacherous. 

He can’t breathe, every cell in his body pistons into an overdrive that sends his head reeling.

It’s her.

He shouldn’t be surprised, forty years in the future she’d told him she’d be here. Was always the first one here, in the auditorium, the only time I can use the stage, Logan, and the truth of it smacks him across the face as if he’s been whipped with a milkstrap.

Castor wheels on the stage are loud, rattle the air as the podium rolls back to reset, and Logan realizes he's standing stupidly in the center aisle, looking lost and enchanted with her—and he is.

Even as he slips into the last row, sitting low in a seat to observe, he aches in a way that only God designed for the most violent, deep love.

Even at distance, the detail of her springs after him like a predator. It overtakes him, powers him into corners of himself that Logan didn’t think to ready. The first thing that he thinks is that she’s young, so young, young in a way that even a decade from now couldn’t know.

You ain’t ready for who you’re going to find, honey, it was a warning, shadowed between kissing him and making love in a way that would imply the world’s end. 

When she told him he wouldn’t be ready for her, he thought she couldn’t be serious.

But she was righter than he is alive, he wasn’t prepared—innocence. Purity. Naivety. It spins around her in a dance he can almost taste, and his memories struggle to assimilate this precious little thing with the woman his heart knows, his body craves.

And Logan thinks it’s wrong, feels absolutely filthy, falling in love with her all over again, in the mere seconds he’d seen her standing there, reading from a frayed and tattered Macbeth.

How she’s the same person, he doesn't know—how she couldn’t be, is another thing entirely. 

Logan realizes she’s been the same height practically forever, and that makes him smile. High heels tossed stage left beside a backpack in the shadows, what he wouldn’t give to see her conquer the world in thrift store heels the color of darkness. Familiar curves pull at denim jeans that take every ounce of his self-will not to notice, full hips on Hollywood display with the same leather belt and buckle she’d be wearing in ten years, when this body first makes eyes at her.

And her style hasn’t changed—high heels and jeans, a tucked-in tank top and left-open buttoned shirt that floats almost ethereally.  

And his head cants to the side, not unlike a curious dog—he could cry, he thinks. Probably.

Brunette curl spills down her back, nearly to her ass, a lazy slipknot hanging limp at the base of her neck. Righteous indignation rises up in him like a wild animal—in a decade, he’ll meet her with cropped hair, curls cut to not-even shoulder length. His stomach knots, solidifies like it’s concrete. Memories spinning—Logan realizes he’s never known her with long, full hair. Hair like this, curls that make him insane, almost threaten to send him up the wall with ferality. 

Insane, sick the way his mind immediately shoots to all the things he wants to do with it, with this little thing pacing downstage and back, humming and reading lines to what she thinks is open air.

Straight to hell with him, thinking about bending her over that stage and fucking her until she weeps. He won’t get the privilege of her taste for at least a decade, if not a few years after.

And that’s enough to gut him completely, punch a low moan from the base of his spine as blood rushes to take up space in his cock. 

Subliminally, he feels for the ring that’s been hanging out on his left hand for twenty years—alarm snaps his gaze to his hand, its absence alarming and unfamiliar. Takes a second for his heart rate to still, realizing it isn’t there—and that’s right. It won’t be for a while.

But it’s become an engrained thing, a usual part of his life—memories relay that he does this often times a day, it’s almost a coping mechanism. Hilarious how it so easily translates to this body, this time when it isn’t even reality. The ring probably isn’t even crafted, he’s missing something that doesn’t exist. 

“Excuse me, what are you doing in here?” 

Klaxon alarms rings through his blood like a warning shot, and Logan for a second considers that he has been shot, a burning hole through the center of him widening to swallow him almost body and soul.

A steel beam drops to replace his spine, and he catapults to his feet like he’s on fire—scrambles out of his chair like an upset cat. Heart pounding, heat flares across his skin like his life depends on it, palms riding up the denim on his thighs as he tries to wick away bubbled moisture.

Swallowing a shallow breath, he watches her gracefully hop off the platform, finding her feet as she tosses the book on the stage. 

Realizing she’s meeting him up the aisle, he steps to greet her halfway.

“This is a closed classroom,” her tone is firm, but not entirely uninviting—memory serves that he’s not unfamiliar with this, and won’t be, in their future together. “I’m running lines, did you need something?”

Her little way of always assuming the best of people—of prying without making it feel like she’s digging. God, she was good—-it’s no surprise to him that she’ll become a journalist, the nosiest person in the world, in but a few short years from this very moment. 

Even up close she glows with a radiance that alarms him. Wearing the makeup she always does, mascara that sets off icy blues like a plague, Logan fights his way out of the depths of her gaze. Claws for purchase at anything he can get his hands on, which at the moment, is a quicksilver smile this body knows. It’s worked well for him, disarming the opposite sex.

He knows he looks good, always has, and Logan has weaponized his sexuality for his betterment since years ago. It’s a toxic thing, one that this very girl will dismantle in about twenty years—-will continue dismantling, claiming, for the next forty. 

Absence of any reply has her taking more conversational territory. Her hand extends, she offers her name.

“I don’t know you,” no room for argument, God she’s still so forward, “are you a student here, or faculty?”

A polite way of asking what his old ass is doing at a college at ass o’clock in the morning, and very suddenly he realizes, off like a shot, he has no alibi. No backstory, no agenda for this moment.

Logan can’t even think past her bludgeoning pheromones and scent, much less the assault of her eyes. Like a wolf she takes him apart, plays with the carcass of his resolve like it’s a plaything. 

Never usually unprepared, he fumbles for words. Arms crossing over her chest, she waits. Stands there for all of a few seconds, before she does that thing that all girls, seemingly, do—she fills up the silence.

“You’re not Graingly’s theater buddy from Pensacola, are you?” The look on her face tells her that not being whoever such a person is probably isn't a good thing, the way her hip cocks and her jaw flicks with the tight of muscle.

She doesn’t wait, not even a second, “You’re not supposed to sub until Friday—I’m his student lecturer, I set that date.” 

Well there it is, his perfect in.

She won’t learn to interrogate and intimidate with silence for a while, and he finds her battle for dominance amusing. It’s even more raw and unpolished in her youth, she’d mastered it already in the years after this.

If he didn’t already know, he’d find it hard not to be curious how she’ll stonewall in the coming years—as she ages, matures. Instead, he just revels in her presence, in the floating feeling taking up space in the empty of his gut. He’d slaughter for a cigar but couldn’t move from his weld right here if the earth split open to consume him. 

Logan’s chuckle is low, off the base of his ribs. Even if it is a little weak, a little breathless and ashamed of the thoughts sounding off like nuclear bombs in the back of his head—their first meeting, in a crummy Canadian bar in May.

The first time he sees her cry, an awful first date ending with an argument, him at her door asking to see her again in the straightline winds of a near tornado. How he asks to marry her, that first look at her on the day he makes her his own. That look on her face when they move in together, when they buy their first house—when they spill first blood together.

Pain raptures him to new worlds when he realizes what she becomes, what he gives her—mutation that traps her in this world, this life for an indefinite future. 

And he can’t shake the reminiscence—their first fuck, her first time, his first time with someone so virginal, so holy and sweet and good. Burning through him like a branding rod dripping with white heat, he struggles to assimilate this young little thing with the woman, ten years in this body’s future, she’ll become.

And as legal as it may be, Logan can’t imagine touching her like he will, someday—she might break, such a fragile little thing. And yet all he can picture is taking her, right here and right now, unraveling the strands of time to hurry the fuck up what is meant for a decade from now. 

She’s still talking.

“Listen, I really think you should—-” agitated. She's pissy, that same edge he will walk well, that same edge he’ll teach her to teeter, to exaggerate.

It’s a beautiful thing, really, watching their life together unfold in his brain—it’s like a movie he never wants to get up from, a picture he creates.

It tastes good, it feels perfect. 

He puts up a hand, offering her an easy smile. Her mouth snaps closed, bingo.  

“I figured,” if you only knew. He extends his hand, “Logan,” and she shakes it, hers fitting in a way that confirms God’s very existence. “'M not a teacher, and sure as hell ain't from Pensacola.”  About three thousand miles north, actually—-a mountain house so pretty, we’re going to spend our honeymoon not leavin’ it. 

But of course, it hangs out in the open wound his heart has become, unsaid. 

That hits home, seems to fit the bill. Her posture loosens, and she crosses one leg over the other. Still does that, forty years from now, and he still finds it adorable.

“Good to meet ya,” and good God if she still drag her ‘o’s’ in that little Midwestern way that ticks up the corner of his mouth, amusingly. “Can I help you with anything?”

Again, always so willing—so naive. He could’ve been here to ruin her entire world and she’d help him do it, patient as a flower. 

“Yeah, actually,” he runs fingers through his facial hair, gestures to her. “Believe it or not, honey, I’m here to see you. Sent, actually.” It’s going to sound so ridiculous. Unbelievable, and at this point, it is.

More sci-fi than reality, no human in this universe is aware that time can be so manipulated. Kitty Pryde, his very vessel, isn’t even alive.

And that hollows him out like a canoe, bloodlets any confident air in his sails to the ground. It cries out unforgivingly, laughs at him. 

God was laughing at him, he was sure.

Her airy snort is dismissive, aggressively derisive. “Yeah, right,” she shakes her head, turns on the ball of her foot, “I don’t know any Logans. You can go, now,” turning back around, she backpedals away from him.

Hand flitting through the air, her chin lifts in an away gesture, “Like I said, closed classroom. Nice meeting you,” moving to the stage, she hauls herself back up, moving to retrieve the text she’d discarded. 

Stalking after her, Logan hauls up on the stage. Comes up on her, grabs her arm. Starting, she whirls around at speed, knocking into him. Fingers clamping around the muscle of her arm, the look on her face is horrified for all of a few seconds, fear skittering in and out of the blues that flash in her eyes like dreams he doesn’t want to rise from.

His hard look into her face is quelling, and she shrinks back. Pages fall from her hands, hitting the floor at their feet with a hard thunk. 

Logan can feel her heart throbbing, her blood singing with heat. Color creeps up her neck as she pulls at his grip, investigative. Eyes holding his gaze, they put up a fight—they disarm him in a way that he should fear, that shouldn’t be so difficult for a man that will endure the unthinkable.

Pain flashes between his ribs like a flare, lighting up his chest. Shuffling her a few steps closer, his other hand moves to loop a finger through a belt hoop, knuckle rubbing against the familiar leather. 

“What are you do—” 

He remembers what she told him to say, “I have a word for you,” it’s assured. Hard. Riddled with a confidence that bleeds out of him like his arteries have been sliced, pumping lifeblood onto the floor at his feet. He’ll beg, if necessary. Grovel at her beautiful feet like it’s worship, and in a way, she’s deserving.

Her eyes snap up from where he’s conjoined them, Logan watches her swallow a handful of shallow, doing-nothing breaths. “Sent to find you, darlin’.” 

Ripping her arm away, her brow mottles with scarlet heat and confusion that isn’t concrete, but instead unsure. She said she’d be confused, uncertain of him when he walked up out of nowhere and called her darlin’, a petname that meant something. The name, the one she conjured up in showers and feel asleep to. Logan knew it was her favorite; she’d told him so their first time, You had me at darlin’, Lo, and you always will.

Poetic justice, really—and maybe, now, this will be why.

He’ll be why she falls in love with that name, with how he says it, how he calls her. 

“I don’t understand,” she tries to make it sound strong. Logan releases her, expecting her to rear away like a upset horse—surprise lands in his gut when she doesn't.

Instead, she faces him. Draws her shoulders back. Lifts her chin and steps up to him, closing daylight. Her head cants slightly, eyes narrowing in that what’s up with you way that is curious, but hesitant.

Unsure rips off of her like heat he can only feel in every cell of his genetic makeup, in a way that regenerative mutation could only ever hope to heal. 

“You may not,” he challenges, it falls off a sigh as he upturns a hand. Offers it, kindly. “But try, honey. A whole lotta world needs you to try.” 

And she does. She tries. Business hours and daylight interrupt them, but she tries—and it’s a bloody fight, making her understand. Challenging every quip, every reasonable logic that she hurls at him like knives.

Moving to the auditorium’s lobby, then to the corridor, then up into the library. And  after an hour, when she really started believing him, he drags her out to his Bronco—where they can be alone. Thrive in the uninterrupted them.

Cranking the heat and turning to rest his back against the door, he accepts her denial. Any question she throws at him for another hour, every rabbit trail of You’re absolutely wrong and this is why.

She pauses to breathe and remember what class she’s blowing off, and oh does he love her. He’s already so in love with her that it hurts, bludgeons that space behind his ribs with the knowledge that soon, when this is over, he may not remember.

Multiple times Logan has had the thought to fuck everything and just run away with her, take her anywhere she wants to go and start their life right now, to explore and give life to memories he doesn’t already know.

No matter how much he rationalizes, that idea doesn’t leave him—the high fantasies of what she’d look like, attached to him at the hip.

Of who they could be, before adamantium, before the X-Men, before—

And questions finally metamorphosize. A standstill, like after a hurricane—her chest is heaving, curls sticky with sweat. Memory recall tells him that his normal for her—she’s argumentative, by nature. Defends what she believes, is not so open. Doesn’t back down from a fight, which is why, in years from now, she’ll be his perfect match. His soulmate.

The one God designed for him, since the foundation of the stars and the bends of time. 

It’s what makes her so her, a Wolverine. In a roundabout way. Another version of the same monster he becomes, but a holier one. If that’s possible—and he reminds himself it is, she becomes it. This young woman, on the cusp of living, will become everything Logan had only ever fantasized, more than he could ever conjure up in wild imaginations and greedy headdreams.

It’s surreal, sitting in this cab of this Bronco, watching windows film up with the heat of their breath. His knee knocks against the steering wheel, adjusting to glance at her milkwhite grip on the door handle. His eyes skate from hers to her grip, and he knocks his head back against the glass of the door’s window, a lazy smile turning up the corner of his mouth. 

“Still don’t believe me, huh?” 

After an eternity of silence, she side-eyes him.

“It’s only a little ridiculous,” exaggerated sarcasm drips like sour honey off her tongue, “I mean—put yourself in my shoes here, Logan.”

His heart flatlines and then resurrects—she’s called him Logan a handful of times, now. It sounds like it never has from anyone else—at points in his life before this, he’d always thought his name sounded so good, at its best coming from a woman he was balls deep in, hearing it chanted like a prayer.

But that’s gone, so anemic that it’s sick—it will only ever sound so orgasmic again if she says it. Nobody else is worthy, all graven images in comparison to the goddess she has become, him at her feet.

“It’s unbelievable.” 

Whatever else she’s said fails to land. He can’t stop hearing his name in her mouth, consonants and syllables so delicious it turns his spine to jelly, stirs up his cock in a way that makes him adjust his leg on the floorboards. Suddenly uncomfortable, sardined into a too-tight space crowded with her and everything he wants, he rolls down the window with a few pumps of his arm. Forces air in, underneath his collar.

Logan swears he’s boiling alive beneath his jacket and shirt, there will be medically evident boils when he’s finished with her. 

The Bronco rocks slightly with her moving to mirror his posture, back against her own door. Her knee knocks against the seatback, other leg bouncing anxiously against the floor.

Picking nervously at the buckle of her belt, Logan has to force himself to look up from the cut of her shirt, the way it pulls taut across her tits with the angle of how she’s sitting.

Aw, hell. Fuck him for being such a filthy, sexual creature. 

Fairly certain he will die if he doesn't have her, he repositions—sits up, leans his arms over the steering wheel to knuckle mindless patterns into the fog hanging out on the windshield. She manages an uneven sigh that may as well rip open the world—Logan cuts her a look from the corner of his eye. 

“You think I’m lyin’,” he sighs. Falls back against the seat. 

“Hell yeah I think you’re lying.”

And if that doesn't make him laugh. 

“You laugh, Logan-whoever-you-are, but—honestly. C’mon,” her hand extends to serve a point, “time travel? This isn’t Star Trek. You don’t just waltz up to someone and tell them that and expect it to be believable,” her hand flits, through the air, through whatever she uses to rationalize the anger creeping up into her words.

“And then, if that isn’t good enough, you tell me this, this Hollywood bullshit that I’m going to meet you in ten years in Canada, somewhere I’m not even ever planning to go—and that kicks off the next forty years and the survival of mutants in the future!”

Her hands fly into the air, as if trying to pull down reason from heaven, “That’s a bunch of bullshit, if you ask me.” 

It’s quite the line of reasoning—he can’t fault her for it. Just chuckles, shrugging as he leans forward to pluck sunglasses off his dashboard, slip them along the cut of his collar.

Arms crossed over her tits, her chest rises and falls with nervous breath after breath, eyeballing him with enough force to rip the sun from the canopy of sky. He flicks off the heater, sweat between his shoulder blades sign enough that it’s too warm in here—she’s already damp, sweat raising the makeup on her face. 

“That’s the highlights,” didn’t mention how you’re the love of my life, how I can’t hardly think straight with you sittin’ right there, he cards his fingers through his hair. “Not askin’ you for anything, sweetheart. I’m just telling you—it’s gonna happen, and when it does, you need to remember me, this moment right here, and trust that it works out.”

He lifts a shoulder, hand turning through the air in a so-so way, “It’s like—fuck. It’s kinda like a prophecy, right? I’m telling you what’s gonna happen, and you just gotta wait to see if it does.” 

“Prophecy? You’re mocking me now, right?” 

His sigh is excessive, roughs up the wind in the tissue of his lungs with more froce than he thought possible. Knitting his brow together, his fingers pull at the cartilage in the bridge of his nose.

Stubborn little thing, always, stubbornness was both a strength and a weakness—nevermoreso underestimated in her, right now, by him. 

He nods out the window.

“This is a Bible school, right? Yeah, I know it is—you graduate here, in the spring,” the look on her face implies that he’s backhanded her, hinge of her jaw failing entirely to instead, sit there. Agog.

Rolling his eyes, he holds out a hand, begins counting off his fingers, “I told you, honey. You graduate, you get a job working for some lowlife newspaper editor–you fall in love with mutants, in that sick and twisted ADHD way of yours that you obsess about everything, and—” he stops, mostly to breathe. Halfway to bludgeon everything he wants to tell her to the point of pain, “—just listen. If you’re as high an’ mighty as you say you are—and you are, I know that about you—then you can’t say you don’t at least believe in prophecy, darlin’.”

Knifing a sharp smirk over to her, his brow lifts. “And last I checked, a whole helluva lot of unbelievable stuff happens in God’s history book, sweetheart—but I ain’t the expert.” 

That’s why I have you, in a decade or so. 

There is absolutely no time for his words to land anywhere other than nowhere. 

Her dismissal happens swiftly, like sharp jabs. The laugh bites, more of a bark than anything. Bam.

“Oh, I so get it now.” She absolutely does not, but he tastes the first blood. Pow. “You’re a messenger from God—right. Yeah, yeah I’m sure,” her eyes roll. Angles to pop the latch on the door.

In one go she’s out of the Bronco, letting all the hot air and frustration of the moment out into the arctic wasteland the parking lot has become. Bam bam bam. 

“I don’t say this very often, and pardon my language, but—fuck off, asshole.” 

Shouldering her backpack, staring at him from the cresting daylight that bleeds into the cab from behind her—if Logan didn’t believe in the celestial, he would’ve, exactly now.

Near frantic—and Logan has never, in all his 200 years been frantic—his hand slaps at the door for his own latch, and he rips out of the Bronco like a shot, hustling to stalk after her marching across the parking lot to her car like a soldier with orders.

And he is.  

Not so fast, tiger—that ain’t right, nah. Wolverine, you’re a wolverine.

My Wolverine.

“Honey, listen—” 

He grabs for her arm again, but something whips her about-face of her own volition, stepping up into his chest like a powerhouse of pride, absolution.

Her eyes cut through his armor, what will someday be adamantium bones like knives, hot and thrilling as they grab him by the absolute balls. The ferocity at which her eyes scout through his is wild, sends his blood spinning through his ears. He can’t hear anything but the thrum of his heart and every one of the breaths she sucks into her chest. 

There she is. 

 “I am not your honey, so quiet calling me that,” she bites, and it’s venomous—snapping fangs that sink deep into his veins, slavering at this soul.

And Logan should be upset with her, he should shake some common sense into her. Scream in her face the logic that she so lacks—but he can’t. He can’t move beyond the boundaries her eyes set, deep pools that empty oceans and rival the very stars hanging in the universe.

She could echo jump, and he’d beg her to know how high—and that may make him a fool. A pathetic shadow of the man he was hours ago, laying in someone’s bed, getting all the tit he wanted, without waiting.

“You say all this, this stuff about me—ok. We meet in ten years, sure. I’ll give you that. You’re hardly forgettable,” her eyes narrow, and Logan can’t miss how she shivers—how her lip trembles in the cold air, how snow clings to her lashes and sticks to her hair, carries it away across her features.

“Explain to me how you know everything about my life forty years from now, Logan.” 

Oh, fuck. This entire thing could be wrong, but it feels so right. 

Her eyes skate over him—down, up, and then back to his face. Like she’s summing him up—maybe she is. It would be the first time, but never the last.

Logan weighs the words in his chest, wishing for the first time that his bones were adamantium—that way, they’d cut through what to say. They’d bear the weight of her statement and haul them up the mountain-ing uncertainty he feels rising against the tail of his spine.

He’s never been so out of control, felt so out of his element than he does right now in the ripping wind of Minnesota cold and sunlight. 

She’s lined up the shot for him. All he has to do is take it. 

He does.

“We marry,” barely there, it’s the only thing he thinks to say.  So much more happens, “A lot of shit happens, a lot of it bad, but a’lotta good— takes a while, but eventually I get my head outta my ass and marry you, like I should years before I actually do.” 

“What?” 

Logan isn’t ready for the look of surprise on her face, and she’d told him before that he wouldn’t be.

A series of emotions pass through her eyes that he’s able to earmark, he watches them fall like dominoes—denial. Anger. Disbelief and hurt and really? that knots his guts up like the Sesame gates.

And Logan could watch the revolution of the earth around the sun in her eyes for all eternity, but their clarity is clouded by a mist of tears that rise—-she drops her head away, reaching fingers to swipe at the sting in her eyes.

She goes to turn away, and that may as well rip every organ out of his body. 

His heart leaps up into his throat, he snags her arm. Coming back willfully, he can’t miss how freezing her hand is in his. Logan pulls her close, against his chest, wraps his arms first around her shoulders, then around her waist, fingers gently skimming the rise of her jeans, the leather of her belt.

Her heart against his ribcage pistons like a locomotive, and he fears if it beats any harder, it’ll drive him into an early grave. 

When her head lifts to consider him, she isn’t crying. There’s a whimsical, faraway look on her face. He’s never seen it before, and somewhere deep inside the places you don’t show anyone but God, it terrifies him. Watches her swallow thickly, her tongue fill the pocket of her cheek. How it skips over her bottom lip, accompanies the way her eyes subliminally move back and forth, looking for him in the depths of his.

And Logan can see the thoughts spinning alive in her brain, wheels that have no place to go—that turn, over and over, looking for memories, thinking. Grasping at straws, clawing for the surface. 

Her eyes flick beyond him, back to the Bronco. Taking his hand as if she’d been doing it her entire life, she tugs him behind her, back to this Ford. Logan opens the door to tuck her inside.

Slipping in, she drops her backpack at her feet and shifts in the seat. And before he can bat the door closed, her fingers find the front of his leather jacket. Twisting into the leathers, she pulls him forward until his thighs brush the frame of the truck—until he’s flush against her chest, closer, somehow, than before.

A hairline moment and her lips find his, soft and curious but starving. 

Jumpstarted to life, every organ in his body flings forward against bone, fighting for air as she sucks the very breath from his lungs in the best way he could ever fathom.

He can tell she’s never kissed before. The way she moves, clumsy like a new calf. Can’t breathe. Her teeth knock against his, and despite how hard he tries to urge her tongue forward to meet his, it retreats. All thumbs and clumsy, it would be humorous if lightning bolts weren’t rocketing down his spine, if he wasn’t burning alive. 

And fuck, if it isn’t enough to wake up every part of him he’d been fighting to bury.

Insane, how even so foreign to him she could feel like home, like everything he’s ever been missing. His missing rib, created from dust.

Nothing aside from God’s grace keeps him composed, keeps his mutation leashed to the walls of his prison—God’s grace and how he absolutely is not actively ripping at the leather of the Bronco’s bench, nails buried so far that they ache.

Fingers find her hair, playing through brunette curls he knows will never be this long again—wraps them around his fists, nails gently pulling at her scalp in a way that makes her hiss, arches her forward against him. 

And if she doesn’t mean for that little mewl to be so lascivious, he’ll never know—it punches him low, in his dick, enough that rips a groan from the back of his throat, rattling around his teeth. She breaks first with a wet pop, a string of sticky saliva drawing him back to her in a way that leaves him stunned and breathless.

All traces of the frigid world gone, her skin coats with a sparkling sheen of slick sweat, she almost glistens. Racked with ache that he wouldn’t be able to admit in therapy, he drinks in every one of the shallow breaths she releases, as if it’s the air he needs to live.

It’s not far removed. 

Her eyes hold his captive, enraptured in his attention before they flick down to his mouth, the heave of his chest. Logan is fairly certain that fire laps up the heat in his blood, wolves eating away at the marrow of his bones, hungry in a way that nothing short of her will ever touch.

Her teeth snag her bottom lip, gnawing cautiously, and her fingers curling into his jacket are the only greenlight he requires—his hand at the back of her neck pulls her in for another kiss, a part two he’ll never stop writing, as his other hand slips behind her knee, gently guiding her down to the seat so he can slip in over her. 

It’s worship, how he crawls up her body—an altar that, memories recall, he worships at like it’s religion. She’s a fast learner, picks up the cues like a champ, finally allows him to French her in a way that should be unforgivable.

This him has never done this with her, doesn’t know her like he wants to—but memories. Fuck him, the memories; movies, their own future pornography feeds him just how she’ll react, what she likes.

In his mind, a life he's never lived, he can hear her crying out his name. Sobbing as he splits her wide open, body and soul—stares at her heart, takes everything God had given her. Greedily, he takes—he wants, desires, lusts for everything now, in a time that isn’t right, and can’t be, for the next decade. 

His hand anchored on her hip is enough to arch her back, her head tipping back into the leather of the bench, brow pulled taut into a hard line that makes his head reel. Keening, Logan angles to run his nose along her jaw, tongue lathing at the pulse pounding in her neck like a racehorse, steady like the sun.

And it takes willpower not to touch her the way his body demands, the way he lusts after. Instead his nails bite into the back of the seat, others far too busy playing with the hair he prays she never changes but knows she will. 

“Oh my god,” Logan isn’t sure it’s a prayer to him or heaven itself, but—he won’t complain how it rousts his blood, stirs his cock something good. “It’s—you’re, Logan—-shit,” His smile is wolfish, of the devil.

Perverse and twisted, he sinks his teeth into the words vampirically, rips the lifeblood from them like it’s soulworthy.

“I can’t breathe,” he knows she can’t. He knows, in some deep and faraway downs part of himself that this is all so new—so living color, so all over the place.

Part of him, a more rational Logan, knows that overstimulation stalks.

But he chuckles all the same, brushing aside the collar of her buttoned shirt to suck hard at the soft flesh of her collarbone. Lathes his tongue into its pool, tastes her sweat. Dies, resurrects to taste it again.

“You can and you will,” he prays it into her skin, hopes it takes, “hmmmm—-just feel, darlin’.” And it hurts, the way he absolutely wants. Knows he can, but won’t. Fuck, fuck,  “Fuck, yes—just, honey, just feel.” 

Her hands buried in the front of his shirt pull him back from the haze, from where he’s lost. Kiss him again. Again and again, he drinks at her well like a man who will die, and he will.

Logan will die if he doesn’t have her, if this isn't real and is nothing but a sick and feverish nightmare plagued upon him like the dead firstborn in Egypt. She’s already ripped open his chest and clawed out his heart, balancing it raw in her fingers where it bleeds out all of his will, his absolution. 

There’s a chance he doesn’t remember this.

If he dies from thirst of her, he’ll never know why.

That’s sick. 

Absently, his finger tugs over the waist of her jeans, dips beneath the denim. Grazes the buckle of her belt, investigative. She gasps, breath cut short as her back arches off the seat as his knuckle brushes her sensitive skin—she arches so far that he fears she’ll snap.

But the low of her belly is soft, inviting—inferno. He can feel her womb from here, the kiss of her cervix that memory serves is so good.

Breathless and hard, a light tug at the waist of her jeans makes him groan—all the way from the depths of his soul. It’s so familiar, so easy—he expects her to acquiesce, but it’s demonic. Torturous.

Fuck yes, this is right—

His drifting hand snaps her eyes wide open. She’s propped up on an elbow so quickly that it sends him for all of a heartbeat. Her hand shoves at his shoulder, off, and he falls back on his heels, breathing hard.

Unable to catch his breath, cut his eyes from the swell of tit peeking up over the top of that barely-there tank top she dares to call a piece of clothing. 

“No,” and there it is.

Absolution and righteousness that could strip him of his skin, if she desired.

Embarrassment sets in as she wrangles out from beneath him, to the farthest side of the Bronco that she can get. Unable to breathe, unable to think, her hand shakes as it settles over her stomach, her other propping her head up in the heel of her hand.

“Logan, I—” 

He knows. Doesn’t cure the sigh. Reaching behind him, he pulls the door closed and traps them both in the sex swirling through the Ford, unfilled and thick.

Guilt plants deep stakes into the soil of his soul, and he scrubs his hand down his face—looks out the window. Shifts against the seat, ignores the absolute agony of a hard cock festering low between his legs. 

They sit.

It’s a full silence ready to give birth, until she sweeps her hair up into a high knot, off her neck, twists to sit fully in the seat, fingers slipping through the slots on the steering wheel. He noticed when her breathing levels, when the cardio rhythm in her blood bleeds away into a normal heart rate—but it takes time. A full minute or two.

And he doesn’t know what to say, how to bridge this chasm—how to proceed from here. 

“What happens ten years from now?” She’s quiet, doesn’t look up from her hands for a few heartbeats, until sapphire eyes cut to him with a raised, interested brow. “You coming here to tell me this—does this change what happens to us when I find you, in the future?” 

The question of the ages, indeed.

“Dunno. Might not remember this, might not know you,” leaning across the seat, he moves his hand to take one of her curls, rubbing it gently between his fingers.

His other takes her hand, his thumb skipping over the familiar ring anchored firmly on her right hand—a ring she will gift him in the future, a ring that he will wear through time and space, should it be asked of him.

“Or I might. Not quite sure how the memory’s thing works when I wake up in our future, honey.” It doesn’t answer her question, and he knows that. He doesn’t have answers, never has. “Not sure how it works for you, either.” 

“Wow. You’re so helpful,” she teases.  

He cracks a small smile. “It don’t improve, trust me.” He gently brushes a knuckle over the apple of her cheek, her angling into the touch a little farther. “Still as pretty as you will be the first time I see you, sweetheart,” she said she’d need to hear this, that this alone will spare so much of the pain she has yet to live.

“You remember that, yeah? ‘Member that someone out there wants you, even if he doesn’t know it yet.” 

She slips across the seat to brush shoulders with him, her palm along his cheek guiding him for another kiss—this time, it’s what he expects. Soft, sweet, young. So her, so familiar. He could die a thousand deaths to experience this, over and over.

Softly carding his fingers back through her hair, she breaks firs. Curls a finger beneath his chin to draw his attention to her. He gives it, willingly, up unto the half of his soul and any kingdoms he possesses.

“Are you still in love with me?” Want me, Logan—do you want me? 

He smiles, nods. Presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist, her lifeblood. The very pulse that will bring her back to him, that carries him away.

“I’ll love you in every time, sweetheart. Just say the word.” 

taglist: @thevoicefromanotherworld @sidkneeeee @misscrissfemmefatale @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @eternallyfrustratedwriter@ayamenimthiriel @pandapetals

[estcaligo]

From cold Winter Night to warm Spring Light or Less Fae, More Human

some thoughts about the order of Diasomnia birthdays Lilia → Malleus → Sebek → Silver

Winterlandschaft, Caspar David Friedrich (1811) Spring (Fruit Trees in Bloom), Claude Monet (1873)

Even if Lilia's birthday date isn't real, it doesn't matter here. I see it as a beautiful symbol of transition and growth.

Nocturnal faes… long-living, cold, and distant, blessed by the Night. Winter nights are cold and dark, often scary and dangerous if you're not careful. No matter what happens, snow will fall and cover everything, burying even the most violent battlefields under millions of snowflakes, capturing even the grandest castle ruins in a frozen tomb. Sometimes, when the nights are especially silent, it feels like time freezes in winter… Much like it sometimes feels for faes.

Lilia and Malleus are winter children, those of January. Lilia is too old now, but Malleus has hundreds of years ahead - a chance to look into the future, to into new possibilities, to step into Spring.

Spring is the season humans greet with relief. Another yearly trial of death has passed, and with it comes the promise of new hope. Days grow longer, the Sun shines warmer, birds sing, and people spend more time outdoors, bonding with each other and finding joy in simple, human pleasures.

Sebek was born in March - not quite Winter, but not fully Spring. March often brings snow, as if winter's legacy lingers. The weather is unstable, with winds and thunderstorms, as though the season is torn between two halves.

Sebek reflects this turmoil. Born of both human and fae heritage, a storm rages within him, much like the storms outside in March. Is it even possible to find balance when you are born on the borderline? When your very nature is to embody the qualities of two opposing worlds? A difficult question indeed.

Yet time moves on, and with it, the world grows brighter. As spring unfolds, it brings more Light, more Warmth, and with them, more Peace and Hope.

May is a wonderful month - gentle, joyous, and beautiful. It feels as though all living beings - humans, faes, beastmen, and more - agree on this. As if it unites all species, harmonizing them in the shared delight of Nature's renewal.

Silver, born in May, treasures this month. It's warm enough to train comfortably outdoors, but what he cherishes most is the sight of his loved ones' smiles as they gather to celebrate his birthday. Their smiles warm his heart like the gentle May Sun, filling him with the purest happiness. Seeing faes and humans together, united in peace at the birthday table, means everything to him.

Though they come to honor him, Silver wishes to thank them instead - for being together, for their unity. His feelings are as pure as Spring itself.

"May I?"

[hispg]

Her

Pairings: ID Leon x Fem! Reader

Summary: Another day as being a spy, this time working for the United States president. Was just another work until you met the agent Leon Kennedy. And well, things may get a bit heated between you two.

Wc: 14k(I'm sorry)

Warnings: Reader is a spy/mercenary, violent behaviors (both sides), enemies to lovers(I tried), smut, choking, descriptions of violence, unprotected sex, injuries, violence,mutual pining.

Notes: This one took so long, but it's here. I hope that you guys like it. Also, I was thinking about the music 'her' from Chase atlantic while writing this, hence the title. Also, sorry for any grammar mistakes, English is not my first language.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It was already very late at the White House, and all that was left was a few poor employees overloading themselves with tasks here and there. Despite the hustle and bustle, there was a certain kind of calm. After all, it was late, and the night itself helped to bring a certain silence with it.

Leon had stayed a little longer, drinking a cup of coffee while reading some documents. About a new virus that was circulating, it wasn't as if it was news to him. To be honest, he felt more exhausted than upset by the situation. These things just didn't seem to stop happening. No matter how hard he tried, there was always some crazy bio-terrorist out there.

And again, the job fell to him. At least he hoped this mission would be easier, quicker, and not too time-consuming, like the last ones he'd been on.

After a weary sigh, he closed the folder with the documents. Taking the last sip of coffee and getting up, he would finish reading this at the hotel where he was staying, he felt too tired to continue at the white house, and he would most likely end up falling asleep there.

So he left where he was, walking through the empty corridors of that place. He even felt relieved that there was no one he knew there. He was too drained for any kind of conversation.

As he walked down the corridors, he couldn't help but notice the approaching female figure. He meant it, but it was impossible not to hear the sounds of high heels colliding with the floor.

Despite this, it wasn't someone he knew. Or had even seen walking through the white house, which was already a strange sign, it wasn't hard to guess that everyone who entered that place had to be authorized to do so, a basic security measure.

And as soon as you got closer, he could see your figure. Leather pants, a burgundy blouse with a jacket. And he couldn't say why, but you exuded an elegance he had never seen before. It was surreal the way you floated in those heels.

Just like him, you were carrying some documents in your hands and cautiously reading them.

He blinked a few times as he saw the moonlight illuminate your face, allowing him to admire your beauty more clearly.

He stood still where he was, just staring at you from head to toe. He didn't know what had gotten into him, but your aura caught his attention in such a magnetic way.

When he least expected it, you bumped into him, both of you too inattentive to avoid the situation. Leon instinctively grabbed you by both arms to help you keep your balance.

You acted quickly, taking your gun out of its holster and pointing it at him. It was a defensive reaction. After all, for your own good, you always had to be on your guard, no matter what the situation.

"Woah, easy there," Leon muttered, looking at you a little startled.

You looked at him a little crookedly, lowering your gun and putting it back in its holster. Your eyes expressed the purest coldness, just as your expression was quite sullen.

"Are you?" It was your first question. After all, he must have been someone important to be walking around the White House late at night.

He hesitated a little, looking suspicious of you, "Leon... Leon Kennedy." He says it in a friendly way.

At once, the name made sense. He was one of the president's acquaintances. One of the most renowned agents, probably the best at the moment.

You nodded, your distrust of him ceasing for a moment. At least he was someone you could trust.

"And you? What's your name?" He asked in a low, calm voice, waiting for you to answer him directly.

"Jane Williams." You lie, a spy you couldn't give out personal information that easily. Even if he was someone you could trust, he was still someone you had only just met.

He didn't seem to believe you very much, as he narrowed his gaze at you. His expression turned into a wrinkle in a matter of seconds.

"Would you mind showing your ID?" The friendly tone was almost imperceptible. He sounded incredibly serious now.

You scoff, shaking your head and crossing your arms. Putting your hand in one of your pockets, you pulled out the fake ID, which was made specifically for you.

He took the ID, held it up, and evaluated it. Every little detail flashed in his eyes, and he didn't seem to believe that ID at all.

"The shade of your hair is different here. Not only that, but your haircut is also very different. This document was issued last month. How have you changed so much?" He raised his eyebrows, waiting for a plausible explanation.

It was undeniable that he was a good observer. Surely, these details would not go unnoticed.

"You're using a fake ID, aren't you?" He didn't even give you time to answer, and he already asked you another question.

And this time, he could almost say that this was the case. The photo was so different. There was no way you were the same person. There simply had to have been too much going on in the meantime for you to have changed in such a way.

"I'm not someone you should worry about." You said sulkily, crossing your arms in annoyance.

And this seemed to irritate him deeply, as he sighed heavily.

"Well, it's alarming, to say the least, that someone should sneak into the White House at this hour. Even more so, by hiding their real identity." He said angrily, yet he sounded calm somehow.

He certainly had a point.

"Just don't bother me, and we'll be fine. I'm not a dangerous person, not in this situation." You even try to sound calm, but that clearly wasn't a good excuse for him.

"You pointed a gun at me a few seconds ago, and you say I shouldn't worry?" At this point, you could see his wrists clenching slightly.

You even shake your head in denial but realize that he's not going to give in. So, to avoid any confusion, you show him your real identity.

He looks at it again and again. He needs to be sure.

"Why are you using false documents?" He asks bluntly, his eyes piercing yours.

You pull the ID out of his hand and put it back in your pocket.

"In that case, you're already asking too much." You mutter cynically, moving down the corridor.

You had only come to the White House to speak to the president in person, and you expected him to welcome you properly.

A tug on your arm was enough to make you stop walking, not too strong to leave a mark, but firm enough to leave you standing where you were.

"Don't make me ask you again." He growled low, his tone cold and threatening. A clear contrast to his previous tones.

"Confidential." You just say, letting go of him and walking back down the corridor.

You heard a heavy sigh, soon followed by the sound of someone cocking their gun.

Looking back quickly, Leon had his gun aimed at you, waiting for you to answer him or even stop for a minute and pay attention to him.

"Confidential? Cut the crap." Again, the voice was low and cold. There was no denying that there was a chill in your stomach.

You rolled your eyes, not very excited about having to disarm him in such a way. But as a spy and mercenary, you couldn't take any chances.

It was your specialty to act without giving much time to react, and he certainly wasn't expecting you to be so precise.

With one swift kick, his gun ended up in the corner of the corridor, and it didn't take long for you to pin him to the wall. Pressing your forearm into his neck, your other hand pushing his body backward.

He seemed out of action for a few moments, wondering how you managed to be so assertive. He was disarmed in the blink of an eye, as easy as taking candy from a child.

The realization came, you were more dangerous than he had imagined. He could bet on it.

"What the hell are you doing?" He hissed at you, his face clearly bearing an angry expression.

You just kept staring at him, eyes cold and expressionless. You'd have no trouble killing him here if you had to.

"Don't make funny things, I'm not here for that." A low, calm voice that sent a chill down his spine.

After a few more seconds you let him go, walking towards his gun, which was lying in the corner.

"Confiscated." You say in a whisper, and while it was a soothing voice, there was a certain tone of threat. That was a fact.

Leon kept analyzing you for a while, for some stupid reason, he felt interested in knowing what the hell you were. After all, if you wanted to kill him, you would have done so a few moments ago.

But you still didn't, so what were you? Someone who was dangerous indeed, but because you had only immobilized him and nothing more?

Thoughts raced through his head, he didn't even try to protest once more. His eyes followed your every move, and they widened as soon as you moved towards the President's office.

The only noise now was your heels bumping against the floor, such light and incredibly sophisticated steps. And he thought once again, what were you?

To his surprise, as soon as you knocked on the door of the President's office, he opened it and simply let you in, just like that.

So was that a sign or what? Or should he worry and call in some kind of reinforcement? But what would he say? He didn't even know where you'd come from.

A few minutes of pondering later, he found himself pacing back and forth in the corridors. He had already tried to listen through the crack in the door, but nothing worked. Because he certainly wouldn't give up talking to you, not even if he wanted to.

Your cold, inexpressive manner was something of a chill, he'd met people like that before. But there was something more intriguing about you that even he couldn't explain.

After what seemed like an eternity, you finally came out of the President's office, and to Leon's astonishment, there was the President himself standing next to you, talking quietly to you. Just like that.

You can't help it, and you gave Leon a cynical little smile as you walked through the White House with the president.

Again, what was that supposed to mean? Were you good or bad? What was the point of this discussion?

A million options ran through his head, he simply couldn't rule out any hypothesis. The only option was to talk to you since the president wouldn't say anything to him, not even if he asked politely.

You didn't seem to be someone he knew either, so even if he tried to look for information, he might not find the right answers.

After a good fifteen minutes, you appeared in the corridor, this time alone. It was the perfect opportunity for him to try and approach you. Although he already knew that he should expect some aggression from you.

Hell, he had to admit, you had an incomparable elegance. Every step felt like you were floating.

Hastening his steps, he managed to reach your side, once again looking you over from head to toe.

"Here, take this." You say, handing him back his gun.

Without much ceremony, he takes the gun and puts it back in its holster, and once again, confusion takes over his face.

Why were you showing a certain cordiality out of the blue?

"Thanks, I guess." He answers awkwardly, looking at you sideways, hoping you'd at least try to say something.

To his surprise, you remained silent. And so did he. He just kept following you at a certain distance. It's funny that he acted as if you weren't watching him, but you could see and hear him.

Once you arrived at the parking lot, you quickly went to your car and got in, carrying a folder with documents. It was soon placed in the trunk of the car.

"So, do you mind at least giving a few more details about yourself?" As soon as he sees you start the car, he hurries to ask you something.

"I told you, it's Confidential." Again the same answer, which seemed to irritate him a little.

"Come on, can't you even give me a clue? You know who I am, I can find something on you in the blink of an eye." It wasn't a threat. It was just him telling you what he would do if you didn't cooperate.

Not that you'd be intimidated by that kind of threat since you heard it all the time. Hence, the false identities and all the precautions to avoid being caught or identified. After all, there would be no point in a spy simply throwing her information into the air, right?

"Over time, you can try to find out. You know, just as I appeared out of nowhere, I'll suddenly disappear too." You could even hear a certain amusement in your voice, but in the end, it was your words that portrayed reality.

You'd disappear as soon as everything had settled down around here.

"I seem to have heard that conversation before," Leon murmured, sounding more like he was talking to himself than to you.

You just nodded, started the car, and drove off. Which left him speechless since he hadn't expected you to leave so suddenly. At least a word, no?

He sighs, watching your car disappear across the parking lot, then nothing but the sound of the engine. Then nothing, just him with his thoughts.

Why the hell did you have to show up? Now all his sleep had gone, all he was going to do was look for all the information he could, to at least have a guide as to what to do.

And he would search to the bottom, it wasn't possible that he wouldn't find anything about you, impossible.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

"So she's a spy and a mercenary?" Leon asked, reading some papers in his hand. There was a certain annoyance in his voice.

"Yes, that's what it looks like. I still don't understand what she wants with the president. There's some small piece of data that proves her alliance with the Russian government last month. What is she doing here now?" The female voice was Rosa's, one of the other agents who had decided to help Leon look for this information.

Leon nodded silently, reading and re-reading the papers. Trying to find any and all useful information, at least a little direction to guide him. He needed to know what a person like you was doing there, especially being as close to the president as you seemed to be.

Normally, the government didn't work with this kind of person, let alone with such a close connection. People like you are highly dangerous and treacherous, so what was your motivation? Why would you be here now?

And he could only think of the mess that was to come, of that he was sure.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

Later that day, you visited the president again, this time to iron out the details of the mission. Possibly a good few more hours of conversation, after all, this was the most important part of the process. One little mistake and it was all over.

At that moment, you sat comfortably in one of the armchairs, while the President talked and talked, and frankly, it seemed like it would never end.

All the instructions, locations, objectives, everything was explicitly spoken about. And you didn't have much doubt about what to do, another one of those jobs.

Eliminate all the people who posed a threat, no matter who they were, and take whatever else was precious. A new sample of a virus that was circulating, and all the other important documents related to it.

The mission was highly secretive, until then you and the president were the only ones who knew. And by his orders, that's how it should be.

It was those kinds of veiled threats, several countries were after this virus, which appeared to be an incredibly powerful and resistant biological weapon. An incomparable risk to society.

But at this point, nobody cares, the important thing is to have a weapon to threaten other countries with, to demonstrate 'power'. Even if it means sacrificing thousands to do so.

But you weren't here to discuss moral values, you're simply a spy, in most cases driven purely by greed. So despite your regrets, you weren't going to go into too much detail about what would be done with this sample, at least not yet.

"I need you to infiltrate a Chinese organization, I want to know more about what they're up to. You have no problem posing as one of them, do you?" The president asked, but he knew perfectly well that this was your greatest specialty.

You could team up with the bad guys and the 'good guys', whatever it took to carry out this mission.

"You mentioned something about the south coast of China, is that group there?" You ask calmly, taking a sip of tea.

"Exactly, I need you to get some documents from them. As well as a sample of the new virus." He said calmly, willing to explain again if you needed him to.

You nodded, affirming that you understood what you needed to do.

Before you could leave the room, he added, "I want you to keep an eye on Agent Kennedy, he's going on this mission. Unlike you, he'll be on the front line. Dealing with threats on the way, be prepared to meet some infected."

You looked at him sideways, visibly sulkier than usual. Not that you were going to take care of Leon, since he could manage very well on his own, but you didn't like doing missions with other people. Sometimes it got in the way more than anything else.

"Why is that? Who else is involved in this mission?" You were quick to ask, the infected weren't exactly what put you on alert.

But other people could have been involved.

It was quite clear that he wanted Leon to have extra security, which in itself was cause for suspicion, we're talking about an incredibly competent agent. He should be able to handle himself calmly, shouldn't he?

"Precautionary measures are never too much, don't you agree? I know how competent you can be, so I just assumed that you two would make a good pair together." Certainly a compliment, but you didn't know whether to like it or be at least a little wary about it.

You gave a slight sigh, basically inaudible, "I just need to keep an eye on him, right? I don't want to babysit anyone."

The president laughed with a certain amusement, although he kept his expression serious, "Exactly, Leon can manage on his own, don't worry about that. I just think an extra pair of eyes wouldn't hurt."

With a small smile, he opens the door for you, signaling you to leave. After all, the conversation was over.

All you did was pick up a few more documents and left the President's office, with a little wave and that was it. You still needed to think of precise strategies for everything to go smoothly, so you decided to go to the restaurant, a place that was quieter and you could have more time to think properly.

With quick steps you reached the small restaurant, taking a table in the corner, as you didn't want anyone bothering you.

What you did first was take a look at the information the President had given you, some extra details about this mission. You hoped they would be minimally useful, it would be a shame to read all that for nothing.

You spent so much time immersed in those documents that you didn't even notice that it was late at night and that there weren't many people around. Which was a good thing, it meant a little more peace. As you glanced at one of the last pages of the documents, you couldn't ignore the feeling that someone was watching you.

For a brief moment, you raised your head and looked around, only seeing a few employees at first glance. Paying a little more attention, you saw the familiar silhouette, Leon, who was sitting at a table a little close to yours.

He had his arms crossed and a half-closed expression, and seemed to be squinting at you, which was to be expected, after all, you hadn't had a friendly meeting.

For a few moments you stared at each other, but you realized that it wouldn't do much, so you just turned your attention back to the papers in your hands. All you had to do was tolerate him, because whether you wanted to or not, you were going on a mission with him, although you wouldn't be acting as a team. At least not in an official way, since he could certainly manage on his own, and so could you.

Light footsteps echoed around the room, it didn't take long for you to see someone sitting down next to you, you didn't have to be a genius to know it was Leon, no matter how hard he fought it, there was a growing urge in his chest, he needed to know more about you. Certainly for his own sake, his own safety, but there was something inside that made him incredibly curious.

For yet another time, he found himself admiring your figure, the cologne you wore, which by the way, just by the smell of it, he could tell how expensive it was. The shiny necklace you wore around your neck, which adorned your collarbone.

Without a shadow of a doubt, you exuded such grace that anyone who looked at you like that wouldn't be able to tell how dangerous you were. Or maybe that was the intention, the noble, cold image that didn't show much emotion.

"Looking too much." Your voice brings him out of his trance, and he quickly focuses his gaze on your face.

Clearing his throat a little awkwardly, he says something like, "Sorry...What are you doing here?"

Repeated the question, but he still hadn't gotten an answer, so it was only fair to ask one more time.

"Business. And you?" For the first time, you try to bring up something, to divert attention a little.

He sighed slightly, already understanding what you wanted to do, "You know who I am. However, I wonder what a spy like you is doing here."

Sure enough, he already knew about you, and he would make that clear. Which was a surprise, since he had been very efficient at finding some of your tracks.

Your eyes protruded into his, and your lips curved slightly into a dangerous smile.

"Quick, I admit you did well on that one." Despite the quasi-expression you showed, your face became serious again.

With another sigh, he realized that it wouldn't be easy to get some information out of you.

Once again he sighs, arms crossed and the same closed expression. What could he do to get information about you?

For a brief moment, he moved his head a little, just enough to take a peek at what you were reading.

"South coast of China? How did you get access to that? As far as I know, only hand-picked people know about it, why do you know?" It was an inquisition, he even had his eyebrows raised.

"Agent, don't ask questions you know I won't answer. Let's be practical. You already know my identity, I suppose it's not difficult to put the pieces together and understand all this." A certain debauchery was visible in your voice, although the seriousness in your tone was much more apparent.

"You're incredibly complicated, aren't you?" He said in a sullen grunt.

Leaning back a little more in your chair, you stop to look at him better for a few seconds. With dark hair, blue eyes, and a black suit with a white dress shirt inside, he looked incredibly polished.

He was handsome, you couldn't say otherwise. Apart from his perfume that entered your nostrils, that kind of smell that you could tell how high the price of the cologne was just by smelling it.

After a few minutes of silence, he decided to continue, "What are you going to do on this mission? Go undercover? But what's the point?"

For a moment you laughed discreetly, his persistence was admirable.

"If I tell you, will you leave me alone?" Your voice was calmer now, despite the colder expression.

He wasted no time nodding hastily. He needed to know more, with the excuse that you were a dangerous person, but in truth, maybe he was a little more interested in you than he should have been, just maybe.

"I need to do the dirty work, you know, just make sure no one gets in the way of the other members of the mission." That was partly true, but you were basically hiding everything else.

He raised his eyebrows once more, looking at the papers on the table, his hand slowly reaching for the folder.

"Oh sure, a mercenary is going to be in charge of security? Honestly, can't you think of a more convincing lie?"

You scoffed, seeing that he wanted to take a look at the folder, so you pulled him by the wrist. In a quick second, he was right next to you.

"Sweetie, I wouldn't move a muscle if I were you." An almost inaudible whisper, but he would definitely hear it. He was so close to you.

For a moment, his eyes widened a little, just as his lips threatened to quirk into a sideways smile.

"Why should I listen to you?" He teased back, his low voice sending vibrations throughout your body.

You chuckled, squeezing his fist a little harder.

"I wouldn't try my luck if I were you." You hissed.

Despite your velvety tone, he could already imagine that you wouldn't hesitate to do something to prevent Leon from finding out more about you.

Raising his head a little more, he brought his face closer to yours, to the point where you could both feel each other's breathing.

You closed your eyes, a veiled smile appearing on your lips.

'So that's how he plays it,' you think to yourself.

With your free hand, you hold him by the chin without breaking eye contact.

"Agent Kennedy, don't start something you can't finish." The tone of your voice was incredibly seductive, and it wasn't intentional.

It was enough to elicit a chuckle from him as he leaned his chin a little more on your hand.

"Should I consider this a flirtation? Or an early warning of your hostility?" As crazy as it sounded, there was an explicit tone of amusement in his voice.

He was dying to know what you meant, his curiosity only growing by the minute. It was so wrong, you were a morally wrong person, and he knew it, so why the hell did he want to know more about you? Why the hell did you have to be so beautiful?

"Take it any way you like, Agent Kennedy." You say with a furtive smile, followed by a wink.

Maybe it was just a distraction since you got up and left right away. But you couldn't deny that you were swayed by the man, not only was he handsome, he seemed interesting.

And you can bet that he felt the same way because he stared at you like a puppy on the street. As soon as you stood up, his eyes followed you until you left the restaurant, controlling his desire to simply chase after you.

He would look pathetic if he did that, but God, it was so tempting. But he wouldn't, not so easily. He knew the game you were playing, and he wouldn't just give in. At least, that's what he thought.

What he forced himself to believe.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

A few more details settled, and the mission began. It only took a few days. After all, it was a mission that had a certain urgency. With a good few hours of flying, you were on the south coast of China, not that you were very excited to begin with.

Leon had arrived first, at which point he was probably already doing his job. And you had to find the faction that contained the inside information, just as you had to find the sample of the new virus, which certainly wouldn't be easy.

You could say that with certainty, since you saw how big the place was. A small village, it appeared to be very humble, even if it was eerily silent. That in itself was a reason to cock an ear.

This made you wonder why a faction would choose a place like this to carry out their operations. Perhaps because they wanted a quieter place, without attracting anyone's attention. It's not like it was the smartest idea in the world, since it ended up being discovered anyway.

By sneaking around here and there you managed to get deeper into that village, nothing special, if you were being honest. The only alarming thing about the place was the deafening silence, incredible that you couldn't even hear the sounds of the surroundings, such as birds or other animals.

It was macabre, you couldn't deny that. The only sound was your footsteps, which were almost inaudible as you tried your best not to make a sound. Since attracting unwanted attention was not your focus.

A few steps later, you spotted Leon, who was a little further on. He was dealing with some infected, and had everything under control, no wonder he was considered an incredibly competent agent, seeing him like this, you could tell why.

Even though you were approaching discreetly, without giving him a chance to see you, you kept glancing at him from time to time, just to make sure he was getting the job done.

The sound of gunfire soon ceased, and you realized that Leon had already cleared his side, now just making sure everything was all right. And so you decided to make your way, moving towards an abandoned balcony, exactly the location you wanted to get to. Before entering, you examined everything outside, making sure there were no ambushes or anything that could be an imminent risk.

After a few minutes of inspection, you entered the old counter, steps awkward, gun in hand, and a thoughtful expression on your face. Any mistake could mean the end, and you knew it perfectly well. However, once again you were surprised: there was no one there, not a single person, not even a sign of an infected person passing by.

What did that mean?

Footsteps and more footsteps, and you still hadn't found anyone, only for your confirmation that it was an abandoned place. You didn't even dare to touch anything that was there, it was all very ordinary, and of course, that should be a good thing, but frankly, it wasn't.

However, literally out of nowhere, you felt a weight on your body, knocking you to the ground almost instantly. Your first reaction was to let out a slight grunt, but you certainly fought back as soon as you realized you were being pressed to the floor.

The dark surroundings made it difficult to see, but you managed to press your heels into the back of the person's knee, or whatever was pressing you to the floor.

The response you got was a grunt of pain, the pressure you put on was enough to loosen the grip you were being held in, from the voice, it was a person. You managed to push the person off you, rolling on the floor and looking for your gun.

But before you could reach for the gun, the same person pressed you against the wall, a strong hand on your stomach pushing you hard into the wall, while its forearm was glued to your throat. The person was so strong that you already felt dizzy from the slightest contact.

Even though it took some effort, you grabbed the knife you were carrying, which was attached in a holster on your thighs, and quickly pressed it against the person's neck.

And in the most idiotic way possible, you only just stopped to look at who it was, and the person did the same.

"Leon?"

"You?"

The two said in unison, looking at each other with inexplicable surprise, given the unusual situation. Even so, neither of you surrendered. On the contrary, both stares continued.

In the end, one was waiting for the other to surrender, but the question was, which one was going to take the initiative? It seemed that neither had this question in mind, nor were you even willing to give in.

"You're kind of sweet." You tease him, a mischievous smile starting to appear on your lips.

The answer was a heavy, annoyed sigh, his forearm pushing even harder against your throat.

"Don't tease me. What kind of trouble are you up to?" He asks in a hiss, blue eyes staring at you intensely.

You smiled wickedly, your eyes meeting his gaze. And to be honest, you didn't seem to be scared at all.

"My my, you're insistent, aren't you?" Your voice was a low and provocative one, just to play with his strings a bit more.

You could hear him cursing under his breath, he was piercing you with his gaze now.

"I'm warning you, if you do some kind of shit-" You stopped him mid-sentence.

Your fingers pressed against his lips, in a way to make him hush.

"So grumpy, relax a bit. You know, I could easily kill you if I wanted to." Although the low and charming voice, this was a threat, no doubt of that.

He seemed to be mesmerized by you, those plump lips, which are stained with that dammed red lipstick. It looked so damn sexy on you.

Seeing that, your lips curl into a smirk. You both know so well this attraction that was starting to grow between you two.

It was so wrong. Why in hell does Leon feel attracted towards you? Why did you make him feel in some type of way? He barely knows you.

His breath hitched as soon as he felt your thumb brushing his lower lip. The way you looked at him was so tempting. Sure, it was only some trick to make him distracted, and well, it's working perfectly fine. He wasn't even trying to push you back.

"You're obnoxious.." He whispered, loosening his grip on you. Yet, holding you in place firmly enough.

You scoffed, pressing your thumb even more on his lip. There was a small smile playing along your lips.

You could tell by the way that his hand slipped from your stomach to your waist, he wanted to take this further.

Some part of you wanted to keep teasing him, even if wasn't the best place for it.

With a quick motion, you moved your face closer to his, making his eyes hover exactly on your lips.

"Such a tease.." He hums, grip tightening around your waist.

Slowly, you take off his forearm from your throat, putting it down gently. You even feel bold enough to let a small kiss on his forearm.

Even if he tried not to, he couldn't hide the small smirk forming on the corner of his lips. He's enjoying this a little bit too much, and he doesn't want to stop if he's being honest.

"You know damn well that I can just kill you, don't you?" He even tried to sound imposing and all, but that's not what he wanted to do now. And you both know it.

You chuckled, dragging your fingers over his face,"I could kill you too. My knife is right here." In a quiet and simple whisper, you remind him that you still are in a position to warm him if you want to.

At this rate, none of you are taking each other threats seriously, and it seemed more like some kind of veiled flirting.

His free hand roamed to your neck again, the gentle touch that soon enough became a grasp. Not strong enough to leave marks or leave you breathless.

It was more like some kind of teasing, by the way that he moved his face even more closer to yours.

"A bold move, must say." You scoff, pressing your knife even more on his neck.

His face was so close now that his nose was touching yours, his mouth dangerously closer to you. Surely, that was not how this mission should be going, but you're not in the place to complain about anything, and he could say the same.

There you are, looking at him with the most cynical look, while he kept that dumb smirk on his lips.

What a situation.

His hold tightened around your neck, making you gasp slightly. The little sound that made his blue eyes sparkle, he didn't even try to hide it.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Agent." Your voice was barely a whisper at this point.

He smiled sideways, his thumb wandering over your lips in a subtle way of touching you.

"What are you doing here?" Surely the question he'd been wanting an answer to for ages.

You gave a low chuckle, pressing your knife further into his neck.

"I'm not telling, not even to you." As soon as you said that, he hung you a little tighter.

It was enough to make you choke. He took the opportunity to move even closer, his lips gently caressing yours.

You understood what he was getting at, and you wouldn't give in. You bet.

"I'm not in the mood for this. You should start talking." Despite his authoritative tone, you could sense that he was enjoying himself, even though he was trying to keep a serious expression.

You slid your tongue out of your mouth, tracing his lower lip in an incredibly provocative way.

He drew in his breath sharply, his eyes slowly closing. He'd be lying if he said he didn't like it.

"Don't make things complicated, we can solve this so easily." You whisper sensually, you could have ended it already, but that wasn't your plan.

His eyes meet yours, in the most impure of looks. God, what a hell of a situation.

It would cause quite a delay to the mission, but at that point, neither of you cared. It was more like the world around you had stopped.

But like any good moment, you were interrupted by the sound of footsteps and voices. Which made you stop your teasing and look for a place to hide. Leon was quick to take you by the arm and lead you behind some debris, the two of you crouching down and listening intently to the conversation.

In the end, it was just some of the faction's plans that you needed to neutralize, which was very helpful. You just needed to neutralize everything, and with the little bit of information you had received, it would be possible. Although it was quite risky.

You could feel Leon's gaze on you from time to time, he was staring at you. As if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

"The person they're referring to is you, isn't it?" Leon asks, his voice completely stoic. His blue eyes scan you wildly.

"Wanting to know too much. You go on your way, and I'll go on mine." You say sharply, returning to a more centered posture.

Leon knew he couldn't push you any further, at least not now. But he would certainly stick to you until he found out what you were up to.

As soon as the noises stopped, you took the opportunity to look for more clues.

But before you moved any further along the abandoned balcony, you approached Leon once more, kissing him on the cheek.

"Take care, I don't want to find you dead out there." You said it jokingly, but he could sense your seriousness.

He let out a puffy smile, watching as you walked away. He couldn't help himself, his eyes glazed over your curves.

What the fuck was he feeling? This shouldn't be happening.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

It took a few hours, but you managed to infiltrate, even though it cost you some valuable information. Closely classified.

This would probably give you a headache, and you can bet that the President wouldn't be too happy about the information being shared.

You already had a certain amount of trust from one of the faction members, even though they were people of dubious character. But you knew how to play this game, and you wouldn't lose.

At that moment you were walking through the underground part of the counter, which was incredibly large and complex. It was so big, you didn't expect to find a place like this.

A few times during these hours, you ran into Leon, and did your best to make him go unnoticed. You didn't know why you were acting like this, but you couldn't let him get in your way. You couldn't even let him get hurt and become an imminent problem.

It was undeniable that you also wanted to protect him, not that he needed you. But you knew that things wouldn't end well if any of the members of that faction knew that Leon was there too.

If they didn't already know.

In that silence, you could feel that you and yours were being followed or watched. And that wasn't just your feeling.

You could feel the tension building there, like a storm brewing in the distance. Now you were with a group of three men, four people in total counting you.

That walk was just an introduction to the underground site, since that was the exchange you had made. Classified information in exchange for a tour of the site. There was nothing unusual so far, although it was incredibly bizarre. No doubt about it.

And the place began to get darker and darker, with only a few dim lights from the lamps. Even if you were used to this kind of situation, you couldn't ignore the chill in your stomach that sneaked up on you.

What's more, your thoughts sometimes turned to Leon, whom you had already met a few times in this place. It would be so much more practical if the mission consisted of just you and him, two competent people who would get things done quickly. Because what you least wanted was to be trapped in that place, which was too disgusting for that.

The further you walked, the more an uncomfortable feeling grew in you; your body was completely tense by this point. You were in a state of alert, any movement was enough to alarm you.

At a certain distance, you could see Leon sneaking around the old place. That was more than enough to make your eyes widen and you try to warn him somehow to get out of there.

It didn't do much good, as he completely ignored you. He was just as focused on the mission as you were.

You tried to keep the attention off him, but the other people with you noticed the strange movement.

You already knew that the people in this faction were dangerous, and you certainly knew how to deal with them. However, you felt apprehensive in case Leon was taken by surprise. It certainly wouldn't end well.

For a few moments, you arranged a distraction for the group, causing them to dissipate for a few brief minutes. Enough for you to catch up with Leon and pull him into a quieter room.

"Are you going crazy? Get out of here. They're exactly looking for you." You hissed at him, pressing him against the wall.

To your surprise, his reaction was to pull you by the waist, so close that you could almost rest your forehead on his.

"Don't forget that I'm here for my reasons too. Just like you." He whispers, his fingers tracing your back.

You stare in disbelief at his action, it wasn't possible that he was thinking about this. Not in this situation.

"Agent Kennedy, this isn't the time for that." You whisper back, your gaze penetrating his.

He just smiled, looking around. He knew you wouldn't do anything against him, just as he wouldn't do anything against you.

Veiled words that you both knew deep down you wouldn't cross those boundaries.

"You're the one who left those guns and ammunition here for me, aren't you?" he asked quietly, even looking at you with a certain amount of apprehension.

You nodded, it was no big deal. Just a simple gesture to make sure everything went smoothly.

All for the mission. That's all.

He pulled you a little further into the corner, so that the two of you went unnoticed by anyone. But that closeness, the way the two of you were glued together.

Incredibly tempting, that was undeniable.

But you needed to focus, but it didn't help that he was being very protective, the way he simply shielded your body with his. Although you didn't have the friendliest encounters, this affection was only growing.

Who knows why? It shouldn't even be happening after all.

"You know they're looking for you, don't you?" You ask, staring at him once again.

"I'm well aware of that, just as I'm aware that you're with them. Yet you keep helping me." He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from you.

You could tell by the way his lips curved into a sideways smile that he wanted to hear it.

"Don't ask questions. Look, if you get out of here alive. I'll treat you to dinner as soon as we get back." You proposed it, you couldn't risk him getting in the way of the mission.

Of course, that would be it.

"I hope you're a person of your word because I'm going to charge you for this dinner." His smile was wide, he didn't even make a point of hiding it.

You nodded hastily, signaling him to move away. And fortunately, that's what he did.

But just as he turned to disappear down the corridor, you heard some voices behind you. Shouting almost frantically.

"Here, he's here." It was the same group you were with before, and now they had found their target. Leon.

You didn't have a very precise reaction, you just told Leon to keep moving away.

It was more than obvious that bargaining was not an option, they had an objective. And you couldn't let that happen.

Just as you needed Leon alive for mission-related reasons. And you would certainly break it to him.

You didn't hesitate to fire on the group, you didn't hesitate to have to kill them one by one, just to ensure that the mission was completed correctly.

A few good shots and blows later, all you had around you was blood, as well as the bodies of the poor unfortunates who thought they had a chance against you.

A few more deaths for your account. And you didn't feel a twinge of regret.

You look back, only to see Leon's astonished face. He almost couldn't believe the scene in front of him.

You were cold, and the way you didn't even tremble after everything you'd done was the clearest proof he could have.

It also gave him one more certainty: you wouldn't hurt him. Not after having let him live even though you could have ended him, and having helped him a few times.

And this was another of your bits of help. And he was in no position to complain. Not now.

Before you could exchange a single word, the sound of gunfire echoed around the room. It made you and Leon look at each other nervously.

If one of the people you had seriously wounded still had the strength to pull the trigger, the bullet would have hit you straight on. However, without you expecting it, Leon stepped in front of you, taking the bullet for you.

That was enough for him to fall to the ground, and for a brief moment you rushed forward, your first move being to kill the bastard who had fired. This time you made sure he was dead.

Then you bent down and looked at Leon's wound, he was bleeding profusely.

His pained expression made your heart squeeze, you had to help him somehow.

The option was to get him to a safer place, and you would do it. No matter what the cost.

You wouldn't leave him out in the open like that, you wouldn't let him down.

You couldn't do that.

For the mission.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

"Damn you, why the hell did you take a bullet for me?" You hissed, dabbing some antiseptic on his bruise.

For some divine reason, the bullet hadn't lodged. It had only damaged the wound. Which, despite everything, was a relief.

He grunted a little, still trying to keep his cool attitude, "It was nothing, just a bullet for a pretty lady."

Despite the joking tone, you hold him by the chin, looking at him with fervor.

"Regardless, I don't want you getting hurt for me, understand?"' Your voice was completely serious, but it was impossible to deny the worry you carried in your chest.

It wasn't fair of him to do that. It could have cost him his life. And you couldn't allow a person like him to risk himself for someone like you.

"Oh, come on. Just one bullet, it's not like I'm going to die -" You didn't let him finish. You just pushed your lips against his, in a way, to keep him quiet.

For a brief moment, he hesitated but kissed you back soon after. In a calmer, more affectionate way, one of his hands stroked your hair while your lips moved in pure synchronicity.

His hand, which had been in your hair, now went down, grasping the back of your neck, pushing you even closer to him.

You simply didn't hold back. You surrendered to his touches. Letting your tongue slide into his mouth, making the kiss more intense and wild, possibly that was his intention.

And of course, you should have pushed him away, at least not let it get so deep, but your body betrayed you, and you just let yourself go.

What seemed like an eternity ended after a good few minutes, when your lips parted painfully.

He had a faint look on his face despite the pain of his bruise. And you didn't do much to avoid the silly smile that was drawn on your lips, either.

And well, he was more than satisfied with that, since it was quite an effort to get you to smile, but it was something. At least you were more comfortable next to him. That's what he was thinking now.

You closed your eyelids, savoring his kiss, the taste of his lips on yours. Which only took a few seconds, as you forced yourself to focus on tending to his wound. Which was still oozing blood.

Despite the great desire to repeat the scene, you restrained yourself and went back to applying antiseptic to his wound

You started to get some bandages to wrap the wound properly.

He let out a few grunts of pain but quickly muffled them with his bare hands. Even with his attempts to hide the pain, you were completely aware that it was bothering him.

"When I've finished, you can stay here a while longer. At least until you feel better." You say softly, tying a bandage around his arm, gently to prevent it from hurting him more.

"No need." He says in a hoarse voice, trying his best to remain serious.

"That's not a question. It's an order, Kennedy." You say even more seriously, looking at him deeply.

Even after the kiss, the atmosphere was still somehow romantic because he knew you weren't being rude to him. You were just worrying. Even though you had a harsh way of showing it.

He sighed in defeat, knowing that you weren't going to let him leave so soon, but if he was sincere, from the kiss you exchanged, anything after that was a win-win situation.

"It won't take long, I can recover quickly." He said quietly, but from the pained look on his face, you could tell that it would be some time before he recovered.

"There's no need to rush, I'll take a look outside. I'll make sure everything's clean before we leave." That was enough to make him look at you a little puzzled.

"But we haven't found anything here yet. We can't go back."

"I'll take care of it, I'll escort you back. At least I'll get you out of here. You don't have to worry about the rest. I'll do what's necessary." You say calmly and coolly, completely confident in yourself.

Unlike Leon, who looks at you as if he's just heard the most absurd thing in the world. And then he deliberately denies it with his head.

"No way, I'm not letting you go alone. It's my mission, too." He protested, looking at you a little annoyed.

You sighed, rolling your eyes at his stubbornness, "You stay, I won't risk you going off like that. One ass to look after is enough."

Another annoyed grunt, yet he knew it was pointless fighting you because you'd go all the way. But it was Leon, so he'd pull out all the stops to try and help in some way.

"Stay here, I'll take a look outside." It was an order, and you'll not accept his no as an answer.

Now things have changed, and all that mattered to you was to take him away from this place safely. He had done more than enough in this mission. Despite you knowing so well that he'll not stay still as you said. But even so, you'll make sure that he was safe, at least.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

As you rushed back to the helicopter that was waiting for you, your mind was only thinking about how Leon was feeling. You couldn't help but feel guilty somehow regards what happened. At this rate, you already managed to finish all the missions, and as a result, you were all bruised and untidy. But that was what the last you're caring for right now.

The faction has ended properly. You exuded any kind of plans that they might be doing. Just like the new virus sample was safe in your hands, at least for now.

You can feel your cold demeanor fade once you lay your eyes on Leon, who is leaning back in one of the helicopter's seats, with closed eyes, and a tired expression. You can't blame him. He'd been through so much in this mission. It was more than fair that he was like this.But the way his face was still pale was worrying. But you couldn't show too much, not in public.

It wouldn't be good for his reputation, and that's what you wanted the least.

You only agreed to go on the same helicopter as him because the other one would take a few hours, and you couldn't stand the atmosphere there any longer. You'd already faced enough problems there.

Leon seemed so fated that he didn't even bother to open his eyes, he just continued resting there. His free hand held his injured arm, while his breathing was a little faint. But it was there.

He'd probably need a few stitches when he got back, and that would certainly leave a scar.

You sat a little away from him, but watched him from time to time. In a more discreet way, just to make sure he was still okay. Since it would probably be a few hours before you got back to the White House.

So all that remained was to wait patiently and keep an eye on Leon's condition.

After all, you felt more than obliged to do this, he had been shot for you, after all.

It took a while, quite a while if you were being honest. But the two of you finally reached the white house. It was very late, probably late at night.

You still stayed awake a lot, you had to report on what had happened. And it would take a long time, even hours to tell the details.

You and Leon didn't talk much, you just greeted each other briefly before entering the President's office. Which, frankly, was a total bore, just a lot of boring work talk. Which you couldn't stand hearing about any more.

Time seemed to pass so slowly, you could have sworn that hours had passed, and that had probably already happened.

After settling everything once again, you received your paycheck along with your bonus, and it was time to get out of there. Your mission was over, and that was certainly what you were going to do.

At least, that was your plan.

Which were interrupted as soon as Leon pulled you into an empty corridor, pushed you against the wall and kissed you out of the blue.

It was a desperate, thirsty kiss, as if he needed it to live. And you kissed him back with the same intensity.

"You're going to keep your word, aren't you? I'm not giving up on this dinner." He whispers, resting his forehead on yours. Looking at you tensely.

Despite being tired and sore, and clearly looking like he hadn't slept in the last few days, he didn't stop being handsome for a single second.

"I certainly have to make my word count, don't I?" You say softly, giving him a light kiss.

You'd exchanged the necessary information, everything had already been arranged. All you had to do was wait for the day to arrive.

You just had to wait a little longer, just a little longer.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

The waited night finally came. Now was the day for that dinner. One that you're quite eager for. It was almost night now, and even if still sometime before that dinner, you wanted to get ready calmly, so you just started early.

Or maybe because you're so anxious about that? It's an option, too.

Lucky for you the time passed quickly, a couple of hours, and was already time to go. And even so, you looked yourself in the mirror once again, paying attention to every detail. Honestly, even you can't say why you're being this perfectionist on this night.

But well, all of your thoughts vanished once you heard someone knocking on your door. You can bet that was him, who seemed to be the kind of man that would politely go to your home and take you to this dinner. And no, you're not complaining about that.

As soon as you open the door, you immediately see Leon, with a sly smile on his face. His eyes look attentively at your body, your dress, everything about you seems to be dumbfounded.

"Looking pretty." He said in a charming voice, pulling you by your waist and giving a small kiss on your cheek.

You can't help but chuckle at his bold action. He was just as eager as you. This was just undeniable.

"You look nice, too." You said with a small wink, taking a better view of him.

Leather jacket, along with also leather pants. A blue shirt, his hair perfectly in place, and you couldn't let pass that delicious cologne that fills your nostrils.

He chuckled, leaning in and giving your cheek another kiss.

Certainly, this should be another one of your dates, but it felt so special for some strange reason. Something about Leon seemed to be so endearing.

With another smile exchange, he quickly guides you to his motorbike, ready to take you to the nice restaurant that he reserved. He was more than willing to pamper you all night long. You can tell by the way that he chose the most expensive restaurant, only to make sure to treat you properly.

And everything went so well, you both talked all the dinner. As if you two have known each other for so long, all of this with good wine and good food. Looking at this situation now, it doesn't even look like you both are just like a cat and mouse. Far from it.

But you managed one thing, the euphoric looks in Leon's eyes, once you accepted to go to his apartment and spend the night with him.

Oh my, you drove him crazy only by agreeing with such a thing.

He would be lying if he said that his mind wasn't going wild right now. Yet, he's trying his best not to lose his cool because he wants you so much.

A couple of talks after, you both decided that it was time to go back to his apartment, to let the night go. The night was pleasant so far, but being quite honest, the part you two went back to his apartment and spent the rest of the evening together was so exciting.

After some twenty minutes of driving, you finally arrived at his apartment. Luxurious and expensive, you couldn't wait any less from him.

Once you stepped inside his apartment, he didn't waste time and pushed you against the closed door, kissing you with fervor, as if his life depended on it.

His hands roamed in your body, squeezing and caressing every inch of it. He can't control himself anymore. He needs this, and he'll have it.

Your tongue gets entangled with his, dancing non-stop. You both wanted this so badly, this desire that had been building up since you met him, and you can be sure as hell that he has this feeling, too.

"God damn you." He managed to mumble during the kiss. He hated the way that he lost his cool so easily with you.

The way that you make his heart beat so fast every fucking time. He shouldn't, you shouldn't even be there, in his apartment.

But who said that he cares? Sure, you're someone who he should despise, but then again, who said that he care?

"You can be as mad as you want. You can't deny what you feel for me." You teased in a cocky tone, biting his lower lip in response.

This was more than enough to drag out a groan from him, his hands cupping your ass tightly.

"You're a damn tease, and I fucking can't control myself." He grumbled, smashing his lips against yours another time.

His hands find the waistband of your panties, pushing it down with force, making your underwear fall into your feet.

Not that you cared at this point, quite the opposite.

After another heated kiss, he takes his mouth away from yours, hovering over your neck. Kissing and nipping, his big and warm hands cupping and squeezing your ass. Your hands find a way in his hair, caressing it while his mouth travels in your neck.

"I never expected you to be this eager, Leon." You coo, your mischievous tone that makes his mind go wild.

In response, he bit your neck, strong enough to leave a small mark on it. You moan softly at his act, and this made him even more aroused. Knowing damn well what he's doing to you.

"Yeah? Because this lady here," He pointed at you dramatically, "is getting me all head over heels."

You let out a soft chuckle, clearly amused by his bluntness. In fact, you like this pretty much.

With one hand, he dragged his fingers over your exposed thigh, feeling the soft skin. The skin that he craved so much to touch, and now was everything under the tip of his fingers.

But also, he can't help it, the way your breath hitches with each touch, your hands gripping his hair and pulling him closer. He was more than sure that you wanted this to go further. You wanted to be his for this night.

"You're so damn hot, I swear to God. I've never felt this way in a long time." He whispered in your neck, rubbing his mouth on it. Leaving a trail of wet kisses.

"Oh no, don't tell me that you'd fallen for me?" You asked in a teasing way, only to mess with him.

But his silence, his silence followed by the hard gulp. This was enough to leave you speechless for a couple of seconds. Even so, he managed to keep kissing and nibbling your neck, in a way to make this matter aside.

You also pulled his jacket aside, leaving him only with his shirt with sleeves, his muscles flexing with each movement. You can feel your mouth watering at the sight.

Your hands slide into his shirt, exploring underneath. Feeling each one of the muscles on his abdomen, your own arousal, grows more and more. You can tell by the way you are soaking wet.

"I'm not the only one being eager here, do I?" He purrs, his skilled fingers hovering on the wet surface of your cunt. Teasing you just enough to draw a sweet moan from you.

With one finger he strokes your clit, sliding his index on your needy hole. And he felt that you were so wet and warm for him, so inviting.

His free hand grabbed your chin, making you look directly at him. Your face had a smirk and a red shade, you were enjoying this a lot.

"Those damn lips of yours." He growled, brushing his thumb on your lower lip, pushing down to make you open your mouth for him.

Quickly enough, he slides another finger inside you, thrusting into you at a fast pace. Making you gasp and whine for him.

He didn't wait for a second and pressed his lips on yours, kissing you in such a way as to drive you insane only by that.

"I'll kiss you until your lips are all puffy, you understand? I'll do it." He stated, letting his tongue roam free in your mouth. He can't wait any longer.

His fingers kept moving in and out, curling and hitting your sweet spots again and again. His mouth didn't leave yours for a moment, he'll do it. Kiss you until that plump lips of yours are all puffy.

He smirked once he looked down, seeing his hand all messed with your juices, pussy dripping and clenching around him, he knew that you were close. And he'll push you to the edge, you can be sure.

"You'll come for me, won't you? I'll make you squirt all over." In a small and quiet purr, he said, adding a third finger. His skilled movements make you see stars, and you're just loving it.

"I'm close." You mewl, clasping his shoulders tightly, your lips parted, and heavy breathing coming out.

"What a cute little thing." Another smirk appears on his face because he wants to see you breaking apart in front of him so badly. He was just craving for it.

He pulled you by your waist, his fingers working like magic in your needy cunt, making you cry and moan his name. His lips started to leave another trail of kisses, going down to your neck, soon enough arriving on your collarbone.

And with that, your body trembled, your tight and warm walls collapsing in his fingers, making a big mess of it. At this rate, you're breathless, your hair disheveled, and your eyes closed. You are just seeing stars right now, a sensation so good that you don't even remember the last time that you felt this way.

"You're so fucking hot." Leon growled in your ear, making a shiver run down your spine.

He was claiming you, worshiping you, doing everything to show you that he wanted you so much. Right now, he just wants to make you his, and nothing else.

The world outside doesn't matter. All he cares about now is this moment, you and him.

With a quick motion, he lifts you, holding you by your ass. He was taking you to his bed, to his room. And he'll make you his there, just like it should.

Unconsciously, your legs wrapped around him, kissing him over and over, his lips fit so perfectly with yours. As if this was meant to be. His grip on your ass gets tight as he squeezes it with force, pushing you down just a little. Enough to make you feel his bulge, which was more than evident at this point.

"This hard for me, cutie?" You said in a provocative voice, kissing and nibbling his jaw.

More than enough to take a groan from him, as he smacked your ass with a loud noise.

You let out a little noise, along with a small chuckle, as you kept dragging your mouth on his face.

Once in his room, he sat down with you on his lap, making you sit exactly on his growing erection. He wanted you to feel it. He needs you to feel it.

"I guess that someone needs a little help, isn't?" You hum, giving him the most mischievous smile that you could give.

"You little.." He grunts, stopping when he feels your hands roaming on his chest as you kiss the sides of his face.

He was so turned on that it hurt somehow. He doesn't even know how he got in such a state, but he did.

Your hands quickly find his belt, and you are fast to take it off, slipping your hands on the big volume in his boxers. Caressing through the thin fabric, getting an audible groan from him.

In a way to push his buttons even further, you started to give him only pecks on his lips, refusing to give him full kisses. At first, he didn't mind, but he got incredibly impatient when he noticed that you were just teasing him.

And good job, because was working. As you slide your hand on his underwear, you can feel the wet spot, the man was already leaking pre-cum, you can feel how stick his crotch was, and once you touched it, he seemed to fall apart on your fingers. His cock twitched under your fingertips, begging for any kind of attention, for anything that you could give.

"Do you mind giving me a full kiss or -" Leon grumbled but got interrupted by you when you crashed your lips on his. Making out with him shameless.

He bucks his hips, only enough to drag his pants and underwear down, making his throbbing cock jumps out of its cage. Almost in a relieving way.

Both of you were so eager that any minute longer could be an agony. You needed this to feel him fully, to feel that he's yours. Even if it is just for one night.

Didn't take long for to you feel his red tip rubbing on your entrance, wet folds inviting this moment so badly.

Man was already a mess, panting and moaning softly under you, he didn't even bother to hide it. You made him feel so lustful that he lost the capacity to think straight.

His sticky precum flowed down in his thighs, and he made sure to mess you with his liquids too, after all, was all your fault.

Soon, you put his length in, letting his thick cock stretch you out. Your velvety and tight walls sucking him inside, in a vicious way.

"So fucking tight." He growled, spreading your ass cheeks and moving his hips.

He doesn't even want to wait. He just wants to pound you over and over again.

You can't help but feel even more aroused by this, seeing Leon under you, his hair disheveled, his breath was a mess, and he can't even control the noises that he makes.

Such a beautiful sight, you can't deny that.

"You're filling me so well." You hum, your voice soft as silk.

"A pretty girl like you deserves." He said back, biting your lower lip and sharply bucking his hips. Taking a loud whine from you.

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you find your pace with him. Moving in the most pure and unholy sync. The room was only filled with the sounds of your bodies crashing, the moans that seemed to be louder at each thrust.

The bottled sexual tension is being relieved in the most alluring way, one that neither of you will forget.

His hand finds its way to the back of your neck, pulling you for a heated and wild kiss, tongues dancing and intertwining. His other free hand grabs your waist, squeezing and grasping your soft skin.

Suddenly, you stopped moving, only kissing him back and caressing his chest. You can already feel the devilish smile curling on your lips.

"What's that?" Leon grunts, leaning his forehead on yours, looking at you with those piercing blue eyes.

You can feel him starting to rut under you, but you don't bulge. Instead, you just kept staring at him with that cocky smile of yours.

"I don't want to move. What's the matter?" You whispered, tracing the line of his cheekbones.

His eyes narrowed, and you could swear that you heard a small whimper come out from his lips.

"Don't make me beg.." He groaned, his hands gripping your waist tightly, almost forcing you to move.

Your lips brushed on his, as you slowly moved your hips, it was torturous. He knew that you were just teasing, but it turned him on even more. Every single act of yours is capable of turning him on in such a way.

How this is even possible? He thought for himself.

Your hands hovered on the scar in his biceps, the bullet that he took for you. As you gently caressed the scar, you could see the tender look on his face, and to make him look even more aroused, you kissed it. Giving a few pecks on his scar to show him how grateful you were.

"Thank you, sweetie." You whispered in his ear, dragging your fingers over the scar again, to show that you mean it. And such a simple act, turned him on even further.

He couldn't control himself. It was too much. He needs to fuck you so badly, he can't wait for that. It's like his body is begging for it, he can't think properly, and he just has this urge to fuck you.

He was fast, rolling you over, so you were lying on his bed, your legs being spread widely, and he was pushing your knees into the bed.

He needs this view. He is craving for it.

And honestly? For the dumb look on your face was all worth it.

"What do you think you're doing?" You whispered, your nails digging in his forearms.

He scoffed, pushing his length all over you again, taking out a loud moan from your pretty lips. Pussy so wet and tight, nestling him in so easily.

"It's my turn to fuck you, yeah?" He groaned, hips moving at an unholy pace. His heavy balls slapping against you.

He was so deep, hitting that spongy spot over and over. Making you see stars again, making your body arch in such a way.

He can't help, seeing your little face all twisted while he pumps you fool, your chest rising and falling, the way that you moan his name as if was a new religion.

"You're going to be the death of me." He cooed, leaning his weight over you.

Only to hear you closely, he needs to see the whimpering mess that you're in right now.

Now, you can barely think straight, just humming some nonsense things. Because you can't focus, all you can do right now is whine and whimper, grasp his forearms tightly. Letting the mark of your nails on it.

He was so close, just like you. He can feel your delicate walls tightening around him, the way your body quirver and squirm under him.

He knows that so well.

"C'mon, doll. Come for me, will you? Make a mess on my cock." He stops, only to moan and bit your ear, "Fuck, you're so sweet for me. Taking me so well, look at this." He whispered, looking down.

You let out a soft whine, feeling the way that his cock disappeared on your cunt, the way that it slides so easily. In and out, in the most perfect ritm.

"I'm close, fuck I'm close." You whimper, eyes closing and rolling to the back of your head.

Was too much, his fat cock hitting all of your spots. His violent thrusts make you go into heaven and hell at the same time. Too much.

And he doesn't help you, his finger pressing against your clit aggressively, taking out a loud gasp from you. The cherry on top was when he decided to choke you, not to hurt you, but only to hold you and see you dumb face while he does so. The small tears that formed in the corner of your eyes, so pretty. Such a pretty girl for him. This was enough to send you over the edge.

There you were, squirting all over him. Your juices wetting his crouch and thighs.

He let out a satisfied groan, claiming your lips in a sloppy kiss. Whispering sweet nothings, only to disguise the way that he was fucking you mercilessly. And he wouldn't stop until he came all over you, he needs to fill you up with his cum.

"A pretty girl like you deserves it, no? My cum all over that sweet pussy, I'm sure you want that, don't you?" He teased, looking at your pretty face. You're so damn hot right now, so good for him.

"Just.. fuck.. do it.." You breathe out, feeling so sensitive that your pussy tightened around him again. Your walls clenching around his cock.

This magic worked so well, he can feel the first spurts of cum coming out, painting your insides. He let out a moan, his eyes closed and his head leaning back. You can tell by the look on his face that he was in complete bliss.

Was a big load. You can feel by the way that a part of it was falling all over you, making a mess. Not that none of you cared anyway. That was his way to show you how much he loved this.

How you make him go wild. Is the only proper way to show you, and he proudly did.

Once again, he takes your lips, kissing you with passion, letting his tongue slide into your mouth another time. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him in.

He pulled you in his embrace, holding you like this for a while. Waiting for both of you to calm down for the high.

After a couple of minutes, he decided to speak,"Will you stay for tonight?" His voice was a tiny whisper, and he was almost begging you to stay.

You let out a soft chuckle, caressing his hair,"If that's what you want. I can stay." You hum, kissing his cheeks in a tender way.

That was more than enough to take a smile from him, as he gently lay you down properly in the bed. Pulling some covers on both of you, and soon enough cuddling with you.

You'll not deny this for him, knowing so well that you'll leave in the middle of the night. Even if you would love to wake up in his side, you knew too well that this couldn't happen. This is supposed to be just a fling, nothing more.

Even if there's a glimmer of hope on your heart that still wants more. But your work can't let you do that, almost impossible, to say at least.

But the way that he cuddled with you, holding you tightly. Only to make sure that you'll stay, just until he falls asleep. To have your presence to make his sleep a bit better.

Your heart melted once he showered you with kisses, trailing all over your face. Whispering little praises while doing so.

It was a simple act, but so lovely.

"You're adorable, Leon." You hum softly, caressing his cheeks.

The way he looked at you, fuck, more than enough to make you smile like a child. He wanted to hold you, to keep you in his arms that night. If only for one night.

He felt he needed it, even though he didn't know why. He had this affection for you that he couldn't even explain.

And you were more than happy to be in that situation, even if only for one night. That you wouldn't soon forget.

At that moment, he didn't care who you were or what you did. For him, you were just you. The beautiful woman who was there, in his arms.

Oh heavens, why was this feeling taking over his chest? How could it happen so quickly?

He didn't want to spend too much time thinking about it. He just wanted to enjoy the time he still had with you.

"Despite everything, you're great company." He murmurs softly, full of affection.

You smile softly, snuggling into his chest. While his fingers run through your hair.

You let yourself go, eyelids slowly closing, as you enjoy the warmth that emanates from his body. Just for one night.

Just this once.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫

After a comfortable night of sleep, the sun's gentle rays began to filter in through the window. Slowly illuminating Leon's room, it was enough to make him lazily open his eyes.

He hugs one of the pillows, swearing it was you. Only to have the disappointment of looking at the pillow and seeing that you had already gone.

He lets out a sigh, rubbing his eyes to get a better look around. His eyes stop on a letter on the bedside table. It was yours, and it was with your lingerie.

His hand reaches for the letter, reading it carefully. And once he's finished reading, he feels a slight pang in his heart.

He realizes that he probably won't see you any time soon, quite possibly you'll be out and about and he won't see you ever again.

Why the hell did that bother him?

Another sigh, he shakes his head in denial. Reaching for your panties and sniffing them shamelessly.

Letting your scent fill his nostrils, as if it were the oxygen he needed.

For a moment, he lets himself sink into the bed, remembering everything about you. All the brief moments and the wonderful night you gave him.

The bed still smelled like you, the blankets impregnated with the scent of your cologne.

And you impregnated his soul.

"Fuck..." He murmurs, closing his eyes and imagining that it was you there. Not just a pillow.

But you wouldn't come back, given the nature of your work.

You wouldn't come back, he thinks again. He felt melancholy, that was undeniable.

He could make this pain better, he just needed one more day with you.

Just one more day.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

[alltoolewis]

Timeless- Mason Mount

I'm finally off for the summer & finally back writing! This one is super special and is inspired by timeless by Taylor swift, if you haven't heard the vault track please listen to it while reading this! This has to be one of my favourite things I have ever wrote... Hope you all enjoy & I can't wait to write more! Hope this apologies for my absence Love you guys x

P.S I will not comment on him leaving to united btw... as Liverpool fan I am devasted 😒

Summary- When you and Mason are cleaning your nan's attic you discover a book of your grandparents love story... helping Mason think of the perfect anniversary present for you...

Words- 2.6k

"Mase please.." you squealed as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, taking you by surprise as you continued to search through the old dusty boxes "This really needs doing and I never would of agreed to let you help if I knew you'd be messing around like this!" You didn't realise that agreeing to clean you nan's old attic would result in your clingy boyfriend of almost 5 years joining you. What was suppose to be a solo task, turned into a duo one the minute his brown eyes grew wide at your claim that you were leaving him for a couple of hours alone.

"I didn't know showing my beautiful girlfriend of 5 years love was classed as messing around..." he pouted, loosening his grip of you but of course not fully as his arm still hovered your waist. "It's not 5 years yet loser" You smirked, throwing something you believed was an old sock that was hiding in the box at him "We're still 3 weeks of that title!"  You still couldn't believe that it had already been that long. It felt like just yesterday that he caught your attention in the dimmed lightened room, his laugh being the loudest noise as the speakers blaring out the music you had always hated silenced, allowing you to hear what has since been your favourite sound. Since that night you had been by each others side, through the ups and downs, the spot next to him was always yours and vice versa... there was no Mason without (y/n) and he prayed there'd never have to be!

Silence filled the room once more, however the smiles never faded as you sorted through all your nans precious things. Growing up you never thought of your nan as a hoarder, her house was also tidy barely anything on display except the odd pictures of core memories but little did she know that she kept the purest things locked up here. From her old ballet shoes to her old school books, her old prom dress to a rock she found on her secret dates with your late grandfather... she kept everything.

"What's this?" Mason asked curiously, lifting up a book covered in dust and cobwebs. Being nosy of his new finding, you quickly went to where he was sitting next to him on the old fragile footstool, floor creaking as you did so. Your eyes hovered over the brown book in his hands, that it was safe to say that  time has took its toll on. Crouching down in front of him, your hand swept across the front cover, tears immediately filling your eyes as you read the words...

'THE STORY OF ANNIE & JOHN'

The words were followed by a photo of them together, smiles brighter than the stars as the look of love was written in there eyes. You had already heard the story of your grandparents many times from your nan... but seeing it in hidden pictures made your whole world freeze.

Noticing the sudden emotion in your face, Mason sighed "You okay, darling?" wiping away the fallen tears as they fell down your cheek, letting his hand hover there as a guard. Nodding, you gulped "Yeah... yeah I'm good.." Smiling he patted his knee, silencing telling you to come over which of course you obeyed. 

Now the book was on your knee as Mase held you tightly on his lap, head leaning over your shoulder as he traced comforting shapes on your arm. "Are you going to have a look honey?" He could see your clear hesitation to open it, as your hands strummed over the outskirts of the pages. Apart of you wanted to open the book, see the love of your grandparents everybody talked so dearly about, the love that was always compared to yours and Masons, however the other part of you couldn't help but think you were invading the privacy... you knew there story like the back of your hand. A secret romance that was forbidden by there families, your grandmother being in a privileged family who had a tradition to pick other privileged people for there children to fall in love with. While your grandad was the son of the maid, 2 years older than her but fell head over the heels the second he caught eyes with in his word 'a princess' They hidden what they had for years, scared that there families would tear them apart... but faith took its role and 12 years later they were happily married as a runaway couple, ready to start there new lives together.

As your mind wondered away, you felt his hand lace over yours, squeezing it tightly "It's okay (y/nn)? She would want you to see this??" You knew he was right... she'd be screaming for you to open it if she was there. Listening to him, you squeezed his hand back before opening it up. 

The pages looked just as battered as the front cover, but the love was still clear as rain. The book had different chapters, just like a fairy tale. It began with there first year, where your pop's mum first got the job and he was allowed to be involved in the staff picture where your grandmother stood just 5 people away. 

"I didn't know your grandad was in the war.." Mason whispered, scared to ruin the moment as you were flicking through there years together. It was there 7th year 'together'... the year your dad got drafted to fight in the war. "He didn't want to go" You mumbled back, hand touching the envelopes your nan had clearly stuck in the book "He wanted to stay with her although no one knew about them... he wrote her love letters, signed them off as Dave so no one knew it was from him"

"Didn't she call him Dave all the time..." Mason chuckled, squeezing your hip gently. He only had a few years with your nan, while with your pops he only had 1 short one & for the longest time he was convinced he was called 'Dave' "Yep!" You giggled back "Even after all those years together she still called him it. It was there secret code word..."

For the next couple of hours you flipped through the rest of the book, pausing to read the letters, see the small details of the grainy images. From there wedding to the birth of your mum, from the day they ran away together to the day your grandad came back to find your nan had been set up to marry someone else... it had all be recorded in the book.

Your heart broke when you flipped to the last filled page in the book, your grandads order of service leaflet from his funeral. Your heart broke even more when it came clear that your nan had placed it in by herself... ending there story together...

Noticing the tears falling faster down your face, Mason closed the book placing it gently down as he wrapped his arms tighter than ever around you, allowing you to sob in his chest. He didn't say much as you cried, just rubbed your back and whispered a few words of comfort, knowing what you needed most was time to absorb what you just saw.

Once you calmed down, you lifted your head back up to look at his warm brown eyes, his hand instantly going to your cheek "They we're amazing (y/n).." He smiled, causing you to mirror it back "They would been so happy you got to witness it through there eyes..."

"They were timeless..." You breathed out, looking down to the book on the floor that was bound to come home with the two of you.

"Just like we will be.."

Your head shot up to look at him with blood shot eyes "You think?"

"Oh I know we will!" He smiled, causing you to cuddle deeper into him "I hope so Mase..."

---------------

3 weeks later.....

"Mase stop!" You laughed as he picked you as you went to put the key in your new shared home in manchester  "Please stop we need to get in before it rains... stop messing around!"

"I didn't know showing my girlfriend of 5 years of affection was classed as messing around..." He sulked as your laugh continued to echo around the house, taking the heels that had killed your feet all night "and before you start I can call you that now!!"

"I know..." You smiled, turning around to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss, one of many that day "and I couldn't be prouder to now say it.." Mason returned the kiss as he muttered I love you, which of course you mumbled back. Somehow you two ended up in your bedroom, his jacket through on the floor as the zipper on your dress began to be pulled down.

Just as it was about to get even more heated, he pulled back causing you to sigh dramatically. "Don't be dramatic lovie, we have all night to do that.." He laughed, dragging you to the end of the bed "But first I want to give you your final present of the night.."

"but mase you've already given me loads today.." You groaned, hating how much he had already spoiled you today. Giving you far to many presents, making you bed in breakfast and then taking you to the fanciest restaurant in Manchester. You honestly didn't know how he'd make the day even better before he pulled out a box placing it gently on your knee... "Now this one is kind of for the both of us..." He smiled wrapping his arm around you "But I think you'll appreciate it.."

Carefully, you untied the little red bow on the box lifting the box up with the expectation of finding more personalised jewellery. However your heart dropped to the floor as you saw something you'd never thought you'd see...

A book... Similar to the one of your grandparents but instead of there names it read...

'THE STORY OF (Y/N) & MASON'

And just like the other one, a picture displayed below it. One of you and him at the champions league final, your smiles brighter than stars and the same look of love they had.

"Oh my god M-Mase..." You speechlessly gasped, covering your mouth as tears escaped your eyes "I c-can't believe it.."

His eyes mirrored yours with tears as he placed his hand on top of yours "Open it darling.." He whispered, voice full of love "Don't be scared to read this one... it's ours only"

Listening to him like always, you opened the book, smile immediately spreading across your face as you flipped through to see the many filled pages of your story so far.  The first day you met at that party, the first selfie you took together, your first chelsea game, the day you moved together... every memory shared together was captured in perfect unison to the orginal.

"I didn't even know this exsisted!" You laughed messily, as you looked at the picture of you drunkenly asleep on Mason's lap at his Chelsea leaving party. You couldn't remember much of that day, other than you drunk the night away in hope that it took the sting away from living the beloved club and city... 

"Ben took..." Mason smirked "He sent it me the next day along with the video of you doing my celebration on top of the table..."  "Please say that's a joke.." You muttered as you hid your head in embarrassment, hoping that he  was lying..

"Nope!" He chuckled "I'll show you that later darling, first you have to finish this book!"

So you did. There wasn't much after that, other than his first day at united and your new home in Manchester... little did you know there was one final page to your story you were yet to experience...

"What's this?" You questioned as you flipped the page to see a brown envelope stuck to the page, similar to love letters your grandad use to write. Unable to say much, Mason whispered "Open it and see..."

With shaking hands you pulled out letter which was folded in half, his scruffy handwriting evident. You shot him one last look, nervousness written all over his face as you began to read the love letter addressed to only you....

My dear (y/n),

I've never been good at doing speeches or expressing how I feel, but with you by my side I feel as though I can do anything, so here I am... Ever since I saw you my whole world changed for the better. You fixed the hole in my life like a puzzle piece and ever since then I knew I'd never want to lose you.

The other week when I held you in your nan's attic made me think of if we met in another life, would be the same as we are right now... and the truth is sweetheart we would of have! Even if we met on a crowded street in the 40's or if I was sent to war and you were forced to marry another man... my head would of still turned for you just like it did at that party...

you still would have been mine, I'd of make sure of it!

I'm going to love you for the rest of our lives, till we have grey hair, mini mounts running around the place, a cardboard box stored of memories we made, we'll have it all! 

Our story starts now Angel... 

we're going to be timeless...

look forward...

Mase x

Tears poured down your face as you followed the letters instructions, showing him down on one knee, a small box with the most gorgeous diamond ring displayed in it, one that coincidently resembled the one your nan had...

"Mase..."

"(y/n)... will you please make me the happies man alive & spend the rest of your life with me??"

Unable to speak you nodded your head, falling to your knees as you wrapped your arms around him. "I love you so much.." You sobbed into his neck.

"I love you so much more..." He cried back, pulling back from you for a brief second to slip the gorgeous ring on your finger "This is your nans ring" He smiled "I asked your parents if it was okay if I gave it you... I want us to be a timeless classic like your grandparents, I want to fill that book up with you till the day we are torn apart by fate..."

Once more you were speechless as his arm wrapped around you, your head lay on his chest listening to the heart which had loved you for 5 years... there was no (y/n) without Mason and you prayed every minute of the day that you'd be the couple your grandparents were. A love so strong it could be seen from miles away, a love everyone dreamed of but only a rare few could experience... one that even time couldn't forget... Your going to be... 

TIMELESS

[perfectlyoongi]

SECOND-CHANCE!HOSEOK who called you crying when it was the anniversary of your separation — he just couldn't keep wiping the tears from his heart alone.

SECOND-CHANCE!HOSEOK who just talks and tells you how much he misses you and that he can’t live without you because his life stopped making sense when you left and he knows you don’t want him back and he knows you’re going to reject him but Hoseok had to call you because his heart was squeezing so much that Hoseok could feel it bleeding and it was painful and it was flooding Hoseok’s entire soul in a sea of hurt where he couldn’t swim and that’s why he sank and got lost and didn’t kno—

SECOND-CHANCE!HOSEOK who only shuts up when you interrupted him by saying you still loved him. your voice was so divine amid Hoseok’s agitation. your voice was the invocation of all the angels that descended from heaven and caught Hoseok’s heart with a satin cloth made of the purest love. your voice swirled through Hoseok’s heart, taking all its fragments and gluing them together with a new hope that made him nervous. your voice responded to Hoseok and everything ceased to exist. you still loved him. that was the only certainty that existed for Hoseok.

SECOND-CHANCE!HOSEOK who asks to see you the same day. Hoseok knew it was late, that you would have work the next morning, but this was a conversation that should have happened a long time ago — he couldn’t wait any longer. Hoseok wanted to apologize. he wanted to hear your apology. Hoseok wanted to know what was next for you. should you two listen to each other's hearts and unite again in one soul? or was this separation, although painful, necessary for your growth? Hoseok wanted answers. Hoseok wanted answers and an apology. “i know you work early tomorrow, but i think you’ll also agree to meet with me. this conversation cannot past tonight. there’s a lot i want to tell you.”

SECOND-CHANCE!HOSEOK who appeared ten minutes later at your house, nervous and with his eyes still swollen from crying. entering your house as a stranger with many secrets was painful for Hoseok; previously, he practically lived with you, he knew every corner of your house, and now he didn’t even know why the second door of the furniture was open or where you put the keys. Hoseok had returned to your house like a broken man, begging for some comfort on your new couch. with his hands shaking, Hoseok thought about holding your hands, feeling your skin close to his again, but he forbade himself from giving in to his urge and just looked at you and spoke. “if you still love me the same way i love you. if you still love me like you did a year ago, it will be safe for us... we should... i want you back, but i don't know if we deserve each other.”

SECOND-CHANCE!HOSEOK who started crying again when you didn’t respond and just kissed him. it was a brief, soft, graceful touch of lips; in mere seconds your lips gave Hoseok the electrifying shock of the love that still existed between you. as if rekindling an old flame, your lips set Hoseok’s entire soul on fire, burning his heart with the same devotion you held within yourself a year ago. and that was enough. feeling the tears slowly falling down his face, salting your sweet kiss, Hoseok didn’t need you to speak — that kiss of yours was enough for him to know that he, without you, didn’t exist. “a whole year was unable to put out the fire that burns between us. why did we want to extinguish what gives us life?”

SECOND-CHANCE!HOSEOK who never forgot the pain of losing you. now, more than ever, Hoseok didn’t want to lose you. a whole life without you had been painful for Hoseok; the days seemed eternal, breathing was painful, there was no hope that would make him shine like you did. but now that you're back, the days became too short, breathing only became easy when he kissed you, the hope of a new future making your eyes shine. you and Hoseok had come back to each other. what more could he ask for? “i swear to you that this year was agonizing for me. not a day went by that i didn’t remember you, remember us. living without your love to help me grow just made me instantly wither. i’m so grateful for you. i am forever grateful that you gave me a second chance.”

[immortalcolleen]

entwined the lost soul, come and whisper the love of you.

who is your fated soulmate?

1➝2➝3

©immortalcolleen do not copy, reform, translate any of the content.

Pile 1

Innocence, loving, kind, friendly, giving, and supportive seemed to unite with some of the best qualities among one being. You reflect each other and the universe put your souls in beautifully carved earth. Soulmate can be the youngest among the family or still young at heart even in ages; soulmate is empath and is attached in every emotion.

When sensitivity touched them, soulmate wouldn't dare to speak it with people-it is more better to be quiet than to put salt in someone's wound. That's how people fall into your soulmate traps, they are as pure and is considerate, never judge people for a simple slip. However, the real evil who live in this world are taking advantage your soulmate kindness and devour it all. these are selfish people to say.

Your soulmate just rather be ignorant and forgivable than causing harm to anyone, what a purest heart you must be surely to protect this person. The only disadvantage of them is are often do emotionally open to everyone which make them be vulnerable at everything harmful.

Pile 2

Patience and determination dominate to them. Being under in control and leading the way- allied to their enjoyment, it seemed your soulmate got some rank or major role. Not even obstacles can frightened them, if is ruin by chance they likely to conceal it with more hardwork.

Soulmate isn't often in rush and as focus in something that wanted to achieve, not really a quitter but do know when to recline.

Boring at may seem for not being spontaneous person but is reliable about commitments, it is consume much by work/job.

Sometimes, is yearning for something adventure or to taste new life. It will take a long run for them before to achieve a victory and success into their field. It is someone who is facile in aggressive outburst as it fall through hectic and busy lifestyle.

Pile 3

Your soulmate seemed to attract fortune and blessings in life. This kind of being is rarely to be seen in pick a pile, they rarely to appear I must say.

You are destined to be with them and your lucky to have them in your life. Financial things isn't a problem for your soulmate, probably got stable job, bussiness or it comes from lucky wins or even inheritance.

For not so most, your soulmate is wealthy and abundant financially while for most, soulmate saved and secure right amount for their future.

Soulmate got pleasant manners which could bring good karma in their life; fortune keep incredibly increasing if keep doing good deeds.

[deiastormborn]

Arcane Act 3 Theories (and my take on Caitlyn so far)

Just finished watching the Act 2 and, good Lord, this was... something. I've been talking with my friend a lot about it and possible future of the show, so I thought to share it here for people to discuss it with me.

OBVIOUSLY, SPOILER WARNINGS! If you didn't watch the act 2 yet, do NOT read.

A few things I want to focus on here:

Vander

Cait & Vi & Jinx trio

Viktor

Let's start with Vander. Man, this whole thing broke me. I wasn't expecting a good outcome considering we know now that he is Warwick, and the current state of Warwick is no longer human. I assume he is not completely dead, I'm sure Singed had some fucked up idea on how to transfer the mind of Vander to another beast. I do imagine, however, that either Viktor's death, or the blast done by Isha, might have removed anything human that was left of him. Singed has spoken about Vander's strong resilience and will to live, so some part of him was still alive - after that explosion, my theory is, the Vander we know is gone now. I suppose next act we will see Warwick in it's pure beast form.

Next point: have you guys noticed anything about the scene between Silco, Vander and Vi/Jinx's mom?

Silco is an obvious representation of Jinx, it was obvious from the first season, even his hairstyle is somewhat similar to hers.

Vander is Vi, in its purest form, he even ironically gave her name.

Their mother, Felicia, is... oddly so similar to Caitlyn.

We know that Silco and Vander haven't been getting along too much, even before the betrayal we know of in season 1. Felicia even happens to scold them a bit before the scene starts. However, they all seem united together, in peace and harmony, especially with the news that Felicia was pregnant. You can see that Silco came closer when he heard the news, and the whole 'Blisters and Bedrock'... I might start using that one. My theory is, what if Caitlyn somehow plays a part in bringing Jinx and Vi closer? While I know that in League of Legends, Vi and Jinx are not allies at all, however, it's not the first story line that was different in Arcane to the lore of League. They were already getting along in order to help Vander, and you can see how much Vi started to soften up when she saw the interactions between Isha and Jinx. Now that Isha is dead, and I think we don't need to argue that she is most definitely dead, Jinx will need Vi. Question is, of course, whether Caitlyn will be able to get over her grief and hatred towards Jinx due to her mother's death, but she did manage to control herself when she met her (yes, she was angry at first, cut her some slack though, you don't just get over stuff like that).

Something tells me, due to the trailer of Act 3, that Jinx might help protect both Zaun and Piltover from Ambessa and Viktor. What if Caitlyn plays the same role as Felicia played for Silco and Vander before she died? Who knows, if she was still alive, maybe Silco and Vander wouldn't get into the mess they got.

(I also want to take a moment and defend Caitlyn here: while you guys were angry at her, please take a moment and transfer that anger on Ambessa instead. Caitlyn was in a grief, blaming herself for everything that went down with Jinx, because she could have stopped her and she didn't, leading to many deaths, including her mom's. She also was thrown into being a head of her family, having to accept the legacy. AND she didn't have a moment to sit down and work with her grief, due to the whole Enforcer role she is playing. While what she said to Vi, about her being 'just as bad' as Jinx, wasn't good, but it was also justified from her eyes. In her eyes, Vi wasn't defending Isha from being shot, she was defending Jinx, and i'm pretty sure we all saw, including Caitlyn, that Vi hesitated killing Jinx even before Isha jumped in to save her. Ambessa used Caitlyn in an unstable position, but AS SOON as Caitlyn saw Vi, and Caitlyn told her about Vander, she SNAPPED BACK. Caitlyn was never evil. She was broken. And her romance with Maddie - please remember there is an obvious time skip between act 1 and act 2, and act 3 also seems to be happening after some time passed. She was allowed for a new relationship, considering that her relationship with Vi lasted... 1 episode anyway.)

Now for my biggest theory with everything that happened to Viktor. I think we can all agree that Viktor is not dead. And while everyone is hating Jayce now, let me just say this: did you see in what state he was? All of the PTSD flashbacks and hallucinations? He has seen something TERRIBLE. While you like Viktor, so do I, please understand that Jayce wasn't acting like this for nothing. My theory is, since Jayce is either from the future, or some alternative reality he travelled to, and, before he killed Viktor, we heard a flashback of him talking to someone and 'I promise I won't fail this time', I assume that this is all Ekko's doing. Since Ekko and Heimer are not in the picture yet, something tells me that Ekko finally became stronger and learned to craft his trinkets for time travel better than before. I think he sent Jayce back to stop Viktor, either from the future or from that alternative reality. Additionally, I think this is all a big mistake on Ekko's part, too. Viktor talked to Singed about fate, and if we know of fate, Jayce and Ekko did not stop the events they were trying to stop. By killing Viktor, and him coming back to life somehow, this sort of betrayal probably removed his last hope in humanity, which will lead to the 'glorious evolution' and Viktor becoming a full cult leader with machine-like ideology. While Viktor seems to be good, he did still start a cult, and shreded people he healed from actual humanity. They were acting in the way Viktor wanted them to act, he could connect his mind to theirs like puppets. His intentions were pure, but the outcome was already bad. We can only imagine how bad it got in the future or that reality. And with Jayce hurting Viktor's 'human body', Viktor will completely loose his mind and turn to metal as he did in the League of Legends lore. I assume he will be the reason Piltover is getting attacked as well. And, since we all saw Oriana's picture, but not her in her current state, something tells me that Viktor will help Singed create Oriana the way we know her - a full robot with some resemblance to her real self.

Here's a thing though:

I think Jayce saw the future, but not how it happened. I think him, and possibly Ekko, decided that, by killing Viktor, they can stop this future from happening, but I actually think they made it worse. I think the whole reason Viktor went insane is because of this event. It's a Greek Tragedy. While they thought killing Viktor will stop him, they actually created a monster instead.

I'll be sad to see Viktor be evil, but, in a way, it all makes sense. In a very tragic way, but it does.

What if the Hextech is actually something from the Void? It's purple.

Alternative theory would be that, while Jayce and Heimer and Ekko were trapped in the core, and while Viktor was actively messing around with it, Jayce witnessed what it does to people that Viktor has been 'fixing'. He does hallucinate some kind of zombies when he looks at the people that Viktor interracted with. Though, then I would not know how Jayce was the only person who got out. Maybe that rune in Jayce's wrist will explain all of it.

This was all of my theories for now.

[reality-detective]

Chapter 2: The Blood Harvest Unveiled

They told you this war was about politics and power struggles, but that was the cover. Beneath the surface, a darker war is raging, one fought in shadows. The soldiers who found the children in Donetsk have since gone silent, but some still whisper. Their stories aren’t for the faint-hearted. This isn’t just war—it’s a blood harvest, a horror far beyond what you’ve been told.

The adrenochrome farms in Ukraine were only the tip of the iceberg. Putin’s forces are finding more with each passing day. These “farms” are hidden across Eastern Europe—factories where children are tortured, drained, and discarded like livestock. The soldiers speak of facilities more horrific than the last, each designed to extract the purest adrenochrome through unimaginable pain and fear.

The task force member who spoke out revealed the dark truth: ritual abuse, trauma beyond words. They carve symbols into the walls—symbols tied to ancient, occult practices. These children are bred in darkness, never knowing love, raised solely for sacrifice. The purer the fear, the stronger the yield.

And it’s not just Ukraine. Reports suggest the adrenochrome trade is global—secret compounds in South America, hidden facilities in the United States. It’s a cancer, shielded by the rich and powerful. Celebrities, politicians, business moguls—all complicit. Their addiction? The blood of the innocent. Their source? Children whose lives are nothing more than currency in this twisted trade.

The Kremlin now holds a blacklist of elites tied to this network, and Putin’s forces are preparing to strike. People will disappear. The news will call them accidents, suicides, sudden illnesses, but make no mistake—this is a calculated war on those who thought themselves untouchable.

This is not just a battle for territory; it’s a war for humanity’s soul. The veil is lifting. The storm is almost here. Prepare yourself. When it hits, the world will never be the same.

Are you ready? 🤔

[hellparkreimaginado]

NEXT CHAPTER

Inglés:

Craig was resting by the window of his room, calmly observing the landscape that always greeted him when he woke up. He had no worries at that moment, nothing to do, all his household chores were completed, and he had no extra schoolwork. This gave Craig plenty of time to simply watch his peaceful town from the comfort of his room. The raven-haired boy looked at the mountains beside the sun for a while, creating an image as beautiful as it was tranquil. Craig loved taking photos of landscapes like this: simple, beautiful, calming. It was everything! Sometimes, when he looked at that natural mural that was the sunset in his town, Craig couldn't help but think of his partner: Thomas Lacey. That boy with blond hair and beige eyes was the most beautiful thing Craig's young eyes had ever seen. They had been a couple for a few years, and although Thomas suffered from a peculiar condition called Tourette's, which caused, among many things, tics, spasms, and sudden outbursts, this did not matter to Craig. He loved him with all his flaws and problems. And whenever Craig brought Thomas to his house, he didn't hesitate to show him some of the photos he had taken of landscapes like the one he was seeing right now.

The raven-haired boy started to get lost in his thoughts, imagining his entire life alongside that handsome boy, imagining them in those mountains: sitting with their children, having a meal while watching the sunset from the top of that mountain. Maybe his dreams often weren't realistic, but anyone would imagine a whole life with the person they love the most if they wanted to.

As Craig continued imagining that teenage novel in his mind, he didn't notice a series of notifications coming from his phone. He was too immersed to care; after all, couldn't they give him a moment to admire the views? After about two minutes, Craig turned and glanced nonchalantly at those notifications: they were messages from Thomas, and what they said was anything but normal.

• Craig, I have to thank you for all the time you've spent by my side. No one, no one, NO ONE will love me as much as you have. YOU, you, Craig, you are the most important person in my life, the most beautiful and sincere person in the world. And I have to apologize for being so weak, for being the most useless person in the world, for... failing you. Forgive me, but I simply don't belong in this world. I deserve to die; I've only caused sadness and pain to everyone who loves me, including you. I'm not made to live; God hates me; I don't deserve to live...

• Craig, I'm the worst person there is, but I truly cherished all the time by your side. Goodbye.

Craig's heart stopped for a few seconds: his eyes widened as much as possible, his breathing sounded like something was choking him. Almost instantly, he felt a huge lump in his throat; he couldn't even say a single word.

Craig ran with the speed worthy of the Olympics towards the exit of his room. His entire family saw him run and ignored them when they tried to ask what was happening. Craig didn't even stop to look at them, opened the door of his house, and ran through the neighborhood. His beloved's house wasn't far from his; he could easily get there in a minute at the speed he was going.

But all his hopes of saving Thomas ended when he heard the thunderous sound, like a distant lightning strike. Craig fell to the ground on his knees: he couldn't even scream or make a sound of agony after hearing that noise. He knew very well where that shot had come from, he knew very well that there was nothing he could do about it now. The lump in his throat grew so large that he could almost feel like he was being choked by it. Those were agonizing seconds, the purest silence covered the entire town. The town that no more than a minute ago enjoyed the beautiful melody of birds singing, of united and happy families chatting about their lives, now everything was in the most absolute silence. There wasn't a single soul on that street, just Craig kneeling: his eyes quickly filling with tears and spreading across his forehead.

The first to break the silence was his father: Thomas Tucker.

• Craig, is everything okay!? What the hell is happening!? - said his father.

T. Tucker shook his son nervously, wanting him to say something, not understanding why he ran out of the house, but knowing very well that the distant shot had something to do with all this. But Craig still didn't say anything, he couldn't even make a sigh, much less say what had just happened. Craig remained motionless for a while, the only thing he could think of was that if he had seen his partner's message a minute earlier, all this might have happened very differently. Maybe, just maybe, Craig could have saved him. But now, now the only thing left was to go to his beloved's house.

Without even the slightest bit of hope, Craig headed to the home of what was no less than 10 minutes ago his partner. And when he saw the house open, with his mother crying inconsolably on the floor and a couple of neighbors comforting her, he understood that, indeed, his worst fear had come true. His partner, his boyfriend, his life companion, was... gone. He couldn't even look at the lifeless body of the person he loved so much. He wasn't strong enough to do it; he couldn't bear to let all his sadness out. He cried in silence as he walked towards Thomas's mother: she was simply devastated. That poor woman had to live through her husband's divorce, had to see her son humiliated for his illness over and over again, had to watch her son isolate himself from the world, and finally, had to live through the death of the only thing she had left in life.

• No~ I don't understand~ I don't understand!~ I DON'T UNDERSTAND!~ I did everything for my son~ but I didn't realize what was happening to him...~ - said that completely broken mother, with eyes that looked like dried grapes from crying so much, her voice becoming weaker and weaker the more she cried, making it increasingly difficult to understand what she was saying.

• I- I don't understand either, ma'am~ I- I loved him,~ I always tried to make his day better but~ but...~ I don't understand what I did wrong...~ - Without saying much more, the raven-haired boy hugged the mother of his deceased boyfriend; only she could understand the pain he was feeling at that moment.

• Oh, Craig~ - Mrs. Lacey closed her eyes and, still sobbing, said to Craig: - D-do you know?~ Of the few moments I remember seeing Thomas happy in these last months was when you were by his side,~ he wouldn't stop talking to me about you and everything you did together. I thought he was getting better,~ but, honestly, I don't understand what happened.~ I don't know what I did wrong~ - The inconsolable lady wiped her tears a little and then handed Craig an envelope with a blue seal.

• Here,~ T-Thomas wanted you to read this~ -

Craig inspected the envelope with his tired eyes; it was very clean and well-kept, adorned with innocent hearts on the sides that seemed to have been drawn with extremely fine and bright markers, while in the center was a blue seal and below it a message that read: "For Craig, my one and only true love." Instantly, an avalanche of emotions overwhelmed Craig. He seemed to have a nervous breakdown, a combination of sadness for knowing this was surely the last thing Thomas did in life, and massive regret for not being there for him. All those feelings that seemed to have dissipated came back, stronger this time. He tried to calm down, tried to look away, only to feel the urge to flee from that place at once. He simply didn't want to be there any longer.

Craig ran out with the envelope in one hand and wiping away the tears running down his face and extending to his neck with the other. He didn't pay attention to his family, much less to his boyfriend's mother, who was asking him to please come back. Amid many tears, Craig just hid in his room and lay down to cry in silence. Everything had happened so quickly, he was so exhausted after this horrible day. He just lay in his bed, but it was impossible for him to sleep. Hours passed, he didn't let anyone in to console him; he felt so guilty and so powerless that he didn't even have the strength to see what was in the envelope given by Thomas. It was simply too much guilt, to the point where he couldn't look anywhere but at that letter he couldn't even open.

And as the hours passed, the only thing Craig heard was the sound of a gunshot in the distance... It was the only thing he could hear inside his head for hours.

[mtchee]

adilla kia akia syulapoe - [Performance Unit] | SPELL SERIES NAVIGATION | FEM

blurb:

A short series of events wherein you meet the guardians of the tides: protectors of their people and humans alike, you're engulfed by a world of mythics, beauty, and fate.

cw: not edited, second-person-pov, fantasy au, mythical guardians! performance unit, merfolk jun, jiaolong (water dragon) minghao, selkie soonyoung, water nymph chan, fluff, intertwined souls, short stories, polyamory, divine intervention, love in its purest form

[0.2k]

Perhaps your dreams weren't so far fetched at all.

This beach view is ethereal, as though you've stumbled upon a hidden oasis.

The waters are crystal clear, twinkling in empyrean blue along the line of the horizon. Soft white sand acts as its canvas, shells shimmering as gentle waves sift over them. Healthy tufts of sea grass sway elegantly in motion with the ginger currents, and you can spot tiny silver fish swimming in and out on occasion, their scales glinting in the sunlight.

You've seen this place in your sleep.

You thought it was a hoax when you saw it advertised in an online ad while you were mindlessly scrolling through your socials: participate in this quick survey for a chance to win a vacation to an elysian paradise!

You had snorted when you first read it, ha! As if. Your thumb clicked on the image link of a much too pretty to not be photoshopped beach, which then led you to a three minute survey where all you had to do was choose which pictures resonated with you the most. It was actually quite entertaining, kind of like those buzzfeed personality tests.

Afterwards, all you had to do was input your email and phone number to be eligible for a chance to win that vaction. You thought why not and did so anyway.

And look where you are now...

stories are released in no particular order unless mentioned otherwise

chapter i | chapter ii | chapter iii | chapter iv | chapter v | chapter vi | tbc~

[triviallytrue]

Watching something as iconic as NGE is kinda funny because every now and then something happens and you're like "oh! that guy! from tumblr!"

General thoughts:

Poor Shinji. Dude keeps getting put in situations.

The Ender's Game comparison keeps coming up for me - child soldiers utterly essential to the cause. The big difference is that they are just completely flubbing their psychological management in NGE - in Ender's Game they had eyes on the kids 24/7 and maintained in-depth psychological profiles on all of them, whereas in NGE they have loads of money and manpower focused on maintaining the EVAs but their equally-essential pilots are just... going to school. Shinji got punched and they didn't know!

And what is Misato's deal, anyway? She's in her 20s and has a crazy amount of authority (she just requisitioned all of Japan's power) and they're just kinda... letting her manage Shinji? It's not her job, but she's just doing it? She's his commanding officer but also his mom/sister, which is a really bad combo. Also I don't think I'm imagining the grooming undertones, those seem intentional.

The real motivator for someone like Shinji is (of course) his social connections - the two schoolkids and Rei, and then maybe to some degree Misato, and then even more distantly his father. Kids don't put themselves through severe distress just for the abstract concept of "saving the world," especially a world that has thus far been very unkind to them. To bring back the Ender's Game comparison, this feels like a very deliberate point that Graff and friends were aware of (the way they used Valentine as a strategic resource) but in NGE it seems to be mostly happenstance that Shinji made some human connections before completely shutting down.

Rei thus far is an interesting foil to Shinji. Normally I get kind of put off by scenes like the one where he walks in on her, but it gives you a lot of important information about both of them. Shinji, underneath all the abandonment issues and repression, is still a pretty normal kid - awkward, horny in that embarrassing adolescent way, deeply self-conscious. Rei is alien (or perhaps just very autistic). She just doesn't clock 90% of the tension at all. She pilots the EVA without complaint (though perhaps with equal psychological distress, just heavily repressed). She also gets along very well with his shitass dad, which is revealing in its own way.

I'm told there is another child, a red haired one, named Asuka(?), the thus-far only implied Second Child. Wonder why she isn't here yet?

I heard that it was some kind of twist that the EVAs were alive in some sense, but doesn't that naturally follow from the first couple episodes? Unit 01 moves to save Rei without a pilot and then goes berserk to kill the angel. Maybe there's more to the twist that I don't know yet.

What's up with the angels? Why are they here, what do they want, what are they exactly? Who cares. They are a plot device in purest form - they enable the rest of the show, but the show is not meaningfully "about" them. They didn't half-ass it though - the designs are absolutely phenomenal.

Oh, and there's some second project NERV is working on, a human transformation thing that got mentioned once and never again. That will probably be important eventually.

[constantinho]

TW: Unreality

I haven't seen anyone else talking about this here so... there's this theory of The Boiled one Phenomenon going on saying that PHEN-228 is Jesus Christ. Now take a look at this ugly motherfucker:

There are spikes coming out of its head. If you look closely, it looks like he is wearing a crown made of them. Now, there's also this quote that he said while presumably communicating with Job Zamperini:

"Listen closely. Do you hear it? You will hear the laughter of thousands as the sky opens up. You will hear the trumpets play their happy sounds. The scalding blood of life will pour down onto us all. Together, we will be still. Together, a feast fit for a king. Together, welded by love and purest connection. Be still and feast-"

It's speech resembles much the second coming of Christ:

The trumpets refer to the seven trumpets that will sound at the end of the world, from the Book of Revelation

The laughter of thousands as the sky opens up refers to the living christians that would be caught up to meet the Lord in the air and be with him forever, as refered in Corinthians 15:51-54

"Together we will be still, welded by love and connection", in his resurrection, those who have died in Christ will have their redeemed souls and spirits united with a body similar to Christ's glorified body. Christians living at the time of this event will not die, but will be changed to be like Christ (John 3:2)

-

I know there's something here I'm missing about the blood coming out of the sky, so if any christians here on tumblr could help with this, it would be awesome!

-

Now, let's end this theory with another saying of PHEN-228:

"The very memory of my face will cause a manifestation of my being in the future. You will be asleep in bed. I will be there, and watch over you. When you wake, you will not be able to move any part of you. When the doctors eventually find you, they will not see me, but you will, and I'll see you too. Forever, I'll see you."

For those who watched the arg, it's obvious its refering to the locked-in-syndrome that PHEN-228 puts those that have seen his image. I believe that when he says that he will see them forever, he means in the sense that they shall be one for eternity, united, on pure connection that will be the unifying of the christians souls into one being as close to god as possible.

Now don't come asking me to explain this mf because I have no idea wth he is supposed to be-

[lil-gae-disaster]

Uh.... I won't pay for anyones therapy

@knowledge-paradox @almaprincess66 @imobsessedwiththeatre @hamalicious-soup @papers-pamphlet

It has been longer than Jonathan had anticipated since the death of the love of his life. Of his husband.

Jonathan... Jonathan didn't know what he felt. And it brought forth such guilt, a guilt he was not able to handle.

Jonathan usually was able to handle guilt. He could handle the guilt of not marrying Annabelle- who surely has long forgotten him and found a suitable husband- and he could handle the guilt of engaging in the impurest of acts with the purest of men.

Jonathan was no stranger to guilt. This time, though, it was different. This was no guilt he could simply brush under other matters. This time it was far worse.

He had been unable to grieve since he could remember. The first time he had come into contact with this was when his mother, the woman who had proved herself to be his mother despite their lack for blood relation, had died. Then, the family friend who had taken Jonathan in had passed of fever shortly before Jonathan had joined the war.

Jonathan also knew his reactions - or lack thereof - were no average human nature. He knew that far before he had to assist his dear fool to handle the loss of his father and older brother- to think they were once enemies was quite the far away fantasy- and far before he watched his brother in law, Giles, succumb to his grief even after he had expressed a rather lacking amount of emotion. Grief seemed to be what united all of humanity.

All except Jonathan.

He did not know grief, but he knew guilt. He knew the guilt of missing out on a crutial part of how others experience loss. And this guilt was the very same guilt that was tearing at him since he had been seperated from his love. This guilt was slowly picking him apart, tearing every happy memory he shared with his dear fool away from him, since the joy has slowly been concealed with a thick veil of guilt.

The time after he had been empty of any grievous feelings he may have been expected to feel. He had just been so insanely alone. He had contacted neither of his daughters to inform them of their fathers death, why, he couldn't say. He had just not found the time to, he was too consumed in his guilt to even remember he had not informed them.

But this matters not now. They have found out when they arrived the next day with their children- he was a grandfather, he couldn't believe it, he never imagined he could have had grandchildren- to celebrate their now deceased fathers birthday. Jonathan had to tell them and he did so as if he chatted with them about the weather. This has sparked the first bout of guilt.

After that, the second bout had been at his funeral, where he had been asked to give a speech since he was undeniably the closest to Frederick, his Frederick. This had opened the gates and with every day, the guilt intensified. He had been acting as if the love of his life, the reason he was no husband to Annabelle Preston, the only person who he had let very close, never existed. And this sparked an intense amount of guilt that slowly consumed his life.

He had stopped eating and drinking properly. He had not felt he had no right to. Why should an emotionless monster like me eat? he thought. He had also stopped going out of the house. All his friends were dead, his husband was dead, and all he had was the guilt of being the sole survivor. He had not cut his hair, he found himself unable to. This was the hair that has traces of the love of his life in it, he was in no circumstance able to cut the only remainder of his husband off.

Frederick, in his last years, had been working on copying his mothers journal. This copy was still in his office, finished, and yet Jonathan could not pick it up. He also could not bear to let go of his dear fools own journals, especially the one where Frederick wrote about his feelings for Jonathan. This made Jonathan feel human and sane, unlike the times where he was alone and pondered if he truly was human, if he couldn't even feel the feeling that united everyone.

This didn't matter, nothing mattered now. When Jonathan had woken up this late summer day, he knew he would not experience the next sunset. And he felt at peace with this. This endless swallowing guilt would finally find an end and he would finally manage to hold the love of his life in his arms again. His daughters begged to differ. His beautiful girls were desperate to keep him in the realm of living despite Jonathan sincerely wishing to go. Ever since he had broken down coughing- the first time he had exhibited signs of illness at all- they had been caring for him as good as they could, sometimes forcing water or food down his throat so that he wouldn't die of starvation or dehydration. It was quite silly, couldn't they see that Jonathan had nothing more to live for?

His girls were grown up and married away, his dear boy was dead, his brothers in law were dead, he had been surviving for way longer that he should and delaying death made no sense when all he wanted was to get rid of this awful guilt that has been slowly eating away at him. He knew he didn't want to hurt his daughters, but he couldn't delay death much further. He had already evaded him for long enough, he wouldn't want or need to evade him more. He just wanted everything to stop. He wanted to hold his dear boy in his arms again. He wanted to be reunited with his mother. He yearned to see everyone again, but mainly he wanted to stop feeling.

Which is how he found himself here, in his bed, alone, with not much time left to spare, a cold tea and an untouched bowl of soup next to him on his nightstand. He had been too weak to properly do anything for a long time. And honestly, he deserved this. He deserved this for not grieving, for not being able to feel this simple human emotion that united everyone else. He didn't want to delay his fate any further.

As he laid in his misery, he felt a sort of bliss. Soon, everything would be fine. Soon, he would cease to exist. Soon, his suffering loneliness would be over. He impatiently awaited his death. The release from his guilt. He snapped out of his running mind when he faintly heard steps approaching. His hearing isn't what it used to be, and that is something he loathes about his old body. He opened his eyes a little and spied his eldest. He regretted that he would have to leave his beautiful daughters behind, but he is way past the age he anticipated to die.

Neither said something. It was quite hard for Jonathan to use his voice; it has been for weeks. And Katja had no words left to say. She had been talking to him for near every day, the words have slowly run out of meaning. Jonathan didn't mind, he cherished the silent company more than any words their oldest might have spoken.

It is quite strange, how different he was to his husband, even in death. Frederick was nothing without anyone to talk to while Jonathan cherished silence. And still, Frederick always spoke in a way that never made Jonathan tired of it. The opposite was the case, actually. Fredericks words were the only ones he felt were precious enough to chase. And now.... and now they were gone and all they left was the emptiness of Jonathans hand and the guilt in his heart. A guilt that was slowly finding its end together with Jonathans life. And he could not be more grateful for that.

He turned his head slightly to his daughter and, with great effort, managed to smile weakly. He truly isn't the young lad he once was anymore, he noticed. "Je t'aime, Katja" he whispered weakly, his life leaving him further with every word spoken. The woman, not young and yet always young for Jonathan, turned her head to her father, tears in her eyes and about to spill as Jonathan smiled properly for the last time.

He smiled because he loves his daughters. He smiled because he loved his husband, and still does. And, mainly, he smiled because this goddamned guilt would finally find its end. He found his salvation in letting death win the game of endurance they were playing, it was a foolish game, no one can outlive death. Especially not Jonathan, who had been cheating in deaths favor.

He felt his heartbeat come to an end after seven decades, it stopped finally in peace as he exhaled his last breath. Finally, he was free. He heard Katja start to sob next to his bed, but it was faint. And soon everything was soaked in welcoming darkness and cold as he was leaving the plane of the living, walking away from it and towards where his dear boy was.

He was finally free.

[ceilidhtransing]

I see people saying “a vote for a third party isn't a vote for Trump, no matter how much you try to tell me it is” and while this statement makes sense from one perspective, it also sadly just misunderstands the material reality of politics.

If we're talking about voting purely as something that affects the moral tally of your individual heart, then yes, a vote for the Greens or whatever isn't morally equivalent to a vote for Trump. If the way you think about this is in terms of getting to the pearly gates and being asked “and did you always vote for the purest and most morally clean person?” then yes, a Green vote is not the same as having to say “actually I voted for Trump”.

But down here in the real world where voting isn't about maintaining your own personal sense of having a Morally Untarnished Heart but about, you know, real material consequences, a vote for a third party is functionally, if not morally, equivalent to a vote for Trump. You might not be voting for Trump but you are voting in a way that only makes it harder for the only candidate that has an actual chance in hell of beating Trump to win. There is no world in which that does not simply help Trump. You are splitting the anti-Trump vote and making it easier for him to win because that is how this voting system unfortunately works. Frankly, you may as well be voting for Trump.

“But my vote isn't an endorsement of Trump! It's an endorsement of the exact opposite values of Trump!” Yes, but again, this terrible first-past-the-post voting system does not produce “the average of all the values that people voted for”. Any votes that don't go towards the winner are wasted votes. And the winner, especially if that winner is Trump, will not care that you voted Green. They will govern just the same, and your voice will carry no weight at all electorally.

“Stop blaming people who vote third party for all the terrible things Republicans decide to do! Those things aren't my fault; I didn't vote for them.” There is a certain value to the argument “it's not my fault for voting third party; it's the Democrats' fault for not putting up a candidate I could vote for”. But this slightly falls apart when it comes to the people who have already decided they will always vote third party, regardless of how perfect a candidate the Democrats run, so this whole “it's the Democrats' job to convince me” is purely theoretical. And I too hate the way our society often defaults to blaming leftists for whatever the right does, as if leftists are the only ones with political agency and the right can never be held accountable for anything. But when leftists had an opportunity to prevent the right from doing something evil and they chose their own moral purity over an imperfect choice that would nevertheless have prevented some harm, then no, I don't think it's entirely unreasonable to place some of the blame on those people.

US presidential elections hang on relatively tiny numbers of people in only a few crucial swing states. And because 132,476 people in Michigan, Pennsylvania and Wisconsin decided to vote Green rather than Democrat in 2016, abortion is illegal in 13 states. That's less than 0.04% of the US population. Even margins that small matter. And no, those people didn't vote “against abortion”, but their failure to tactically unite behind the candidate who would have protected reproductive rights and who had a chance of actually winning directly led to the victory of the anti-abortion candidate. I'm sure all the people who now can't access abortion (ironically, none of whom lives in MI, PA or WI) are really glad that those people voted with their hearts rather than strategically. Votes have consequences, and things do change (for the worse, as well as for the better), much as some people like to harp on about how “nothing ever changes” and “your vote doesn't matter”.

“But why are you blaming those people? What about the people who actually voted Republican? Or the people who didn't vote at all?” Well, first off, this post is about third-party voting, not Republican voters or non-voters. But I do feel there is more ground to be gained by talking about the consequences of third-party voting than by discussing the others. Many Republican voters are essentially unreachable; they're not remotely progressive, so trying to convince them that they should be voting Democrat is mostly like talking to a brick wall. And non-voters are the people who didn't show up anyway; arguably they should have shown up, but they didn't. But third-party voters got involved, made sure they were registered to vote, got all the way to the voting booth, and then decided to vote not in the way that would defend at least some progressive values, but in the way that would only make it harder to beat the ultra-regressive candidate. There's an understanding that a lot of third-party voters are on the right side, they're just not making the right strategic decision, which is why so much more progressive energy gets put towards trying to convince e.g. Green voters than towards trying to convince people who aren't even remotely on our side to begin with.

“But both major candidates are agents of capital who will ultimately work for the continuation of the American empire. I'm voting for the benefit of the world, not just for the benefit of a few people in the US.” I'm not going to argue with you over that first sentence, because yes, you are correct. Both Democrats and Republicans ultimately support capitalism and both Democratic and Republican presidents have been responsible for some absolutely heinous crimes of US foreign and military policy. But as a non-American, the idea that voting in a way that makes it easier for Trump to win rather than uniting behind the person who might actually beat him - who is still flawed, but orders of magnitude better than him - is in some way liberatory to the rest of the world is just... what??? Do you not hear the people who are screaming “please stop the guy who's basically in favour of Putin annihilating Ukraine and endangering the rest of Central and Eastern Europe”? The people who are screaming “please stop the guy who seems like he just can't wait to drop nukes somewhere”? The people who are screaming “please stop the guy whose victory will only embolden the far right in our own countries and make it harder for us to beat them here”? Non-Americans are, by and large, not saying “ah yes, we are grateful that you chose moral purity rather than supporting one of the two capitalist candidates who will continue US imperialism”; we are screaming “PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T LET TRUMP GET ELECTED; THIS WILL MAKE EVERYTHING WORSE FOR ALL OF US”. Your Green vote does not help the world right now. Please get behind the person who isn't a massive, immediate, almost unprecedented threat to everything we hold dear, and then we can fight for a better world together.

[bayporwave]

Before the students left Rek, the rakii had been in the process of developing their own AI. At first they were gifted such intelligence by the students, providing washed-down copies of themselves to add to their tech and craft management. But when the need for more personalized AI and general curiosity arose, they went to work, using the student provided AI as a base or reference point. From there, three types of AI sprouted off these projects: • Student AI - Highly valuable, practical holy relics of what remains of the students. These are "purest" AI and are strictly held within Iot's control, only able to function off student tech. There are only 4 existing and 2 remain within the Idle Library. These AI are again, much more watered-down and while are fairly sentient they aren't 100% sapient.

• Hybrid or Steward AI - A mix between student and rakii coding. Since rakii couldn't exactly copy paste the student AI's themselves, what was given, they managed add on it. These AI were specialized and trained to understand the workings of rakii history, and language, while also being able to work on both student and rakii devices. They are still held under Iot control but with special permission, they can be granted to important government official or funded servers. These AI are a tad more self-aware, understanding their purpose and history just fine.

• Factotum AI - Completely rakii made and trained AI. With little to no student involvement, these AI are either standard algorithmic run assistants or commercially used for things like personal computers, phones, self-driven vehicles (mainly rail cars and public transit) or vending machines. Not ALL devices have AI of course, as the general public have a lot of mixed feelings towards, not such distain but prefer to be the only one in control of their tools. On the upside, they are heavily regulated and lack any possibility for self-awareness or sapience. The ones displayed here are two steward AI named Wyrr'Yoii (left) and Booror (right). Wyrr'Yoii is currently housed on the lunar settlement, Wubu maintaining life support and security, taking the avatar of a temperate. They were handed over to the rakii aerospace committee by Iot, which is heavily funded by the city for the investment of seeking out their missing gods. Wyrr'Yoii is described to be standardly monotone and critical, yet easy-going and understanding. They know exactly where their functionally lies and are always willing to lookout for the inhabitants within them. They have long-range communication with ground control, and furthest orbiting station in their system, "The Needle of Shwati" (A Wubu settler checking in with Wyrr'Yoii)

Booror, is housed within an arctic government building in the Shto Dominion hence taking an arctic avatar. Having accepted trading offers and territory with Iot, they were later granted a steward to keep purpose tabs and documents on community. Ensuring those higher up are up-to-date with any possible trading changes. Though the general public are often wary of this development as recently there has been a project in the works of providing AI with RC units, wanting to see how these AI can interact with the physical world. One unit being an elaborate success, however the reactions of many were generally, "It looks creepy." and it became more of an underground project. (Cartographer Wa'chaa "Quiibii" Iot, speaking with Saiba in their RC unit)