#this is the first actual moment that they both see each other because before there were moments in the past but i felt like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lyjen · 1 day ago

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Stay, stay, stay | Evan "Buck" Buckley

Summary: When Buck gets assigned to get up the ladder and put a fire out during a rain and thunderstorm, he gets struck by lightning. He’s walking around in a coma dream and has to find his way out of it to get back to his fiancée (Y/n).

Request: @shauna-carsley

<<< 9-1-1 Masterlist

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

(Y/n) swung the towel over her shoulder as she turned around and made her way to the shelf to get some herbs.

Buck, on the other hand, placed his foot into the last step of the staircase as he scanned the environment. When he saw his fiancée cooking in the open kitchen, he smiled and made his way over.

“So.. did I hear you right earlier or are you actually about to serve the team your so-called ‘experimental pasta bake of doom’ for dinner?” he asked as his smile morphed into a playful grin on his face.

He leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms as he waited for her to answer. (Y/n) chuckled and threw him a side-eye as she stood on her toes to reach the herbs she needed. When she caught the herbs she closed the cabinet and turned back around to the stove.

“First of all, it’s not the ‘pasta bake of doom.’ It's just pasta with a little creative touch. Second, aren’t you supposed to be cleaning the truck or something instead of bugging the chef?” she said as she shook the little container to add it to the pot.

Buck shrugged his shoulders as he moved to the kitchen island where the stove was, and (Y/n) was working on her dish. “I finished, so now I’m on ‘supervision duty.” He answered her question. “You know, just making sure you don’t set the firehouse on fire. Again” he continued as he placed his right hand on the counter and tried to get her to look at him.

She grabbed the wooden spoon that was in the pot and started to stir. “That was one time! And it wasn’t even my fault- the oven malfunctioned.” She told him as she felt the eyes burning into her skin even more.

But before Buck could even come back with an answer, Chimney passed by with a smirk on his face. “Pretty sure it was malfunctioning because someone put too much cheese on their lasagna.” He said as he kept on moving.

Buck his eyes grew wide at the reaction, he pointed his finger out at Chimney. “See? It’s not just me who remembers.” Buck said as he turned back towards (Y/n).

(Y/n) stopped stirring as she gave Chimney a look that said really? She glared at both of them. “You two better shut up or I’ll accidentally forget to make enough for either of you.”

In the distance a small laugh came from the dining table where Eddie was sitting, his phone was in his hand but his eyes were locked on the conversation between the two. “Really brave, Buck. You keep poking at the person in charge of our food today. Bold strategy.” Eddie chimed in.

(Y/n) let out a small sigh as Buck didn’t drop the conversation, she tapped the remaining sauce off the spoon, back into the pot. Maybe she wasn’t the best chef, and maybe she did almost burn this place down. But at least she was trying? That must’ve meant something, right?

Buck didn’t even bother to react to Eddie’s comment as the grin on his face grew wider. “I’m just saying, if this pasta bake ends up being a total disaster, the entire firehouse is going to blame me for not stopping it.”

She tapped the spoon one last time on the brim of the pot as she pointed the wooden spoon at him. “You should be blamed- for being annoying, not helpful.” she said as she let the spoon move in between them, almost letting it look like a threat.

A small grin appeared on her face as she locked eyes with Buck, he was just teasing her. They both went silent for a moment as they just looked at each other. Until a voice interrupted the moment. “What’s going on here?”

Bobby walked in with a clipboard in his hands and one eyebrow raised at the sudden silence. “Nothing, Buck was just on his way to leave the kitchen. He’s officially banned from the kitchen, he’s already on his fifth snarky comment and dinner isn’t even ready yet.” she said as she stood across Buck, switching looks between Bobby and her soon to be husband.

Buck glanced over his shoulder as he held up his hand in defense. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking! Someone’s got to make sure this meal doesn’t turn into a second alarm.” he said as he looked at Bobby.

And then a familiar sound roared through the entire firehouse, but it wasn't the fire alarm Buck was talking about.

“Engine 118, truck 118, ambulance 118, structure fire, MacArthur Park Apartments“ The alarm sounded through the house.

“Okay, one eighteen let’s go!” Bobby said as all the people on the loft dropped what they were doing and stood up to make their way towards the rigs.

Everyone except for (Y/n).

She was actually on light duty because during her morning run a few days ago, she twisted her ankle.

She didn’t even know how it happened. It just.. happened. She tried to walk it off, but when she returned home and Buck saw her stumbling while entering the house, he sighed. She always had been kind of clumsy.

Anyways, walking was still difficult, she could walk but every step hurted. And since it would only slow down the team more than actually help, Bobby had decided that it was best for her and the team to put her on light duty.

So here she was, trying to make dinner. While the alarm zoomed through the house. (Y/n) watched her friends and colleagues leave the loft, making their way towards the rigs as Buck took another second to look at his fiancée. Buck scanned the scene, he knew no one was waiting for the two of them to be close.. especially on shift.

But no one except the two of them were on the loft right now. “See you in a bit” Buck said as (Y/n) had already continued to stir the sauce, facing the stove. He pressed his warm lips quickly against her cheek. “Be careful” she told him as he was already making his way towards the stairs. “Oh and don’t do anything stupid!” she added, sounding a little louder now.

Buck turned around as he continued walking backwards, that same grin as before was written all over his face. “Have you met me?” he said, his grin turning into a small smile as he sent her a fast wink and turned back around speeding down the stairs.

She didn’t know how long this call was going to take. It was a structure fire, it could take an hour, or it could take four hours, or even six. She decided to just try and finish the dish, so she could reheat it when her team came back from the call.

Buck watched the rain splatter against the windows of the rig as they were making their way towards the structure fire. It was silence on the rig, as everyone was trying to get into focus. The only thing sounding through their headphones was the thunder roaring over Los Angeles.

The truck pulled to a stop, not even a second later Buck and the rest of the team were stepping out of the rigs. Buck stepped out of the vehicle, feeling the puddle with water splash against his boots.

“Okay, Hendrix, Meyers, Perez!” Bobby’s voice sounded over the scene, trying to be louder than the rain that was coming down like the gods were mad. The team followed Bobby as he started shouting orders to specific people. “Start evacuating the building!” he continued as he pointed to the building that was on fire with his hand.

“Chimney, Buck, Eddie.” Bobby pointed at the right people, “You guys are on ladder duty.” He added as the three of them nodded at his words. “I want you to get up to that window and hit it. Let’s go!” the captain continued as he pointed his index finger to the right window. “Copy that cap!”

Not even three minutes later, Eddie was already turning and extending the aerial to the assigned window. With a ladder belt secured around his waist, Buck made his way back to the top of the truck where Chimney was waiting to go up the ladder. The tip of the hose set was hanging over his shoulder as he watched Eddie extend the aerial.

“Hey. Where do you think you’re going? I got this.” Chimney said as he saw Buck climbing on top of the truck with the ladder belt secured around his waist. “No way, you got the last one.” Buck answered as a soft grunt fell from his mouth and made his way to the start of the ladder.

Chim squinted his eyes at the rain that was pouring and hitting his face. “Didn’t realize you were keeping track,” he said. Making Buck grin “Come on, Chim, it’s me. I’m always keeping track.” Buck said with enthusiasm in his voice.

These were the things he loved doing on the job.

Eddie grinned at the conversation, grabbing the hook and securing Buck to the line, so if something went wrong he wouldn’t fall to his death.

“Alright, cowboy, go get ‘em.” Eddie said, as Buck accepted the line Chimney was holding out to him. “Alright” he said, as he carefully made his way up the aerial.

In his left hand he held the hose line and he used his right hand to climb up the ladder. The mix of people’s voices and sirens were filling his eardrums as he finally reached the top of the ladder.

With his heart beating in his chest, he turned the hose line on and started to aim for the window Bobby had mentioned earlier.

Where Buck could hear voices from below the ladder earlier, that sound faded away as some electrical buzz took over the scene. It almost sounded like an electricity pole was damaged, but it didn’t come from below him. Whatever he was hearing was from above.

“The hell is that?” he asked himself. Buck looked above him, fully facing the rain that was still pouring down. But he couldn’t find a source, so he just continued doing his job. It didn’t take five seconds, or there was a flash of white covering Buck’s entire vision.

The lightning hit his body. And he felt it, everywhere.

Bobby’s eyes were locked onto the person who was on top of that ladder. But his heart dropped the second he saw what was happening right in front of his eyes. He could hear a loud scream and then Buck’s body tumbled over the edge of the ladder, his body now hanging on to the line that was secured to the ladder belt he was wearing.

Eddie fell onto the ground after the bolt had struck just near him. He grunted at the pain in his back when it had met the ground. He rolled to his side, as he got onto his knees and hands to reach for his helmet that had prevented him from hitting his head on the asphalt.

He pressed one hand onto the ground as he pushed himself off the ground and back onto two legs. He pressed his helmet back onto his head as was on his way to climb back onto the truck, not really knowing what had happened. But the moment he was climbing the ladder to get on top of the truck, towards the control panel of the aerial, he looked to his right.

His best friend was floating in the air, lifeless.

His eyes widened at the sight, “Buck!” he screamed out. Without thinking, Eddie hurried up the ladder. The steps were wet, making him almost slip now and then, but he didn’t care. He needed to help his teammate, his colleague.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Captain Nash, 118. We have a firefighter down at the MacArthur Park Apartment fire. Need additional task force and rescue immediately.” Bobby’s voice sounded over the radio as Eddie called out for his best friend, hoping for some kind of reaction.

It was horrible, seeing him hanging like that.

In the meanwhile when Eddie had finally reached the top of the ladder, he tried to pull him up. But pulling up someone who was unconscious was impossible. “Can you hear me? Buck!” he called out, but calling out his name was more for a cry for help than to get him to wake up. The water from the hose line was still spraying down, Eddie didn’t even bother to turn it off. He only had one goal, and that was trying to get Buck down to an ambulance.

If he couldn’t pull Buck up, they had to lower him down. Chimney had taken place down the ladder, ready to help. “We need more slack!” Eddie called out on the top of his lungs. “More slack coming up!” Chimney yelled back. Eddie groaned as he gently let the rope slide through his fingers, and watched Buck’s body being lowered down to the ground where Bobby was. He was commanding Hen to get the ambulance as close as possible. They couldn’t waste a second.

Buck’s body was almost down at the ground again. Bobby grabbed his feet and turned him so he could be laid down onto the gurney easily. “Come here kid” Bobby’s voice was filled with worry. He put his arm on his back, “I got him, I got him!” he said. He wasn’t sure if he was telling the team, or if he was soothing himself with those words.

“Okay bring that gurney over here, let’s go!” Bobby commanded his paramedics.

“I need the lifepak!” Chimney shouted through Bobby’s orders to hurry up. They needed to do something, he was up there for way too long. The entire team was helping Buck onto the gurney which was being flooded with water the second it came out of the ambulance.

“Let’s get the lifepak on!” Chimney continued as they disconnected Buck from the line he was still attached to. Hen gently took off Buck’s helmet, as they opened his turnout coat. and cut through his uniform to get to his chest. “No pulse.” Hen said as she held her fingers to his neck to check his pulse.While, the worry in her voice almost turned into panic mode.

“Get that lifepak ready!” Chimney now shouted. But the second he got handed the lifepak, Hen spoke up. “It doesn’t make sense to shock him. He’s in full cardiac arrest!” she said as she looked over at her partner, and towards Buck’s bare chest thinking of what to do.

“I’m starting compressions, get that lifepak off!” Hen’s partner now said, as he climbed on top of the gurney, pressing his hands deep into Buck’s chest. “Come on Buck! Come on!” Chimney’s voice said as he tried to get his brother-in-law’s heart beating again. “Come on man! You can’t leave (Y/n)!” he continued shouting, hoping those words would get him back to reality.

“Alright Chim! Chim, we've got to move!” Bobby ordered Chimney, but he was so determined to get him back, words around him weren’t coming through. It wasn’t until Hen gave him a small push, that he realized he needed to get off the gurney.

“Dispatch, this is Captain 118. We have a firefighter down, struck by lightning, unresponsive, three minutes out.”

______

(Y/n) arrived through the emergency entrance of the hospital. Desperately looking for someone she knew, and could tell her what the hell had happened on that call. Her hair was soaking wet, she didn’t even bother to grab a jacket when she ran outside towards her car. She didn’t care if she’d catch a cold. That was the least of her worries at the moment.

“Wha..- What the hell happened?” (Y/n) gasped as she stumbled into the waiting room. Finding a small part of her crew. Oh god, the moment she stepped through those doors it almost made her puke. They had been through too much already. But walking through those doors made her heart pound in her chest, like she had run a marathon for miles.

She hadn’t cried at all, but walking through those doors made it seem more real to her.

She saw Hen and Eddie turning around, Hen’s eyes were still watering and Eddie’s were red like he hadn’t slept in days. But it wasn’t the exhaustion that made his eyes that red. The second she locked eyes with Hen, (Y/n)’s eyes were still wide open in shock. Tears were stinging in her eyes as the two of them walked towards her.

“(Y/n)...” Hen sighed, as she stood across from her with Eddie on her left side. “No…” she said as she looked at Hen. Trying to suppress the cry and the tears that were crawling up. Eddie pressed his hand to her upper arm, trying to comfort her. While she took a deep, shaky breath, trying to comfort herself too.

But the feeling in her chest started to feel tighter within the second. Her breaths were shallow and inconsistent as panic clawed its way through her. Her vision became blurry and she grabbed the fabric of her shirt, pressing the small piece of fabric between her hands to try and get herself back.

Her world began to spin faster and the sound of her heart was pounding like a drum in her ears. Tears were beginning to slowly stream down her face when Hen started to explain what had happened on scene. But none of the words she told her we're coming through. Everything she said was inaudible.

“Hey, hey, (Y/n), look at me,” Hen’s calm yet commanding voice cut through the haze, pulling her attention. Her eyes were locked onto Hen now, “Breathe with me, okay?” her voice said.

(Y/n) shook her head, as more tears streamed down her face. “I... I can’t... I can’t breathe.”

“Yes, you can. I’m right here with you. We are right here with you.” Hen said softly, as she looked at Eddie and back at (Y/n), gently placing her hands on (Y/n)’s shoulders. “In through your nose for four, out through your mouth for four. Let’s do it together. Ready?”

Hen took a breath in, holding up four fingers as she inhaled. (Y/n) struggled but copied her action, shaky and uneven. Hen’s fingers slowly counted down from four to one, guiding her through it again.

“That’s it. You’re doing great. Just one breath at a time.” She coached her.

Slowly, (Y/n)’s breathing began to steady, the panic loosening its grip. Hen kept her focus on (Y/n) “There you go. See? You’ve got this,” Hen said with a reassuring smile, squeezing (Y/n)’s shoulder.

Tears rolled down (Y/n)’s cheeks, but she nodded, a small sense of control returning. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice raw. “Always,” Hen replied, as she guided her to take a seat in one of the hospital waiting room chairs. Eddie and Hen both took a seat beside her, trying to comfort her as they waited for some news.

“He’s going to be okay” Hen said, placing her hand onto her shoulder as she gave it a soft, gentle, squeeze.

• Buck’s coma dream

“People have been dropping off food all day.” Margaret said as she proudly looked around the apartment of Buck. Pointing at the flowers and the cards he had received over the days he had been in the hospital.

“And oh, your kids.. ” Wait, did he hear that right? Was he a father? Did he have kids with (Y/n) in whatever this was? His eyes grew wide, filled with hope as she said those words. He cleared his throat, “I- Um..- Kids?” he stumbled.

Margaret smiled and nodded at his short question, “yes, your students.” she answered with a duh tone in her voice. Like he had to know what she was talking about. But when the word “kids” fell off his mother’s lips, all he could think about was: where was his fiancée?

His eyebrows furrowed at her latest words, students? What was she talking about? He was a firefighter, right? What students was she talking about? “What?” he asked his mother with a confused look all over his face. But when his mother wanted to answer his question, he threw another question at her.

“Wait.. Where’s (Y/n)?” he then asked. Looking around the apartment for any clues. What kind of future, dream, universe was he in? He had so many questions floating through his mind right now.

His mother was looking at him in confusion, “What are you talking about? Who is (Y/n)?” Margaret asked as she followed her son’s eyes, desperately searching the cabinets and shelves that were in the apartment from a distance.

“My girl, my fiancée? Where is she?” Buck asked. Why didn’t anyone recognize her name? They knew about her, and how much he loved her. Why wasn’t anyone telling him where she was. Were they playing some kind of weird mind game with him?

“How hard did you hit your head when you made that fall?” Phillip chimed in then. A feeling of annoyance slowly entered his body. “What? I-” he stumbled, but before he could even think of a proper something to say, his dad turned to Daniel.

“Are you sure he’s okay?” Phillip asked his eldest, with a drink in his hand. Daniel sighed as he opened the fridge and grabbed a beer out of it as he read the label. “Yeah, why do you keep doubting me?” Daniel answered as he closed the fridge then again. “It’s not like I'm a doctor or anything.” He continued, with his eyes still burned onto the label of the beer and he made his way towards the living room part of the apartment.

As Daniel and Phillip walk towards the couch, Buck’s eyes were locked onto the two of them. But then his attention was caught by something else. A sparkly, golden, 3D model of a ferris wheel was on one of the cabinets in his apartment.

Determined, he walked towards the cabinet, standing in front of the ferris wheel as he let his fingers trace over the model. “What’s this?” he asked his mother who was following his steps.

“No Idea. It doesn’t go with anything else I picked out.” Margaret answered his question.

Only the thought of a ferris wheel made his mind go back to one of the worst days of Buck’s life. His fingers traced over the golden ferris wheel parts, as his eyes were locked onto the piece of decoration.

The room around him seems to fade away. The sound of the television in the living room playing, and his family members communicating, it all dissolved into the deafening roar of rushing water.

He was back on the pier.

The sky was clear and blue, the sun’s reflection was shimmering off the ocean’s surface. Within the snap of a finger, the water retreated, a silent inhale before it’d drown Los Angeles.

Buck lifted Christopher over his shoulder as he grabbed (Y/n)’s hand who was still staring at what ever the fuck was happening with the ocean. “(Y/n)! Come on!” he yelled as he roughly pulled her with him towards land again.

He sees (Y/n). Terror in her eyes. Her hand slipping from Buck’s grip as the wave rips them apart.

“(Y/n)!” Buck gasps, his breath hitching. (Y/n) was fighting the water to keep her head up and above the water, but the waves were too strong. He can still feel the water closing in, pulling him under, tossing him through the wreckage. His lungs burn. His muscles scream. (Y/n)’s horrifying scream went through his marrow and bones again, like it did every time he thought back of that day.

The memories crash into him like the waves did that day.

“But if you like it, I love it.” His mom touching his shoulder and upper arm yanks him back to the conversation he was having with his mom. His chest heaves as he blinks, the 3D model of a ferris wheel coming back into focus. The sound of water is gone. The scream of (Y/n) still sounding faded in the back of his head.

• Reality

(Y/n) walked those awful grey and white hospital hallways. She kept her head low, looking down at the ground as she didn’t know what to do with herself. (Y/n) didn’t know how to feel, there were so many emotions rushing through her body.

She took another turn to the left, Chimney and Bobby came into her view. They were standing in front of one of the windows, looking into the room Buck was being placed in.

“Hey.” she said, her tone worried. “What do we know?” she asked the two men in front of her who were slowly turning towards (Y/n) now.

“Not much, He’s alive. In critical condition. They had to put him into a medically induced coma to allow his body to rest and recover. The next twenty four hours are going to be crucial.” Bobby said, surprisingly calm.

She didn’t want to even glance through the window. If she’d do that, things would be real. But it wasn’t a dream. If this was a dream, this would be the definition of a nightmare. But all the times she had pinched herself, wasn’t enough. She sighed as she finally found the courage to look through the window.

Slowly she let her eyes wander to the bed Buck was lying on. This would be one of the moments that’d hunt her forever, the picture would be burned into her brain. She squeezed her eyes closed and bit her lower lip. It was real.

She took another shaky breath, opening her eyes once more. Scanning the environment. “He’s on life support. Breathing with the help of a ventilator?” (Y/n) said, but it sounded more like a question.

“The lightning strike was literally a shock to his system. Sent him into cardiac arrest.” Bobby explained the situation as (Y/n)’s eyes were only locked onto her fiancée who was hooked up to all those different machines.

But Bobby’s explanation was interrupted by a soft sound of a ringtone. Bobby quickly fished his phone from his pocket as he read the caller-ID. “Oh- I’m sorry I have to take this..” he said, excusing himself as he walked away and pressed the phone to his ear.

Chim took place next to (Y/n) who was still looking through the window. Chimney didn’t say anything as he joined her looking through the window. He gave her some time to just look in peace. There was already so much information coming towards her.

“It’s so weird.. an hour ago he was up and jumping through the station with his jokes. And now, he’s in there.. hooked up to whatever machines to stay alive.”

Chimney swallowed, his jaw tightening. “Yeah.” His voice was hoarse, raw with disbelief. “One second he’s making fun of your cooking skills, the next he’s—” He gestured toward the room, as if that explained everything. As if it ever could.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. (Y/n) bit her lip, her gaze tracing the pale face of the man lying in the hospital bed. He looked so still. So unlike Buck.

“He’s gonna wake up,” Chimney said suddenly, more to himself than anything. “He has to.” he added as he looked to his left, looking at (Y/n) who was trying to suppress her emotions.

(Y/n) didn’t answer right away. Their throat burned, emotions threatening to spill over. Finally, they nodded, forcing a small, fragile smile.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “He has to.”

And yet, as they stood there, watching Buck fight the battle they couldn’t help him with. All they could do was wait.

• Buck’s coma dream

After Buck had finally convinced coma dream Chimney that he actually knew him, he was hanging with him at the kitchen island. Chimney opened the fridge as he placed a bottle of beer right in front of him. “The last thing I remember is: we were at this apartment fire. It was raining. I went up the ladder and… there was a giant flash.” Buck was going over his thoughts once again. He pushes himself up and he opens the bottle of beer.

“Sounds like you were struck by lightning.” Chimney said, looking at Buck who was starting to pace through the room. “Yeah but, I don’t think I’m dead. It feels like some kind of coma dream.” Buck answered. But just as he turned around and started his first steps of pacing around the apartment..

His eyes fell onto the dining table of Chimney’s apartment. A miniature fire truck was lying on his side on the table. “What the…-” he stumbled, as the memories flashed before his eyes.

Within’ a blink of an eye he was lying on the ground. His hands pressed onto the asphalt beneath him as his left foot was in an odd angle.

His ears were ringing, his eyes were trying to adjust to what ever the hell just had happened. His vision was blurry, and changing from red to yellow-ish every second. Buck’s hand brushed over the asphalt as he tried to scan the scene he was in.

The glass windshield of the truck broke, and fell onto the ground. Sending an awful, horrible pain through his leg, making Buck grunt.

Everything hurt. His head. his legs. his back. Even breathing hurted.

Buck really didn’t really get whatever was happening. There was this boy, holding some kind of deadman trigger. He kept on wandering around, screaming something. But Buck’s ears were still ringing, so the voices sounded dull to him.

Suddenly, Bobby was there. His hands in the air, slowly making his way towards the young boy as Buck himself kept fighting to keep his eyes open, and push himself up. Buck couldn’t really register what was happening. He only knew his leg hurted, his head was pounding like it was going to explode any second now.

Then, Hen, Eddie and Chimney came rushing over towards him. “You’re still with us Buck?” Chimney asked, but he didn’t answer his question. Hen placed a medic bag next to him as they began to access him. “Buck, how are we doing?” she asked as she dug through the bag. “Kind of numb.” he answered with a trembling voice. But was the only thing that basically could come out of his mouth.

While Hen, Eddie and Chimney were diagnosing him and tried to give him first aid, he was only searching for her. “Buck!” (Y/n)’s voice, high and strained, cuts through the chaos. His head jerked up, searching for her, and there she was..

Held back by Bobby, his strong grip kept her from entering the scene, away from Buck. Her eyes were wide and in panic mode.

“Let me help!” she cries, trying to push past Bobby who was in civilian clothes, but he shakes his head. “No. They’ve got this. You need to stay back.” His tone is firm, leaving no room for argument, but she didn’t care.

“That’s my boyfriend!” she snaps, fighting against his hold. “I can’t just—just stand here!” she cried.

He wanted to tell her it’s okay, that he got this, but the truth was, he didn't. The pain in his leg was unbearable, and he didn’t know if he could keep it together much longer.

“Hang in there Buck” Hen’s voice cuts through the noise. Buck’s breath is coming too fast. The edges of my vision blur. The pain is worse than anything he had ever felt, like his leg is being ground into dust.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the pain. Every firefighter on scene was coming together, getting ready to tilt this truck off his leg. But then his eyes snapped open. And suddenly (Y/n) is there, right in front of him. Bobby had let her go. Or maybe she fought him off, he didn’t know. All he knew was the fact that she was in front of him, holding his arms, ready to slide him from underneath if she could.

“I’m here,” she breathes, her voice shaking but determined. “Y-Y/N,” he managed, his voice was raw. She shook her head quickly, brushing damp hair from his forehead “Yeah, baby. I’m right here. Just hold on, okay?” she said softly, as she looked to the people who were ready to lift the truck.

The metal groans as the team works to lift the truck. A rush of hope rushed through his veins, only to be crushed under another wave of agony as the pressure on his leg shifts. A scream leaving Buck’s lips before he could stop himself. His entire body was trembling.

“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.” she whispered softly, her thumb brushing over his arms as a attempt to soothe him.

He was looking at the miniature truck between his fingers. Chimney had been in a coma when that rebar went through his head years ago. Maybe he knew something about coma dreams. With those thoughts, he placed the miniature truck back onto the table and turned around.

“Okay so, when you were in your coma, what do you remember?” he asked, as he slowly walked back towards the kitchen island Chimney was leaning against. “Nothing” Chimney answered. This was so not helpful. “How long have you been walking around in this coma?” Chimney asked now.

He shrugged his shoulders, “Uh, I don’t know. Time is weird. Maybe two days?” he guessed. “Wait, you've been walking around in an alternative universe for two days and now you’re just now starting to ask questions?” Chimney asked as he pushed himself from leaning on the kitchen island and started walking towards Buck now.

“It was kinda nice at first, until I asked my family about (Y/n)...” he told Chimney. But if his family didn’t know (Y/n).. Maybe Chimney would, right? “Wait, you know her right?” Buck asked before Chimney could react to his words.

Chimney took a moment to think, repeating her name multiple times as he looked to the ceiling. “No, I don’t think I do..” he said, pressing his lips into a thin line and shaking his head.

The panic was rising in his chest, but maybe he needed a wake up call. “You know, always hanging around the firehouse, always laughing at my dumb jokes.” he tried to help him remember. But he shook his head again. “Buck, I swear, I have no idea who you’re talking about.” Chim said.

“You have to know her! She’s your colleague, friend, she’s my fiancée for god sake!” A mix of panic, stress and desperation filled his voice. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never heard that name before,” he said.

No. No, this wasn’t right. (Y/n) was real. He could still hear their voice, still feel their touch. Why didn’t anyone recognize that name?

Buck’s throat tightened. His chest heaved as he stared at his friend, searching his face for any sign that this was some twisted joke. But Chimney looked genuinely confused. His hands dug into his hair as the walls closed in. His lungs burned.

With his hands in his hair, he felt his heart pound in his chest, trying to break free. His ears started pounding as his airways closed off.

He pressed a flat hand on his chest, as he tried to take a breath. But his lungs weren’t working. “Wow, hey, hey, hey!” “Are you okay?” Chimney asked as he saw Buck was having trouble getting air.

Buck grabs his throat, as a sign that he couldn’t. Blood was rushing towards his head, making it red as he gasped for air. Buck’s eyes became blurry as he tried to keep his balance by holding on to the kitchen island. But he fell down to his knees. “Try to calm down! Try to breathe!”

• Reality

It has been two days since the accident. And to be honest, (Y/n) hasn’t left this room ever since. Only to use the restroom, get some food or drinks. But most of the time she didn’t have to, because if there was someone who came to visit Buck, they brought something for (Y/n).

The door was closed, but (Y/n) was sitting across from Buck in some kind of “lazy” hospital chair. She wouldn’t do anything except looking at him, keeping an eye on the machines he was hooked up on, and just watching him breathe. The constant beeping of the machines would sometimes make her fall asleep, like right now.

“Hey” Chimney said as he walked through the hallway, aiming for Maddie who was looking through the window. “Shouldn’t you be inside with your brother?” he continued. Maddie shook her head, Chimney stopped beside her and followed her eyes letting out a soft sigh.

(Y/n) was sleeping, her head leaning onto her hand that was placed onto the armrest of the chair. “How long has she been in there?” Maddie asked Chimney, since he got more updates from his crew. “She hasn't left.” Chimney answered her question. Tears were burning in Maddie’s eyes as she looked at the two in the room.

Maddie had given (Y/n) a new set of clothes on the day it happened. She had hoped (Y/n) would’ve gone home every now and then, but the girl was determined. She had to be there when he woke up.

The constant beeps switched, they became more and more within the second. (Y/n)’s eyes shot open, like she felt something was wrong. Her eyes shot from Buck’s body right towards the machines. In shock she watched the machines. The words “Lower limit warning” lit up in one of the screens in yellow letters. Her eyes rushed from the machine back to his body.

He was breathing like he was hyperventilating. She was alert the moment she read those words. (Y/n) pushed herself onto her feet, as she yanked the door open. “He can’t breathe!” she yelled as she was now in the grey empty hallways of the ICU.

Tears burned in her eyes as she watched nurses suddenly dropping everything and running towards her. Everything around her became a blur as she felt two people standing next to her. Maddie’s hand was pressed onto her shoulder, trying to give (Y/n) some kind of comfort as Chimney tried to get the nurses into the room. “Hey, hey, hey! We need someone in here!” Chimney called out and pushed the door more open.

The nurses were doing their job as (Y/n) stood in the door opening with Chimney and Maddie. Looking at whatever they were doing to help Buck. But (Y/n) couldn’t look at this. If he didn’t make it through, this wasn’t how she wanted to remember him. She turned on her heels, placing her hands on her head as she quickly blinked the tears away.

• Buck’s coma dream

“What’s wrong with him?” Hen asked, pointing at Buck as she looked back at Chimney.

Chimney held up his hands as he looked stressed at Buck who was still struggling with taking a single breath. “I don’t know, maybe he’s just having a panic attack.” Chimney guessed as he looked at his friend, hoping she’d know how to help him.

Hen’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked at the guy in front of her. Was he for real? “Hey buddy, can you hear me?” she asked. Only receiving a nod from the complete stranger. “Buck can’t breathe.” Chimney concluded, as he watched him.

But then, it was like the invisible hands that were tightening his airways close, let go all of the sudden. The choking had stopped, he could take a breath without any pain or difficulty. Buck let go of his chest and straightened his back, with a surprised look crossed over his face.

Chimney and Hen looked at him in confusion. “Or maybe he’s pulling our legs. He’s fine.” Hen said as she switched looks between the two guys. “Sorry, I- I don’t know what happened. It was like all of the sudden my lungs just stopped working.” Buck apologized.

"And now?” Hen asked as a second check. Buck stretched his arms, shaking his head as he felt nothing weird. “Uh, yeah, no.. I feel better.” he admitted.

That still confused frown was on Hen’s face visible as she faced Chimney. “And how did this happen?” she asked him. “He was asking about (Y/n), that’s what brought this all on.” he explained, as they both looked at Buck now.

It didn’t make sense to him. Why could no one in this silly coma dream tell him where (Y/n) was? This was his subconsciousness. He was in charge. Right? “How can it be that no one in this entire universe can’t tell me where my fiancée is?” Buck asked as he looked at both Chimney and Hen.

Chimney just made the same face as he did a minute ago. There was no change in that. “Wait, wait, wait, that name does sound familiar to me.” Hen then said as she was thinking.

There was a minute of silence, as a little spark of hope jumped in his chest. He gave her the space to think for a second. But after a moment, the back of Hen’s hand slapped against Chimney’s chest, hard.

“Isn’t she that nurse from First Presbyterian?” Hen asked Chimney. Both eyes were burned on Chimney now as he was thinking. “You know? The one who’s in charge of the ER?” Hen tried to help him remember. Chimney’s eyes grew wide. “You’re right.”

He barged through the doors of the hospital and immediately made his way towards the ER. He knew this hospital like the back of his hand.

“Excuse me? What are you doing?” A female voice asked him, as he pushed through the other set of swinging doors that made him enter the emergency room.

He entered the ER, his eyes desperately searching for his girl. The lady at the desk probably was too lazy or busy to follow him and make him leave the ER. Buck only had eyes for one person only. And that’s when he saw her.

She was smiling at one of her co-workers, that smile that made the rest of the world smile too. That smile that had him wrapped around her finger. She turned around and walked through the ER, leaving his line of sight. She was focused, busy, doing her job like nothing was wrong.

He called her name from a large distance as he watched her back walking away from him further and further. He called her name a second time as he made some speed to follow her. He called her name out even louder the third time. But she didn’t react, didn’t even glance his way.

Like she couldn’t hear him.

Frowning, he stepped closer, following her down the hallway. His pulse quickened. She wasn’t running, but she was moving fast, weaving between nurses and doctors, her attention elsewhere. But he knew a shortcut.

Still, after a few moments, she started to look over her shoulder, like she could feel him following behind her. Like some part of her knew she was being followed.

She glanced back for a third time, and that’s when Buck made his move. Before she could take another step, he grabbed her upper arm, pulling her sharply into the nearest medicine supply closet.

A squeak left her lips as the door shut behind them. “What the hell-?” she gasped. The lights flickered on, and he saw her. She was here. It wasn’t some kind of döppelganger. It was (Y/n).

He exhaled sharply, his grip loosening around her upper arm. But he looked at her for a second, and pulled her into a crushing hug. His arms locked around her like she might disappear if he let go.

(Y/n) froze in his embrace. “…Buck?” she said in a confused tone. But Buck shut his eyes, holding onto her tighter. “You’re okay, you’re here.” he whispered.

She hesitated before answering, her voice careful. “Of course, I’m here.” Buck loosened his arms around her body as he looked her in her eyes again. “What are you doing here? Why are you a nurse?” he asked, his voice filled with confusion

(Y/N) met his gaze, something unreadable in her expression. Then, with the faintest smirk, she said, “You tell me. This is your dream. I’m just living in it.” she explained to him.

His stomach dropped. “So… I’m dead,” he murmured as he let his eyes wander to the ground, his head ready to drown in his own thoughts. (Y/N) tilted her head slightly. “Close, but not quite.”

His breath caught in his throat. “Then where am I? What is this?” He looked around the supply closet like the walls could give him an answer. “Is this… some kind of waiting room? Heaven? Hell?”

(Y/N) sighed, folding her arms as she looked at the panicked face of the guy in front of her. “You need to relax.” she told him. “Relax?” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “I’ve been stuck here for days, I keep getting flashbacks to traumatizing moments of my life, apparently I’m almost dead. Forgive me if I’m having a hard time relaxing.” He started pacing down the small part of the supplies closet.

(Y/n) gave him a knowing look before turning away. “Come here.” she said as she walked over to one of the cabinets, opening both doors. Buck watched as she pushed aside bottles of medicine and supplies, revealing something that shouldn’t have been there.

There was a window.

His heart pounded as he stepped forward, through the glass he could see himself. He was lying in a hospital bed, intubated. Unmoving. Machines hooked up to him, beeping softly.

Bobby was there, his hand holding on tight to the rosary beads like it was his only lifeline. Also (Y/n) was there. The real her. Sitting at his bedside, her hands clasped together like she had been praying.

The air in Buck’s lungs vanished at the image in front of him.

In shock he watched the three people in the room. “What the hell is this?” Buck asked the (Y/n) who was standing beside him. He glanced to his right, waiting for her to answer. She met his eyes, blinking away the tears that were stinging in her eyes. “Well, Evan Buckley, that right there is reality, whatever is happening on this side is your deep dark subconscious.” she explained.

The way she said his name made his heart skip a beat. She never called him Evan, only when she wanted to mess with him, but she surely never used his full name.

Buck’s eyes wandered back to watch the scene in front of him. “Do you know what’s happening to me in there?” he asked. (Y/n) shrugged her shoulders, “Well, it depends on how you look at it. You could be dying or fighting for your life. But it’s kinda up to you.” she answered. Although that didn’t really answer his question.

At that moment, Bobby stood up from his seat. He walked towards (Y/n) and gave her a hug, as Buck’s parents and sister entered the room, following a doctor.

“W-what is happening?” Buck asks as panic was rising in his chest and voice. But (Y/n) didn’t answer as she just watched the scene in front of her. “What is happening!?” he asked again.

But as he looked to his right, (Y/n) was gone. And a döppelganger of himself in a doctor's jacket was standing right next to him. He looked him up and down in shock. “Looks like they’re pulling the plug, Evan.” he said. Before he could even answer for himself, the doctor “him” cut him off. “They don’t care about you. You’re not good enough, you never have been.” he said.

Buck looked at his döppelganger in shock, as he tried to figure things out. “This is all happening inside my head, which means I've been talking to myself the whole time.” He clarified to himself. “I don’t have to feel bad about not listening to you anymore.” He added as he shoved all the aside bottles of medicine and supplies off the shelves in front of the window.

The döppelganger watched him with a smirk on his face. “What are you doing?” he said, cocky. “I have to get back! I’m running out of time!” The panic was written all over his face as he yanked all bottles and other supplies off the shelves, and moved the shelves from the window. “It’s impossible, there’s no way back there. You’re stuck with me.” The döppelganger claimed.

“It’s not impossible! There’s not a locked room anywhere that, with the right tools and enough time, you can’t break into. I know that.” Buck told his subconsciousness. But he could hear a chuckle coming from the other him.

He walked determined to the side of the room as he took a fire axe out of the red box. “There’s nothing for you in that room. No one in there needs you.” Döppelganger Buck said then, with that same stupid grin on his face. But instead of looking him in the eye, he watched the scene, there’s enough hurt in that room. (Y/n) hasn’t stopped crying since he laid eyes on the window, Bobby was praying with his rosary beads, and if he did that, it must’ve been bad. He wasn’t the only one hurting.

“Keep telling that to yourself.” he said, and yanked the fire axe through the window.

______

The first thing Buck felt was warmth. A gentle pressure against his hand. Steady. Familiar. Then, muffled voices entered his ears. The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor. The scent of antiseptic and something softer… vanilla? No… coconut.

It was (Y/n).

His eyelids felt heavy, but he forced them open. The hospital lights were too bright, but they weren’t what held his focus. It was her.

Curled up in the chair beside his bed, her head resting against their joined hands, fingers wrapped around his like she had been holding on for dear life. His throat felt like sandpaper, his voice hoarse. “(Y/n)…” he managed to get out.

She stirred instantly, her fingers twitching against his. Her eyes fluttered open, sleepy and dazed until her eyes landed on his. She froze. Her breath hitched.

“Buck?” Her voice cracked as she shot up, eyes wide with disbelief. A slow, tired smile tugged at Buck’s lips. “Hey.”

A strangled noise left her throat half a sob, half a laugh before she lunged forward, throwing herself into his arms. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, her body molding against his like she belonged there. He could feel her shaking, feel the way her breath hitched against his shoulder.

“Easy,” he croaked, though he had no complaints about being tackled with this much affection. (Y/n) pulled back to look at him, placing both her hands onto his cheeks, cupping his face. “You’re awake.” she whispered, tears spilling freely now.

Buck blinked up at her, brushing his thumb weakly against her hand. “Told you I’d see you in a bit.”

She let out a breathless, watery laugh, pressing her forehead to his. “You idiot,” she muttered. “You scared the shit out of me.” she said. His heart ached at the exhaustion on her face, the dark circles under her eyes, the tension still in her shoulders.

“How long have you been here?” he asked. She swallowed hard, running her fingers through his hair like she couldn’t believe he was real. “Since the moment you got here,” she admitted softly. “I never left. Except to use the restroom.” She cried. “And even then, I made Bobby stand guard.”

Buck’s chest ached, not from the coma, not from the accident but from the fact that she had stayed. She had never given up on him.

“Fiancée of the year,” he said, squeezing her hand weakly. (Y/N) let out a choked laugh, shaking her head as she placed a free hand onto his cheek again, rubbing her thumb against his skin. “Yeah, well, I kinda love you, so.”

His eyebrows shot up and his lips twitched. “Kinda?” She exhaled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Shut up”

Her fingers brushed against his forehead gently, her thumb smoothing over his cheek. Her expression softened. “You shouldn’t be talking this much,” she told him. “You just woke up.” she continued.

“I have a lot to say.” He then said. “And you can say it later,” she said firmly, already reaching for the call button. “I need to get a nurse-” she groaned.

His hand shot up, slower than usual, and weaker than he liked but enough to stop her. Her breath caught as he intertwined their fingers again, holding her there. “Stay,” he whispered.

(Y/n) hesitated, her worry flickering between her brows. But one look at him and she melted. She squeezed his hand and leaned in, her lips brushing against his temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Buck sighed in relief, his eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion started creeping in. “Good,” he murmured sleepily. “Wanna marry you first.” he admitted. (Y/n) let out a breathless laugh, brushing her fingers through his hair again. “We will… when you’re out of the hospital.” she whispered. Buck sent her a small smile and as Buck drifted off again he knew, without a doubt, that he had made it back exactly where he belonged.

Home.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

<<< 9-1-1 Masterlist

#911 #911 fox #imagine #911 abc #911 imagine #buck imagine #buck x reader #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley x reader #evanbuckley

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wheneclipsefalls · 1 day ago

Text

Swimming Lesson (A Precious One Shot)

Pairing: Adult Ao'nung x Hyperfeminine human reader

Summary: Ao'nung is more than eager to teach you how to swim. He doesn't, however, anticipate what it leads to.

Warnings: aged up characters, explicit sexual content MDNI, reader has mild fear of water, interspecies relationship, established relationship, swearing, possessive beahvior, brief mention of violence, past bad relationship, insecurity, marking, scenting, dom/sub dynamics, etc.

A/N: I've been overthinkg this one for way too long. Here's how it turned out

Precious Masterlist

Adult Ao'nung photo by Cinetrix

Tawtute modesty is a perplexing concept. Most Sky People dress in a way that covers their body, even going as far as creating cubbies in their metal homes where they can change these clothes without others seeing. For a species that appears to have just as much sexual drive as Na’vi do, they certainly waste a lot of time and effort acting ashamed of their bodies.

Although your clothing is far more appealing, and even revealing at times, you too act very shy about being exposed.

And yet, it appears that this cultural norm is thrown out the window when it comes to swimming attire. Calling an outfit a swimsuit as you do, suddenly gives a tawtute a free pass to discard ninety five percent of their clothing and prance around without care.

No one had informed Ao’nung of this however so when you walk out in your handmade swimsuit for the first time, it takes him a moment to connect his mouth to his brain again. You give a little twirl as you always do, before rambling on about what material it’s made of and how easy or difficult it was to construct.

And as usual, Ao’nung takes his time admiring your latest work with greedy hands that always come out to grip your hips and spin you from side to side. This is a common routine for the two of you. It is customary for him to see your latest projects first so you can receive his opinion. Although both of you know he offers nothing close to helpful feedback. The real joy from this arrangement comes from him opening ogling you in the pretty clothes until you sufficiently feel confident in your genius.

You never stop him when he gets handsy either. Although that pretty blush often spreads from your cheeks to collarbones and you giggle at his lack of restraint, he knows you enjoy the obvious display of carnal desire. It’s a win-win scenario.

And today, stars above, there is so much for him to look at. Or rather, so little fabric to cover your form because this swimsuit as you call it is tiny. In many ways it feels a lot closer to the usual attire of females in his clan with intricate straps and only a tiny top and bottom to shield some of his favorite parts. In fact, this set is much like your bra and panties combo.

When he squeezes your hips and turns you to the side, he is more than ecstatic to find that this duo is actually more revealing than most of your undergarments. Is this truly considered decent in tawtute culture? Oh well, he knows better than to question when something good comes his way. Whatever reasoning sky people have come up with to justify these tiny outfits, he is grateful for.

The bottoms are held together by strings that tie at each hip similar to the ties on your upper back that keep the small chest piece in place. You’ve chosen fabrics of light blue for the base and cream for the trim that is of course bunched into frilly fashion. It wouldn’t be yours without some extra flare. The front of the bottoms cover decently but the back draws a shape higher onto the hips that leaves more than half of your gorgeous ass spilling out.

And it’s not the only thing to spill. The bottom sit low on your hips so that the front is tucked just beneath that adorable pooch of a stomach that Ao’nung is constantly tempted to bite into. Even the ties on the hips just barely press lines into your plush flesh that you call love handles. And to top it off, there is a tiny bow between your breasts and a matching one just atop your vulva.

Eywa above, if he knew teaching you to swim would put you in an outfit like this he would have fought even harder to make this day come sooner.

“Do you like it?” You ask, cheeks pink but eyes telling him that you already know the answer to your own question.

“What did you call this?” He asks, sweeping your long hair over one shoulder to admire the curve of your spine.

“A bikini.”

“Oeyӓ tawtute, I more than like it.” His lips gently press over a mark he had sucked into your skin last week, just above your shoulder blade. With twiddling fingers and a smile he can practically feel radiating even from behind you, goosebumps rise over your exposed flesh. “I don’t know what stops you from wearing this bikini thing more often.”

You snort and playfulling try to elbow him in the ribs. “You horny meathead.” With a giggle you turn around to scrunch your nose up at him which he has come to recognize as a chiding expression.

He’s not sure what is so funny about his comment. You may be giggling but he sees no reason why you couldn’t wear this during day to day life on the island. Although, he wouldn’t want to miss out on your strange dresses either.

“You know I can’t do that.”

He doesn’t but Ao’nung lets it drop when your small hand intertwines with his own and you practically begin skipping towards the beach. It seems this successful outfit has put you in a good mood, so it’s best to hold his breath and pray that it will remain that way once you get to the water. It has taken a couple weeks of convincing, borderline demanding, that you learn to swim.

Today you don’t show the usual signs of apprehension so Ao’nung plays along carefully, treading as light as a hunter worried about spooking their prey.

The good luck has passed. Whatever giddiness you felt from showing off your new bikini dissipated ten minutes ago when you two had finally reached the shore. Now you remain perched on the rock wall that extends a way into the shallows, watching with a nervous smile where Ao’nung stands in the water.

“You are stalling.” He accuses.

“I’m not.” You protest, bottom lip becoming snatched between your teeth. “I just think I need to observe you some more before I get in. After all, nothing’s better than watching the master.”

You catch on fast, that’s for sure. In the short few weeks the two of you have been together it seems that you’ve already devoted yourself to figuring out how to charm him and target certain weak spots. Try as you might, however, that isn’t going to work today.

“Get in.”

Your arms wrap around your own torso, a nervous habit of yours. He isn’t being mean, isn’t even raising his voice in the way some of his own teachers did when he was younger but it takes very little to intimidate a small tawtute like you. It’s important that he maintains some form of strict authority in these lessons, otherwise you will walk all over him.

It will never cease to perplex him how carelessly humans treat learning to swim. He thought the most horrific part of it would have been their form alone, something that had made his jaw drop the first time he saw Spider swim, but unfortunately it goes far beyond that. Among the seaside clans it is customary to have newborn children already learning how to kick to the surface on their own. Children know how to swim far before they can take their first steps. From what he’s heard, even the Omatikaya teach their children from a young age. And yet, Ao’nung was horrified to hear you say that some humans don’t learn how to swim until they are adults, some even die without learning.

He won’t let that be your fate. So no matter what it takes, he is getting you in the water today.

“You are being a bad numeyu [student], precious.” He warns, clicking his tongue in feigned disappointment. Just as he expected, your shoulders drop slightly. No doubt if you had a tail it would be tucking between your legs right now. Such little praise to have you melting and such little criticism to have you proving you can do better.

“We can start tomorrow I prom-AH!” Whatever promise you had hoped to placate him with turns into a squeal when Ao’nung heaves himself up onto the rock wall in one fluid motion. Immediately you start running back towards the beach. You know just as well as him that he can and will hunt you down to drag you back since it has come to that.

There is a part of him that awakens at the first sign of a chase. It’s the same part of his nature that has him imagining all the ways he could rip those scraps of fabric you call a bikini off and ruin you for any other man. It doesn’t help his focus to have your squishy ass bouncing further out of your bottoms as you sprint.

Regardless, the hardest part about catching you has nothing to do with the skills he has learned as a hunter and everything to do with keeping his carnal desires at bay. You would be all too happy to let take a session of his head between your pretty legs over a swimming lesson.

He has one thick arm wrapped around your waist within your first five steps. You waste no time in starting your pleas to be released, shorter legs kicking in the air as he tucks you against his chest.

“Wait! Ao’nung, I can’t! Not today. Put me down!”

“You can not learn without getting in the water.” He says simply.

“No no! I can’t! I can’t!” Once again your words turn to shrieks when he swiftly jumps back into the ocean, softly landing his feet in the substrate. The waves only reach his hips at this height and with you in his arms you are nowhere near having your head dunked under.

Nevertheless your efforts to cry for mercy quickly shift into clawing your way up his body. You squirm and wiggle and manage to twist halfway towards him so that you can grab his shoulders and try to get higher. You climb him like one does a tree, but with far less grace than anyone who has experience climbing to get the fruit.

“What are you doing?” With furrowed brows it takes everything in him not to laugh, only grunting softly when your feet get dangerously close to keeping him between the legs.

“Okay I think that’s enough for today. Bring us back up!”

“It is fine. Nothing is going to happen.” He assures, using his other hand to steer your feet away from his tewng [loincloth]. Ao’nung tries not to think about how good it feels when your legs wrap around his torso instead.

“Easy for you to say! You’re like ten feet tall and can hold your breath for an eternity.” The tide is not strong today, just as he planned, but even the small waves billowing against his waist seem to put you on edge.

This is why you teach children to swim early on. They have no notion of fear.

He is caught between two conflicting temptations. Laughing his ass off at your antics and chucking you into the deep end much like they do for Metkayina babies. However, both won’t have the desired result in the end. And Ao’nung tries to remember too how different you are from the Metkayina. They are born with life saving instincts while from what he has seen from humans, has been nothing but concerning regarding their instincts. There is no telling if you will resurface if he lets you go under now.

Growing up his teachers had always been strict; unforgiving. He knew the importance of learning skills swiftly so as not to become a burden for the clan, and even more so surpassing expectations as he would someday be Olo’eyktan. A tough regiment had worked for him but you…

You are soft. And it’s one of his favorite qualities you possess, both physically and emotionally, but this also means that using that strict attitude to the same degree would more likely have you giving up and locking him out of your room more than making any real progress. No, while a firm hand is necessary with you at times, it’s evident that praise draws so much more out of you than negative repercussions.

Ao’nung had thought you particularly inept when it came to climbing but he is surprised to find that you’ve scooted your way significantly up his torso and now have your blunt nails dig into his shoulder blades. Oh how he wishes they were dug in there for the same reason they were last night as he fingered your demon pussy open.

“Oeyӓ tsyeym [my treasure], do you think I would let you drown?”

“Well no but-”

“Is there anyone that knows these waters better than me? Anyone further capable when it comes to moving through the sea?”

“No.” You mumble against his shoulder.

“So since you are here with me, an expert, and we’ve already established I will not let you drown then does that not mean you are the safest person, both human and Na’vi, in the ocean today?” He tucks a curve finger beneath your chin so you are forced to meet his expression, his brows raised in question.

His logic is difficult to deny although there is still some hesitancy in your movements when you nod. But he’ll take it.

“And as your karyu [teacher] who is experienced in these ways should you not be trusting my methods?”

“Ao’nung-”

“No?”

Those pink lips form into what is surely meant to be a scowl but instead looks like nothing more than a pout to him. You know he’s right. How could you claim otherwise? But you stubbornly want to hold onto this fear.

“Yes, I suppose.” You say in a voice so small that Ao’nung’s ears have to perch forward to properly catch it.

“Good girl.” He grins, pecking you on the cheek before you can think up another excuse. “Let us begin.”

“Mawey, paskalin [be calm, honey]. You are too tense.” He purrs, hands supporting the curve of your back as you attempt to float atop the water. It’s a form not typical for the Metkayina but considering your small lungs he has deemed it essential for taking breaks in the water. However you are stiff as a board.

“I’m just trying not to sink.” You squirm until back on your feet and latched to his side. Perhaps you worry the tide will be strong enough to pull you out.

“The harder you try the more you will sink. Diving is not meant to be a struggle won. You must move with the water, do not fight against the sea.” For you to truly understand what he means you would have to actually try submerging beneath the waves. He had insisted that you learn without your mask, after all there is no guarantee you would be with it at all times, but it seems this crutch is one you are attached to and therefore refuse to go beneath the water without.

It is no issue. Ao’nung would rather teach you to dive the proper way slowly than have you relying on this crutch indefinitely.

“But you said that the sea is unforgiving. That it is a powerful force that does not discriminate when choosing prey.” Wet hair sticks to your cheeks as you look up at him. Ao’nung screws his lips and places a hand on his hip. You know how to pack a lot of trouble for someone half of his size.

“Hm, you love to twist my words, precious.” He teases, one hand snatching your hip to tug you in closer. He steadies your weak form when you stumble at the action.

“I-I’m not twisting it but this doesn’t make any sense. What am I supposed to do if a wave pulls me out from shore? I’ve heard even some Na’vi can not kick their way back in and so if they can’t neither can I. Not with these weak tawtute legs. And that’s not to mention the sea creatures. To some of them I’m not even a full bite!”

“None this close to shore are big enough to bite.” He cocks his head to the side. “Only some that could sting.”

“Ao’nung!” you screech hitting a hand against his chest. “I’m being serious. How am I ever going to be strong enough to do anything out here? It’s a hopeless cause which I knew but then again when do I ever really listen to-”

“You have forgotten to breathe.” And sure enough you pause for a second to take in his words before finally inhaling a shaky breath. When you get into rambles like this it’s common for you to fly off without any end in sight. Some days they are born out of nerves while others it's in excitement as you explain your favorite romantic movie in detail to him for thirty minutes. How did you survive such rambles before him? Who else was there to remind you the importance of oxygen?

“You think too much, paskalin.” Your pout only deepens but you lean against him. “I said I will teach you to swim and so I will. The rest is not for you to worry about.” Your hair tickles his lower abs when your head rests against him. He hears you inhale, preparing himself for more weak protests, but then you stop.

Your attention is snatched off to his far left where there is some splashing. He follows your gaze to find it fixated on one of the newests Ilu’s in deeper waters. This juvenile can only be a few weeks old as it is shorter than his forearm and remains in close proximity to its mother.

When he spots the way your expression softens, an idea sprouts. Ao’nung has been taking the wrong angle this entire time. It was only last week that he discovered how empathetic you are for animals, especially ones that have not reached adulthood. You had gone from constantly cooing at the strange small animals in your magic screen to falling apart into blubbering tears when one of the baby hippos, as you called them, couldn’t find his mother. It took a long time of hearing your choked up voice ramble about how alone that little creature must feel. It was a strange experience. Then again, that was during your bleeding week.

“We call her An’ali and her mother Se’xte.”

“She is adorable.”

“Do you want to see her?”

“Well yes but it’s deeper out there…” You trail off, uncertainty present in your tone.

“Grab on.” He instructs before bending down onto one knee and prompting your hands to his shoulders. You’re slow to comply, those big beautiful eyes peeking up at him with a flicker of apprehension but it seems your curiosity overrides that emotion because you finally clutch his shoulder to sprawl out across his back.

He could walk out to the ilu without any struggle of touching the bottom but Ao’nung opts to swim out smoothly, keeping his head and yours above the water. Just a small step to get you used to the feeling of gliding through the water. However, his swishing tail coming to aid does get tangled with your feet every now and then causing a giggle to bubble up your throat.

Luckily this sensation appears to distract you from the way the ilu swim out further into deeper waters. Ao’nung finds himself holding his breath, praying that you don’t notice how much further the sandy bottom is now. Fortunately, just as he hoped, the cute creatures have your full attention upon reaching them.

“Wow,” You whisper in a daze, looking past his shoulder. An’ali rubs up against her mother, earning an affectionate call in return. “They are beautiful.”

“They are ilu. Peaceful creatures.” When he reaches behind him to grab one of your hands there is resistance but he continues until it is resting upon the mother’s head. Se’xte gives a curious look but does not push away your tiny hand that pets at her head. He has a strong enough bond with her to have trust extending to you as well.

“And you ride them?”

“When we are younger, yes. Once a Na’vi has come of age and undergone their iknimaya they ride Tsurak.” If you are this amazed by the ilu he can only imagine what you will think once he introduces you to a Tsurak. Once he gets you more comfortable in the ocean maybe he can convince you to let him take you for a ride. At a slow pace of course. Your soft little hands do not have an ounce of the grip strength necessary to hold on for anything faster.

“She likes you.” Ao’nung smiles as Se’xte gives a chirp. He can practically feel you beam against his ear.

“I like her too.” It only lasts for another minute or so before the ilu is ducking beneath the water, not a sufficient amount of time to get a closer look at her baby. “Where are they going?”

“Beneath. We can follow.” Your fingers dig deeper into his shoulders, your breath wavering. Ao’nung doesn’t wait for permission however. It’s best not to give you time to overthink it. “Take a deep breath, paskalin.”

He waits to hear you deep inhale before diving beneath the surface. Your right arm hooks around his neck instinctively, your legs kicking out frantically but then there are the ilu just ahead, swimming around one another in a playful circle. Not wanting to push his luck too much on the first time, he surfaces after only a few seconds. This time he sets you to stand on a rock so that your head is above the soft waves.

“Ao’nung!” You gasp, holding a hand over your heart as if it is about to go into cardiac arrest. “Are you insane?! I could have died.”

“And yet you didn’t.”

That deeply rooted frown melts even as your eyes glare daggers back at him, no doubt not appreciating the smug look he wears. “You maniac!” Your accusation is accompanied by your right hand splashing water back at him. You’re barely holding back giddy laughter as you splash at him. Say what you want, but he knows you enjoyed the rush.

Ao’nung sweeps his own right hand out to splash back but his miscalculation of strength and the difference in height turns it into a full wave that washes over your entire upper body. “Oh.” He cringes slightly, feeling just a tad bit guilty for playing so rough.

However, to his surprise it lights something in your eyes. That embering fire turns into full blown competition as you try to imitate his man made wave. He fights back with his own, this time more gentle, retaliation as your laughter picks up. The Metkayina male’s tail swishes in excitement the further you take this little competition. Little sounds erupt from you that confuse him for a moment before he realizes this is your human form of battle cries.

His stomach aches from laughing so hard even as you manage to push a wave high enough to pummel him in the face. Ao’nung’s cerulean eyes narrow, his lips turning up into a crooked smirk. You have the better sense to scramble across the short distance of the rock when he lets out echoing yips and cries of a hunter who has already caught his precious prey.

Laughter and shouts coalesce together when he snatches you back in his arms. The splashing dies down as you struggle to catch your breath between wheezing laughter. Even Ao’nung himself finds his heart pounding at a significantly faster rhythm, but it’s spurred on by a new thrill that has taken him.

In the fit of playing you’ve slowly floated out of the circle in his arms, still holding onto his arms for support but there is no fear in your eyes now at being loosely kept above water. Just as he thought, the worst was all in your head.

“Do you trust me?”

You pause, eyes flickering between his face and the water again. And though it takes a moment for you to respond, you finally relent. “I do.”

Ao’nung smiles and situates you to float on your stomach. “Follow my lead, precious. Take a deep breath.”

Once he is sure your lungs are filled with oxygen Ao’nung wastes no time in helping you dive beneath the surface. His hands guide your body into the proper arch so that you can sink below and once you are, he dives beneath himself and grabs your clasped hands. With ease he slips deeper until he is directly below you and able to smoothly pull you through the water.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, as if bracing for harsh impact. Rolling his own eyes, he taps your cheek gently. When they timidly open he gives you a wide grin and a wink. However, Ao’nung does not have your spotlight for long. Now blown wide into sparkling orbs, your eyes take in every detail of the sea.

He gets to see it. The first time you fall in love with the ocean. The way you almost let out the breath in your lungs when a spade wing skates close by. How your gaze reflects every vibrant color the reefs have to offer. From the smallest to largest creature, you pay each the same undivided regard.

He couldn’t say what you see if his life depended on it, too enraptured in watching your reaction instead. The way one hand unclasps from his and reaches out to pet the juvenile ilu that passes them. Ao’nung can’t remember the first time he saw the ocean. He was only a baby and since then the underwater world has been his home more than the land above. So there is no telling if he looked at it for the first time the way you do now. Does he still appreciate the beauties of the sea for what they’re worth? Or has he grown to take such things for granted?

It feels like seeing it anew when he looks at it through your eyes.

He could watch you forever. Pull you through every inch of the sea if it means you can experience every wonder present from the open sea to the small nooks and crannies. You however can not hold your breath forever like this. So reluctantly, Ao’nung pulls you back up above the waves.

You gasp for air, but luckily there is no coughing fit to follow. Ao’nung keeps you above the surface as you fight to go back into a steady breathing pattern. However, it seems that the rapid beat of your heart is not just from catching your breath but also a reflection of the pure adrenaline your body displays.

Nothing is said for a long moment. Trying to gauge your reaction is difficult but a ravenous energy buzzes from you. Those pink lips part, but you don’t speak right away. You don’t appear to know what to say. And then slowly, your right hand comes to cup his cheek. He’s lost in your eyes the moment they snag his. A small sound catches in your throat, something between a laugh and a sigh.

For all the millions of words you’ve spoken, somehow this sound is the one he understands the most. True and utter awe.

Ao’nung doesn’t have to think when your lips touch his. It’s as simple as holding his breath, effortless as he pulls your body closer to his and bends to meet your kiss. It’s only been a few weeks since you first came to retrieve your bunny from his marui but his body has already begun acclimating to yours beautifully. He knows when to anticipate your little gasps for air when you’ve been kissing too long. His large hands have memorized the curve of your face and the feel of his fingers threading through your silky hair.

The ocean has never felt more tranquil than with you in his arms.

“The purple on the fins also reminded me of a dress that I put down ages ago, but now I don’t know maybe I will pick it up again. Because it looks so pretty in the water. Now that I think about it, it reminds me a lot of Annika’s dress. The one she magically receives at the end.”

Ao’nung wracks his brain to identify which movie you are referring to. Is this one you have already showed him or are you simply thinking out loud? Chances are it may be one of the stories he missed entirely because you were too tempting wrapped in that silky lingerie. Distracting you had earned him a light slap to the head but you didn’t complain once you were clenching around his thick fingers.

Even with your translation, following the plots of those weird stories is not nearly as entertaining as watching your face scrunch up in pleasure. Regardless, it’s important to you so he tries his best to behave. Or at least behave enough to keep you from kicking him out of your room.

“Oh my god what I would give to have the fabric for that dress.” You groan, your little theatrics tugging a smile to his lips.

“You were a very good numeyu [student] today, paskalin.” Ao’nung says, squeezing the hand that is interlocked with his own. Your fingers barely peek out from where his massive hand has them caged.

“Yeah well I have a pretty good karyu [teacher].” You send a wink even as heat rushes to your cheeks.

“Well I wouldn’t be a good teacher if I didn’t motivate you properly. So since you were so good for me today,” He snatches your waist and pulls you to a stop against him in one move. “I think you deserve a reward.” Those soft hands rest along his stomach, thumbs absentmindedly rubbing circles along the swirling pattern of his skin.

“Oh…I…is that so?” All essence of confident flirting flitters away before his eyes. Much like a fish out of water you gape for the proper words. It is far too easy to render you to such a state.

“Why are you soaking wet?” Lo’ak rounds the corner and jumps onto the woven walkway. While you put effort into breaking away and turning to the Sully boy with a smile, Ao’nung finds no reason to conceal his distaste for the untimely interruption.

“We were swimming.” You chirp, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Lo’ak’s unnatural dark brows knit together.

“You can’t swim. You’re terrified of the water. Remember last time I tried to get you in. It took hours and after five minutes you-”

An unrecognizable string of words fall from your lips to interrupt a story that Ao’nung was becoming quite interested in hearing. The consolation prize however is hearing your sharp tone shut the other male down. Whatever embarrassing memory Lo’ak was wanting to share is certainly enough to have you fidgeting beside him. “Ao’nung is teaching me how to swim.” You say, switching back to Na’vi.

“You are?” Lo’ak scoffs, finally turning to address him. His golden eyes dart between the two of you and it takes no genius to understand what memory the forest boy is recalling. In his youth Ao’nung had not been the most patient in teaching Lo’ak especially. Then again, he was also not in love with Lo’ak. He never earned the same softness that you bring out in him.

“It seems she has only been in need of the right karyu.” That smooth comment has Lo’ak eyes narrowed into slits. Sensing the tension between them you are quick to jump in.

“It was actually a lot of fun! I got to see a spade wing and a baby ilu, Lo.” Your voice is infused with so much energy, it’s clear you are attempting to compensate for the negative energy withering between Lo’ak and himself.

“And you went out in that? Tsmuke [sister], those are barely scraps.” He huffed, gesturing at your swimsuit. Something swells in Ao’nung’s chest. By the stars he is not about to let some forest boy crumble your confidence in wearing such a garment after all the work you’ve done to get this far. However, just as he is about to steer you behind him and give this skxawng [moron] a piece of his mind, you shrug and let out a little laugh.

“You wear nothing but a loincloth every day, Lo’ak. You’re not really in a position to judge.” Lo’ak opens his mouth to protest but you beat him to the punch. “Anyways, we’ve got to run. Bye!” You call out with a dramatic wave while tugging Ao’nung down the walkway. Sending a sly look over his shoulder he catches the way Lo’ak watches from afar with a pinched expression.

“Sorry about him.” You sigh.

“He does not approve.”

“No, it’s not like that. Lo’ak just thinks he has to play this protective brother role. It’s not personal.” His relationship with Lo’ak has come a long way since the Sullys first landed on this walkway. They’ve grown to put up with one another and occasionally be friendly, a necessity with the Omatikaya male courting his sister. That being said, he has never considered them close, nor would he be offended at finding out Lo’ak sees it the same way. You on the other hand don’t seem to understand this dynamic as you desperately try to reassure him.

“I swear he thinks just because he’s taller he can play big brother. He has concerns but that’s just part of his bravado act. I wouldn’t let it bother you.”

“It doesn’t.” Ao’nung shrugs. Although, it nags at him that Lo’ak has been sharing these concerns with you. If he has complaints they should be brought to him directly, not woven into your mind in hopes of creating doubt. Would that work? Have you already developed your own concerns? You’re a shy little thing at times but Ao’nung has always figured that to be part of how your personality reacts to his own. Surely, you must know the way he feels about you.

For all the ways you openly wear your heart on your sleeve, he still somehow can not be sure. Some things still remain a mystery when it comes to you.

“What is this?” You ask, once you're back inside his marui. He squints to make out one of the small figurines he had placed next to his hunting gear.

“A…cat?” He answers, eyes still squinting to see if he has passed your test correctly.

“No Ao’nung. I mean what is it doing here? What are all of them doing here?” The rest of the figurines are much like this cat one, although just like your bunny they all wear tiny clothes. Calico Critters you had called them the first time he asked. They serve no real purpose, just tiny things that stand there but the important thing is that you adore them.

So naturally he swiped them to bring back here.

“They don’t do anything, precious. Just exist I suppose.”

Your attempt at a stern expression is endearing, hand placed on your hips as your neck cranes to glare up at him.

“I’m starting to think you’re a kleptomaniac. You can’t keep stealing my stuff.”

“It is not stealing.” He shrugs.

“Oh really? Then what is it?”

“Relocating.” Ao’nung grins. “Now you can enjoy them here.”

Although there is not true ire in your questioning there is in fact real push back on the topic. You know why he has stolen your creepy figurines. Just as you know why he has strung some fabrics of pink and purple like a canopy along the ceiling of his marui. And placed a few of your extra blankets in his hammock. Whatever it takes to lure you back here night after night.

Notwithstanding all of his efforts, you continue to split your time between here and your place in the tawtute caves. Moving into his marui would be a natural next step in your relationship. Of course you are attached to all the silly trinkets you’ve acquired but he is not opposed to letting you litter his marui with them as long as you would call this place your home too.

Still, he remains patient. Many courting couples wait until properly mating before living together anyways. You must share the same morals. However, he sees no harm in enticing you all the same.

“I know what you’re doing.” Your voice smooths out into a sing-song tone. Ao’nung’s long hair falls over his right shoulder when he cocks his head to the side and feigns innocent curiosity. “You truly are ridiculous.” Fighting back a smile you begin arranging the figurines neatly into their separate families.

He has the decency to wait until they’re organized before sweeping you from the ground and falling back onto his hammock in one swift move. It draws a surprised chirp from your lips. A deep sigh echoes from his own chest even as you make weak protests about him giving you a heart attack.

“You know I still need to dry off.” You remind him but Ao’nung already has his head leaned back against the woven fabric. His right arm smoothly encircles around your middle to clamp you against his chest. You squirm and thrash to get out of his hold but it only takes an iota of his strength to keep you locked there. Even with his eyes closed in a show of feigned sleep, he can’t keep his lips from twitching into a pleased smirk.

That smirk crackles into a full laughter induced grin when your small hand swats at the side of his head. “Ao’nung,” You chide, a slight whine to your tone that has him stifling back his amusement.

Peeking his eyes open he finds your own strangely colored eyes glaring back at him. This little game of back and forth is one that you both enjoy frequently but he has a feeling that this time you may actually insist on being let up to get your towel. A sigh heaves from his chest as he shakes his head fondly. “There is no need, tawtute. I will keep you warm.” He says, reaching down to pull out a blanket and toss it over your small form.

Ao’nung is grateful when you don’t fight him further or demand a proper reason. He would give one but it’s unlikely you would understand. How could he explain that seeing you drenched like this does something to him? That your hair smelling of the sea’s salt water serves as a direct signal of you and his home coming together? Everything about you is unique, so new and foreign to him but there is something about witnessing those beautiful aspects of you slowly integrate into his life on the reef as well that lingers with him.

But you’re tawtute. Your sense of smell is greatly dampened in comparison. It’s a shame considering how many times he has scent marked you and you can’t even recognize it, let alone appreciate the possessive gesture. No, there isn’t an easy way to explain to you what he is feeling as he presses his nose against your crown. And even if there is, it’s doubtful that he would be the one to find it. Saying the right thing hasn’t always been his strong suit. It’s Tsireya that is good with the mushy sentiments.

And why waste the air with such jumbled nonsense when this moment already holds everything he needs? An ocean breeze that filters through the entrance of his marui to coast over your frame and carry your essence. A soft sway to the hammock, lulling him to relax. The satisfying weight of your warm body draped across his own.

And then there are your hands. Uncalloused pointer finger that delicately begins tracing over his shoulder tattoo. The soft glide of your finger greatly contrasts the pain he had endured to stain his skin with dark ink. You’ve never witnessed a Metkayina tattoo ceremony but your quiet fascination carries a certain reverence.

Swirling down further and further until he can feel the tickle along his bicep. Such a simple sensation, barely more than the brush of a breeze, yet it melts through him like liquid gold. The unconscious tense of his muscles release and already he can feel his breath deepen. He’s on the verge of succumbing to this silent lullaby when his ear twitches from being touched.

Ao’nung opens his eyes to find that you are carefully tucking a few strands or curly hair behind his pointed ear. Letting others touch his hair is not a normal practice for him. Traditionally he has relied on Tsireya exclusively to fashion it into a suitable hairstyle. There is something deeply…personal about it. It’s always been a fixation for you though.

And where his tail typically pikes onto alert and a growl blossoms in his chest at a foreign touch to his curls, somehow it all dissipates away when it comes to your strange tawtute hands.

Perhaps it's the way you marvel at him openly. You’ve always had a fascination for pretty things, a category that he was pleased to find himself a part of when your hasty confession came that first night. You’re often shy in speaking it, but your touch and stare always hold that same appreciation for his physique.

There’s more to it, though.

When you stare up at him like this, all bashfulness put to the side, it cuts him open. As if with one prolonged moment you’ve managed to strip him bare and peer into his very soul. It’s not his hair or intricate tattoos that you see. Not even the dozen of physical differences between you two that screams alien. You look at him.

Whatever you see in him.

If only he could read your thoughts. Finally untangle your tawtute customs and culture that have webbed you into a puzzle for him. Do you get that burning in your chest too? That one that feels like his heart has been clutched in an iron grip? Perhaps a grip from the same hands that now go back to tracing his tattoos.

With the smallest sigh your head drops back onto his chest. Sleep overcoming you is obvious by the now absence of touch along his right bicep. Ao’nung follows you into slumber mere minutes after when he has finally brought his heart rate back to a normal speed.

Your nap far exceeds his own. While Ao’nung had only dosed off for a few minutes but you are dead to the world for at least a half hour. Apparently that little swim had worn you to the bone. He would have to help you with endurance. It seems tawtute are not built for staying in the water long.

In fact you are so still as you sleep that Ao’nung finds himself placing a hand across your back to check that it still rises and falls with breath. When you do wake up it takes a minute for you to make out where you are with blurry vision. A sheepish look crosses your features upon realizing what position you’ve remained in. It’s followed by some silly notion that you laying on top of him is somehow considered rude or uncomfortable. He’ll never understand why you make these assertions.

Regardless, Ao’nung quickly wraps both arms around your waist when you attempt to move off of him. Dislodging yourself from his hold is an impossible task, a truth that you must come to recognize as you only give a feigned huff and try fighting back a smile.

“We can’t stay here forever you know.”

His pointer finger slowly drags over every vertebrae of your spine as he lets out a thoughtful hum. “Maybe not forever but I did promise a reward. Can’t have you skipping off before receiving what you are owed.”

The air seems to thicken with his words. A familiar tension is slowly wound as all of your sleepiness dissipates and goosebumps ripple across your skin. He can feel the evidence of his own excitement shifting beneath his tewng. Dirty thoughts of all the ways he could reward you sprout to the forefront of his mind. There is no end to these thoughts when it comes to you. Never before has someone woven themselves into his fantasies so incessantly. Even to the point where it can be a struggle to focus on his duties while you swim through his head.

Ao’nung pushes down those ideas for now, however. It’s only fair that you get to pick the reward after all that you’ve accomplished today. And then��if you need some ideas he would be more than anxious to supply.

“Have you decided what reward that will be?” He asks, forcing his hands to remain above the tempting curve of your ass. Just for now. You’re not always the most articulate when his wandering hands come into play.

Something flickers in your expression. Only a second before you are averting your gaze and gnawing on your bottom lip. Ao’nung’s exploring hand stills as curiosity lights within him. Propping himself onto one elbow he invades your space, forcing your eyes to meet his own.

“You do.” He smirks, reveling in the way you fight to squirm.

“Well, maybe. I don’t know. It’s just an idea so I’m not sure if-”

“Sevin [beautiful/pretty],” Ao’nung interrupts. “Tell me.” He coats his voice in a smooth purr, hoping to coax an answer from you, but his patience can only last so long. Whatever idea has sprouted in your brain must be obscene enough to prompt such hesitation in telling him. However Ao’nung has come to find that your meter for rating lewds acts is far more sensitive than his own. Regardless, you have his attention now. All of his previous ideas are cast to the side in favor of hearing what has you blushing.

“I was thinking that maybe…if it’s okay with you…that I could…suck you off?”

Ao’nung’s devilish smirk drops in an instant.

“For your reward you want to suck my cock?” The vulgar language has your cheeks deepening in color but you manage to nod.

Great Mother above, where did he find you?

It seems he must have done something right in his past life. He was ready to find satisfaction in your slick along his tongue and watching your writhe with pleasure but now you are sitting on top of him, the true depiction of bashfulness, asking to put his cock down your throat. His brain can’t really make sense of it, but he still stands by not asking questions when nice things come his way. And precious, you are by far the nicest thing he has ever had.

“Is that weird?”

“No,” comes his instant reply. Subconsciously he holds his breath. You’re an easy one to spook.

“Actually I was hoping you could teach me.”

This is starting to feel far too close to one of his favorite fantasies. So much so that Ao’nung takes note of every detail in the room to confirm that this could not be just some erotic dream. But this is real and a feral creature is stirring inside of him, gnawing at the bars of its enclosure.

“You’ve never…” Ao’nung trails off. Neither of you have talked much about past relationships, you especially. It’s common knowledge that the Metkayina prince has had his time sleeping around but he has no inkling of what you’ve experienced. The only hints he receives are the clear hesitation in your movements. Just enough to have him wondering if he is your first.

“I have. Just once.” That has his other arm propping him so he is now sitting up properly. “I mean I tried to once but I-I wasn’t very good at it. At least that’s what he said. Which make sense, I had no idea what I was doing so I couldn’t really be mad when he said we shouldn’t again-”

“Who?” A dark venom fills his chest. This is the first time you’ve discussed a past lover and he’s already not liking the light it's being presented in.

“Just a guy I used to date back with the Omatikaya.” So he’s not here. It would take crossing an ocean to kill him. Then again, he’s done more for less. Was it an Omatikaya male or did you fool around with one of the science tawtute? “It’s fine. He was right.”

His brain lags at the information. Caught between confusion and rage.

“And oh god now I’ve made it sound like the most unappealing thing possible. Great.”

Ao’nung barely hears your embarrassed groan. What man in their right mind has a beautiful creature like you on her knees for him only to criticise and turn her away? To be presented a gift and not only reject it but smash it into pieces, tear your confidence to shreds. So what if you’re inexperienced? A true man knows how to teach, takes joy in it. Joy that this creature has tossed out without regard.

It’s a perplexing tug of war between emotions. As a man himself he can’t help but find this person’s actions incredibly ridiculous. And yet, the idea of him enjoying your body has Ao’nung imagining ripping this faceless man to shreds. And a man he must not be. No true man does this.

To treat you in this way…there is no honor in such actions. The Omatikaya are different but they are still respectable Na’vi. It could not have been one of them, that would somehow feel worse. So a tawtute it must have been. A vrrtep [demon].

“It doesn’t have to be that. I think I might be making it a bit weird by sharing this.”

“This man said such things to you?” To your face? He looked you in the eyes as you fiddled with the hem of a lacy skirt and apprehension seated beneath long lashes and told you he didn’t enjoy your mouth around him? He watched those beautiful eyes hold back tears? Looked at perfection incarnate and spat in the face of it?

“Well yeah but..does it really matter?”

Does it matter? How could it not matter? Is that what he wanted you to think? That this was no big deal, convince you to suck it up and move on without complaint? That wouldn’t work on you. It’s only been a few weeks and even Ao’nung knows that words cut you deep. Anyone with a morsel of sense would know that. But this man, the same that somehow had the honor of sharing your bed, obviously had not taken a second to understand you.

Could he even please you if so? Had he even tried? Not in the way Ao’nung has, that much has been obvious from the way you still tremble after the orgasms he coaxes from you. It’s not a contest, for that he would require true competition. However a part of him, a part that directly conflicts his innate urge to pummel any man that has touched you, feels as if there should be competition. No one would ever compare to him, but your past experiences should have at least been enjoyable.

“Who is this?” His throat strains to hold back a growl.

“Um…I’m getting the feeling that it’s a bad idea to tell you.”

Smart thing that you are, you’re right. Correct if your goal is to prevent Ao’nung from ripping this anonymous man’s throat out. He can’t fathom why you would want to protect him but then again this is very in character for you. No matter what someone has done you always have a way of finding a soft spot for them. You care so much, sometimes too much.

And this man didn’t care for you at all.

Your precious heart is too big to tell him, but the Metkayina prince vows he will find out one way or another.

“He was just being honest.”

“Sevin,” A stern understone laces the pet name as he captures your chin. “He did not deserve you.”

Ao’nung weighs those words with every ounce of sincerity he can muster. And you feel it. It shows in the way your shoulders drop and expression melts into something new. Not a smile by any means but his words have touched you, they beckon you further into his arms. And then there is that cinch around his heart again.

And being the ridiculous little thing you are, you thank him. As if telling the truth is ever a favor. You are utterly nonsensical at times. Utterly nonsensical and utterly his.

“What he deserves is a spear through the chest.”

“Okay big guy, calm down.” You say, patting his chest while trying to hide your creeping amusement. You think he’s joking. How cute.

“Are you asking me to teach you because that’s what you want or because you think this is what I want?” Ao’nung hates to ask, to potentially ruin this opportunity for himself, but it’s needed. He won’t be like that pathetic creature of a lover you once had. Avoiding that starts with making sure you aren’t simply doing this for his benefit, to prove yourself in a way that he has never and will never ask you to.

“Do you want it?”

His hairless brows drop as he gives you a deadpan look. “Precious, you already know that I do.” Want it more than you can even fathom. “But that’s not what I asked you.”

There is a beat of hesitation, you poor bottom lip already torn up from your gnawing. “I want to feel like I know what I’m doing. I want to make you feel good in the same way you do me.”

“You already do.” There is still much left for the two of you to explore, so much more he can’t wait to do with you but there is no rush. You’ve brought him to the heights of pleasure no one else has before.

“I know but…still. And it’s not the only reason why. I’m curious.” Your head tilts in a subtle way to create a curtain out of your hair and hide that sheepish look. “You’re just so different and I…I’m interested.”

Different.

Interested.

Two trails of thoughts fighting for attention. Different from your past lover. Different because he is Metkayina or different because he is a Na’vi. Perhaps it shouldn’t matter but it’s difficult to stamp down that curiosity.

However, Ao’nung focuses on the latter. The same that has his ears perking with his own interest and groin suddenly becoming very aware of your weight situated there.

A low hum of appreciation rumbles in his chest as he slowly situates your further onto his lap. His turquoise cheek brushes against your jaw before he presses a slow kiss there. “My curious sevin, hm?” You suck in a breath when his sharp teeth just barely nip at your earlobe.

“Yes.” You whisper but those small hands are already smoothing over his shoulders, one even slinking to the nape of his neck.

“You know I am always happy to sate your curiosity, precious.”

That abused bottom lip is finally released when he captures you in a kiss. Despite the growing anticipation, Ao’nung leads this kiss in a pace that is anything but rushed. It’s languid. Relaxed. Sensual. And when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss you eagerly respond in kind.

The ties of your bikini are much simpler than the average Metkayina top and yet it’s difficult to concentrate on undoing them when his tongue is swirling around yours and your hands have already taken real estate lodged deep in his hair. Fingers fumbling for a moment to undo your top he can’t fathom at which point he had let you get such a tight hold on him. Those curious hands hold more power than he would dare to let you know.

The skimpy piece of fabric finally sags, only held up by being sandwiched between his chest and yours.

“This is what you want?” Ao’nung asks again, only departing from your lips for a second.

“Yes.” He pulls back when you eagerly chase after him for more.

“Promise me.” He demands.

“I promise.”

No words have tasted sweeter against his lips. So Ao’nung rewards your sweet behavior with a slow beckon of his tongue. Skillfully exploring and stroking your own until a groan has your lips parting wider for him. His right hand cups the back of your head, easily encompassing the width of your skull in his hold. Anything to keep you there, to continue breathing in your essence until it is seared down his throat.

Your breath is erratic when he pulls away. Even more so when he whispers a simple, “good girl.” There is always a visceral reaction that comes from that short phrase. An ease of tension in your muscles, a breathy sigh that directly trails to a shiver down your spine. It’s become one of his favorite coined phrases for that reaction exactly. Praise has a way of slipping you into a new headspace, one where worry dissipates and you finally allow him to worship you in the way you deserve.

Ao’nung veers back just enough to let your top fall before pulling you close again. Your breasts press against his chest, those tender nubs already prickling against his skin. So responsive and he’s hardly done anything to you yet.

It’s your turn to fumble with the ties when you attempt to undo his tewng. Ao’nung smoothly shifts onto his knees but that doesn’t greatly reduce your struggle when it comes to unwinding the ties from his tail. He’s partly to blame. The second you graze the base of his tail it reacts with a strong swish. Without one of your own, it must be difficult for you to comprehend the unique sensitivity of his tail. You sense there is something, though, hands already retreating shyly.

“What is wrong?” He murmurs against your temple.

“Nothing.”

It’s less than convincing, even more so when you grapple to meet his gaze. “No need to be shy, precious.”

“I just…don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s tempting to roll his eyes, a tawtute habit you’ve somehow managed to ingrain in him. Instead, he grasps your tiny hand carefully in his own and begins pushing it back towards his tail. “Just as you are mine, paskalin, I am yours.” Ao’nung fights back a shiver when you just barely brush the base of the wide appendage. “Which means I am yours to explore. Yours to enjoy.”

“Take advantage of it.” Something flickers in your countenance at his words. Although still slow and careful in actions a spark of intrigue ignites. He has been the main instigator in your interactions, far more bold in letting his desire for you show. And while Ao’nung revels in always having the upper hand it’s important that you understand the joy that comes from it too. To let you wander and sate your curiosities without restraint. Finally allow yourself the freedom from silly tawtute concerns that plague you.

Because he is yours.

He has been yours since the first time he saw you land at their shores with ribbons in your hair wearing that ridiculously short yellow dress. Even he did not know that day how far gone he already was.

Either way, you two have obviously been crafted for one another. And Ao’nung will be damned before he lets pointless Sky People customs get in the way of you fully enjoying that bond. To finally taste the ecstasy that comes with owning someone, body and soul.

Finally his tewng falls away and Ao’nung helps you dispose of it to the side. As he works on the ties of your bottoms now a kernel of courage slowly sprouts within your actions. Ao’nung smirks against the crook of your neck when he feels the traces of fingertips along his pecs before dragging over the lines of his abdomen.

As tempting as it is to tease you for the interest, Ao’nung spares you his knowing looks and instead encourages the action by placing sweet kisses along your throat. With very little effort he ripens an old mark he had left there last week, licking over the now beautiful contrast of color in delight. It seems to spur something within you as well, small kisses now running over his collarbones and down his chest.

The touch is featherlight, enough to have him almost squirming at how it tickles him. However, you are already letting your touch travel south. Ao’nung graciously aids this endeavor, sliding you off of his lap, flinging your bottoms to the side and laying down on his back with spread legs. For a moment he considers standing up and letting you kneel for a better access but it feels like a risk.

You are just barely mustering up enough confidence to explore. A small thing like you is easy to startle, standing above you could be too intimidating. And as much as he loves watching your nerves paint a beautiful blush over those cheeks, today it’s in his best interest to tread carefully.

Ao’nung holds back a jerk reaction when your hand wraps around the base of his cock. Despite your demure nature this activity has become one very familiar to you. It’s been a safe substitute for your little pussy as you work your way up there. It’s hard not to think about how you will stretch around his thick cock someday, how little whines will bubble up your throat without reprieve and he will finally know what it means to be inside of you.

But you are small. And fragile.

It’s easier to push those thoughts aside in order to maintain his patience.

You only stroke him a few times, hand barely able to wrap fully around him. And then without any warning, there is a loss of touch and you are crawling up his chest again. Ao’nung pulls back and raises a brow when your right hand slinks to the back of his head. Perhaps you are wanton for another kiss but then your lips never descend to his. Instead there is a shift in his hair before the rest of his long locks are falling freely and you are holding the band that originally had it tied into a bun.

This is a common preference of yours, seeing his hair unrestrained. However, today you don’t just fling the band to the side and become engrossed in admiring the curls. That large band is fitted around your wrist before you are bending back to gather your own hair. The view is more than preferable, back curving and chest opened up for his heated gaze. All of a sudden he can’t remember what his objections to his own hair were. Not when his teeth are drawing blood from his lip just imagining how perfectly they would sink into your right breast. Just above the nipple where no one but him would get to admire such a beautiful mark.

You tie your hair back into a ponytail, even giving its roots a good tug for measure. You mean business.

“Who is stealing whose stuff now?” Ao’nung jests.

“I don’t see you complaining.” Your nose scrunches at him in a teasing manner. It wipes away when his warm hands encompass your hips, kneading the flesh sensually. His left hand travels up your stomach and past your ribcage before brushing one nipple not so innocently.

“I’m very generous when it comes to you, precious.” You won’t understand how true those words are, especially when you’re too busy gasping at the harsh tug he gives your right nipple.

Saliva gathers along his tongue as he flicks the other hardened nub. Those pretty little tits always feel good in his mouth. So malleable. Your cries always responsive. If it weren’t for the clear ache between his legs the Metkayina prince would have you flipped onto your back and mouth tormenting those perfect breasts until you would beg for him to stop by now.

But that’s not the reward he promised you, he reminds himself as you are released and slink back down between his thighs. Apprehension settles in your shoulders again when you are face to face with his twitching cock. Fisting the bottom you take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“Paskalin,” He calls lowly. “There is no rush.”

Everything in his body screams otherwise, but Ao’nung maintains a cool composure. You’re already nervous. Already scarred from a past bad experience. It’s his job to do everything in his power to ease that burden. Even when that means torturing himself with the perfect image of you nestled between his thighs all while desperately aching for your touch.

“Yeah but you’re-”

“I am fine. It’s your reward, sevin. Do what feels natural to you.”

What feels natural to you is far more than what he is ready for. Plush lips press against his hip bone, trailing down into open mouthed kisses along his thigh. And then there are your teeth. Those silly blunt teeth that struggle to make an indent in his flesh but your attempt is stimulating all the same. A soft tongue and small teeth encompassed with those perfectly kissable lips work to suck and bite a new color along his upper right thigh.

You’re trying to mark him.

Claim him as he has claimed you so many times.

It’s concerning how fast it frays as his self control, awakening that primal beast within him. His own nails sink into the root of his messy hair while his other hand resting at the back of your head, carefully ensuring to cup you gently not push. When a muscle in his thick thigh flexes that silky tongue chases the line it makes.

The entire endeavor has his body awakening with anticipation, fighting the urge to pin you down and take what he wants now. It is ridiculous how such a simple act from his tawtute has him twitching with need but he loves seeing you this way. Letting your unbridled desire show, using his body the way that has always been your right.

When you pull back, Ao’nung’s neck cranes to see the damage. And damage you can barely call it as there is the smallest purple spot blooming along his upper thigh. Tiny indents of teeth around it.

It is nowhere near the possessive carnage of his own marks upon your lighter skin, in fact the change in color is hardly a contrast. But it’s his. Your adorable attempt at marking your territory is utterly his to treasure. His precious tawtute leaving the sweetest of gifts.

“So pretty, paskalin.” He purrs, finger stroking through your scalp as he battles the urge to stick his tongue down your throat again. The pad of your thumb brushes over the mark, gaze just barely peeking up at him beneath your long lashes.

His body can’t fight a jerk this time when you unexpectedly grab the base of his cock again. A reassuring smile is quickly plastered on his face when you look up at him in concern. The size of him is borderline comical in your hand. Cock practically the length of your forearm, it’s daunting to imagine what a tight fit it will be in your mouth. Equally erotic and nerve wracking to think of those sweet lips stretching around him.

“Promise you’ll help me do it right?” You ask gently, as if you aren’t simultaneously stroking his twitching cock in one hand, precum already drizzling down between your fingers.

“I promise. Stop worrying.” Ao’nung prays you don’t hear the waver in his voice. How unfair it is to expect him to answer your questions when it’s taking everything within him not to fuck up into your fist. “Just start with your tongue, precious. Let yourself taste.”

He had meant for you to explore slowly, maybe start from the bottom and work your way up but it’s clear you’re out to kill him because instead your pink tongue immediately flicks at the head of his cock, right over the slit where a drop of precum rests.

It’s a pure shot of electricity.

And that’s when Ao’nung knows…he is in trouble.

How did he not calculate for this? This is by far not the first time he has had a beautiful woman’s mouth running along him, but they had all been Metkayina women before you. Their tongues had a rougher texture, something enjoyable but entirely different to the silk-like surface of your own. It’s so soft it almost tickles.

He’s known this from the first time you kissed but somehow that never translated into how it would feel against his most sensitive parts.

Mercy is not afforded to him. Like the good numeyu you are, his instructions are taken to heart as your tongue lathers along every inch of him. Sometimes shorter flicks of your tongue while others long strokes that travel from the base to tip. You are duteous in your task. Even going as far as running over his heavy balls hanging beneath.

Great Mother above, he was not built to contain himself like this.

Blown out pupils look up at him when you pull back. It’s impossible to miss the seated hunger in your gaze, but first and foremost you wait for him to guide you. There is a drop of his arousal resting at the corner of your lips innocently, already starting to glow as eclipse has set outside.

Without thinking, Ao’nung finds his own thumb pressing at the dot to slip it back inside your mouth. The digit is accepted without question. Curiosity getting the better of him now, the prince presses his thumb down on your tongue.

Obediently your jaw slacks and lips separate. The pad of his thumb drags over your silky tongue as his other fingers curl beneath your chin. Saliva coats the digit before Ao’nung softly presses your jaw closed. “Suck,” He instructs.

Unlike with swimming you don’t question his methods. You suck hard enough to hollow your cheeks, presenting the perfect tools to imagine what it will feel like around his cock. “There you go. Breath through your nose, sevin.”

You take every direction graciously, following each to a tee. By the time he pulls his thumb out with a pronounced pop sound, it has a line of saliva still connecting it to your lips. He can’t help himself. Ao’nung slides that wet thumb down between your legs and lets it brush over your clit. A choked sound echoes from your throat, clasping his shoulder as he reaches further down to confirm his suspicions.

You are absolutely drenched.

“I-I want to try,” your breathy voice rushes out.

Biting back a moan, Ao’nung kisses your cheek before whispering, “Do as you wish.”

With heavy lidded eyes, he lays back and watches you settle between his thighs again. There is less urgency this time, desire overriding your apprehension. Less timid now, you take his cock in hand and start to fit your lips around the head. The tip is barely past your lips before you are emulating the ministrations he had taught you on his thumb. Cheeks hollowed and tongue running wild, you suck the very life out of him.

“Precious precious,” Ao’nung gasps out, pulling your head off of him. “Not yet, sweetheart. Not yet.”

His body thrums from the aftershock. Too much all at once. “Let’s focus on getting me in that pretty mouth first, hm?”

“Sorry,” You mumble, already pulling back but Ao’nung pushes your head forward again.

“Don’t apologize, sevin. You are being so good for me.” Wrapped in his praise you lower down around him slower this time.

Just fitting the head inside is already a mouthful, something he tries to keep in mind as his hips are begging to buck up into your sweet cavern. It feels like being wrapped in satin. That perfectly hot wet cocoon of your mouth encircling his cock as if it was made for him. Not even halfway down and he can just barely feel the back of your throat.

Ao’nung keeps you positioned there, not wanting to push you too far yet. He makes the mistake of looking down, however, and that image alone has his balls drawing up, dangerously close to the edge. Your pink lips stretched to their limit, such a beautiful contrast to sparkling eyes that peek up at him for approval. An absolute masterpiece.

A shudder ripples forward when you suddenly pull off of him. “It won’t fit,” you pout.

As if the situation isn’t already enough, those deceptively sweet words have the filthiest of fantasies running through his head.

“That’s alright. You can use your hand for the rest.” He prompts.

The advice helps when you lower down again, fisting what you can of the rest with your hand but even then it won’t cover all of him. “Now you can try your tongue, sevin. Just like I taught you.”

But the way your tongue incidentally rides the vein on the underside of his cock is far more than what he taught you. It’s only his reaction that has you less oblivious to its sensitivities. Ao’nung lungs suck in air sharply, the concave of his stomach accenting the x shape of his ribs.

“Am I hurting you?” You ask, abruptly rearing off of him. Those beautiful features are painted with such genuine concern Ao’nung is caught between laughing at your innocence and growling in need. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean-”

“You are so far from hurting me, precious.” Voice thickening with something carnal, Ao’nung pins you with ocean blue eyes. “That pretty mouth feels so good around me. Let me feel it again, paskalin.”

The words strike you hard, plummeting you into a daze-like state as you softly follow the push of his hand. Whatever worries you have dissipate, too focused on getting him to gasp like that again. And it turns out such filthy words are exactly what you need when he is nestled in your heat, wide eyes crinkling with glee.

“There we go. Now suck, sweetheart.”

It takes little encouragement for your compliance. Even the small directions of how hard to suck, where to lap your tongue is ardently followed. Less experienced you may be but your obedience makes up for it ten fold. And then you are following him down into the thick haze of desire. Nostrils flaring, your head starts lowering down to take him deeper.

Despite his flaring desire to watch you choke on him, Ao’nung hesitates. You’re fragile. This isn’t like the other women he has been intimate with. Throwing you around, using you too harshly, can come with consequences. Push too hard and he may just break you, making this an experience you never wish to repeat.

But then his cerulean eyes catch a glimpse of your thighs, the way they squeeze together. That tantalizing essence is thick in the air, even more so when you begin rutting against the fabric like an animal in heat. There is still a slyness to your movements that tell him you’re trying not to get caught, but it’s too late.

You are enjoying this just as much as him, big wide eyes begging for more.

And so more you will get.

“You want my cock down your throat. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

The hum you give in response not only confirms his theories but lights every pleasure center in his brain. A growl rumbles in his chest. “Of course you do, because you’re a good fucking girl, aren’t you?”

Another whine around him and Ao’nung’s toes are curling against the hammock. He fists the base of your ponytail and both of your hands position themselves at his hips, blunt nails digging in. “Then do as I say, sevin. Relax that throat and let me in.”

The first time he slinks past the back of your throat, your gag reflex kicks in dramatically. Immediately he pulls out to allow you a ragged breath but before he can ask if you’re alright, your hands are clawing at his hips and trying to pull him back in. Ao’nung doesn’t need to be told twice.

The pattern continues. His hips draw forward a little more each time until the choking seems to be too much and Ao’nung draws back to allow you air. Each time he is rewarded with the view of your sinfully debauched state. Lips ruby red, a mixture of his precum and saliva glossing over them, and blown out pupils lazily staring up at him.

You’re a quick learner. It’s easy to fall into a rhythm of this pattern. It comes to a point where you are efficient in taking a deep breath before he is spearing down your throat again. Until it can be done faster and faster. Until he has almost three quarters of his length encompassed and able to thrust a couple times before needing to pull back.

“Fuck, precious!” He groans, feet already planting against the hammock’s surface. “My perfect little cocksucker.”

Those words spurs a new energy through you. When he comes to pop out after a couple thrusts, you snag his hip and give him a look. A silent communication that tells him all he needs to know. And by Eywa, it could not come at a better time. He is hanging just over the edge of release. It’s unclear how much longer he can keep that beast inside of him caged.

So when you pull back for one last breath, his grip tightens on your hair and Ao’nung hips finally snap up with vigor. You take it like a champ, choking and drooling but eagerly pushing him to fuck down your throat. Those little ruts against the hammock becoming even more desperate with every growled moan he releases.

“So fucking perfect.” He growls out between clenched teeth. The last tangible sound before his hips are ricketting sporadically and his balls are drawing up against him. Ao’nung finishes with his head thrown back. A position that only lasts for a moment as he quickly remembers to look down and watch the way you choke around him. He doesn’t fight it when you pull back and the rest of his spend lands across your jaw and collarbones.

Now caught in his own daze, the prince hazily savors the masterpiece before him. Tears glossing over your eyes, abused lips parted, and his bioluminescent cum painting your satin like skin. If only there was a way to keep this image tucked away in his pocket forever.

Coming down from his high, Ao’nung feels a tinge of guilt when he surveys your state. That is, until he catches another whiff of your arousal and watches a dopey grin trace your lips. For the first time in perhaps forever, he finds himself speechless.

That grin dampens down in the silence, however. Chest still heaving for air you nervously ask, “Was it…good?”

Nothing more than a raspy whisper but your concern is pure.

Ao’nung is baffled. Wholly bewildered at how you can sit there with his sperm still dripping down your breasts and sincerely ask him such a question.

He’s going to kill that pathetic man, that is for certain. Rip apart the one person that ever dared to make you question such a thing. The man that made you feel like anything less than a goddess.

“Good?” He asks, slowly rising to sit up. You bite your bottom lip. “Oh precious, you aren’t good.” Ao’nung’s thick tail swerves behind him when he settles onto his knees, hands clasping your hips. “You are addicting. My perfect unraveling.”

If he wasn’t so impatient he would savor the way your breath catches and eyes sparkle in delight. But he only sees it for a second before you are manhandled onto your back with a squeak and he is bullying his head between your squishy thighs.

“Spread those pretty legs, tawtute. It’s my turn to taste.”

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loveandpeaceanddoughnuts · 3 days ago

Note

Hiiii I recently found your account and love your writing.

Would you be able to write something angsty for Levi where the reader gets seriously injured while out on a mission? I’d like it to be really angsty but whatever you want to do I’m good with!

Hi lovely anon, thank you so much for your kind words and this request!! I've dabbled in angst here and there, but this is definitely the darkest I've gone. I was surprised to find I really enjoyed writing it! Maybe there's more angst in my future hm...

Anyways THANK YOU again for sending this, I love hearing from readers and love requests! I'm sorry that it took me so long to get back to you, I hope you still see this and that you enjoy it if you do!

don't fall away from me: Levi x Scout!Reader angst

[tw: hurt/no comfort, heavy angst as requested!, injury/gore, spoilers for No Regrets, mentioned (not actual) vomiting // wc: 2k // ao3 // set before the fall of Shiganshina]

It wasn't often that you and Levi were separated for missions these days. A combination of luck and called-in favors from the Captain meant that most days and nights you were by each other's side, sometimes worse for wear, but together, at least.

But luck didn't last forever, and Levi wasn't all-powerful. You had been sent on a long-term mission beyond the walls, leading a troop of Scouts to establish an outpost farther than the Regiment had ever been able to put down roots. It was risky, but if successful, would pay off immediately, filling in new corners of the Eldian map. Levi stayed behind, part of Erwin's private detail as the Commander lobbied for more funding.

Levi hated it. Hated the pompous bastards he had to deal with, the tasteless displays of wealth in the inner walls, and worst of all, that it kept him from you. But you had reassured him as you always did, strong arms around his neck and soft lips against his. "I'll be home soon, Levi. Wait for me." He saw your squad off, raised his hand in a stern wave, watching until you and your horse disappeared over the horizon.

It wouldn't last forever, he reminded himself. You were tough. So was he- a few weeks away was nothing in the grand scheme of things. And he'd seen you take down enough titans to know that they should be afraid of you. The memory made his chest swell with a quiet pride. You were a damn good soldier, and you were his. He'd make sure to remind you of both when you came home.

That was the hope that kept Levi patient as he waited out the weeks. Once the political posturing was over, he took his stress out on the spiders that had taken up residence in the rafters of the scouts' barracks. Hange was heard laughing quietly to Moblit that HQ was always cleanest when you were away. Luckily for them, Levi didn't overhear, too busy chasing his worry away with a dustrag.

The morning of your squad's return dawned clear, the sun cresting the Walls like it anticipated your arrival as much as Levi did. The Captain had been up before then- fussing over his hair and straightening his cravat needlessly, wanting to appear cool and calm when he rode out to meet you. You were sure to tease him otherwise. It had become something of a game to see who could spot the other first at your homecomings, waiting just inside the gate or, if impatience got the best of you, riding out to meet the other on some pretense.

He sipped from the teacup between his fingers, hiding a smile as he thought about the look on your face. Your eyes always lit up, your grim on-duty expression melting into relief, excitement- love, when you saw him again. He was almost sure it was love. Little as he knew about the subject, anyway. Hoped it was, would've prayed it was if he had any faith. Because Levi loved you. He hadn't admitted it yet, but the weeks of separation had shown him just how much he had grown to rely on you, to cherish your shared moments, the light you shone in the dark corners of his life.

Maybe he didn't need to seem cool and calm, this time. He allowed himself to believe that you'd missed him as much as he missed you. That certainty carried the Captain to his horse, through the gates, out on a hard ride through the outskirts of the walled city, until he saw the blurry forms of your squad through the morning mist. His carefully fixed hair fell back into messy bangs across his forehead as he urged his horse faster, his body taut with both exertion and excitement. You were almost home.

He searched for your face in the crowd of green-cloaked soldiers to no avail. Maybe you were scouting ahead, or keeping watch from the rear. He shook off the icy tendrils of fear that crept down his neck. Surely that was all. Levi looked to the rest of your squad, but they didn't meet his eyes. Some of them limped, some held bandaged limbs, others leaned on their comrades. The tendrils turned into choking vines.

Levi reared his horse in front of the ragged procession and leveled them with a glare. "Where is she?" Silence. He gritted his teeth, his voice a sword. "I won't repeat myself."

A single Scout stepped out from the ranks. Levi recognized her as a young recruit; this would have been one of her first missions. She gestured at a covered wagon hitched to the horse behind her. "She saved us, Captain." The girl's voice wavered, then broke. "We wouldn't be here if she hadn't-"

Levi didn't know if she finished her sentence. He was already off his horse and shoving past her, his mind a wall of white noise. Somehow he was standing beside the wagon, ripping the cover back with shaking hands-

In the days and weeks that followed, every Scout from that ill-fated mission would swear on their lives that the Captain maintained his composure in that moment. Whether in solidarity or out of the fear that came from watching the collapse of something unbreakable. Every last person there that day would deny that they ever heard Levi sob.

The sound tore from him helplessly, choked horror in the back of his throat. Your bloodless lips were parted, your hair strewn across the packs of gear they’d propped you on. Your arms lay limply atop a rough blanket that hid everything below your chest. When Levi reached for your hand, pressing it to his cheek, you were cold. He whispered your name, but you didn’t stir.

With effort, Levi tore his gaze from your body and whirled on the soldier that had revealed you. “Tell me what happened.”

In fits and starts, she managed the story. It had happened so fast, she said, the night watch asleep in the newly constructed outpost, the early sunrise revealing a trio of titans surrounding the camp, all teeth and eager eyes. 15m class and hungry, scrabbling at their tents, waking up to a nightmare.

You had slept in your gear- Levi clenched his fists against a sudden surge of nausea. You always teased him about his habit, sleeping sitting up or fully clothed, ready for anything. But out there, on your own, you had done the same. Did you think of him as you fell asleep? The girl was still speaking, her gaze far away. You had sprung into action, using the titans themselves as anchors to fly at their nape out there in the vast flatness of the wild.

You dispatched two quickly- of course, Levi thought, of course she did- but the third- the girl stopped to drag the back of her hand across her mouth, swallowing a dry heave. Levi had to resist the urge to shake her, to make her keep talking- but she soon continued in a whisper.

"The last titan caught her in it's teeth. It was a blur, we didn't see, only heard a- heard a snap, and a scream... we cut it's Achilles tendons, brought it to it's knees, and she fell..." The scout trailed off, her jaw working soundlessly as she remembered. "The wound, wounds- they weren't clean, sir." Her voice was a strained apology. She wobbled, clearly spent, and Levi turned away.

He stepped back toward the wagon where you lay. Levi took a slow breath, reaching into the depths of himself to find the strength to look at what hid beneath the blanket. He peeled it back, hissing through his teeth when the fabric caught on patches of drying, tacky blood.

It took a moment for Levi to process what he was seeing. Your lower body was a torn mess of crimson, contrasting hideously against the stark white of exposed bone protruding from your mangled calf. He could see the titan's attack written on your flesh- the purpling crush of teeth along your thighs and the shredded aftermath of those jaws tearing down to your ankles. The smears of dirt and gore told him how you were dragged along, out of the titan's clenching jaw, off the battlefield.

This is a dream. A nightmare. Levi told himself, clinging to it with a childish desperation that he thought had been beaten out of him long ago. He tried to swallow but his throat had gone cotton-dry. His tongue cleaved mute to the roof of his mouth. This isn't real.

He blinked, and suddenly it was Furlan in your shredded uniform, or you in his. A dizzy panic clawed up Levi's chest. He shook his head, looked away and back- and the scene changed. The hollowed pallor of your cheeks was that of his mother's corpse, a dim memory of hell. He thought he might be sick, thought wildly that he couldn't vomit in front of the other Scouts, couldn't let them see such filthy weakness- but that was forgotten when you opened your eyes.

You stared blindly at the wide, wide sky, and Levi saw Isabel in your place. Not again. Please, not again. He watched your chest rise and fall like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth, like he was the one willing it to continue. Please.

"Le-vi...?" Your voice shocked him into sanity. He cupped your cheeks in trembling hands.

"I'm here, I'm here," he rasped. "I've got you. Stay with me."

You slowly dragged your fingers through the blood on your uniform, then held them in front of your face. You didn't seem to understand where it came from, what had happened. Levi moved into your sightline. You reached for him, but your head lolled and your arm fell back in the next instant. Levi caught your hand and lifted it the rest of the way, pressing your bloody fingers to his lips.

"I'm here," he repeated, fixated again on the defiant movement of your chest as you slipped back into unconsciousness. "I'll protect you."

The other soldiers were shuffling about, some trying to quiet their nervous horses. Levi forced himself to inject authority into his voice, to project some stability on the surface as he crumbled within, never taking his eyes from your face. "I'm riding back with you. Let's go."

Eager to go home, the camp moved quickly at his order. Someone hitched Levi's horse to the wagon were you lay, seeing that the Captain wasn't about to leave your side.

Your body seemed to shift before Levi's eyes, a mist poured into the shape of the ones he had already failed, already lost. Their corpses laid atop yours, or beside you, or sprawled at your feet until he forced them away, the sight of your breathing like a talisman. Your blood dried and flaked on his cheek, but he hardly felt the itch. His cravat lay abandoned on the filthy floor.

Every jolt of the wheels made him grit his teeth, fighting down a surge of rage at the horses, the stones that made them stumble, the ground itself for not softening for you. He wanted to carry you home himself, wanted to tear off his own legs and offer them up for you. He wanted to wake up.

He spoke to you, the words pouring out, unstoppable. Vows to protect you, spiraling into impossibility- he'd kill every last titan to make sure they never touched you again, he'd give you his blood to replace what you'd lost, he'd burn down the world to keep you warm.

Confessions that had never passed his lips before, spilling into the space between you, overflowing helplessly in a whisper you couldn't hear. "I love you. Did you know that? Could you tell?" He choked on it. "I fucking love you. I didn't want to, but I do, and I need you to come back, so I can tell you to your goddamn face."

He couldn't stop touching you, kneeling at your side, his legs long gone numb. He brushed the stringy hair from your forehead, warmed your hands in his, smoothed the blanket back over your wounds. When there was nothing left to do, he did it all over again, repeating the words until they hung in the air and piled over your body, still breathing, only just.

"I love you. I love you. I love you." Please.

#esperanza requests #esperanza answers #levi ackerman #levi x reader #aot x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi angst #aot angst #hurt/no comfort #injured reader #heavy angst #aot levi #aot oneshots #traumatized levi #captain levi

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gorgeys · 2 days ago

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90s baddie!reader with nipple piercings and driving Jackie insane with it 🙏🏽

jackie taylor x 90sbaddie!fem!reader with nipple piercings

before jackie met you, she barely knew what nipple piercings were. sure, she'd heard of them, but that wasn't a thing that teenagers actually had...right?

it isn't until she's making out with you for the first time that she's proven wrong. she pushes you back by the shoulders, causing you to flop back onto her bed. in a second, she's crawling on top of you and straddling your waist.

you place a hand on each side of her neck and pull her down, forcing her to meet you in yet another hungry kiss. her greedy hands find their way beneath your fitted shirt and start to tug on the hem. reading in between the lines, you separate from her lips momentarily, allowing her to pull the fabric up and over your head.

when she catches sight of your bare, bra-less chest, her eyes look like they're going to pop out of her skull.

"what?" you question, eyebrows knitting together. you look down at your own chest and everything looks normal. "you've never seen boobs before?"

"well, um," jackie starts, fumbling on her words like you've never seen before. "not pierced ones," she says, her shock morphing into fascination. her warm hand trails up your ribcage, halting at your underboob.

"wait, i thought you knew."

"how would i know that!" jackie shouts, throwing her hands up.

"um, because you can seem them through my shirt?"

now it's her turn to be confused. her hands fall back down to your stomach.

"what? i thought-"

"jackie, i've not been wearing bras on purpose so you would see them, " you say, hands leaving her thighs to cup your tits.

her eyes widen in surprise, both at the revelation and the sight of you holding your tits in your hands. she's practically drooling on your chest.

"oh," is all she can muster, mouth open like a fish.

"yes, oh," you say, chuckling at her reaction and swiping your thumbs over the piercings.

"i...just noticed," she says breathlessly, impatiently staring while you toy with your nipples.

"clearly! i haven't been wearing bras, for like...the past two weeks!"

"jesus," she mumbles under her breath.

you laugh again, throwing your head back.

"i can't believe you didn't look at my boobs once!" you say, smiling up at her. "you're so cute, y'know that?"

from the way she's looking at you, you can tell everything you're saying is going in one ear and right out the other.

"do they...do they hurt?" she asks innocently, eyes meeting yours for the first time since she discarded your shirt.

"no. you can touch, if that's what you're asking," you say, arching your back and pushing your chest toward her.

she doesn't have to be told twice, her fingers instantly finding your nipple, hardened by the cold air. her touch is delicate, treating you like a glass pane that could shatter at any moment. it's nice at first, but it's hard not to grow impatient.

"come on, you can do a little more," you say, grabbing her hand and applying the pressure you desire. before she even knows what she's doing, she's pinching your nipple between her thumb and pointer finger, and you're releasing a delicious groan. "just like that," you sigh.

minutes later, all jackie's hesitancy is gone and she's sucking on your nipple like her life depends on it. it's euphoric: the cool metal against her tongue, your hands woven in her hair, the moans from your lips each time her teeth graze your skin. she's sure to reach between your legs and rub your clit to completion as she alternates between your tits, showing them equal love. the noises you make are just the cherry on top.

after that, jackie's life is divided into two eras: before she discovered your piercings and after.

now, she never misses the piercings poking out of your skin-tight shirts. her eyes form a habit of glancing down at your tits each time she sees you, just to check if you've decided to go bra-less that particular day.

on the off chance she does see them, she's anything but normal about it.

her eyes can't stop looking down at them, as if they're staring back and taunting her. she nods her head enthusiastically at whatever you're saying, only half-listening as she tries to recreate the image of your naked chest in her head.

you're no help at all as you purposely jut your chest out or accidentally spill water on your shirt, especially when you're around others.

"oops," you say, pouting your lips as jackie intently watches the water droplets trickle down the front of your top. she's a moment away from losing her mind. "i'm such a klutz!"

it doesn't matter where you are, whether it's school, a party, or with your friends, she grabs you by the hand and searches for the quickest escape route to a more secluded area. fifty fifty chance it works, but she'll try it every single time.

and it doesn't even need to be sex. she's fully content pinning you against a tree, pulling your shirt up, and going to town on your tits for as long as she wants, then walking back to the party like nothing happened.

but expect your boobs to hurt after. she leaves reminders of herself in bite marks and hickeys anywhere and everywhere below (and sometimes above!) the neckline of your shirt. you swear, she's all sweet and unassuming until your bare chest is in front of her and suddenly she's a feral animal.

she's also made a game out of trying to touch your piercings in public when no one's looking. maybe your friends are too busy laughing at a joke and she quickly reaches out and swipes her thumb over your nipple. or maybe she's defending you at practice, your back pressed against her front as you try to turn and take shot, and her hand "accidentally" claws at your chest, barely feeling the metal through your sports bra. she lets you score after that.

"yeah, maybe you scored, but who really won," she says, smirking at you while you shake your head in faux disapproval.

all in all, jackie adores you're nipple piercings and she'd spend all day sucking and toying with them if she could. you and your bratty antics also do a great job of not letting her forget about them.

#jackie taylor x reader #jackie taylor #jackie taylor x you #jackie taylor smut #jackie taylor x fem!reader #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets smut #yj #yj smut #yj x reader #wlw #wlw smut #x fem!reader #lesbian

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seasidebubbles · 2 hours ago

Text

the morning after your first time with caleb

content info/warnings: caleb x afab reader. feminine terms used for the reader (such as ‘pretty girl’ and ‘gorgeous girl’). swearing. pet names. graphic depictions of sexual activities. oral sex (m and f receiving). caleb has a big dick just because okay. protected piv sex (condom use). cumshot (facial). a little bit of cum eating. word count: 5.1k author’s note: this was just an idea i had to ease myself back into writing. i'm considering doing a 'morning after' piece for each of the lnds men, but i don't have them all thought out yet, so i'm not sure if it will work out. but i hope this one is enjoyable at least! divider by @cafekitsune

Sunlight kisses your face, coaxing your eyelashes to flutter open in its warm, pale yellow glow streaming in through the window. For reasons not yet at the forefront of your mind, you are already smiling when you wake.

It might have something to do with the equally warm presence behind you, however. The heavy arm slung across your waist, completely relaxed. The slow, rhythmic breaths puffing against the nape of your neck. The lingering tenderness between your legs that brings as much heat to your face as it does giddiness to your heart.

Last night’s events are fresh in your mind, but a few moments stand out more vividly than others. An open-mouthed kiss right over his racing heart. The slow slide of your panties down your legs. The wrinkle in his brow when he pushed inside you. All of it amounts to one simple truth:

You and Caleb had sex last night.

You and your best friend made love last night.

Yes, that. That is why you are smiling. Because you wholeheartedly understand the meaning of “making love” now.

Caleb did not even say the words last night. Not before, not during, not after.

And neither did you.

But you both knew what it was, because you both knew it had been a long time coming. You cannot speak for him, but you loved him two minutes after meeting him, all those years ago when you were children.

Although his presence behind you is undeniable, you have to turn around this instant to see him again. This man you love.

You rotate as gently as you can so as not to disturb him. Caleb gives a quiet huff and nuzzles his cheek deeper into his pillow. His arm is still limp across your body. The other is bent and stuffed under his pillow.

The smile is still on your face, but wider now. You free one of your arms from the tangled sheets to brush his ashy black bangs away from his eyelids. And while your hand is already right there, you find yourself brushing your knuckles down his slightly stubbly cheek as well.

It was not your intention to wake him, but you cannot say you are disappointed to see his eyes open. Those lovely purple irises have always been your greatest—and favorite—weakness.

Caleb wakes much quicker than you, eyes opening with none of the slow blinking, and smiles when he sees you watching him. Then he inhales deeply and covers your hand with his, pressing it even closer to his face.

“Good morning.” His sleepy voice is a little gruff. A little reminiscent of the deep groans he could not seem to contain last night.

The tenderness between your legs throbs.

“Morning. How did you sleep?”

He hums and clears the rasp in his throat. “Great, actually. I slept great. What about you?”

“Same.”

“I didn’t snore, did I?”

You grin and slip your hand out from other his just to poke his cheek. “Actually, you did. In my dreams. It was terrible.”

The only response he has to that is a bigger smile. He lifts his arm from your waist so he can swipe his thumb back and forth across your cheekbone.

As the seconds tick by, both your smiles slowly slip from your mouths, but not from your eyes. The weight of last night—the culmination of years and years of love laced with unspoken tension—hangs in the cramped space between you.

“It’s—”

“I’m—”

You both stop speaking as suddenly as you started. A bit of awkward laughter floats out of your lips.

“You first,” Caleb says before you can. He moves his hand from your cheek to the back of your neck, cradling it while he waits for you to speak.

You lick your lips—briefly recalling the gentle firmness of every kiss he pressed to them last night—and say, “I was just going to say, I’m really happy. I’m happy last night happened, and I’m… I don’t know if this is weird to say out loud, but I’m happy we were each other’s firsts.”

Those purple eyes melt. Caleb sighs and leans in to kiss your forehead, lingering there for several long seconds.

“Nothin' weird about that at all.” He presses two more slow kisses to your forehead. “I’m happy too. About last night. About you being my first. All of it.”

He shifts and rests his chin on top of your head. You snuggle in closer and kiss the first patch of skin you come across, which is the base of his throat. It bobs against your parted lips when he swallows.

“So what were you going to say?”

“Mm. Sounds silly in comparison to what you said. I should've went first.”

You grin into his skin. “You never learn that lesson, do you. But now you have to tell me.”

He sighs again, winding his strong arms around you, lazily stroking his fingertips down your naked spine.

“I was going to say, it’s nice havin' you be the first person I see in the morning. I want that to happen every single day forever.”

You blink, then press your palms to the wall of his chest to lean away and look him in the eye. You expect to find mischief on his face, but he regards you patiently, curious to hear what else you have to say.

“Is that really what you were going to say?” you ask.

His eyebrows wrinkle. “Yeah… Why?”

“That wasn’t silly at all. That was sweet.”

“Ah. Well, what you said was sweeter.”

You giggle and hug him tight, snuggling back against his chest. “If I knew it was a competition, I would’ve said even more.”

“I mean, you still can,” he says. The grin is obvious in his tone. “Far be it from me to stop you, babe.”

You giggle harder and shove him until he rolls onto his back with you on top of him.

His hands automatically find a comfortable place on your thighs straddling his lap. The feeling of his soft cock trapped between your bodies stirs up more memories from last night, but you ignore them for now. The hitch in Caleb’s breathing tells you his mind is in a similar place.

“I’ll tell you sweet things every morning I wake up next to you,” you tell him softly. “I’ll tell you how I adore your eyes. And your smile. And your laugh. And your protective instincts. And your uncanny ability to dirty every dish in the kitchen when preparing a simple meal for two—”

“You—! Listen—”

He easily flips your positions to pin you beneath him on the mattress. You giggle madly. With anyone else, such a brutish display of strength would be frightening, but not with Caleb. He is the only person you would ever trust to manhandle you like this, because you know how gently he treats you otherwise.

You know how much he loves you.

“That’s only sometimes,” he defends himself weakly. His wide body forms a canopy above you, against the sunlight. Even while admiring the glowing outline around his skin, you still find the capacity to tease him.

“Right. Sometimes I adore your laugh.”

Caleb scoffs. “You think you’re soo funny, don’t you. I liked it better when you were tellin' me how much you adore my eyes.”

“Okay, okay,” you say between laughs. You wind your arms behind his neck and tug him closer. “Your eyes are gorgeous and they’ve always been my biggest weakness, all right? There. Now you can tease me about it for the rest of our lives.”

He lowers his weight onto his forearms, and his chest serves as a stark reminder as to just how naked you both are when it presses into yours. The tingling heat of him is electric, searing all the way through to your heart.

“Tease you?” he says, trailing his fingers down your cheek. “Doesn’t sound like something I would do...”

You laugh again at that obvious lie. A snarky retort forms on your tongue, but it quickly dies when Caleb leans in and kisses the tip of your nose. He kissed so many parts of you in so many ways last night, but you realize now that your nose was not one of them. Your humor softens to adoration, and he smiles back before swooping to peck your lips.

His kisses start off sweet and gentle, but as soon as you edge the tip of your tongue against the seam of his lips, he moans and changes the very atmosphere. His hold on you tightens when he licks into your mouth.

“Caleb…”

He exhales hard and maneuvers down the length of your body, trailing kisses over every patch of skin he meets along the way.

“Want you,” he whispers into your skin, still kissing, still sliding downward. “Want you in my bed, naked, every morning, every night, every chance we get, any time you want. You just tell me when. I’ll come runnin'. Just want you by my side. Always.”

It is the easiest thing you could ever promise him. You cannot remember a single scenario in which you have ever willingly parted from him, and you are not about to start now.

Caleb slots himself between your legs, easily nudging them apart with his broad shoulders. He spreads his long fingers across your lower stomach, holding you delicately, as if you might break apart at any moment.

You reach down to cup the side of his face. He looks to you through his long, dark eyelashes, blinking slowly.

“You have me. Always.”

He gives you the most dazzling, heart-stopping smile you have ever seen. As if you have given him the entire universe.

That joy quickly rolls into burning desire when he begins stamping open-mouthed kisses across your inner thighs, first one, then the other, gradually drawing closer and closer to your aching center.

“Caleb,” you moan.

“Can I have another taste, baby?” he asks, and you are not sure if it is the rumble of his voice against your skin or the pet name that sends a tremble up your spine. “Please? Can I please eat your pussy again?”

Well, when he asks so politely…

“Yes. Please.”

That is all he needs to dive in with the relief of a starved man.

His tongue is seemingly everywhere at once; gliding through your pussy lips, wriggling into your hole, circling around your clit. He truly makes good on his word to eat you. His nose digs insistently against your slick flesh, frustrated by his limits and wanting to be buried even deeper into you.

You reach down to thread your fingers through his thick hair; not to guide him, merely to soothe him and help convey your appreciation.

“F-Fuck, that feels so good…”

He grunts into your pussy. “You taste so fuckin' good, baby. Just wanna live between your legs. Wanna die between your legs, too.”

“You better not!” you laugh, tickling his scalp. “Think of how embarrassing it would be for me to tell the Fleet their Colonel died eating pussy.”

“They’d probably award me a posthumous medal. You’ll have to collect it in my stead.”

You try to contain your laughter but only end up wheezing.

“Yeah, keep laughin’, baby. Makes you taste even better.”

You don’t think it works that way, but you can’t keep laughing anyway. Not when he suddenly achieves the perfect amount of suction around your swollen clit. The pleasure spiking through your nerves winds you tighter and tighter; your toes are curling in on themselves, your back is beginning to bow off the mattress, your eyes are rolling back in your skull.

Caleb wraps his arms around your thighs to keep you grounded and spread open for him. The wetter and sloppier his work gets, the more he seems to enjoy it. Every little thing he does produces a filthy squelch, but the moans he draws from you are still louder.

“Shit, baby, the sounds you’re making…”

“C-Can’t help it—ngh—yes, Caleb, yes—”

“What else can I do to keep you moaning for me?”

With how confident and assured his actions have been, you nearly forgot he is just as new to this as you are.

“Fuck me,” you tell him, breathless. “Please fuck me.”

He swears and unwinds his arms from your legs, sitting back on his heels. Those purple eyes have darkened to a deep indigo with how wide his pupils have blown. You meet his dark gaze as he half-heartedly wipes the stickiness off his chin with the back of his hand.

“My pretty girl wants me to fuck her, huh,” he says, practically purring. “When did she get so horny, hm?”

Even while he is teasing you, he still reaches for his night stand and digs out a condom packet. You watch with a smirk as he opens it and rolls the condom onto his long cock.

“Says the one who just said he’d be okay with dying between my legs.”

He lets out a small laugh under his breath. “Yeah, you got me there,” he says. He lowers himself onto his forearms, caging you beneath his large frame. “How do you want me to fuck you, baby? Just like this?”

“Can I be on top instead?”

Something flashes across his face, too quickly for you to decipher it.

He clears his throat and says, “Y-Yeah, of course. Come here.”

His hands are warm and a little shaky when he helps position you on his lap. Rather than lying back, he remains sitting up with you, face inches from yours.

“Are you okay?” you ask, running your palms up the warm planes of his chest.

“I’m fine, just… afraid I’ll come in two seconds like this.”

More laughter pops past your lips. “I’d be flattered if you did, honestly.”

You brush his hair off his forehead, then gently trace his earlobe and finger the thin chain dangling from it.

“I’d be mortified if I did,” he counters with a self-deprecating chuckle. The rest of his breath leaves his lungs in a soft sigh when you bend down and kiss him. His lips chase yours when you pull away, unable to hide his eagerness despite his concerns.

“I’ll go slow then.”

You reach down between your bodies and line him up with your entrance. Caleb sits back a little and watches his tip disappear into your wet heat, while you watch a muscle in his jaw tick. You soothe your free hand across that sharp jawline. He leans into your touch, eyes flicking to your face for a brief second, then back down to where your bodies are connected when you take in another inch.

The stretch is still a foreign feeling, and the tenderness in your walls throbs harder against the intrusion of his cock splitting them apart once again. He does not miss the flicker of pain that crosses your face after another inch slips inside sooner than you intended.

“Hurts?” he asks, reaching for your hips, ready to lift you right off his lap.

You nod. “A little. I’m a little sore, but I’m okay. It’ll pass.”

Caleb purses his lips, clearly conflicted, and you understand why. You understand this feels nothing but blissful for him—although the condom must surely dull some of the sensation—while it is still a bit painful for you. His intimidating size does not help, but it is to be expected, considering his cock is perfectly proportionate to the rest of his large build. And he is well aware of how well-endowed he is, too. He made sure to prep you for a long time last night, stretching you carefully with his fingers, ensuring you were wet enough for there to be no resistance when he pushed inside you for the first time.

This angle feels different though. He feels even deeper this way. And maybe it’s your imagination, but he feels harder as well.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, fully focused on your face now. “We don’t have to keep goin' like this. I can go back to eating you out, maybe use my fingers again?”

“I’m okay. You’re just… big.”

He huffs and halfway rolls his eyes, but you catch the way the tips of his ears burn pink. “Well, I can’t help that,” he says, “but seriously, you can tell me you want to stop at any time, okay? I don’t care if I am two seconds away from coming. Just tell me to stop and I’ll go make us some breakfast, ok—”

“All right,” you say, grinning when you peck his cheek. “I’ll tell you if I want to stop, I promise. But I’m fine right now. I hardly even feel any pain anymore. Really.”

It might be because you can also feel his cock twitching and pulsing inside you, and it is turning you on beyond belief, pushing the pain out of your mind. You actually fight the urge to bounce on him this very second just to see if you can handle it, because you know you will regret rushing into it.

Caleb gives you a shaky nod, inhaling deeply and gulping hard. “Okay. Just… slow,” he reminds you.

You ease yourself the rest of the way onto his cock, until your pelvis is flush against his. Caleb studies your face, amethyst eyes brimming with awe and raw desire. His thumbs are rubbing mindless, soothing circles into your skin. You rock yourself back and forth a few times, testing the new angle and depth and overall fullness you are experiencing. It feels like his cock had to carve out extra space inside you just to fit.

As soon as the stretch is more pleasurable than painful, you give a few tentative bounces.

“Fucking—fuck,” Caleb breathes rather poetically. His fingers dig harshly into your hips. “S-Slow, baby. Don’t h-hngh, ugh, fuck—don’t hurt yourself.”

You moan and shake your head. “Doesn’t hurt. You feel so good inside me.”

Caleb exhales hard and leans back a little more to look again at the place where his cock is disappearing and reappearing. A particularly good bounce has him falling all the way back onto the pillows with a deep rumble.

“God, it’s so fucking deep. You take me so well, baby. You’re taking all of it so—fuck—so fuckin' well…”

It is all you can do to whimper in agreement, too focused on riding him well enough to have him groan like that for you again.

His hands glide around to your stomach, squeezing gently, then around to your jiggling ass. He is not shy about taking two firm handfuls, groping tight. The look he gives you when you meet his eyes is positively carnal.

“You’re incredible,” he groans, shaking his head slowly in disbelief. “Can’t believe my pretty girl is bouncing on my dick right now.”

You manage to smirk in between all the moans leaving your lips, but you have no response, especially when you tilt your hips just enough to have his tip pressing into your sweetest spot with hardly any effort. A high-pitched squeal wrenches its way from your throat. If you were on your hands and knees, you’re sure they would have given out and left you face-first and boneless on the mattress.

“Right there?” Caleb hisses through gritted teeth, his jaw too tense to unhinge and speak properly. “Are you hitting it, baby? Yeah… yeah, you are. I can tell by how much tighter you just got. Keep going. Keep my dick right—fuckin'—there—baby.”

When did the boy you always thought of as a human-puppy become this dirty-talking fiend, you wonder.

Though you are not complaining. Far from it. His words have your pussy absolutely gushing around him. The wet plaps of skin on skin can probably be heard through the window and down to the street. The noises are certainly echoing off the walls, at least, serving as excellent fuel to ride him faster, harder, deeper, more.

You can barely get out the words to urge him, “K-Keep talking, Caleb, please…”

He hums and sits up straight again, careful not to jostle you too much and ruin your rhythm. One of his thumbs finds your clit to press messy, sticky circles into it and edge your orgasm along.

Then he brings his full lips to the shell of your ear. His voice sounds half an octave deeper when he whispers, “My gorgeous girl. You asked me to fuck you, but here you are fucking me into the mattress. No, don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop, baby. Keep fuckin' me. Use me. Take what you need.”

You hug him tightly, nails clawing into his muscular shoulders, and whine into his neck. With his sweet and salty skin right there on your lips, you want to bite and nip and suck on it, but breathing is taking almost as much brainpower as riding him at the moment.

Caleb nuzzles his nose into your hairline, still close to your ear, and whispers much softer, “I love you. So damn much. I always have.”

Your orgasm explodes through you, catching you both totally off-guard. Caleb gasps at the sudden clench of your walls around him, and you practically scream his name as white hot bliss overtakes you. You grind your hips into his, seeking even more friction from his thumb on your clit to wring out every morsel of ecstasy you can.

“Holy shit, where did that come from, baby?” Caleb says, laughing in breathless delight. “Didn’t think you’d be the one to come in two seconds. Damn.”

You hiccup and shiver against him, panting hard into his neck as you gradually float back down from wherever he sent your soul.

When you regain your wits, you laugh as well. “I guess I just really like your dirty talk,” you admit, voice thick and hoarse. “I’m not used to you saying such filthy things.”

The shit-eating grin he gives you is somehow adorable and devious at the same time. “Oh, you’ll get used to it,” he says, “because I plan on having a lot of sex with you. And if talking dirty gets you to come like that every time?” He lets out a low whistle, and you give his shoulder a tiny swat.

“Yeah, well, now I think my legs are too weak to keep riding you,” you say, pouting.

“That’s all right, baby. You did so well for me. Let’s stop here.”

You shoot him a look. “But… you didn’t come yet, did you?”

“Nah, I’m good. If you’re tired, I’m not pushing you,” he says, which only makes you pout harder. He can’t help but smile and poke your protruding lip with his thumb. “Don’t give me that—ah—”

The rest of his words are cut off with a gasp when you pull off his throbbing cock. It falls against his abs with a solid, wet slap. You go to pull the condom off, but he catches your wrist.

“W-What are you doing?”

“I want to suck you off. Can I?”

“You r-really don’t ha-have to,” he stammers weakly. “I promise I’ll be fine with b-blue balls for half an hour.”

“Caleb, I really want to suck your cock right now,” you say as firmly and matter-of-factly as possible. “Do you want that too?”

He blinks once, twice, three times. He opens his mouth, closes it, licks his lips, swallows hard. It is strange to see him rendered speechless for once. It even starts to freak you out a little.

Finally, he lets go of your wrist and peels the condom off himself with a shaky hand, dropping it to the floor without a care. Then he reaches for the back of your neck and guides you toward his twitching length.

“Yes, I want you to suck my cock, please.”

You grin and situate yourself comfortably between his thick thighs, then reach for his cock. It practically jumps into your hand.

Caleb sucks a breath through his teeth as soon as you wrap your fingers around his burning length. The veiny hand not cradling your head fists the sheets at his side. His reaction over such a small thing spurs your confidence to keep going. Even though this is uncharted territory for you, you are determined to make him feel as good as possible and come every bit as powerfully as you just did.

But before you take him into your mouth, you experiment with varying levels of pressure, getting a feel for the motions and soaking in his every reaction, big and small. He seems to particularly enjoy it when you squeeze the spot just below his mushroom-shaped tip. He makes a sweet, soft noise every time you rub that spot, and his hips jerk every time, too.

A thick drop of precum rolls from his slit and down the side of his cock, compelling you to lean forward and lick it up. He instantly gasps at the sensation of your warm, wet tongue.

You wrap your hand around his base before wrapping your lips around his dripping tip, and it is a good thing you do because his hips buck straight off the bed, greedy to find more friction in the heavenly, wet warmth of your mouth.

He apologizes, but you oblige his body language and hollow your cheeks to give his cockhead a tight, loud suck. It sounds sloppy, unrefined, and a little cringey, but if Caleb is turned off by your inexperienced technique, you would never know it from the way his breathing changes, practically whining with every exhale.

He lifts his neck to watch the erotic show when you start bobbing your lips up and down the few inches you can comfortably fit in your mouth without choking. You be sure to tongue that spot just below his tip, not just to edge him closer to the point of bursting, but because you enjoy the way he shivers just as much.

It does not take long for your jaw to begin straining with the new, unexercised motion, but it will take nothing short of divine intervention to stop you now.

Caleb gives the back of your neck a tender squeeze and whispers, “Shit, baby, that’s s-so fucking nice.”

You nearly laugh with a mouthful of cock because surely only Caleb would describe a blowjob as nice, of all things. It is with that you realize the stern, authoritative Colonel of the Farspace Fleet is absolute putty in your hands. You almost want to come again to the thought alone.

Instead of tending to yourself, you focus on him and redouble your efforts by reaching for his balls and giving them an experimental squeeze. They are wet from the saliva pooling out of your mouth and down his length. They feel heavy, too.

“F-Fuuuck,” he groans, slumping back to the pillows. “Gonna fuckin' kill me, baby.”

“Oh no,” you coo, kissing down the length of his glistening cock, “then I’d have to tell the Fleet you died getting your balls sucked. Do you think they’d award me a medal in that case?”

Whatever his response was going to be is choked off when you do exactly as you say and suck one of his heavy balls into your mouth. The skin around it is different; a little loose but also taut, and delicate, too. Not like the smooth, velvet skin wrapped around his solid cock. You suckle it gently, minding your teeth and essentially letting it rest on your tongue as your lips do all the work.

The hand Caleb has on your head tightens harshly for a brief second, then lifts away to tear at the sheets instead. You smirk and let go of his ball with a soft pop to move to the other and pay it equal attention. Careful not to neglect the rest of him, you pump your hand up and down his wet cock tightly, quickly. He nearly chokes on his own broken breaths at one point, his body too fucked out and delirious with pleasure to concentrate on anything but his looming orgasm.

“B-Baby, I’m gonna—fuck—if you keep going like that, I-I’ll—”

His boyish voice is so warped with unbridled lust you hardly recognize it.

You immediately lift your head and take his tip back into your mouth, sucking what you can and jerking the rest of him feverishly. He bucks his hips again, and you don’t even care when his cockhead threatens to breach your throat because he whimpers so sweetly it borders on downright pitiful.

“Gonna come, gonna come, fuckfuckfuck. It’s coming baby, it’s coming, hah—”

Caleb erupts into your hot mouth. The first shot of cum coats your entire mouth from roof to tongue. You try to swallow it down, but the second shot spurts out just as forcefully, and you end up sputtering over the excess. You pull back to take a moment to properly swallow, and the rest of his cum ends up shooting over your lips and chin and cheeks. You keep jerking him, determined to get every drop out.

When you accidentally push him into overstimulation, he carefully pries your hand off his cock. It plops against his hard stomach, rosy and spent and still twitching.

He sits up on his elbows and stares at you with wet, heavy-lidded eyes. His strong arms are wobbling from how boneless his orgasm has left him.

“Holy shit. That was… you are amazing.”

You giggle and scoop a rapidly dripping streak of cum off your cheek, then place it right on your tongue, just to watch the way his face twists in torment.

“Gonna kill me,” he emphasizes, shaking his head. He picks his shirt off the floor and carefully cleans the rest of the mess off your face with it. It will do for now.

Before you drag yourselves out of bed and move on with the day, you climb up to fit yourself against his side, snuggling close. He wraps an arm around you, still fighting to regain control of his breathing. You trace mindless circles into his heaving chest. His heartbeat is erratic under your ear when you lay your head against it.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Caleb kisses the top of your head and hugs you tightly against him.

“I know.”

#caleb smut #lnds caleb smut #love and deepspace smut #love & deepspace smut #lads smut #lnds smut #l&ds smut #caleb x reader #caleb x mc #🫧 stories

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airenyah · 1 day ago

Text

A LOOK AT STYLE'S JOURNEY | Ep 10

(Overview | Ep1+2 | Ep3 | Ep4 | Ep5 | Ep6 | Ep7 | Ep8 | Ep9)

Would you look at that, I'm finally making it before the new episode again. Can you believe. Also, when I started writing this at first I thought that this one wasn't gonna be as long as my recent ones this time, but no. It's still at over 10k words. Oops. Someone shut me up.

HAVE FUN <3

Pronoun situation: As usual, just assume Fadel and Style use the rude pronouns guu/mueng with each other unless I specify otherwise.

To recap: After a turbulent roadtrip through the country, Style finally has his boyfriend back. Yay.

No. 1: Goodbyes

(Ok yes I am cheating with this section cover pic bc I stole it from the official THK twitter account instead of taking a screenshot directly from the episode as I usually do, but I'm just upset that we never got to see Fadel grab Style in the actual episode and so I'm commemorating it here, bye <3)

Their little island getaway is over and the hitmen drop their normie-boyfriends off at Style's place. Fadel reminds Style to change the bandage regularly and Style asks if they're not gonna be spending the night together and I'm already crying, because I'm already reminded of episode 6 only two lines into the new episode. Back in episode 6 Fadel was going on a mission and Style wanted him to stay the night so bad and back then Style couldn't even tell Fadel that he was fully aware of where Fadel was going and what Fadel was doing. Now in episode 10 everyone is aware of everything and yet Fadel still won't spend the night before the mission with Style. Style isn't happy about it, but accepts Fadel's decision without an argument. He does ask Fadel to call him and keep him updated, though. And again I cry as I remember how last time Fadel went on his mission, Style didn't hear from Fadel for an entire week and was worried sick about him. Style doesn't wanna go through that very same experience again. Fadel agrees to call and keep him updated, but then immediately also says that they shouldn't be in touch for a while for safety reasons. Style nods unhappily.

Then the hitmen drive off and the normie-boyfriends are left staring sullenly after the jeep. Kant is back to his usual pessimistic self, asking "Why do I have a feeling that we won't see them again?" This time even Style is too worried to act as the optimistic counterpart. Instead, Kant's comment clearly stresses him out and he scolds Kant not to jinx it. Style looks down and Kant puts a comforting arm around his shoulder. There isn't much they can do apart from waiting it out.

No. 2: When Will Our Husbands Return From War

As if the episode 6 callbacks from the first scene weren't enough, Style and Kant are now back at the restaurant where we saw them in episode 6, too. Back then, the brothers were just about to go on their mission and Style and Kant couldn't stop them, because they couldn't exactly tell them that they knew about their plans. This time around, the brothers already are on their mission, and despite everyone being aware of everything, Style and Kant still failed to stop them. Kant especially is quite irked by this as he goes on a rant. Style agrees, and while he's not exactly happy about the situation, he still seems to be taking it fairly well considering the circumstances. Or at least he seems to be dealing with it a little better than Kant is in that moment. Style does suggest Kant does a little sniffing around to see what their boyfriends are up to, but Kant reminds him that he already knows exactly what their boyfriends are doing. The problem isn't that Style and Kant don't know what Fadel and Bison are off doing, the problem is that they couldn't convince Fadel and Bison not to do it. Kant certainly couldn't stop Bison and he's convinced Fadel wouldn't listen to Style either. Style realizes that Kant is right. As much as they both hate it, in the end there isn't much the two of them can do except to wait for their husbands to return from war.

No. 3: Let Me Help

Let me just say, considering how similar both of the FadelStyle and the KantBison reunions are, I think that before Style and Kant left the restaurant in the above scene they did come up with a plan that wasn't just "let's wait for our husbands to return from war". And I think the plan is: "instead of sitting around, if we can't keep them from going on their mission, then let's get them to let us help them by acting pouty and grumpy so that they'll agree to take us along on their mission". Because both the KantBison as well as the FadelStyle scene have the normie-boyfriends acting upset only to end with them asking to help. However, I'm not sure Style actually needs to do a whole lot of acting here. Because I think he has valid reasons to be legitimately upset with Fadel.

Also, there's been debate about whether a time skip happened or not, and personally I'm leaning towards team time skip, because Style's gunshot wound is nothing but a band-aid by this point. Although, to be fair the injuries didn't seem to be a big deal when they were playing frisbee in the ocean either, so who knows with the healing times in this show. Might as well have been just a day or two that has passed 🤷‍♀️

Anyway, the scene starts with Fadel grabbing Style out of nowhere and shoving him into something. This is the third time this has happened over the course of the series and the fourth time in total that Fadel has ambushed Style from behind. Style is genuinely startled and I do wonder if Style re-lived that trauma of having been drugged and abducted at the hospital for a second there when Fadel grabbed Style's mouth like that. It genuinely scares Style for a moment and this would already be the first reason he has to be upset with Fadel in this scene, if we're already counting that. Because as much as he loves Fadel and even if he doesn't hold it against him at all, getting ambushed, drugged, abducted, tied up and held at gunpoint is quite a traumatic string of events to go through and I like to think that it left at least some subconscious marks on Style. He was also startled in the locker room (episode 2) and in the greenhouse (episode 4), but in both scenes, which both happened pre-abduction, his heart didn't nearly stop the way it does now (first of all, he explicitly tells Fadel "You scared me" and second of all, it's also in the heavy breathing. His breathing is much calmer in the other two scenes).

Fadel apologizes and Style is confused as to why Fadel is even here without a heads-up, because "Didn't you say we needed to stay away for a while?" Fadel explains "I can't help thinking about you" and.... well, in Thai he's actually more specific than that:

I'm worried about you. ก็กูเป็นห่วงมึงอ่ะ [gôh - guu - bpen hùuang - mueng - àh] well - I - be worried (about), be concerned (about) - you - [particle]

Fadel worries about Style and he immediately proves it when he continues to ask about Style's wound. Style tell him the wound doesn't hurt anymore, but "My heart hurts more". Style is really snappy and I think some of that anger is certainly played up to reach his goal, but I do think it comes from a genuine place as he explains a bit later: "You hurt my feelings. I thought you trusted me. You know I know everything, but still you push me away." And let me just...

I'm hurt that you don't trust me. น้อยใจนะเว้ย ที่มึงไม่ไว้ใจกู [nói-jai - ná - wóiie • tîi - mueng - mâi - wái-jai - guu] hurt, upset, offended - [particle] - [particle] • that - you - not - trust - me Official subs: You hurt my feelings. I thought you trusted me.

Style is much more direct in Thai and he's actually accusing Fadel here. It's not just "I was under the impression that you trusted me now, but apparently I was wrong and the fact that I was wrong hurts me", it's actually "You are still not willing to trust me after everything and your distrust hurts me". And I think Style is right to feel upset about that. The two of them have been through so much at this point and Style has proven over and over again that he is worthy of Fadel's trust, but even now that there are no lies, no acts between them anymore, Fadel still won't trust him 100%. When Style's worked so hard to regain Fadel's trust the past two episodes. Style himself has been all in since episode 4 (he told him as much in the "be my boyfriend" scene) and I think it hurts Style that the person he loves won't return the same trust on an equal level. Especially when Style was literally here trusting Fadel even through the constant death threats, down to the moments where Fadel actually was about to shoot him dead. And yet, Style's trust remained. But Fadel still won't return the favor. Instead, Fadel is just pushing him out of his life again. That may have been a fun challenge for Style in the first couple of episodes, but now that genuinely hurts his feelings as I've already discussed in detail in my ep9 meta as well. Style loves Fadel and he cares about Fadel sooo so much and he just wants to be part of Fadel's life, dammit.

Fadel explains "Well, I'm worried about you.* I don't want you getting caught in the crossfire."

*กูเป็นห่วงมึงไง [guu - bpen hùuang - mueng - ngai] I - be worried (about), be concerned (about) - you - [particle] Official subs: I'm doing this for you.

But Fadel's worry still doesn't solve Style's issue of feeling like Fadel doesn't trust him and it still doesn't solve Style's issue of Fadel not letting Style participate in his life and it still doesn't solve the issue of Style explicitly asking Fadel to call him and to keep him updated and then Fadel just turning off his phone: "So you'd rather I wonder whether you're dead or alive? You think that'll make me happy?"

Style has been through this before. Last time Fadel went on a mission to kill Ruerat, he went completely MIA for an entire week and Style spent that week worried sick about him, stopping by the restaurant every single day (it's canon to me, idc idc). That week really wasn't fun for Style and neither was the time he's spent waiting this time around. Style hates the idea of their relationship to continue like this for the next foreseeable future. He doesn't wanna spend his life waiting to see if his loved ones live or die. Style has been through this before, and not just in episode 6, but also in his past as @nabi-unveiled points out: Style lost his mother to cancer and so he's familiar with the feeling of having to wait it out while not knowing how it will end. And back then, it ended in his mother's death. He doesn't want to go through this again. Style is legitimately upset and angry now and he voices his feelings in the most Style way possible: "It hurts more than getting shot."

And all that Fadel has to say on that? Is:

Can you not be so dramatic? มึงอย่าเวอร์ได้ป่ะ [mueng - y��a - wer - dâai - bpà] you - not, don't - be dramatic, exaggerate - can, be able to - ? Official subs: You’re so dramatic.

Fadel actually uses the slang term เวอร์ [wer] which I actually already went over in my ep3 meta. One of my irl-friends explained it to me a few months ago and I don't remember her exact wording (it was an oral conversation while we were out and about, not a written one) but she told me it comes from the English word "over" and it is used in the context of indicating that someone is being too much in the sense of someone is overdoing something (someone is doing/saying something that is "over" the level that the situation calls for). This article translates this slang term as "exaggerate" or "overstate" or "overreact". I'm going with "dramatic" for some consistency, since we've heard that in the series before.

"Can you not be so dramatic? (Can you not exaggerate/overreact/overdo it)?" Fadel asks and Style is offended at that request:

You always claim I'm dramatic. มึงก็หาว่ากูเวอร์ตลอดอ่ะ [mueng - gôh - hăa wâa - guu - wer - dtà-lòt - àh] you - [sentence link] - accuse of, claim - "over", exaggerate, overdo - always - [particle] Official subs: You love calling me that.

Yeah, Style actually repeats the slang term, so literally, when Fadel asks "Can you not 'wer'?", Style replies "You always claim I 'wer'."

This is funny, because I quickly skipped through all the FadelStyle scenes at 2x speed (no time for a proper rewatch if I have any hope of publishing this before ep11 drops) and if I didn't miss any, there were exactly two (2) instances of Fadel using เวอร์ [wer]. One of them I already discussed in my ep3 meta: when Style helps Fadel work at the diner in the scene where Fadel comes out to offer Style a burger he says "Don't 'wer'" when Style goes "You like me now, don't you?" The other instance is in episode 7 at the hospital when Style is really worried about Fadel's well-being, Fadel also tells him not to "wer". Other times when the subtitles have Fadel say something about drama, he actually uses the word ดราม่า which is literally the word "drama" transliterated in Thai letters. He uses it in the same episode 3 scene from above when he says "Don't be dramatic" after Style laments being exploited and he also uses the word "drama" when he tells Style to stop being dramatic when Style is crying in episode 8.

Either way, Fadel's words hurt Style. It hurts him that Fadel isn't taking his feelings seriously and instead undermines them. And so he tells Fadel: "If you really believe that, just go." I actually wanna share two other possible translations/interpretations of the line:

If that's the only way you think, then just go.

If you think nothing but that, then just go.

ถ้ามึงคิดแต่อย่างเงี่ย มึงก็ไปเลย [tâa - mueng - kít - dtàe - yàang ngîia • mueng - gôh - bpai - loiie] if - you - think - nothing but, only - like this, this way • you - then - go - [particle for emphasis]

And again, even if it is a ploy to get their boyfriends to yield, I think Style is legitimately angry about this. Because Style wants to be taken seriously in this relationship. Style also has feelings and he wants Fadel to take his feelings as seriously as Style takes Fadel's feelings. And he certainly doesn't wanna be told "you feelings don't matter" or "you're exaggerating" or "this is not a big deal". Only two episodes ago Fadel asked Style "You think that you deceiving me wasn't a big deal?" and Style took his anger seriously and acknowledged that what he did to Fadel was, in fact, a big deal. Now Style is the upset one and instead of Fadel taking him seriously or acknowledging Style's hurt in any way, again Style only gets told to stop overdoing it. And it's happened a couple of times. Back in episode 4 when Style was upset about getting nailed-and-bailed, instead of taking Style's hurt seriously Fadel took him out in the woods and nearly killed him (and then it actually ended with Style being the one comforting Fadel, even though Style was initially the upset one). It happened again in episode 8 when Style was crying himself to sleep and all he got from Fadel was "stop being dramatic" (Style doesn't know Fadel nearly broke and even if Fadel almost comforted him after all it doesn't change the fact that in the end, Fadel didn't, and Style still went to through the experience of crying himself to sleep uncomforted that night). And it's happening again now, where Style is legitimately upset and Fadel just undermines his feelings, telling him he's exaggerating. Style has a dramatic way of phrasing things, that's true, but it doesn't make his feelings any less real or any less important than Fadel's. And if it's always Style taking Fadel seriously and being there for him and offering him comfort, but then in return Style gets left hanging... Well, that's not the kind of relationship Style wants to have.

He wants a relationship on equal footing and what's more, in addition to Fadel not taking Style's hurt seriously, if Fadel keeps Style out of his life he might as well just not date Style at all. Because he can't just say he's Style's boyfriend and then not even participate or let Style participate in this relationship. Either Fadel is in for this relationship or he's out, but if he's out then that relationship is off, because again, that's not the kind of relationship that Style wants to have.

Style very firmly tells Fadel:

Really, go. No need to come back again. ไปจริงๆ ไม่ต้องกลับมาอีก [bpai - jing jing • mâi dtông - glàp maa - ìik] go - really, for real • no need - come back, return - again Official subs: Go, and don't come back.

The choice is Fadel's now: either Fadel starts taking Style's feelings seriously and starts taking Style's needs into consideration or Fadel can continue to keep Style out of his life, in which case Style will also keep Fadel out of his own life. In other words, they'll be over. Because this is not going to be just a one-sided relationship. Style isn't having that, no matter how much Style loves Fadel. He shoves Fadel and walks away.

Fadel catches Style's wrist. And I kinda love that, because last episode we had Fadel walking off grumpily and Style catching his wrist and pulling him back to make up with him and now we have Style walking off angrily and this time around Fadel has to make an effort to stop Style and to make up with him. And so Fadel grabs Style, pulls him back and tells him "I don't want to lose you". Yeah, exactly. Neither does Style. That's exactly what Style is so angry about right now. Because at the end of the day his anger boils down to him not wanting to lose Fadel. And now he finally gets to say what he's been meaning to say since the start: "That's why you need to let me help you." Fadel goes through a whole range of emotions while Style watches him, waiting. There is only one correct answer and Fadel knows it. And Style knows that Fadel knows it.

No. 4: Team Meeting

It worked. The hitmen brothers both agreed to let their normie-boyfriends help on their mission. Style is absolutely delighted and stoked about this, because he's fully back to confidently dropping flirty lines at any possible opportunity he gets. Fadel asks "Are you sure you want to do this?" and without missing a beat Style goes "Hell yeah. When I'm in, I'm all in, body and soul." As @clemelntine notes, Style's words parallel his words from when he was talking to Kant in the locker room back in episode 5. And if we take a look at the original wording we can see that this is even more so the case in Thai:

→ Someone like me puts all of their body and all of their heart into everything they do. คนอย่างกูอ่ะ ทำอะไรลงทั้งตัวทั้งใจอยู่แล้ว [kon - yàang - guu - àh • tam - à-rai - long - táng - dtuua - táng - jai - yùu láew] person - like - me - [particle] • do - something - enter (in) - whole, all - body - whole, all - heart, mind, spirit

For comparison, in episode 5 he says:

→ My body is already in it. ตัวก็ลงไปแล้ว [dtua - gôh - long bpai - láew] body - [sentence link] - enter (in) - already Official subs: I compromised my whole body, → And I gotta confess สารภาพเลยนะ [săa-rá-pâap - loiie - ná] confess - [particle for emphasis] - [particle] Official subs: and if we're being honest, → my heart is half in it already as well. ใจกูก็ไปครึ่งหนึ่งแล้วอ่ะ [jai - guu - gôh - bpai - krêung nèung - láew - àh] heart, mind, spirit - mine - also, too - go - one half - already - [particle] Official subs: I've already compromised half of my heart, too.

Five episodes later and it's not just all of Style's body and only half of his heart that is in, but now it's his whole body plus his entire heart that is in and that he also actively puts in. And not just that, his whole body and his whole heart are Fadel's, he's offered it all to Fadel in episode 8:

→ Take all of my cars, all of my body, and all of my heart. เอาไปทั้งรถทั้งตัวแล้วทั้งใจไปเลยนะ [ao bpai - táng - rót - táng - dtuua - láew - táng - jai - bpai - loiie - ná] take (away) - all of - car - all of - body - and - all of - heart, mind, spirit - away - [particle] - [particle] Official subs: Take my cars, my body, my heart.

And now here Style is, announcing without any hesitation that he actively puts his whole body and heart into everything. And what I love about this is that when he's speaking? His facial expression is serious and the tone of his voice is also very firm and determined and rather serious. But as soon as he finishes his sentence you can see just how much he fails to keep a straight, serious "I mean business" face. Style is so overjoyed that Fadel is finally including him and that he finally gets to be by Fadel's side that he can't stop smiling about it.

Fadel thinks Style is just exaggerating again and scolds him: "Don't say that just to be cool." Without missing a beat, Style replies "I'm not saying it to be cool, I'm saying it to be yours." In Thai, this is a pun on เอาเท่ [ao têh] (= "to be cool) and เอาเธอ [ao ter] (= "to get you" in the sense of wanting, taking). Also, pronoun switch! Because in his flirty line Style switches from the rude mueng that he usually uses with Fadel to the much sweeter ter. If you're unfamiliar with Thai pronouns, this is the you-pronoun that is typically used in love songs and many couples like to use it. Actors in CPs will also use this pronoun to tease their partner with a flirty line or joke. Style's deliberate use of ter makes his flirty line sound even flirtier than it already is (and I love that we actually did get a ter drop, because people were speculating about it after one of Dunk's lives this summer where he used "ter" as a pronoun to get across the gist of some scene that his mom helped him run lines for).

Kant announces that he too is all in and that he's qualified because of his past occupations. Style doesn't exactly have a criminal past or anything (as far as we know?), but he's confident in his abilities anyway:

No need to worry about my skills to get through situations smoothly. สกิลความเนียนของกูอ่ะ ไม่ต้องห่วงเลย [skill - kwaam niian - kŏng guu - àh • mâi dtông - hùuang - loiie] skill - smoothness - of me, my - [particle] • no need - worry, be worried - [particle] Official subs: You don't have to worry about me. Otherwise I wouldn't have made you be this crazy about me. ไม่งั้นไม่ทำให้มึงคลั่งรักกูขนาดนี้หรอก [mâi ngán - mâi - tam hâi - mueng - klâng rák - guu - kà-nàat níi - ròk] otherwise - not - make that, cause - you - crazy in love - me - like this, this much - [particle] Official subs: I'm good enough to make this dude fall for me, aren't I?

Yeah. Style has the audacity to say it straight to Fadel's face, not just because he's looking at him, but because he also explicitly addresses Fadel with "you". Gotta love his confidence. Style is truly in the bestest of moods now that he has his boyfriend back by his side and said boyfriend also lets him participate in his life. And again, Style can't stop smiling, especially when Fadel meets his eyes:

And again Fadel thinks that Style is just playing around and tells him off: "Stop joking. This is important to the two of us." But the thing is, Style isn't actually joking. Even if he's in a good mood right now, he still seriously means it when he says:

Your life is my life. ชีวิตมึงอ่ะ เหมือนชีวิตกูเหมือนกันนะเว้ย [chii-wít mueng - àh • mĕuuan - chii-wít guu - mĕuuan gan - ná wóiie] your life - [particle] • like - my life - also - [particle] Official subs: Your life is as important to me as my own.

Fadel is important to Style, no joke. Fadel doesn't have an answer. Bison suggests splitting up in teams to do some snooping and Fadel asks one more time if anyone wants to back off from this mission. He even looks directly at Style when he says "It's not too late to back off." But there is no way that Style is backing off now. As he told (and showed) Fadel last episode, Style is a man of his words. Also, he just wants this whole thing to be over so that he and Fadel don't have to live in fear. Besides, he's also sick of have to keep a distance from Fadel. Style is absolutely determined to be part of this mission, because he himself also has something to gain from it.

Style holds out his hand. One by one the rest puts their hand in, too. Well, except for Fadel. Kant gestures for Fadel to join and Fadel makes a skeptical face. Bison tries to encourage him with words, but it's only when Fadel looks over to Style that he rolls his eyes exasperatedly and also puts his hand in at last. As much as Fadel hates to see Style tag along on this dangerous mission, there is absolutely no way he can convince Style to stay out of it and Fadel knows it. And Style knows that Fadel knows it. He throws Fadel a very happy and pleased smile when Fadel puts his hand in and announces that he can finally have a boyfriend without being afraid of dying. When everyone except Fadel sits back down again, Fadel still looks pretty grumpy. Style grabs his hand and smiles at him encouragingly. And I'm almost offended that he doesn't kiss Fadel's hand when it's right. there. in front of his very lips. How is that not tempting?? I'd kiss that hand if it was my best friend, even, ngl.

No. 5: We're Off on a Secret Mission

Just as agreed in their team meeting, Fadel and Style go after Keen. And of course their mission has to start with them immediately bickering. We wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Fadel rebukes Style for not being inconspicuous enough and I laugh, because even though Style is the least experienced of them all, he still does a better job at it than Known Killer Bison who in a bit will just. STROLL AROUND ON THE GOLF COURSE IN HIS MOTHER'S LINE OF SIGHT????? More or less???? Make it make sense... 🤦‍♀️

Anyway, Style asks Fadel what he knows about Keen and we, too, finally get some insight into what Fadel and Bison's relationship is with Keen exactly. They were adopted together. He's the office guy. They don't actually have much to do with him, nor do they care much about him. Style feels bad for Keen. And somehow that seems right for Style. To me he seems like the kind of guy who'd want people to feel included. But then Fadel informs Style that this exact pitiful guy was the one who tried to kill them. Nevermind. Fuck this guy. Pity is out, revenge is in. Style wants to get back at him. But Fadel asks him: "What are you gonna do? Shoot him?"

Guys!! If you remember, in my ep9 meta I was wondering if all the references to Style with a gun (here's a collection, if you didn't read my ep7 and ep8 meta) was foreshadowing to Style getting shot in the store to help Fadel. But no. After a little break in episode 9, our Style + guns counter is back. We're at 6. And with Fadel asking "Can you even kill people?", in addition to wondering if Style will be shooting someone in the future, I am now also wondering if Style will not only shoot, but potentially also kill someone in the last two episodes (actually, I have been wondering if Style will kill someone since all the way back in episode 6, when Fadel told Style he needed to blend in, but then I was like nah, I don't think the show will go this dark, but he MAY at least injure someone with a gun. But now ep10 has me back on my wait, will Style ACTUALLY be KILLING someone??? bullshit dgfkjdkjgdgfk).

But for now, when asked about his capabilities of killing anyone Style just sits and re-thinks Fadel's words.

Fadel is right. Style isn't as ruthless as Fadel. Style isn't a killer at heart. On the contrary, actually, with the way he always tries to mediate just because he wants everyone involved in the incident to come to as little harm as possible. Style is even self-aware of the fact that he prefers to keep people out of trouble, he explicitly comments on it in episode 3:

I'm just a good looking young man who doesn't want anyone to get into trouble. ผมก็แค่ชายหนุ่มหน้าตาดีที่ไม่อยากให้ใครมีเรื่องกัน [pŏm - gôh - kâe - chaai nùm nâa dtaa dii - tîi - mâi - yàak - hâi - krai - mii rêuuang gan] I - [sentence link] - just - good-looking young man - who - not - want - that, for - anyone - get in trouble Official subs: I'm just a good-looking pacifist.

Yeah. There's no way Style can just up and kill anyone in cold blood, as much as he'd like to get back at Keen for shooting him. Keen gets up to leave and Fadel and Style make a run for it before Keen can spot them.

No. 6: Hide and Seek

Fadel and Style follow Keen to a hotel and watch him enter someone's room. They wonder who he could be meeting and Fadel guesses it could be his faen. Style brings up the point that it's kinda weird for them to meet at a hotel if they really are dating and asks if Keen might be hiding from Lilly. Fadel looks almost proud when he says "And you said you're not much of a detective". Style says he learned it from Fadel, but the thing is that Style actually is a smart boy. Even if he's an idiot (affectionate <3). The reality of the matter is that Style is a smart boy who sometimes makes stupid (or unusual) choices. That doesn't make him unintelligent, though.

Now the question is how they're gonna proceed from here. Wait for Keen to come out of the room again? I think Fadel misunderstands Style's question as impatience a little bit (or maybe he simply just expects Style to ditch him), because he snaps at him: "Can you do that? If you can't wait, just go home."

But instead Style tells him: "Like hell I will. I said I'd help. I won't back down." Style is a man of his words and he will not be going home, thank you very much. He's made his choice to help Fadel and so here he'll be, helping Fadel until the end. And with that he's just proving to Fadel once again just how loyal he is and that he'll be staying by Fadel's side no matter what. In fact, in the end it's even Style who thinks of a way to find out who Keen is with. Not our trained assassin Fadel.

No. 7: Truth Bombs All Around

(Awww look, it's a Star in My Mind cast reunion <3)

Style's plan is as follows: he dresses up as hotel staff and pretends to bring room service. That will give them access to the room and they'll see who Keen is with. Now that could be a good plan, except... did Style forget that Keen has seen him???? Did he forget that he's actually met and talked to Keen in the men's room of the bowling alley???? And even if Style was too tipsy at the time to remember him, only one episode ago Keen literally shot him, so like. he knows Style and Style should also know Keen knows him. What does he think will happen once he sees him????

Well, lucky for Style, it's Keen's boyfriend who opens up the door, not Keen. So that solves the mystery of who exactly he's with. Unlucky for Style, though, Keen does recognize his voice and he's also been expecting Fadel, so if Fadel's boyfriend is here then that must mean Fadel himself is also nearby. And so suddenly Keen appears at the door, gun pointed at Style. The very same gun whose bullet Style has gotten to feel on his own body before. Uncertain, Style turns to Fadel and squints his eyes a little. What now? Fadel doesn't know either. Style turns back to Keen and slowly walks inside the room.

Now, on the outside Style looks pretty calm and collected. But I think on the inside Style is actually terrified this time. Because he's completely silent. In fact, during this entire encounter, from the moment Keen first pulls a gun on him, our chatty cat Style doesn't say a single word until he kicks Keen at the end. Not a single time does Style try to talk himself out of it the way he tried when Fadel was the one pulling a gun on him or when those three men at the host club attacked Fadel. No, instead Style remains quiet, but attentive to the situation the entire time. And I think part of why he doesn't say a single word is because this conflict is between Fadel and Keen and Style is smart enough not to meddle, but I also think part of it is because he is genuinely scared.

Fadel is at the door soon after Style has disappeared inside. Keen guides him inside the room with his gun pointed at Fadel's back and orders him to drop his own gun and to kneel next to Style. Style looks tense and uncomfortable.

And again, I think Style is actually really scared right now. Fadel drops his gun onto the bed and Style stares at it for quite a long while.

That gun isn't gonna help them this time, lying on the bed like that. Fadel kneels next to Style and Style wordlessly stares at Keen, watches him as Fadel talks to him. Keen has the gun on Fadel the entire time and threatens him: "One wrong move..." To showcase what he plans to do if Fadel doesn't abide to his wishes, Keen moves the gun and points it at Style instead. Style immediately turns away.

Keen continues his implicit threat with explicit words: "...and I put a hole through his skull." Again, as calm as Style looks, I think he's actually terrified right now. He can't even look at the gun.

This is very different from any time Fadel was pointing a gun at him. Even when Style was tied up at the pool, he never really shied from the gun except for the very end of the scene where for a brief moment he thinks Fadel is actually about to kill him for real. But during that entire conversation he doesn't even turn away from Fadel that time he gets jumpscared when Fadel suddenly shoves the gun closer while putting his foot on the step and yelling at Style to shut up. But when Keen is the one pointing the gun, things are different. Because with Fadel, Style knew he was going to be fine. Style could handle Fadel. But Keen actually has it out for Style and that very gun that is being pointed at him has hurt him before. Style is severely uncomfortable in this situation. He doesn't say a single word, not even to defend himself. Fadel does tell him "No need to be scared" and I think part of it was to comfort Style, but mostly I think this was actually a stab at Keen. Especially with how Fadel immediately continues by saying "He doesn't have the gut to do that". Keen points the gun at Fadel again. Style continues to stay silent during the brothers' argument. Style doesn't meddle or interfere at all. He keeps completely quiet, paying close attention to what is happening. And so when he takes note of how Keen gets distracted, because he's too emotionally affected by Fadel's words about their parents, Style immediately uses that chance and bravely attacks Keen. From episode 3 we know that Style doesn't actually have the skills for a fight and so again we see that Style will just throw himself into a situation if he thinks he can help somehow, even if he doesn't necessarily have the skill set for it. And we also see how terrible of a fighter Keen himself really is (I had some more thoughts about it here), because Style, who is canonically bad at fist-fights, actually manages to overpower him and wrestle the gun out of his hand. In the meantime Fadel makes a grab for his own gun and threatens Keen with it. Style shoves Keen's boyfriend onto the bed and points Keen's gun at him. The Style + guns counter goes up to 7. At this point either the writers are mocking me or we really will see Style pull that trigger at some point. Keen asks Fadel not to hurt Nont and Fadel snaps: "You dare ask me to spare your boyfriend when you were going to shoot mine?"

Fadel actually repeats the word "boyfriend" in Thai:

You still dare to ask for your boyfriend's life? นี่มึงยังกล้าขอชีวิตแฟนมึงอีกหรอ [nîi - mueng - yang - glâa - kŏr - chii-wít - faen mueng - ìik - rŏr] [interjection] - you - still - dare (to) - ask for, request - life - your boyfriend - again, once more - ? Weren't you going to shoot my boyfriend? ทีมึงจะยิงแฟนกูเลยไม่ใช่หรอ [tii - mueng - jà - ying - faen guu - loiie - mâi châi - rŏr] [particle] - you - will - shoot - my boyfriend - [particle] - no - ?

And I think the repetition is probably just from the way the language works in general, but there's just something about hearing Fadel utter the words "faen guu" ("my boyfriend") that makes my heart sing after him vehemently denying it for two episodes straight. Especially considering how at the time of Keen trying to shoot (and ending up injuring) Style, Fadel was actually still refusing to call Style his boyfriend (although he also didn't outright deny it when Style called them boyfriends). And now he's finally back to explicitly calling Style his boyfriend. We love to see it.

Style still doesn't say a single word, even though he himself was actually very involved in the whole "Keen tried shooting Fadel's boyfriend" plot. In fact, he was a main character in it. Style is clearly out of his element here. This is Fadel's area of expertise and also Fadel's conflict. And so for once, Style shuts up and lets Fadel do all the talking.

First, Fadel was the one dropping truth bombs on Keen. Now Keen is returning the favor: Lilly not only killed their parents but in addition she also had Fadel's ex killed. When those news are out, Style immediately turns his head to check on Fadel:

Style has context now, Style knows Fadel thinks the ex just up and left him without a word. And he knows that this new information greatly changes Fadel's worldview. Fadel and Keen continue to yell at each other and Style doesn't take his eyes off of Fadel. The camera is on Fadel and so we only get short glimpses of Style watching Fadel when the camera moves to the side enough for us to see Style's face for a second, so it's a bit hard to interpret what exactly Style is thinking in this moment, but I think the reason why he's watching Fadel so carefully is first of all, to check on him how he's taking the information and second of all, probably also to see if he's gonna do anything to Keen. But Fadel doesn't. They yell at each other for a bit and then Fadel has to turn around and process things for himself for a moment. The fact that he actually turns his back on Keen shows that Fadel really is back to trusting Style again. Because I don't think he would have just turned away from Keen like that if he didn't trust Style to have his back if Keen tried to attack him in this vulnerable state. Style turns to Fadel a little, still clearly uncomfortable in this situation, unsure what to do or what to say, especially now that such a huge bomb shell was dropped onto the person he loves. And he still doesn't utter a single word.

Fadel takes quite a while to process and when we next see Style, he's looking at Keen and Nont again, his expression now very stern.

The fear has faded. Style is in protective mode now. But he still doesn't say a word. He still doesn't interfere. He just waits to see what Fadel wants to do about this situation. Fadel finally regains his composure and suggests Keen a deal. Then Fadel only says Style's name and gestures with his hand. Style immediately obeys, no questions asked. He grabs Nont and pulls him off the bed. Fadel threatens Keen one more time, then walks away. Style watches Fadel leave the room. Before he follows Fadel out, Style kicks Keen and shouts "That's for shooting me!" and it's satisfying to witness, especially considering that this is Style who rarely ever holds grudges.

Style pulls Nont along as he moves to walk out the room himself. Now the question is... Did Style only take Nont to the door as some sort of human shield in case Keen had any stupid ideas and then let Nont go in the hallway or something? Or did Fadel and Style take Nont as an actual hostage? I guess we'll find out next episode. Hopefully.

No. 8: Hurt/Comfort

When they confronted Keen at the hotel, the sun was still out. Now the sun is long gone. I wonder how much time has passed since Fadel found out the news and what happened in between? Did they stay together? Was Style taking care of Nont first while Fadel already went to sit outside somewhere and that's why Style arrives a little later? Or did they separate? Did Fadel call or text Style to come meet him there, because he was feeling like shit?

Either way, Style finds Fadel sitting on some stone stairs and close to tears. Style stands in front of him for a moment with a concerned look on his face, before he sits down next to Fadel. First thing he does is to gently wipe away a tear that has escaped Fadel's eyes before he asks "Are you alright?" He also tells Fadel "You can talk to me, you know?" and then he just waits. He doesn't pressure Fadel to open up, he leaves the decision to open up entirely up to Fadel. Style always does this, actually. He never pressures Fadel to share if he isn't ready to. Only last episode, when Style was asking about the guy from the picture he waited for Fadel to answer without rushing him and when Fadel ignored the question, Style was quick to apologize and to tell him that it was okay if Fadel didn't want to share. Or in episode 5, when he asked about why Fadel goes to the Rise Up meetings he also patiently waited for Fadel to speak willingly and then waited again only moments later when he asked about how Fadel's parents died. Style offers Fadel a safe space to open up, but ultimately leaves the decision to take and make use of that safe space up to Fadel. It's no different here on the stairs. "You can talk to me," Style says and he wants Fadel to talk to him, to trust him enough to open up and to share his pain with Style, but he absolutely won't pressure Fadel into it. He offers Fadel a safe space and then waits. It takes 13 seconds for Fadel to open up. And when he does, he really talks. As soon as Fadel starts to speak, he shares without any hesitation like he did last episode when he told Style about his ex in the first place. He no longer shares just a sentence or two like he did back in episode 5. It all comes spilling out of Fadel now: "You know what? I've always blamed myself. I thought… He left because of me, because he was scared of me. He didn't want a future with me." Style sits and listens intently. Fadel ends with:

So that's why I don't wanna have anyone. กูก็เลยไม่อยากมีใครไง [guu - gôh loiie - mâi - yàak - mii - krai - ngai] I - as a result, that's why - not - want - have - anyone - [particle] Official subs: That’s why I don’t want to get close to anyone.

Style thinks about Fadel's words for a moment, then looks at him, raises his eyebrows and nods like Yeah, that tracks.

This really does explain a lot. In retrospective, all of Fadel's behavior and actions make so much more sense now with the added context. Style doesn't just think that to himself, but he also tells Fadel explicitly:

Ever since I found out about this, ตั้งแต่กูรู้เรื่องเนี่ย [dtâng dtàe - guu - rúu - rêuuang nîia] since, from - I - know - this thing, this matter Official subs: Now that I found out about this, it makes me understand everything about why you are the way you are. มันทำให้กูเข้าใจความเป็นมึงทุกอย่างเลยนะ [man - tam hâi - guu - kâo-jai - kwaam bpen mueng - túk yàang - loiie - ná] it - makes that - I - understand - the being you - everything - [particle] - [particle] Official subs: I finally understood you And why it was so difficult to woo you. ว่าทำไมมึงถึงจีบยาก [wâa - tam-mai - mueng - tĕung - jìip - yâak] that - why - you - get to - flirt (with), hit on, woo - difficult Official subs: and why you were so closed-minded before.

Fadel looks up and his jaw clenches for a split second. Style is looking back at him with an attentive expression, almost giving him the tiniest smile.

(Is it just me or does the left corner of his mouth (to our right) twitch very subtly?)

Fadel elaborates on why that is: "I don't want to have any expectations just to be disappointed." Style is still looking at Fadel, still listening intently. He gives just the tiniest nod after Fadel says this.

He empathizes with Fadel. This time Style doesn't say anything, though. He stays quiet again and just lets Fadel continue talking whenever he's ready to share more. And things just continue to spill out of Fadel under tears: "I never thought… that he'd be dead because of me. If only I didn't want to quit my job, if only I didn't get close to him… He'd still be alive." Style looks away from Fadel again, contemplating Fadel's words, his expression serious.

When he looks back at Fadel, there is something on Style's mind that he does want Fadel to hear: "It wasn't your fault. Lilly was the one who had him killed. It was her fault. Don't blame yourself." Style's voice is soft, but there is a bit of an urgency to his tone as he says this. It's important to Style that Fadel understands that he has no reason to continue blaming himself. Style ends his little speech with "You had the full right to love and to want a future with him" and his voice sounds so very gentle and kind. And I just love that the writers never made Style be jealous of the ex, but instead made him so understanding. Style is here to help Fadel work through his trauma, to support him, to be his safe space and his shoulder to cry on. And it's beautiful.

Fadel slowly lifts his head and looks up at Style. The moment their eyes meet, Style tilts his head just a little bit closer to Fadel and that makes it look like he becomes even more focused on Fadel as he waits for Fadel to say something back.

But as it turns out, Fadel can't embrace Style's words right now, can't bring himself to believe them. Because in his experience, things don't go well. And so he drops a bit of a bombshell on Style:

You see it now, don't you, Style? มึงเห็นแล้วใช่มั้ยสไตล์ [mueng - hĕn - láew - châi mái - Style] you - see - already, now - right? - Style Official subs: You see now, Style? That loving me will lead you to death. ว่าการรักกูจะพามึงไปตายอ่ะ [wâa - gaan rák - guu - jà - paa - mueng - bpai - dtaai - àh] that - loving - me - will - lead, bring, take - you - go - die - [particle] Official subs: The only thing my love will lead you to is death.

Yeah. The official translation actually completely turned around the meaning. In Thai Fadel doesn't say that him loving someone is what leads to death, but it's him being loved that leads to death. The problem isn't that Fadel can't love, no, the problem is that Fadel can't be loved. Because the moment someone loves him that person is in danger. Fadel can't allow himself to receive love, because that will lead to dire consequences. This is also why Style later says "You deserve love". It refers right back to this line here and to Fadel being convinced that he can't accept anyone's love. Fadel says "Loving me will lead you to death" and Style swallows, his expression now slightly less soft and more serious compared to how it was before.

Style, believer in the power of love, who loves so ferociously with all his heart, gets told that this very love will be his death sentence if he keeps on loving Fadel specifically. Those aren't exactly cheerful news. You can't love me, because you will die, Fadel tells him and I think that hurts Style, because first of all, it's not exactly a great thing to be told "your feelings will cost you your life" and second of all, I think he's also hurt for Fadel, is hurt that the person he loves so dearly would shy away from receiving love, because to them it's a terrible, traumatic experience. And what's more, I'm pretty sure once's he's heard that line Style understands Fadel is about to drop a break-up speech. And breaking up is absolutely not in the cards for Style.

Fadel looks at him full of desperation and says:

It's better if you leave my life. มึงออกไปจากชีวิตกูเถอะนะ [mueng - òhk bpai - jàak - chii-wít guu - tùh - ná] you - go out, leave - from - my life - [particle] - [particle] Official subs: Please just leave me.

Fadel tells Style "I won't even get mad at you" and it's kind of reminiscent of that one time in the beginning of episode 5 where he told Style he'd be cool with it if Style suddenly wanted to back out of the relationship after all. Except now Fadel needs Style to back out of the relationship, because he's terrified for Style's safety. Style looks away and thinks about Fadel's words again, looking almost a little tense now.

This really is a break-up speech and Style definitely doesn't like where it's going. He doesn't say anything yet, though. And Fadel continues:

Live the life you want to live. มึงใช้ชีวิตที่มึงอยากใช้ [mueng - chái chii-wít - tîi - mueng - yàak - chái] you - live life - that - you - want (to) - live (lit. "use") Official subs: Live the life you deserve. Don't entrust your life to me. มึงอย่ามาฝากชีวิดกับกูเลยนะ [mueng - yàa - maa - fàak - chii-wít - gàp - guu - loiie - ná] you - not - come - entrust - life - with - me - [particle] - [particle] Official subs: Don’t leave it with me.

Now Style really can't shut up anymore. "Why would you say this?" Style almost sounds kind of offended now. And when he says "It hurts my feelings, you know?" he's really angry. All that softness from before is momentarily gone. And it makes sense for him to be angry now. Only last episode he was angry when everyone just ignored his own agency in this whole thing. And Fadel is about to do the very same thing again. But Style is perfectly capable of making his own choices, especially when it's about how to live his very own life. Fadel can't decide Style's own life choices for him. And what's more: after all this time, does Fadel still not know Style? Does Fadel still not understand just how loyal Style is? Does Fadel still not believe that Style will stick by his side through life and death? Does Fadel still not believe it, despite the fact that Style was literally out there proving it over and over again in episodes 8 and 9? It makes Style really upset that Fadel has so little faith in him. And I think it also hurts him that Fadel would think of him as the kind of person who'd just up and leave the person they love the moment things get difficult and not pretty. "What kind of man do you take me for?" is a question that Style asked Fadel back in episode 3 already after their storage room hook-up. And now the very same question is relevant again. That question is the subtext of when Style asks "Why would you say this?" and Style then also goes on to elaborate on it: "I'm not the type to be scared of dying and ditch the person I love.* I’m not selfish like that."

*กูไม่ใช่พวกที่จะกลัวตายแล้วทิ้งคนที่รักนะ [guu - mâi châi - pûuak - tîi - jà - gluua - dtaai - láew - tíng - kon - tîi - rák - ná] I - not - group, community - that - will - be scared (of), fear - die - and - leave, discard - person - that - love - [particle] Official subs: I'm not the type to leave the one I love to save my life.

The anger in his voice is already gone when he says this. His tone is softer again compared to when he told Fadel that his feelings were hurt, and there is also some slight urgency to his tone again. It's important to Style that his words really reach Fadel. He really needs it to get through to Fadel that there is absolutely no way Style is leaving him, especially not now in this state, in this condition. Not in his wildest dreams would Style ever even think to just abandon the person he loves at rock bottom. Because that's not at all how he views love: "Love is something you fight for together. You stay by each other's side, no matter what obstacles you run into.*"

ต้องอยู่ข้างๆ กันไม่ว่าจะเจออุปสรรคแค่ไหน [dtông - yùu - kâang kâang gan - mâi wâa - jà - jer - ù-bpà-sàk - kâe năi] must - be, stay - by each other's side, next to each other - no matter, regardless of - will - meet, find - obstacle - how many Official subs: Stay by each other's side through every obstacle.

Lilly killing Fadel's old boyfriend and Style's life now also being in danger is an obstacle they're facing in their relationship, but they're gonna face it together. No way Style is gonna ditch Fadel. Because: "If I was scared of you*, I’d have run away the day I found out you’re a hitman."

*ถ้ากูกลัวมึงอ่ะ [tâa - guu - gluua - mueng - àh] if - I - scared of, fear - you - [particle] Official subs: If I was scared,

Yeah. I need you to know that Style is actually more specific in Thai. It's not the entire situation or Lilly or anything else that he's referring to here. No. He's referring to being scared of Fadel specifically and he also explicitly says that. He says "If I was scared of you", in other words he's saying You don't scare me which is something Fadel really needs to hear. Style already told him that last episode when Fadel first opened up about his old boyfriend, and now Style is repeating it, both for emphasis but also as a reminder. Style is not scared of Fadel, because if he was he could have easily backed out much sooner than this. Because the reality of the matter is that initially he was scared of Fadel for a moment right after Kant told him the truth. But then Fadel never gave Style a reason to actually be scared of him and Style fell deeply in love anyway:

But that I'm still staying / But that I still stayed แต่ที่กูยังอยู่ [dtàe - tîi - guu - yang - yùu] but - that - I - still - stay Official subs: But I stay with you is because I love that you're you / is because I love you for being you เพราะกูรักที่เป็นมึง [próh - guu - rák - tîi - bpen - mueng] because - I - love - that - be - you Official subs: because I love who you are. And I'm confident, you know, that you're the person I desire. แล้วกูมั่นใจนะ ว่ามึงคือคนที่กูต้องการ [láew - guu - mân-jai - ná • wâa - mueng - kue - kon - tîi - guu - dtông-gaan] and - I - be certain, confident - [particle] • that - you - are - person - that - I - want, require Official subs: I know for sure that you're the one I want.

I'm not entirely sure about how accurate "desire" is as a translation here, but I chose it for the lack of a better word. In Thai there are actually two words for saying "want": อยาก [yàak] and ต้องการ [dtông-gaan]. I asked my friend about the about the difference and he explained that ต้องการ [dtông-gaan] is more serious, you don't want the thing because you just feel like it, but there's a deeper/more serious reason behind it. The example he gave was if you say you อยาก [yàak] some candy then it's clear that you just wanna have some candy because you feel like eating it, but if you say you ต้องการ [dtông-gaan] candy, then you have a deeper reason for it, like for example you're a diabetic who's sugar levels are getting low. Style uses the more serious word ต้องการ [dtông-gaan] here when he says he wants Fadel. Him wanting Fadel is not just a fleeting mood. Style's voice is very firm now. Style means every single word that he says. And nothing that Fadel says or does will changes Style's stance on this matter. In episode 5 Fadel told Style to judge once he's seen all of Fadel, and this right here is Style making his choice knowing the entire truth of the situation. A choice, that in reality he had already made in episode 5. Style loves Fadel and he's made his choice to be with him five episodes ago and nothing so far has made him want to change his mind. On the contrary, he's just gotten even more determined the better he gets to know and understands Fadel. And it had to be Style. The person to worm his way through Fadel's walls had to be Style. Style, beacon of hope and optimism and unwavering loyalty. Style, who is even more stubborn than Fadel is.

For the past minute, Fadel has now been the one to intently listen to Style's words. When Style finishes his little speech, a tear rolls from Fadel's eye. Style lifts his hand and wipes it away with his thumb. Then he takes Fadel's face into both hands and sighs. He doesn't want to see Fadel this miserable. Style continues to gently wipe away the tears from Fadel's face. Then he tells Fadel: "There's no need to be afraid. You and I will be fine. Everything will turn out alright. Knowing how much you care about me makes me certain that I didn't choose the wrong man. You deserve love just like anyone."

And for those who are curious, here is a more literal translation of the last two sentences:

The more I know how much you care about me, ยิ่งกูรู้ว่ามึงแค่ร์กูขนาดเนี่ย [yîng - guu - rúu - wâa - mueng - kâe - guu - kà-nàat nîia] the more - I - know - that - you - care (about) - me - like this, this much the more I know that I don't love the wrong person. มันยิ่งทำให้รู้นะว่ากูอ่ะ รักคนไม่ผิด [man - yîng - tam hâi - rúu - ná - wâa - guu - àh • rák - kon - mâi - pìt] it - the more - make that, cause - know - [particle] - that - I - [particle] • love - person - not - wrong You deserve love very much. มึงคู่ควรกับความรักมากๆ เลยนะ [mueng - kûu kuuan - gàp - kwaam rák - mâak mâak - loiie - ná] you - deserve, fit - with - love - very much, a lot - [particle for emphasis] - [particle]

When Style says "deserve" he actually uses the word คู่ควร [kûu kuuan] which my friend explained as a very poetic word that isn't really used in real life unless you're being sarcastic. Obviously Style is not being sarcastic here and I think it's sweet that he expresses himself in a poetic way.

Style's voice as he talks to Fadel now is both so firm and determined and urgent, but at the same time it's also so gentle and soft and warm. And it's so very filled with love. Filled to the brim with love. The love that Fadel thinks he's not allowed to accept, because it will lead to his loved ones dying. But Style doesn't care that he might die. Style loves so fully and so wholeheartedly and so earnestly, and he will give Fadel all the love Style knows Fadel so desperately needs. Because Fadel deserves to be loved. And Style will stay right here by Fadel's side, loving him fiercely no matter what dangers they'll face.

When Style is done with his little speech, you can literally see him trying to figure out and thinking hard about whether it's okay to kiss Fadel now. Whether Fadel will be okay with it or if it maybe overwhelms him right now after all of that. But in the end Style raises his eyebrows as he decides Fuck it, I'm kissing him.

And then he leans in slowly, very slowly, so that Fadel has more than enough time to react and to pull away if he feels uncomfortable with being kissed right now. But Fadel lets him, and Style kisses him so very gently with all the love that he has. And actually, even when Fadel has already clearly given his consent by letting Style kiss him in the first place, in the beginning Style still opens his eyes for a brief moment to check Fadel's reaction, to check if Fadel really is okay with being kissed right now.

They break apart and again Style observes Fadel's face intently. Fadel has his undivided attention, nothing matters right now but Fadel and his well-being. Style is gonna make sure Fadel leaves this place feeling much better than when he got here.

But Fadel still looks rather dejected. So Style gently pulls Fadel's head closer and kisses his forehead. Then he goes back to simply just holding Fadel's face and looking at him. And that's when Fadel really breaks. He pulls Style into a sudden hug and cries into his shoulder. It's the second time this has happened and this time Style is actually aware of it. And this time Fadel is fully aware of just how much Style actually truly loves him. Style holds Fadel as Fadel trembles in Style's arms.

Now, the trembling. I wanna talk about the trembling for a moment. Because I have a mother who works in the medical field and she's mentioned on multiple occasion how trauma release can manifest in the body through shaking and trembling. And when I saw that I was like "YES!! YES!!" Because, remember how Style draws tears on Fadel in episode 6? In the episode itself that worked as direct foreshadowing to Fadel crying tears because of Style's "betrayal" of course, but the first time I watched the scene it didn't even occur to me that this could be foreshadowing to the episode ending in Fadel's tears. No, my very first thought upon seeing those drawn tears was "Are those the tears Fadel never got to cry?" And if you read and remember my ep6 meta, when I got to this part I actually wrote:

I do hope later down the line we'll get a scene where Fadel finally lets it all out, let's out all the pain from all the trauma(s) he's been through while Style is right by his side, supporting him through it, is there for him. Because they'll do this together and Style will always be ready to happily offer and create a safe space for Fadel, just like he did in episode 5 when he was asking Fadel about his parents or when he was trying to get Fadel to let lose and dance a little in the bowling alley or now when he's offering to wear matching make-up with Fadel. And when Fadel cries (and I hope he will cry, and not just from Style's "betrayal"), then Style will offer a safe space for Fadel to cry in, too.

(Bolded for emphasis.)

And I am sooo, so happy I actually got this!! Fadel crying out all of his trauma while Style is there to support him and to hold him through it. Maybe the make-up tears were double foreshadowing after all: In episode 6, Style offered a safe space to Fadel and drew fake tears on him. In episode 10, Style offers a safe space to Fadel and Fadel cries real tears. And both these episodes are the only two episodes that ended with me just staring into thin air for a while afterwards, unable to form any coherent thought. That's it, meta canceled. I'm gonna go throw myself off a cliff now. Bye.

(Overview | Ep1+2 | Ep3 | Ep4 | Ep5 | Ep6 | Ep7 | Ep8 | Ep9)

#the heart killers #fadelstyle #stylefadel #thk #thk meta #my meta #thkmetamine #adrm #style meta #posting this at 4:14am what else is new

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bullet-prooflove · 1 day ago

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Bore Da Gold - Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @constantlyreadingsstuff @folkloroyy @ajanehopper @scrumptiousfacegalaxy

Companion piece to:

The PA - Rupert's new PA isn't like the others.

Rupert discovers your relationship with Lord Ashbury entirely by accident. It’s Christmas morning and he’s looking for a little assistance with his Santa outfit before Natalie arrives when he ambles into your rooms and finds the letter resting on the side table.

To my dearest Clara. It reads. I’m sorry we can’t be together for Christmas again this year but I look forward to seeing you at the O’Hara’s New Year’s Eve party. Please accept this as a token of my love and know that I’ll be thinking of you.

Despite his promises to respect your privacy he just can’t seem to help himself. He opens the black velvet box resting alongside the letter to find a pair of Bore Da Gold earrings, a diamond fixed in the centre of each one.

He concludes in an instant that this man does not give a fuck about you because every single piece of jewellery you own is silver. He isn’t sure how he knows that, he just does. The same way he knows you’re allergic to pineapple and that you get off to those Harlequin romance novels when you think he can’t hear you. Christ, he’s lost count of the amount of times he’s fisted his cock, edging himself so that he can come with you.

He closes the box just as you step out of the bathroom, dressed in navy blue silk robe that hugs every single one of your assets.

“Can I help you Mr Campbell Black?” You say and it’s at that moment the trousers of his Santa suit come tumbling down revealing… well… his already very hard candy cane.

“I think you’ve seen me naked enough times by now to call me Rupert don’t you?” He says as your eyes linger for just a fraction of a second. “I actually needed help with a couple of the buttons…”

“Nude jar first.” You say pointing at the jam jar that resides down the hallway between your bedrooms.

You’d installed it after the first week of catching him in all manner of compromising positions. It’s tenner if you catch a flash of his arse, twenty for the whole package. If you catch him fucking in a communal area you both use, it’s fifty for psychological damages. At the end of the month you donate the proceeds to the local dogs trust, a charity close to his heart. They’ve had almost two grand from him over your tenure here, they’ve put his picture in a frame in the reception area.

He sighs before he pulls up the trousers once more, trotting off in search of his wallet. He sticks an extra twenty in because it’s Christmas before returning to your rooms so you can help him with his Santa costume. The letter and the jewellery box are gone by the time he returns, tucked away with those filthy books you read he assumes.

It’s on New Year’s Eve those earrings finally make an appearance. You’re both attending the party at the O’Hara’s and he’s waiting impatiently at the bottom of the stairs, adjusting his bow tie for the fifth time when he hears your footsteps above him.

His breath catches in his throat when he lays eyes on you. You’re clad in a black and silver mini dress that shows off those legs that he’s been fantasizing about since day one, with sleeves that part at the elbows. He’s never thought of the inner arm as sexy before but then again that was before he met you.

That man, he thinks as you walk down the stairs towards him. He doesn’t deserve you.

“Too much?” You say when you catch sight of the expression on his face and he shakes his head, a smile playing at the edge of his lips.

“No Clara,” he says softly, holding out his arm for you to take. “It’s just right.”

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#rupert campbell black #rupert campbell black x reader #rivals #rupert x reader #rivals 2024 #rivals hulu #rivals disney+#rivals fanfiction #rupert campbell-black #rupert campbell-black x reader #rupert campbell black fanfic

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masclesbianism · 1 day ago

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— ࣪ the hauntings.

— ࣪ synopsis . the haunting of jackie taylor is everywhere for shauna. she's sees jackie so much in you but she's confused if she's in love with you or her dead best friend.

pairing . shauna shipman x female reader

G . angst and fluff ꔫ

the lingering of jackie taylor was never stopping and shauna knew that, she knew she could never see her best friend again and even if she could jackie would've never forgave her for the shit she'd done. but that doesn't forget that she's everywhere. her scent, some of her clothes, her blanket she was sleeping on and that god damn necklace. it wasn't a secret that shauna wears it everyday but she can't deny the guilt she feels when she does so.

but she still has the lingering taste on her tongue whenever she swallows and it hurts. everything hurts to her and it won't stop, that was until shauna started seeing you. she always saw you passing by helping out tai and van but she couldn't stop herself from seeing jackie. she hated that, she hated you so much cause of how much u were like jackie.

shauna didn't know when she would snap it felt like her skin was rotting every second of every day. you were just so perfect. the way your hair would fall so naturally, the excessive jewelry u kept, the laugh u would let out of a stupid joke van made, and those green eyes. your eyes was probably the most thing that made shauna think of jackie, of course it was jackie had the most beautiful eyes ever it was like looking into lava lamp from the way she had u memorized.

shauna loved that about her and she hated that u resembled that so well. shauna tried to not show the hate but it honestly was really hard i mean can u blame her u were a carbon copy of jackie which made her want to cry.

the first time she started to notice that she was in love with you was when she laughed for the first time in a while. it was a really corny pick up line you made while you guys were sorting through ur luggage cause to be honest who packs this much on a trip for only a few days. shauna was sitting down next to you while you guys were both picking apart your suitcase, whenever the room got quiet for too long you put down the shirt you had in your hands and looked at shauna.

“do you know any pickup lines?” you said while messing with the charms on ur bracelet and shauna turned her head to you looking at you up and down in a more confusing way and not a why are you talking to me way.

“um not really why” shauna tilted her head and saw you scrunch your nose for a while, which shauna noticed you often do that alot.

”i know some reallly good ones wanna hear?” you clapped ur hands in a excited way as your eyes lit up.

“uhh sure” she replied as she laid down on the mattress which she saw that you did right after.

“u spend so much time in my mind i should charge u rent girl” you giggled a little at your own add on to the pickup line as you refused to look a shauna for her reaction to that unfunny pickup line.

and surprisingly shauna started laughing like actually laughing. you've never seen her give you a real smile but a laugh? yeah she'll take it. “oh my god is that real?” she wiped her eye from them being watery before because of all the dust up here.

”yes it is! i swear” you turned your head to look at the doe eyed girl who was smiling at you and for a second you guys just stared at each other. a little longer then people normally stare at each other but it just felt right. at least to shauna it felt that way, for a moment she forgot everything that has happened but at the same time she still remembered everything. for a hot minute shauna saw jackie looking at her smiling with that same uniform jacket she had on, “do i look like her shauna?” she heard and saw jackie talking to her and shauna wanted it to be real god she really did. but her conscience knew it wasn't which made her snap out of it in the most subtle way.

”shauna?” you said as you waved your hand in front of her face and shauna looked up at you the smile that she originally had on faded a while ago.

”we should continue unpacking” you commented on the suitcase that you guys barely unpacked, which sounds like we're going on a trip to las vegas or something but no we're literally stuck in the wilderness. shauna wasn't really over the moment that just happened but her eyes still kept wandering to you and she didn't know if she wanted to kiss you or cry in your arms.

that's what really fucked her up she didn't know what she felt. was she really in love with you or her dead best friend? that shit really kept her up at night which was every night, she couldn't sleep at all cause she kept thinking of you and jackie. whenever she tried to go to sleep she kept smelling your scent, you smelt almost like vanilla same as jackie's perfume she always kept in her bag.

it was everyday. shauna couldn't get you out of her mind every time you were walking she saw jackie walking around which made her start ignoring you. she couldn't handle the pain from just looking at you, it hurt it really fucking hurt. every time you would try to go up to her she would walk away or just not respond and if she did it was some snarky remark.

shauna was naturally a over thinker she thinks she was just born with that. born with the will to care about people so much it fucks up your mental health and how you take care of yourself. but as she normally does she was doing just that right now, she was sitting on the porch playing with a strand of her hair while pecks of snow was falling on her hair. 'does she love you?' kept replaying in her head like a puzzle of a rubric cube, shauna didn't know but she couldn't just go up to you and just flat out kiss you to get her answer. but the more she thought of it the more overwhelmed she got, the pace shauna was messing with that strand of hair got faster and everything felt like a ticking time bomb in her mind.

then she just stopped and stood up while she started to sob, she covered up her mouth so nobody could hear her let out these honestly pathetic sobs. shauna wanted to curl up into a ball and just hide, hide forever but that wasn't what she really wanted was it? she wanted needed you. she needed it so bad that she got overstimulated from how much she was crying and she felt the cold start falling on her body, shauna could almost feel like cold was slowly eating at her insides. shauna honestly couldn't move she couldn't find the upper body strength to move and she was like a shadow.

that was until you came outside and saw shauna just standing up sobbing. ”shauna? what are you doing out here?” you put a blanket on her shoulders as she tensed up from the warmth from the blanket. she tried to make words come out of her mouth but she just couldn't all that came out was cries.

“cmon let's go inside.” you looked at her as you understood the state she was in and you softly put a hand on her back, leading her inside and upstairs to the attic.

you placed her down on the mattress while she was still sobbing but not as much whenever she first started crying, and you started wiping down the snow that was in her hair until you couldn't really see anymore. “wanna tell me why you were crying?” you spoke in a soft tone as you kneeled down to her level.

she didn't know what to say. she couldn't just say ' i don't know if im in love with you or my dead best friend because you are literally a carbon copy of her.' shauna tried to say anything but she couldn't really focus because of your hand that was on hers it honestly made her want to cry more.

but eventually she said something it took a while but could u honestly blame her. “i- i think no i know im in love with you and im confused because i don't know i actually love you or jackie which you look alot like her and i just i can't —” shauna spoke faster than usual as she put her hands in her hair and just started sobbing more, you couldn't really think of anything right now. where you actually that similar to jackie? the fact didn't really scare or weird you out more of a does shauna really love me to the point she started seeing jackie or did she always see jackie in you?

but you ignored your problems for a second and hugged shauna, the way she just melted into your arms felt natural to the both of you guys. the violent sobs that came out of her almost made you want to cry with her, you put your hand in shauna's hair softly rubbing her scalp in a soothing way not wanting to hurt her at all.

you never spoke you just wanted her to let all of her sobs out, i mean when was the last time she actually hugged and had a meaningful moment with someone like this. shauna laid her head on your chest and hugged your waist as her sobs started to get quieter.

shauna never wanted this moment to end that's probably why she kept holding onto you until you made the move to let go. “are you okay now?” shauna simply nodded her head as she wiped her eyes and looked up at you as she fidgeted with the ring on her finger.

you placed a hand on her cheek and tilted your head sideways as you tried to find the right words to say after what she just told you.

“do you love me?” you asked her as your hand was still on her cold cheek. shauna didn't know what to say whatever came out of her mouth was complete nonsense but she still got to say something at least.

“i- i don't know i love you but i don't know if im confusing you with jackie i just i- i dont know.” shauna started picking at her skin on her thumb and you placed ur hand down on hers which made her stop picking at it but she still had the urge to.

to be honest shauna didn't have the right energy to answer all these questions not in the state she was in right now and you noticed that. “okay, well uhm goodnight shauna.” you stated as you got up and was about to leave the attic but shauna pulled at your arm. “can u stay with me? please.” you then softly smiled as you nodded and shauna was waiting for you to lie down first before she can.

you laid down and she did the same right after you while also putting the blanket on both of you guys. you stared at shauna as she was trying to fall asleep but just couldn't from how hard she was struggling to. shauna just gave up and noticed that you were just staring at her in those kinda loving eyes.

shauna didn't know how much the tension was going on but it must of been enough for you to kiss her. you just slowly leaned in and tucked a hair behind her ear that was in front of her face, kissing her soft lips. you didn't mind the coldness since she was outside for a period of time but you honestly could tell she got warmer by the second. shauna wanted to pull you in closer she really did but she didn't wanna fuck anything up and the taste of your sweet lips was enough for her even if it was a small portion of what she wanted. you pulled away and looked up at her eyes then her lips. shauna softly smiled at you it wasn't a regular or big smile but you'll take it, you just wanted to see her happy for once.

shauna paused before she said anything but she eventually had the courage to do so. ”i love you.” shauna sleepily said as she bit her cheek and look anywhere but your face. “i- i don't care if you don't think i don't but i believe i do. i truly do.” shauna added on and you kissed her cheek which surprised her a little. “i love you too.” you replied and smiled back at her which she responded with a little laugh.

she then found herself cuddled up into your arms slowly falling asleep, she found your presence comforting and it's probably the only way she could sleep from now on was from you just being there. it was the only sense of comfort that she found in this hellhole, but she knew she loved you and maybe that is what finally made her sleep peacefully.

@ bro don't read this while listening to the marias i was acc suffering crying on my knees 💔

but enjoy this gut wrenching fanfic .. i luv yall

taglist - making one soon 🤞🏼

#shauna shipman x reader #shauna shipman x you #shauna shipman x fem!reader #my doe eyed girl 💔💔#yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #jackieshauna #misunderstood to a LEVEL.#tlou #the last of us #arcane #sturniolo triplets

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iwritejustforfun · 1 day ago

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Coconut scented ꩜ .ᐟ (part 2)

part 1 👈

part 3 👈

Chishiya Shuntaro x reader

Word counts: 1.2k

Summary: Reader was a hairdresser back in the normal world, when she met Chishiya, she was determined to take care of his hair.

Warning: The second part of this series. It’s a whole lot of fluff, just declaring Chishiya’s feelings for you. I used different colors to distinguish each character’s words.

Writer's note: English is not my first language so i'm extremely sorry if my grammar is not correct, feel free to correct me, thank you and enjoy 🫶

It's not wrong to say that Chishiya slightly regrets not stopping Kuina from instilling confidence in you, because the way that you’re walking around in that tiny bikini is driving him crazy. Luckily for him, that doesn’t happen too often, you still want to protect yourself from crazy perverts – like Niragi, to be exact. But the thing is, it's not just the fact that you're wearing a bikini that distracts him, it’s everything that you do. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment when everything changed, but now, every word, action, and smile of yours makes his heart flutter. He can’t help the feeling of wanting to get closer to you.

But what drives him even crazier is the fact that he had never felt these feelings before with any other woman, so why you? Even though in the back of his mind, he knew that he was falling in love, because that is how love is, you can’t control it, nor you can control who you fall in love with. But he just can’t bring himself to accept it. He’s in denial that the cold hearted Chishiya is developing feelings, he didn’t want to feel attached to anyone, especially in the Borderlands – where anyone could die tomorrow. Although that man is overly confident in his intelligence, he suddenly became stupid in love.

He had tried to stay away from you, but never succeeded. Occasionally, he still lets you take care of his hair, and he would always console himself with the fact that he only does it because you’re really good at your job (not because he actually loves the way you touch him).

And now, you’ve gained a new hobby, which is practicing makeup on Kuina. Every night you two would leave him behind and hide in the room to have your own fun, doing makeovers and putting up fashion shows with the variety of clean bikinis that you found. The truth is, the two of you did invite him, you said something about how makeup would suit him really well, but he pretended not to be interested, because he don’t think he could control himself if you get that close to him. Until one day, you both managed to lure him into being your judge for your little show. You and Kuina will compete to see who gives the other person the best makeover.

You are the first one to show off your skills, a few days ago you found a sailor hat along with a really cute sailor bikini laying around, it must be one of The Hatter’s kink (ew), but you decided to wash and keep it anyway because you know it’ll suit Kuina really well. You make her change into the bikini, then take off her pony tail and turn her dreads into low pig tails so you’ll be able to put the hat on her. For the make up, you gave her thick eyeliners with a blue under eye that matches her outfit, then you draw on a tiny anchor on her right cheek and finishes it off with a red lip. Damn, you’re so proud of your work, she is drop dead gorgeous, you’re for sure going to win this.

Next it was Kuina’s turn. Now some people might mistake her for an absent-minded person, but she is actually quite sharp. She knew that Chishiya has a big fat crush on you, and it’s so funny that someone as perceptive as you can't figure it out, cause come on, he makes it so obvious. So with this opportunity, she has decided to mess with him. And lucky for her, the day before she found a leopard print bikini in the unused pile, it was tiny - perfect.

Saving the best for last, she starts with your make up, deciding to give you smokey eyes with some freckles, brown lip liner and gloss. Then she tops it off with some chunky gold jewelry that she had collected around The Beach. For the hair, she just let you wear it down. Satisfied with her work, she thrusts the bikini into your hands and pushes you into the bathroom to change.

When you took a good look at the bikini, you were shocked at how small it was, so you called out to her – “Kuina, this is tiny!!! I can’t wear this!!!”

“If you don’t then you’ll just have to admit your defeat” - she challenged, knowing that you're a competitive person.

At first you were hesitant, but thinking that you could show off to Chishiya, you confidently stepped out, wanting to see what his reaction would be. And let me tell you, that man’s eyes almost fell out, jaw dropped to the floor. Damn, you have him in a chokehold, he’s so thankful he had agreed to this. He wishes that you could always dress like this, but then again, it’s not really a clever choice in this environment (and it’ll be a big distraction for him).

So without any hesitation, he chose Kuina as the winner, his reasoning was because he likes cat. That is such a stupid excuse, but he doesn’t give a fuck, you look good and he isn’t going to lie about that.

Kuina jumped for joy when she knew she won. But you were not buying it, you outfit was AMAZING, how could you lose??? “I want a rematch” - you said, with a displeased look.

“Chishiya, let me do your make up”

“What?”

You then walk over to him and push him down on the bed – “I’ll show you that you’ve made the wrong decision”. Without saying another word, you climb on top of him and strangle his body in between your legs, making him sit still.

Oh, this is going to be interesting.

He tries resist a little but is now pinned down by your body, he could clearly feel the way your skin was rubbing against him, making the blood rush straight to his …ahem… so he stops moving, afraid that if you push down any harder you’re going to be able to feel him.

He is now completely at your mercy.

So you pull out your make up bag again and begin your revenge. You decided to give him smokey eyes that matches yours and cat-eye eyeliner to enhance his sharp gaze. Then you put on some light contour and blush to make him look absolutely snatched. Finally, you finish off his look with a pink-ish gloss and accentuate his beauty mark. Done, you then give him the mirror so he can admire your work.

When he saw his reflection, his jaw dropped, even Kuina standing next to him was surprised. Damn, you have done a really good job, he has never looked so fabulous in his life, and he can’t even deny that he’s feeling himself. So with a nod from Kuina, he admitted that he made the wrong decision, you are the true winner.

As soon as that was said, you cheered in joy. You were celebrating your victory when you realized that you were still sitting on top of Chishiya, so you awkwardly cleared your throat and quickly moved away from him, but still continued to celebrate your victory, making him instantly miss your touch.

But when he saw how happy you were, the way you playfully teased Kuina and how your bubbly laughter instantly lit up the room, he knew. He knew that he couldn’t push back his feelings any longer, he’s long been lost in your eyes, captivated by your lips and lovely smile, never wanting to escape. He can feel himself painfully yearning for you, and he will willingly do anything, anything, to be able to call you his.

You have to belong to him.

#alice in borderland #chishiya shuntaro #fluff #nijiro murakami #smut #boyfriend #romance

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anneapocalypse · 1 day ago

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Go ahead and be my world And everything will be okay Just hide there in plain sight Too big to see, yeah to see.

Musings and bonus shots below.

This is a redo of an old gpose, one of my really early ones, which I loved in concept but was pretty rough around the edges in execution. I always wanted to redo it in the new graphics, and of course that makes a huge difference, with the flowers in Il Mheg being night and day in terms of resolution, a truly spectacular environmental glow-up, and of course Urianger is looking more beautiful than ever these days. But I've also learned a lot since then, and am still learning--different tools, lighting, composition, I'm always trying to learn more! I also don't bother using pre-made poses anymore. Character sizes vary so much that with all the adjustment required, I think it's just easier to start with some emotes as a base and then build off of that, and I get much closer to what I was actually envisioning.

And I really wanted to capture this moment the way it is in my mind, because it's a special moment for Ariane and Urianger. They've saved the First, survived all that came along with it, spent some time apart while Ariane came to terms with the deception, reconciled and rekindled their friendship--and now, with the need to bring the Scions home looking increasingly dire, they've finally confessed their love for one another.

As the final preparations are made for their return, Ariane comes to see Urianger in Il Mheg where he is packing up the collection at the Bookman's Shelves to be archived in the Crystarium. Though there is much to be done, Urianger suggests a brief diversion, and so they walk down to the lake, and sit on the shore, their last chance to be together here. Though their affection for each other had been growing for some time before Urianger was pulled away to the First, in a sense Il Mheg still feels like the place where they fell in love--certainly the place they both first knew it.

The future is still uncertain, and Ariane, in particular, is still scared that just now, when they have such a chance at happiness, she'll lose him too. Knowing that nothing is promised to them, she is determined to savor every moment they have together all the more.

#don't mind me i'm just feeling very sentimental about my beloved elfs today (every day)#ariane clairière #urianger augurelt #urianger x wol #wolianger #woluri #ffxiv gpose #anne gposes #the stars are blind my love #shadowbringers spoilers

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skimmingmilk · 1 day ago

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reread Archie issue 4 where Sonic and Tails fight about Tails dad in prison and Sonic hooking up w Fiona and was wondering if you'd ever have them fight like that in your work? Admittedly your Unleashed fic is one of my favorites because they're arguing, even if a large part was due to Sonic being more influenced by negative emotion. I love all your work, that one just stands out to me most because of the tension!

Hi anon, I'm assuming you're talking about the House of Cards story arc?

First, thank you! I'm glad moments like that in my writing stand out to you <3 I enjoy writing tension as much as I do comfort, lol.

Now, I haven't read much Archie myself. I've heard there are some good stories in there, but I just had a hard time getting past the art style in the earlier issues, even as a kid, so didn't ever get into them. I do know of Sonic and Tails's fight though, and I have to admit, I'm not the biggest fan. For me, it feels like a missed opportunity to have them fight about something that actually makes sense for them to be at odds over.

Sonic and Tails don't fight or argue that often, so when they do I feel like it should be more meaningful. I really can't see either of them making the decision that they did which led to that fight. It's just not believable to me, and maybe it's because I didn't read all of the build-up in the issues beforehand, but to me there are more satisfying ways to put them on opposite sides of an issue that fits their characters better. But that's just my perception of them. Others may feel differently!

That being said, it's probably safe to say I won't have them fight like that in my fics xD I don't really like when they fight fight, and they don't like it either! I like to give them opposing conflicts or disagreements, but they both love and respect each other too much to let it get much beyond that.

They can get frustrated with each other, they can want or need some space, they can snap at each other in the heat of the moment, but it’s all so brief. Tails is more likely to hold grudge, sure, but Sonic won’t. It’s not worth it to him. Sonic might be said to have a "quick temper" but he doesn't really tend to dwell on things. If Tails makes him mad, it’s a matter of minutes before he’s brushed it off and moved on. Water under the bridge. And while Sonic’s not great at apologizing, he’s very good at making it hard to stay mad at him. It helps that whatever he did was likely unintentional, he rarely wants to hurt someone’s feelings (unless it’s Eggman lol). All it really takes for Tails to “get over” the occasional spat is for Sonic to just see him. Meet him where he’s at.

Even in the Unleashed fic, they're snappy with one another because they're both sleep-deprived and Tails is reacting to stress with more stress, while Sonic's reacting to the stress by flat out ignoring it's existence. As soon as Sonic realizes Tails is actually upset though? He's backing down, he's not pushing any more buttons. He doesn't want to be on the other side of an issue from Tails, he wants to be right there beside him. So they can get through it together.

There'll definitely be more moments like that between them, because I do love the tension, too, but in terms of putting them in a position where they'd physically fight each other or that actually threatens their bond? That's probably not going to happen. At least not when either of them are in their right frame of mind. Tails knows there's no way he'd win a physical fight with Sonic, and Sonic also knows this. Or, well, Tails might win, but only because Sonic would refuse to hit him xD I'm sorry, for me, there's no universe where Sonic thinks beating up his little brother is an a-okay way to solve any conflict with him. Archie might not have the bullying backstory for Tails (I don't think it does?), but since my fics do, Sonic would never intentionally lay a hand on him, even in self-defense. If Tails is mad enough to hit him, then Sonic figures he's probably got a good reason for it.

Thanks for the ask!

#skimming asks #sonic and tails #the picket fence timeline #sonic headcanons #long post

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gamesetattach · 2 days ago

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Comfort Zones and Conveniences - Part 2

Jannik Sinner x Reader Yikes, commitment issues much Part 1 Here

At first, you and Jannik kept things casual. It was easy—you were both constantly traveling for work, and there was an understanding that neither of you had time for anything serious. The shared nights in your hotel rooms were a convenient reprise from your rigid schedules. Sometimes you’d even steal moments together when your paths crossed on tour—a shared cup of coffee, a late-night drink at the hotel bar, a quiet walk after a long day. There was a physical pull between you that you no longer denied, but you kept emotions out of it. Or at least you tried to.

The first cracks in the arrangement appeared during a tournament in Madrid. You were reviewing some branding elements in the conference room neighboring the players’ lounge when Jannik stopped by. He hovered by you, leaning against the table as he watched you work.

“You’re amazing at this,” he said, his tone genuine.

You glanced up, surprised. “It’s just the job.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I watch the way you work. The way you see things, the way you bring everything together—not everyone can do that.”

His words left you flustered, and you quickly changed the subject. But his sincerity, and that warm look in his eyes, lingered in your mind much longer than it should have.

---

As the tour progressed, it became harder to deny that what you had with Jannik was evolving. He’d seek you out more often, not just for fleeting touches and comfort but for conversations and company that felt deeper, more personal. He’d tell you about his childhood, his struggles with the pressures of tennis, his dreams beyond the sport. And in return, you found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn’t with anyone else.

But every time the dialogue poked around the labels of what you were to each other, you pulled away. You couldn’t afford to let this get messy. Your career was on the line, and so was his. The last thing either of you needed was a scandal over a relationship of convenience.

“Why do you keep running?” he asked one night, frustration evident in his voice. You were standing on his room's balcony overlooking the city lights after yet another late-night together.

“I’m not running,” you said, avoiding his gaze.

“Yes, you are,” he countered, stepping closer. “Every time we get close to addressing our relationship, you close up. Why?”

You sighed, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Because this can’t happen, Jannik. Not like this. It was never supposed to be this way, it could ruin everything.”

“For who?” he asked, his voice softer now. “For you? For me? Or are you just scared to admit we actually might have something real?"

You didn’t answer. Instead, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there with a quiet look of resignation.

---

The breaking point came during the US Open. The heat was relentless, and the matches were grueling. You were busy coordinating last-minute installation changes when word spread through the staff that Jannik had collapsed during his warm-up. Panic gripped you as you rushed to the locker room, your chest tight and your ears ringing.

When you saw him lying there, pale and drenched in sweat, something inside you shifted. Even the thought of pretending not to care was unbearable.

When the personnel around him dispersed, his eyes found you wide-eyed and stiff by the door frame. His voice was weak but laced with humor. “What? I look that bad?”

“You scared me,” you admitted, your voice wavered and you moved closer.

He moved to reach for your hand before stopping himself halfway. “I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

"Don't tell me not to worry," you snapped defensively, "I'll worry if I want to."

But you continued to step closer to him as he chuckled in response. Gently, you kneeled beside his bench and set your hand over his. He dropped his other hand to cover yours with no hesitation, his grip light and reassuring.

In that moment you decided that whatever this was between you, it deserved a chance.

"Your palms are so damn sweaty." You quipped, trying to deflect the tenderness in the air and the knowing look on his face.

He barked a laugh at that, "Fuck you."

But his hold on your hand only tightened.

#jannik sinner #jannik sinner x reader #jannik sinner blurb #jannik sinner one-shot #jannik sinner fanart #jannik sinner smut #atp tour x reader #tennis #tennis fic #jannik sinner fluff #forza jannik #GameSetAttach

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elderwisp · 11 months ago

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◁ || ▷

Atlas: So your boss had you work through your break? Bee…

Taryn: It’s fiiine, I ate my granola bar in between sorting books.

Atlas: You know that isn’t a healthy place to be at, right?

Taryn: Yeah, but it pays decently.

Atlas: Are you like the sole provider of your house…?

Taryn: Oh no! I’m not sure if Kai mentioned it, but our parents are in Selvadorada taking care of my grandma. She’s really sick and well, we made this arrangement. They take care of a majority of rent and Kai and I take care of utilities and the rest.

Atlas: Ah, I see. I’m sorry to hear about your grandma.

Taryn: I appreciate it. She’s a kind woman, she used to make me champurrado on Christmas and it was the best.

Atlas: That’s really sweet. I’ve always wondered what that tastes like. Growing up, Toni was adamant on us not meeting our grandparents, so we never got to experience anything. Is it just fancy hot chocolate?

Taryn: I mean it has chocolate, but the consistency and flavor is a bit different.

Atlas: Huh… Want to make some later on tonight?

Taryn: Sure! I was actually wondering, you seemed a bit eager to skip out on that party.

Atlas: Do you still feel bad? Don’t! Besides Dan couldn’t even type out a proper response which tells me they’re having a great time… Without me.

Taryn: So you did want to go.

Atlas: No! No.

Atlas: I didn’t want to see Frances. That’s the honest answer.

Taryn: OH, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize things were bad.

Atlas: Nah, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to sour the evening.

Taryn: Atlas, you don’t have to pretend around me. What’s on your mind?

Atlas: Frances and I… We have our differences. Sometimes it feels like the things that matter to me aren’t important to her and that’s fine, I guess.

Taryn: And this is in regards to?

Atlas: Toni. She feels like I have something to prove.

Taryn: But you do.

Atlas: Taryn-

Taryn: And you know you shouldn’t.

Atlas: But-

Taryn: So the question is, why?

Atlas: I think it’s the satisfaction of beating an impossible challenge. God, I sound like I’m into being humiliated or something.

Taryn: He isn’t worth it but you already know that. My job also isn’t worth it, I’m aware but people often do things that we know aren’t good for us. As for Frances, she isn’t your enemy, but I think maybe the two of you need to find common ground in how you both communicate.

Atlas: [ begins to attempt to speak before falling silent again ]

Taryn: What?

Atlas: Nothing, I’m just glad to be here with you. Thank you. [ bewp ] Your glasses keep slipping down your face.

Taryn: I know, I need to get them fixed- Wait, don’t change the subject. You have something to say.

Atlas: I dunno what you’re talking about.

Taryn: Atlas the bike-

Atlas: Wha- Fuck!

Taryn: I- We should head back.

Atlas: Yeah, of course.

#there's like so much on my mind after writing this i might talk about it in a separate post IDK YET #i personally feel like #this is the first actual moment that they both see each other because before there were moments in the past but i felt like #atlas was truly being the person in which he always presents himself which is a completely fabricated/polished version #so to be able to show up in a way that he rarely does (even around friends) is such a big deal to the point where he almost considered #telling taryn the one secret he's so ashamed to share GAH #GAHHH #IMMA SHUT UP NOW LMAOOOOO #tessellate #sims 4 story #tessellate: atlas #tessellate: taryn

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phantajam · 6 months ago

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my hot take about descendants is that NONE of the core four were ready for a relationship until maybe like, the third movie (rant in tags)

#they were still adjusting to living life without struggling to survive #a girl should not be jumping into a relationship the same week she just tried her first piece of non-rotten food lol #thats not to say I don't like the canon ships #but mal married literally the FIRST man she met in auradon. at 18.#and even as far as in descendants 2 we see them still struggling to adjust in different ways (mainly mal)#in d3 they seem to have fully assimilated into life in Auradon (as much as a VK can anyway)#so it makes sense for them to THEN seek out relationships if that's what they want.#but disney ofc wanted to act like romantic love just automatically fixes a person's problems ig?? as if a relationship wouldn't just be #added stress given the position the VKs were in in d1 #not to mention dating just like. wasnt a thing on the isle (mal even says this)#and I get that the kids are craving to be loved because their parents didn't gaf about them. But I wish the first movie focused more on the #finding that love in each other than romantically with outside people. a sort of “they had love in them all along” moment.#and then this fandom loves to argue about whether Jarlos/Janelos was 'rushed'. at least Carlos (and Jay +lonnie) waited a few months before #throwing themselves into the dating scene. Poor evie had her heart broken within like 3 days of being in Auradon. no wonder she was willing #to help steal the wand lol.#Anyway to wrap up this rant I didn't even mean to go on #I just think that kids who have spent the first 14-16 years of their lives fighting to survive and being put through continuous trauma on a #daily basis don't need dating right away. they need THERAPY.#if anyone here has seen stranger things its kinda an El and Mike situation were its like. the girl grew up in a lab and fell for the first #boy in regular society who was kinda nice to her lol. thats how I view Mal and Ben #same with doug and evie. he was nicer than chad but he still fell for her for her looks and she still fell for him because he was the first #guy in auradon to be genuinely interested in her. also evie had a whole “I dont need a prince” arc and ended up with a man anyway?#my problem with janelos was always that Carlos never quite worked out his mommy issues or his anxiety. I feel like he'd be afraid of hurtin #her even though that boy wouldn't hurt a fly. and we see Jane get pretty stressed out herself- have you ever been in a relationship where #both of you have anxiety? cause it either goes really well (you help keep each other calm) or REALLY terribly (you make each other spiral)#I actually really liked Lonnie and Jay (though I feel like it would've had a bigger payoff if she was in d3. not sure why she wasn't but I #wont dunk on that because it couldve been smth to do with her actress). I think Lonnie is someone who can 'handle' Jay well and match his #energy. And I like the idea of Jay finding someone he's loyal to after being commitment-phobic for 1 1/2 movies and the whole first book lo #and ofc I have to throw this in here: any auradon kid the VKs get with is never going to grasp even half of what they went through.#this doesnt mean they can't try to understand and be empathetic. but it will always cast a shadow on VK/AK relationships.

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joelsgoldrush · 4 months ago

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“epiphany” | 21k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: Superheroes and mutants weren’t enough. No—the universe had to throw in soulmates who share scars. Fantastic, right? Except yours had vanished, only to mysteriously reappear with the arrival of a new face: the “Worst” Logan Howlett, fresh from another earth.

OR What happens when a hopeless romantic crosses paths with the ultimate soulmate skeptic?

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ strangers to lovers. drinking. cursing. slow burn. angst. pining. mentions of alcohol. fluff. reflecting on the art of writing/poems/books. dual POV. takes place after the events of “deadpool & wolverine”. TW: multiple descriptions of scars. worst/variant!logan. implied age gap (reader’s in her late 20s). they’re both touch starved. wade’s everyone’s friend. miscommunication/misunderstandings. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering, grinding. some slight hair pulling. unprotected p in v, creampie. sex with feelings.

A/N: HOPELESS ROMANTICS RISE! here we go again with another long ass fic. this is a soulmates AU in which you get your soulmate’s scars. if you feel triggered by this topic, please refrain from reading. i had a lot of fun writing this even though it took me a while to get it done. thanks to @lubdubology for being my beta and allowing me to share my work with you. and also thanks to @brushworth for giving me the chance to write this. having said this, enjoy the story! i’d love to know your thoughts on it <3

Love giveth and love taketh away.

To this day, it’s still hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that love is what humans both strive and die for.

If it weren’t for love, you wouldn’t be here. No one would, actually. Human beings are the result of billions of people who loved each other just enough—or at least long enough to bring life into the world.

But isn’t it in the name of love that people act in bad faith? Why would something so pure be used in vain?

You don’t get it, but as the years go by, you slowly come to terms with the idea that perhaps you never will. Not because there isn’t a reason, but because you’re in love with the idea of love.

How could you not be? It’s on the streets, on the bus, at work. Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is. Love is dressed up in an expensive silk robe, a ribbon tied neatly on top of it. You reach closer, trying to unravel it, though it's pointless. The moment love sees you—truly sees your longing for it—it flees, and you struggle to keep up.

Love runs faster than anyone, hiding within the bushes, counting the seconds until its next appearance.

It had always been a relentless race, your only worry being to catch it before time ran out. But with each day that passed, the finish line only stretched further and further away. Now, they all blur together, to the point where you live and breathe on autopilot.

In a Jane Austen novel, you’d be considered a lone woman. That character who’s nice, and kind, and loved by some, but not in the way she yearns for. Every time she’s mentioned, you go “Oh, the poor girl,” until the slow realization dawns.

In reality, she’s you, and it’s you who you feel sorry for, not a fictional character. You.

All in all, love giveth. And love also taketh away.

Love maketh you miserable.

Soulmates—a nine-letter word that holds so much meaning.

It’s one of those words that you learn early in your life, one you hear at home or on the TV. Your parents never fail to mention it if given the chance. The first time you’re introduced to the topic is at school when you're older, a bit more self-conscious, and no longer preoccupied with picking your nose.

“Everybody has a soulmate. And no,” your teacher had added after a pause, already anticipating the inevitable questions from any curious 10-year-old, “there isn’t such a thing as not having one. We all do. You just have to search for them.”

Back then, that had been your favorite game—always keeping an eye open, scanning the crowd more than once in new places. You knew for sure that more than one person probably thought you’d strained your neck from all the times you glanced over your shoulder.

It must be pretty obvious now, the fact that you’re—well, alone. Saying ‘without a companion’ sounds quite outdated. They can’t see through you, but something in the way you walk or speak must give it away.

Or is it the fact that you always ask for a table for one?

“Are you expecting someone else?” A waitress approaches you, her tone gentle as she makes sure you’re on your own. A small notebook dangles from her slender fingers, and your eyes catch the name stitched onto her apron: Emily.

The response you give her is on the verge of sounding automatic, robotic even, like one of those prerecorded messages busy people leave on their phones. “No. Just me.”

She nods, and you feel the sympathy in her gaze. You’ve mastered the art of recognizing that look—the one hovering between concern and pity.

Of course, people rarely voice it, but they’ll never know their eyes sometimes say more than they think.

As she jots down your order, you’re met with the ring on her left hand. Very pretty, very shiny. Very expensive as well. Your attention must linger on it a little too long, because she catches you staring, making you feel exposed.

Emily—you decide to call her that way from now on, because once you know her name, it feels odd to address her as the waitress—offers you a shy smile.

“I’m getting married next month,” she blurts out, happiness radiating from her pores. Her eyes glint like two lanterns in a starless night. She also looks younger than you, and the abrupt silence forces you to pinch your wrist, a reminder of the fact that this is a conversation, and not just something you're overhearing.

“Congratulations,” you manage to reply, returning the smile. If she saw how your expression faltered the second she walked away, you wonder if she’d still think you were so amiable.

Sometimes, your façade slips—you can’t help it. That’s what the ‘hopeless’ in ‘hopeless romantic’ stands for.

Some minutes later, she comes back with your coffee, and you catch another glimpse of the ring as it twinkles in front of you. Envy doesn’t suit you, so you shift your focus.

Taking out your laptop, you scroll through the latest headlines. This is your attempt at acting more like an adult and less like a girl in her mid-twenties who has no clue what she’s doing.

One article stands out from the rest: Hollywood Actress Divorces Loving Husband of 25 Years to Pursue Presumed Soulmate. “I saw his scars and knew he was the one.”

Interesting. You can’t help but feel sorry for the displaced husband, though.

“Good for you,” you mutter under your breath, clicking the link to read more. There’s a picture of the actress and her new boyfriend that makes you stop dead in your tracks: they’re smiling at each other, their faces close, noses almost touching, while they show off their matching scars—the unmistakable sign that they’re, in fact, soulmates.

Soulmates, superheroes, mutants. It all sounds like a whole lot, doesn’t it? Overwhelming, to say the least. One thing’s for sure—you’ll never get bored in this world.

But, hey! Don’t forget that there are multiple universes out there. Maybe in one of them, you’re not this pathetic.

Why are you being so hard on yourself? That’s not even the point. Shaking your head, you keep glancing at their scars—they’re identical, perfect mirrors of one another. The kind of scars that only two destined souls share.

Their happiness is evident, tangible. You can feel it by just eyeing the image. It’s a bitter sensation that metamorphoses into a warmth, which heavily spreads through your chest, filling up every empty space it finds.

To say you understand that feeling would be a downright lie. And you may be many things, but a pathological liar is not one of them.

As if on cue, you duck your head, rolling up the sleeves of your jacket. You do the same with your shirt, foolishly hoping to find something other than smooth, unmarked skin.

No scars. No marks. No sign of a soulmate, of a lover. In the world you inhabit—this universe full of the most inexplicable things—you’re alone.

Without a second thought, you pack your things, shoving them rapidly into your bag. The cafe feels too little and too large all at once, the walls closing on you.

The rest of the customers are looking at you. Fuck, they already noticed it—you can’t escape it.

Have they? Do you think they see you like you see yourself? The lone woman who writes poems for an addressee who will never read them?

In silence, you hand Emily the money for your coffee. You fear that if you open your mouth, a cry will come out, and that’s the last thing you need today. She gives you that look again—pity laced with sorrow, the one you despise. It burns.

At that moment, a man walks in, passing right by you. You see his face, his green eyes, and the way his lips curl into a grin as he greets Emily.

The scar on her forehead, which you'd missed before, mirrors the one on his.

They are soulmates.

It’s on the streets, on the bus, at work. Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is.

She wishes you a nice morning as you leave the cafe. Little does she know you’ll spend the rest of the day locked in your apartment, mourning someone you never even met.

Until the day you lost them, you wore your scars with pride.

They were scattered across your stomach, back, chest, and even your legs and arms. Some were shallow, others deep. It never occurred to you—the thought that they belonged in the shadows, hidden.

Everyone has them, you thought as you stood in front of the mirror, running your fingers along their jagged paths. I just seem to have more than most people.

Over the years, you might have changed your hairstyle or the way you dressed, but your scars never did—they’d always been there, and they were yours.

Partly yours, of course, since you knew they belonged to your soulmate as well.

The older you grew, the more you realized having a good memory was both a gift and a curse. You still remembered that moment so vividly—when you found out that somebody out there was meant for you and only you.

A point of no return, that’s what it’d been. From that day on, not a single one went by without you imagining the first encounter with your Prince Charming.

In the meantime, you dated. A few boyfriends came and went during and after high school, mostly as practice for the real thing, you’d told yourself.

God, you were determined to know everything. To be the best girlfriend ever, so that when you finally met him, he’d be over the moon.

At the age of seventeen, it sounded like a brilliant plan.

You never knew how, but your life became that meantime. All your friends began to find their soulmates: in the supermarket, while traveling, at the goddamn doctor’s office.

Everybody was fulfilling the purpose you’d been taught humans were made for—everyone but you.

The scars multiplied, yet he was nowhere to be seen, remaining out of reach. Your soulmate’s whereabouts were a mystery. What the hell does he do in his free time? was something you used to often ponder. Is he suffering? Does he need help?

“Be patient, give it some time. The less you seek, the more you’ll find,” your mother would say, trying to sound encouraging. Although she was trying to do her best, that phrase alone had the power to make you go nuts.

Be patient? Waiting was all you’d been doing. What was so wrong with you that he seemed to be hiding from you? You didn’t want to wait any longer, no—you wanted to find him. If it meant traveling to Italy like your cousin had to meet her husband, then so fucking be it.

Many nights, sleep eluded you. Lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling, you’d imagine what life with him would be like. What he would look like. You were certain that no matter his appearance, you’d think he was beautiful.

Wasn’t that the whole point of soulmates—that the bond you two shared transcended physical attraction?

Nevertheless, you secretly wished he’d have brown hair. He didn’t need to know, but you had a weakness for brunettes.

On the night of your twenty-second birthday, you were getting ready for the big event when every trace of your scars disappeared.

The bathroom mirror was fogged from the shower’s stream, and as you wiped it clean with the palm of your hand, the image you saw reflected on the glass made your stomach do a flip.

There were no scars. No marks. Nothing. At first, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you—it couldn’t be. Scars didn’t just vanish. It was impossible.

But as you lowered your gaze, tracing your limbs again and again, the truth hit you. The marks you knew by heart, the ones that reminded you, He’s out there, somewhere, were gone.

You felt it deep in your chest, too. Every sound seemed louder and clearer: the blood rushing through your veins, each shaky breath you took. Where are they? Your fingers dug into your flesh, intending to ground yourself.

Is he… dead? It was the only reasonable explanation, the rule you’d known all along. You’d read it countless times, memorizing the principles about scars.

The scream that tore from your throat brought your mother running upstairs, and she entered the bathroom with a horrified expression on her face.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” she asked, but your mind was already far away. Your whole body shuddered in her arms, a sob slipping past your lips as you crumbled to the floor, desperately hoping it was all a nightmare. “It must be a mistake, honey. I’m sure he’s okay.”

But he’s not, you wanted to tell her. The words, however, never formed—only a broken whimper escaped your lips. Isn’t that what we were taught? Our scars belong to our soulmates; they bind us to them in a way that simple words can’t explain.

It goes deeper than the skin. It delves into our bodies, our minds, reaching into the very essence of who we are. What was once his is also mine, but they’re gone.

He’s gone. He must be, because otherwise, how would you explain this void?

When one’s soulmate passes away, that person will notice the disappearance of their scars. The physical marks that once symbolized their connection fade, leaving no trace. This absence is accompanied by a distinct, unsettling sensation—an awareness of loss that goes beyond the physical, signaling the end of the bond.

A part of you died with him that day.

The first time you exchanged words with Wade Wilson, you thought he was a total dick.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t know him—not when he was so infamous for that mouth of his. Deadpool: the self-proclaimed superhero with a vocabulary that was 90% profanity, who made cracking jokes while fighting the bad guys look easy.

Super funny? Sure. But not exactly your cup of tea when all you wanted was to crawl into bed and forget the world existed.

He was apparently long retired from superheroing. No one had seen that red, sex-toy-looking suit in ages, which was why you were only mildly surprised as you spotted him hauling boxes into your building on a Tuesday afternoon.

It was late, and you weren’t in the mood for small talk. He’d been there barely a week, yet somehow, he’d already managed to fuck things up.

You let out a deep sigh, rubbing the crease between your brows. “Look, Wally—”

“It’s pronounced Wade,” he corrected you, trying to edge his face further into the gap between the door and its frame, though you didn’t let your guard down. “You’re pretty rude, you know that?”

“I’ve been up for twenty-four hours, and I need to sleep,” you groaned, trying to push him away with one hand. Technically, he wasn’t even asking for something that complicated—he wanted to use your microwave to heat his dinner, since his had decided to stop working out of the blue.

The thing was that you’d had the kind of week that felt like a one-way trip to hell, an important detail he wasn’t aware of. “Go ask someone else. I can’t do charity tonight.”

“You’re the only one who answered,” he said, pressing his palms together in a pleading gesture, his lips curling into a heartbreaking pout. “Please, my lovely neighbor, whose name I don’t know. You wouldn’t want me to starve to death, would you?

“I thought you couldn’t die.” You raised an eyebrow, half-interested.

Wade’s arms dropped to his sides, his eyes drifting downward. “And I thought kindness wasn’t extinct, but here we are.” He spun on his heel, acting defeated and dragging his feet like a scolded puppy. “Can’t believe this is what the world’s come to. I’m sure the Bible says something about treating others how you’d want to be treated.”

Why. Just… why? Some cosmic, divine force from beyond might have been testing you that night.

“Wait,” you croaked just as he was about to step into his apartment—which was literally three meters from yours. His face lit up, expecting you to continue, and you moved aside slightly, signaling him in. “Five minutes and you’re out, okay? I really need to get some rest.”

The rest was history. Wade was just standing there, mesmerized by your microwave as if he’d never seen one before.

You could only hear the faint buzzing sound of the gadget, punctuated by the rhythmic drumming of his fingers on the counter. He was humming a tune while shaking his head to the beat.

You tried to focus, replaying the guided meditation you sometimes followed to sleep in your mind.

Allow yourself to feel the stillness of this moment. Notice your breath slowing as your body begins to calm. Be the observer of your breath, flowing in and out naturally, as your lungs—

Yeah, it wasn’t working.

“Please, stop it,” you eventually told Wade, whose gaze shifted from the microwave to you, brows furrowed.

“And why’s that?”

“They say it’s bad for your eyes,” you explained, recalling a half-forgotten news report you’d heard on the TV. Whether it was a myth or not, you’d never know. “I believe it’s because of the radiation exposure.”

Leaning back on the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest. “At this point, I think I’m safe. You, on the other hand… maybe not so much,” he nearly whispered that last part, and your desire to strangle him grew stronger.

Save me, mindfulness, you thought to yourself.

He jerked his thumb toward the pile of papers and books you had on your kitchen table. “So, you’re a writer?”

“Editor, in reality,” you snapped, your eyelids twitching as you watched him leaf through your stuff. “Wade, don’t touch my things.”

“Sorry, can’t help myself. I’m very curious.” Flashing you a quick grin, he opened your notebook, squinting his eyes as he went through the pages. “But you write too, huh? I’m discovering plenty of material here.”

The bastard. “Give. It. Back,” you snarled, lunging at him and trying to snatch the notebook from his hands, but he was faster, raising it out of reach. “I hope your food explodes in that microwave, asshole.”

“Oh, right. I forgot about it,” he snorted, tossing the notebook onto the couch and retrieving his dinner instead. You stared at him in disbelief, opening your mouth to scold him, but nothing came out. Then, there he was, standing in front of you with his plate and a fork.

Wait. Was that your fork?

“It’s hot, I’ll give you that.” He blew on his food to cool it down, and as he glanced up, he was met with your murderous glare. “Whoa. Want some? You could’ve just asked me. No need to get so angry.”

Calling it a desire to kill him would’ve been an understatement. And the worst part? He couldn’t die. “You’ve got what you needed. Now, can you leave?”

“How long’s it been since you talked to another human being?”

You blinked, feeling the sudden urge to look around, half expecting a hidden camera. “Why do you always answer with another question?”

“All I’m saying is I’ve been meaning to talk to you for days now, but you’re practically living the hermit life,” he said between bites of chicken, excusing himself briefly to chew. “That robe you’re wearing? It’s had the same stain on it since I moved in. Also, your doormat’s buried under a mountain of newspapers, so either you really love trees, or you’ve been avoiding any sort of social interaction.”

If he had been wrong, you would’ve felt much better. But he… wasn’t, and it sucked.

“I feel like I should be scared,” you mumbled after a long stretch of silence, your eyes going round.

Wade did no more than laugh at your troubled expression. “Scared of me? That’s cute. I’m a nice guy, sweet pea. Persistent, sure, but I’ve got a knack for getting under people’s skin,” he said, grinning through a mouthful of food—which, for the sake of your sanity, you chose to ignore.

After he had finished eating, he let the fork fall into the sink, the metal striking against the surface with a piercing echo, making you jump. He stretched his arms with a satisfied yawn, and he seemed determined to leave you alone. “Well, I’ve done my good deed for the day.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, following his movements as he ambled toward the door. “Are you telling me your microwave does work?”

“Oh, you’re a smart one, aren’t you?” Wade patted your head, ruffling your hair like you were a puppy who had just learned a new trick. “Good night, peanut.”

From that moment on, the two of you became inseparable. Your personalities clicked in a way you’d never experienced before with any other friend. Wade was loyal to a fault, and he treated you like the little sister he had never had.

Most importantly, he didn’t pity you—he saw you for who you were, not just someone marked by a lost soulmate. You never told him how much that meant to you, but deep down, you were grateful.

Which brings you to the present day. You’ve been friends with him for over a year, and he’s taken every chance to introduce you to his “weird but lovable” (his words, not yours) group of friends.

“Check your social anxiety at the door, thank you,” he’d tell you every time he hosted a get-together and you were invited.

Somehow, you had managed to bond with them—especially Althea, his elderly roommate, who occasionally forgets who you are despite living next door.

“Remind me of your name again, sweetie? All this disco dust must be affecting my memory,” she’d ask, leaning in close so you’d practically have to shout it into her ear. Then she’d nod, smirking knowingly. “Ah, yes. I thought so. Just making sure.”

She’s quite the character. A real sweetheart if you leave aside the number of times she’s offered you more types of drugs than you knew existed.

Tonight, you’re throwing Wade a surprise birthday party. Among all the party tasks, you’ve handled the decorations and the cake. The room’s a riot of color, with balloons floating lazily from the ceiling and a cascade of streamers draping over the furniture.

Guests start arriving, greeting you warmly, a feeling you once thought impossible. They’re Wade’s friends, sure, but on some level, you like to think they’re your friends now too: Vanessa, Dopinder, Buck, Shatterstar, Colossus, Negasonic Teenage Warhead, and Yukio.

As you hear footsteps approaching the door, Wade’s voice filters through the hallway. Panicking, you whirl around to the group. “He’s here! Everyone shut up!” you whisper urgently, turning off the lights and pressing your back flat against the wall next to the door.

Seconds later, the sound of keys jingling fills the air as both Wade and Peter step into the apartment.

You flip the lights back on just as Dopinder pops his much-anticipated party popper. “Surprise!” you all scream in unison, and Wade’s face splits into a grin, unsure of whom to hug first.

“You guys are lucky I’m not armed,” he quips, slinging an arm around Dopinder’s shoulders. “Six years ago, you’d all be dead!”

And you giggle, because… well, what else are you supposed to do?

As you expected, the night unfolds smoothly. You’re having fun, engaging in conversations despite yesterday’s emotional meltdown at the cafe. It’ll be okay—it always is. The food is amazing, the company even better. You remind yourself that romantic love isn’t the only kind that matters—that’s what friends are for, after all, to teach you that lesson.

The low hum of chatter fills the air, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clinking of glasses, creating a lively symphony that wraps around you like a warm blanket. Yukio calls your name, waving her head in front of your eyes, trying to snap you out of your thoughts. “Everything okay?” she wonders, concern flickering in her voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, tightening your grip on your beer bottle. “Just thinking, that’s all.”

You all gather around the cake when Wade’s about to blow the candles. You know he’s preparing himself for a speech. “Another year of spinning around the moon, huh?”

“Sun, you dumbass,” Al corrects him, and you have to bite your lip to keep your laughter to yourself.

“Okay, flat-earther,” Wade shoots back, giving her a playful side-eye. “Anyway, where was I? Oh, right—I can’t thank you all enough for being here. These past few years have been... well, rough on me, to say the least,” he says, glancing down at the cake with a small, crooked smile. “But I’m happy now. We’ve got each other’s back, like a team!”

“Like The Avengers, you mean?” Dopinder pipes up, eyes sparkling with excitement. There’s a moment of silence in which you swear you’d be able to hear a hairpin drop.

It’s still a sensitive topic.

“Next time, give me a trigger warning before you mention them,” Wade mutters in a hushed tone, and Dopinder shrinks sheepishly. “I guess what I wanted to tell you was…” he trails off, his palm covering the place where his heart is, “that I'm glad you’re all here. Being surrounded by the people I love most is the best birthday gift ever.”

His words stir something inside you. Vanessa gently nudges his arm, smiling up at him. “Why don’t you make your wish?”

Wade dramatically drops to his knees in front of the cake, eyes fluttering shut before blowing out the candles, whistles and cheers erupting all around.

Just then, you hear the unmistakable sound of the doorbell ringing through the air. You exchange a curious glance with Wade, raising your eyebrows. “That’s weird. Want me to get it?”

“Nah, I got it,” he says, excusing himself to answer the door. He slips outside, shutting it behind him, and everything returns to normal. For a while, you assume he’s chatting with someone who dropped by to say hi—but that doesn’t really make sense.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that he’s been out there so long?” Vanessa inquires, her worry starting to creep in.

“I’ll go check on him,” you tell her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before heading to the door.

But when you open it, there’s no Wade in sight. Just… his toupee—or “hair system” as he insists on calling it, lying on the floor.

Kneeling down, you gingerly pick it up, a strange sensation settling in your chest.

Where the hell did he go?

After his existence went downhill, Logan turned to prayer.

Completely out of character, right? He thought so too. The number of times he'd stepped foot inside a church could be counted on one hand, so why would a man like him resort to religion?

In the past, he had been told he was part of God’s plan, but somewhere along the way, he felt like he had become God’s mistake.

After living a life plagued with loss and constantly in hiding, he wasn’t shocked that his self-worth was in the gutter.

Things only spiraled after letting everyone down, especially after that particular day when things took a turn for the worse. He had prayed, asking God to make him forget.

When that didn’t work, he just drank harder and smoked more. But not even drowning in alcohol and clouds of nicotine could put an end to his struggles—he was condemned to suffer.

In spite of everyone’s wishes, he’s still going strong, stuck with no defined purpose. It’s almost impossible not to fall into a routine that seeks to numb him, to put him under anesthesia—waking up after passing out who-knows-where, finding the nearest bar, sinking into whiskey and the haze of ashtrays.

Then he does it all over again, a never-ending cycle. His self-destructive habits don’t lead him to oblivion; instead, they intensify every sensation, making each memory and emotion painfully vivid.

Day after day, he convinces himself he’s got it under control. Logan may be tough as fuck, and he may heal faster than anyone else, but his pride is in pieces.

No amount of strength or supernatural abilities can stop the decay he feels inside, the slow rot creeping deeper within him the longer he remains trapped in this life.

He slams the empty glass onto the counter with a heavy thud, tapping two fingers against it. “Again,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

The bartender looks at him like he's the reincarnation of all things vile. “I told you—you’re not welcome here. You’re not welcome anywhere. Now get the fuck out of my bar.”

Oh, yes. Music to his ears. If he had a nickel for every time he heard that, he’d be rich. “Just give me one more drink and then I’ll leave.”

“That’s not how it works,” the bartender replies, and Logan knows he’s screwed. Another public establishment he’s been banned from—fucking perfect.

Will there ever be a day where he’s not treated like garbage?

“It does now,” an unknown voice joins the conversation, and Logan glances to his side, arching a brow. The masked man doesn’t let his stare falter. “Leave the bottle.”

“Do I know you, bub?”

“You don’t, but I know you.”

This serves as evidence of how pliant he’s become. Years ago, he would’ve already wiped the floor with this guy. They didn’t call him Logan “short fuse” Howlett for nothing. But now? He just can’t bring himself to do it.

“Everybody does. I’m the—”

Here it comes, the reminder of his personal calvary.

“—Wolverine.” Once he finishes the sentence, his words taste bitter. Perhaps it’s the venom on his tongue, or maybe it’s just the alcohol from yesterday kicking him again. Either way, both hit hard.

“Yes, you are,” the stranger says, continuing to stare at him, as if Logan’s worth the effort. “And I’m going to need you to come with me. Right now.”

Logan holds his breath. The worst part of it all is that his day’s just getting started. He has no clue who this guy is or why he’s claiming to need him.

But he’s got the wrong man—Logan doesn’t know him, and he sure as hell doesn’t have anything good to offer.

Or so he believed five minutes ago. Life seems to have its own way of surprising him.

Knowing he’ll regret it later, he closes his fingers around the whiskey bottle, chugging the liquor until darkness takes over his senses.

Nighty-night, Logan.

I'm aware that you're not mine, and nor will you ever be.

I’ve spent sleepless nights trying to figure out

where this need to call you mine stems from.

You're like an antique, a rare piece displayed

in a crowded bazaar, drawing curious glances.

I’m aware that you're not mine

because I haven't bought you yet;

I hold no claim over you,

nor can I control who touches you and who doesn't.

I want you to be mine,

but no amount of money would buy your soul.

You're beyond reach—someone has already marked you.

I’m aware that you’re not mine,

and I guess maybe that’s how life is meant to be.

“Bullshit,” you mutter softly into the quiet of your apartment, where the only sound is the echo of your own voice.

Chewing the end of your pen, your eyes narrow as they skim over the poem you’d written over a month ago.

Since then, you’ve been working on refining the details, but something is missing—that you can feel. The flow is awkward, the choice of words stiff. It’s like a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit together.

You take a long sip from your coffee, tucking both knees up onto the chair you're sitting in. 7:30 a.m., and already, your mind is spinning, diving headfirst into a poem when countless other things are demanding your attention—like, a hundred things, really.

Right now, cracking this piece feels more important than any other task on your list.

Who do you write to? That part is easy—your soulmate. That deceased, probably buried, long-gone soulmate of yours.

It shouldn’t be funny, but there’s an absurdity to it.

Without warning, a memory slips into your thoughts—one girl you used to work with once advising you to change the subject of your writing.

“You should go for some self-love crap. People usually eat that up,” she said, not even bothering to look up from her nails, red polish smeared over the edges.

Her fingers were a mess, coated in that fiery hue, but she didn’t seem to care as she tapped your notebook with her lacquered index finger. “This is repetitive. Keep writing about the same thing, and people will get bored of you.”

“I haven’t published them yet,” you answered, your voice coming out more high-pitched than usual, betraying the doubt you intended to suppress. Her blue eyes flicked up, studying your face as you slid the now red-stained notebook back into your bag, away from her careless, messy fingers. “I thought… I thought we were supposed to write about what we feel passionate about.”

That managed to catch her attention. Passionate. She let out a laugh—sharp and cold, like something straight out of a villain’s script in a children’s movie. It grated against your ears.

“Sweetie, you call that passionate?” She waved her hand dismissively, standing up from the table.

Taller, older, and more secure—just the fact that she gave you her time should’ve made you feel grateful. “Not to be a bitch, but what you showed me is kind of depressing.”

Kind of depressing. From that moment on, you kind of hated her. Small victories, though—the agency fired her a year later. You like to think you kind of won that battle.

Still, she might’ve been right about one thing: your writing does fall into patterns. It’s predictable, to say the least—the rhythm, the themes. Even the metaphors you include can be found in several of your poems.

Are you… lazy? Has someone revealed the way to break out of it? If there is, you figure you're fine without it.

You don’t want to write the kind of articles she’d churn out about the latest trends or the five best positions to get pregnant faster. Nor do you want to pick apart celebrities' lives for a flashy headline.

What you do want is to write about love. Real love. Even if you are not the most qualified person to do it. Even if nobody wants to read the words from someone who has never experienced it in the flesh.

And you’ll get there—how? You’re still figuring that out.

As long as you live and breathe, love will remain in your thoughts, haunting you—especially with your muse being the fleeting dream of a soulmate you never got to meet in the first place.

But it’s time to start your day—the real one. The one where you have to step outside the safety of your four walls and deal with reality.

The to-do list assembles in your mind: groceries, that book you’ve been meaning to pick up, emails you need to answer.

You let your mind take over, guiding you through the motions without a second thought. As you head back to your room, you get rid of the comfortable robe you love so much.

Next, your shirt comes off, tossed carelessly onto the bed. Just as you're about to step out of your pajama pants, you notice them.

The scars.

They’re not the same, not the faded lines etched into your skin that you could see every night behind your eyelids. New marks glow against your flesh, each one a map of something you don’t yet understand, standing out like new brushstrokes on an old canvas.

You can’t help but freeze, your breath faltering for a moment, and you nearly trip over yourself. Kicking your pants to the side, you stare down at your hips, thighs, the hollow of your ribcage.

Tentatively, you press your fingers into the lines, expecting them to fade, to disappear under your touch like some peculiar illusion.

But they don’t. They remain. You can feel the raised edges, the subtle roughness, the heat beneath your touch.

These scars are different from the ones you had before. Under no circumstances are they the faint memories you once carried. No—these are fresh and vibrant. Marks that shouldn’t exist, the stories they’ve witnessed unfamiliar to you.

Within seconds, you’re sobbing, and you blink through the wetness clouding your vision, wiping your tears of disbelief (and maybe hope?) away with the back of your hand.

Nothing changes. They’re still there.

You've never heard of scars returning like this. It goes against everything in the manual on your shelf. Scars vanish when a soulmate dies, but they don’t come back. Not like this. And they certainly don’t change.

Barely able to stand without stumbling, you scramble to your phone. The first person you call is your mom, your fingers shaking as you press the buttons. She screams into the phone, and all you can do is laugh through the tears.

What doesn’t sit right with her is the change in the scars. She mentions something about reaching out to a specialist, insisting that your case is rare—one in a million.

Almost immediately, you think of Wade, knowing he’d want to hear this. God, he’d be ecstatic. Before you even realize it, you’re standing in front of his door, finger hovering over the bell.

That’s when the realization hits you: he’s been gone for nearly three days, off doing whatever it is he does.

Ringing the bell, a smile tugs at your lips. News like these are meant to be shared.

“Althea, it’s me!” you call out, hoping she’ll hear you. You press your forehead against the door, fidgeting with your fingers. “I have something to tell you.”

Logan has had better days. Days that didn’t involve escaping The Void, fighting a hundred Wades, or saving an earth that wasn’t even his to begin with.

You know, normal days—of being sneered at while drinking to forget and, fuck, how many hours has he been sober? It feels like an eternity.

When the adrenaline wears off and the heroism fades, he’s back to being just Logan again. If he had a watch, he’d probably tap the glass and fake impatience to Wade, pretending he’s got somewhere else to be.

He should leave. That’s his first impulse: to escape before it’s too late, but a question arises in his mind: does he truly want to?

Wade watches as Logan rises to his feet, planning to walk away. Pretty stupid, Logan thinks, considering he knows no one else in this universe—apart from the scarred man he’s become friends with against his will.

“Logan!” Wade yells his name, his voice light but firm enough to halt him in his tracks. Logan turns to face him, greeted by Wade’s familiar, infuriating smile.

It's a silent invitation to a new beginning.

Nothing’s holding him back, so why not accept it? The odds of being the target of hateful glares are lower here, and that’s reason enough for Logan to give a small tilt of his head and return to the bench where Wade remains seated.

“We’re gonna be roommates!” the latter exclaims, a wide grin stretching across his face as they head toward the building. “Can you imagine all the fun we’ll have?”

Logan presses his lips into a thin line. “Looking forward to it,” he murmurs, a small glimmer of sarcasm slipping into his tone, although Wade takes his words at face value.

“Me too, roomie. Me too.”

“Let’s not use that word.”

Wade holds the door open for Logan with an exaggerated bow. “Why not? It’s the truth. We can even share my bed if that’s—”

The sound of Logan’s claws succeeds in silencing him. Wade recoils and covers his crotch, no doubt remembering past close calls.

“You know what? You can have the bed. I’ll take the couch. No problem.”

Was moving in with Wade the worst idea he’s had in a while? Absolutely. The reason? Althea, the elderly woman he lives with, isn’t answering the door, and he doesn’t have his keys.

Logan covers his eyes with a hand, silently questioning all of his life choices. And it’s only been ten minutes.

“This doesn’t happen often,” Wade reassures him, rubbing his neck.

“Hard to believe,” Logan mutters, some unknown muscle in his jaw beginning to ache from how hard he’s gritting his teeth. “You just leave the house without your fucking keys?”

Wade huffs, jutting out a hip in mock offense. “Those TVA guys didn’t exactly send a ‘We’re here to ruin your day’ memo. I was ambushed, okay?” he retorts, keeping a finger glued to the doorbell, its shrill ring gnawing at Logan’s already thin patience. “Al, I swear to God, I’m replacing your blood pressure pills with laxatives if you don’t wake up!”

“How old is she?” Logan asks, searching for anything to keep him from snapping the other man’s neck. Peaceful thoughts.

“Compared to you, she’s basically a newborn,” Wade replies, rocking back and forth on his heels. He’s having the time of his life—meanwhile, Logan’s self-control is reaching its limit.

His claws twitch in his knuckles. He’s had enough, and with a jerk of his left hand, they gleam as they slide out, ready to break the damn door.

But then Wade jumps in front of him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy there, buddy! I’m not letting you turn my door into a strainer.”

“Move,” Logan barks, not an ounce of friendliness in his tone. His stare is flat, unfazed.

“I’d rather not. You can’t just go around breaking people’s doors, man. Not cool,” Wade blurts quickly, placing both hands on Logan’s chest, pushing him away. “How about I ask my neighbor, huh? I gave her a spare set of keys for situations like these.”

“I thought you said this didn’t happen often.”

“Well, life’s full of disappointments.”

Before Logan can answer back, Wade rushes to the door next to his, slamming his fist on it like a madman, his finger hammering the doorbell simultaneously.

The devil’s orchestra—a symphony straight from hell.

Logan grabs Wade’s wrist before he can knock again, hissing: “Have some manners, will you?”

Wade tries to shake his arm free from Logan’s tight grip. “She’s in there. I know it,” he replies in the same tone, but now he uses his other hand to ring the doorbell with greater feeling.

After a pause, he stamps his foot on the floor, throwing his head back. “Come on! Is this how you treat me after being away? Shame on you, Missy!”

This neighbor must be very patient, Logan thinks, to keep up with a guy like Wade without often seeing red.

As the door finally swings open, his grip on Wade loosens, and his hand falls limply to his side.

“What… the fuck?”

The sound of your voice—soft, slightly groggy from sleep—pulls his attention away from the door incident. His gaze is fixed entirely on you—you look as if you’ve just rolled out of bed, which makes sense since it’s still early.

Back in The Void, Wade had rambled on about all his friends, you included. Logan recalls how he had described you: a book editor who lived on her own and loved reading. You were younger—but then again, who wasn’t younger than him?

The picture Wade had shown him, with you standing in the background, hadn’t done you justice. He had found you attractive then, but seeing you in person?

You’re… far more than he expected.

More beautiful, for starters.

Fuck. Why is he even thinking about that? He must’ve been staring at you for quite a while—you glance at him like a startled lamb, clearly feeling self-conscious under his unwavering stare.

“May I know,” you start, tightening your robe, “why you were banging on my door like that? I thought I was getting robbed for a minute.” You direct your question at Wade, avoiding Logan’s presence, which makes something tighten in his chest.

He finds the way you stifle a yawn endearing, though.

Okay, that’s enough, he tells his mind. Let it go.

Wade steps in first, dropping his mask on the nearest surface. “Hello, my dear. Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just a few scratches. No, I wasn’t partying—I was kidnapped. Thanks for asking.”

You draw in a long breath, rubbing your eyes to wake up once and for all, and then you proceed to gesture for Logan to enter. Even now, you find it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. “Do you—would you like to come in?”

Not only are you pretty, but also polite. He nods, muttering a gruff: “Yeah, thank you.”

As he walks past you, your shoulders brush briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through him. A tingling sensation on the verge of being electrifying that has him knitting his brows.

His gaze finds yours, searching your expression to see if you felt it too. But you look away, closing the door to go after Wade.

Great. You must think he’s a weirdo.

“I’m always up for company, but why so early?” you ask your friend, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. “And are you going to tell me what happened the other day? You left without saying anything.”

Wade hops onto a stool at the kitchen counter, swinging his legs like a child. “You know Al. When it comes to sleeping, she’s like a much older version of Sleeping Beauty,” he replies with a grin, snatching the mug you were about to use for your morning coffee. “Thanks, you’re such a doll.”

“That was—mine,” you sigh, hitting him in the thigh, and Wade winces with a fake whine. “I don’t think I’ve missed you that much. Go back to being missing in action,” you say, grabbing another mug and filling it before raising it toward Logan. “Coffee?”

Logan hesitates. You’re treating him like you’ve known him for years, not minutes. “I’m… good.”

“You sure? I made it fresh, just before you guys arrived.”

“Don’t worry, I’m—”

“I love the chemistry here,” Wade interrupts your conversation, drawing your attention back to him, “but you still got the keys I gave you, right?”

You roll your eyes, blowing on your steamy coffee before answering. “I do, but I want answers first. And I want them now.”

Twenty minutes and a rambling, half-coherent story later, your drink has gone cold, and Logan’s patience is wearing thin… again.

Will he survive sleeping under the same roof as Wade? Stay tuned for more.

“And then I told Paradox ‘He has risen, babygirl’—”

“I think you’re being too specific,” Logan interjects, noting how you’re staring into space with wide eyes. “She seems confused.”

“I am,” you admit, rubbing your temples. He doesn’t blame you: Wade’s a terrible storyteller. You offer him a weak smile as you turn to him. “So… you’re from another universe.”

“Last time I checked.” His back collapses against the couch, groaning softly. He sits beside you, and the way your eyes sweep over him, taking in his disheveled and sweaty appearance, doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“And how is it? I mean, do you have—”

“I’m public enemy number one.”

Too harsh, idiot.

“Oh. That’s… good to know.”

Wade says your name, and you look to your right, lifting your brows. “Do you mind if I grab the keys myself? I need a shower. I’ve been marinating in sweat and blood for way too long.”

You grimace, pointing toward your room. “Top drawer of my nightstand.”

With that, he embarks on a quest to find them, leaving Logan alone with you. Silence stretches between you two.

He doesn’t know what to say, or if he should even say anything. Casual conversation isn’t his forte.

“You and Wade…?”

Letting out a giggle, you lean back on the couch. “God, no. We’re just friends,” you explain, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. For a fleeting moment, your eyes bore into his, and then you return to burning holes in the floor. “I’m single. Haven’t found my soulmate yet.”

It’s his turn to chuckle now—a dark, humorless sound rumbling in his chest. You chew on a cuticle, Logan’s gesture igniting a sense of curiosity in you.

“What?” you ask him, puzzled.

“Do you really believe in that? Soulmates who share scars?” If he were to think carefully, he’d watch his tone. It’s too late, anyway—you straighten your posture, your face contorting with each passing second. “I can tell you do.”

“And I can tell you don’t.”

“Why would I? Those are lies,” he retorts, the corners of his mouth turning upward.

His opinion is anything but objective, totally biased, given that every time he dove into love’s arms, he was met with the crude reality: not everyone’s meant to be loved, himself included.

The look you give him is enough to wipe the smirk off his face.

“Soulmates exist, Logan. We all have one.” There’s a certainty in your tone, marked by the subtle way in which you say his name, that he finds alluring. He shouldn’t, especially when you seem angry above all.

“And where is yours, then?”

He regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Your expression becomes inscrutable. You could be either disappointed, frustrated, or even exasperated—sad, perhaps?

Logan feels as though a weight has settled on his shoulders just from staring into your eyes.

You strike back with silence. Plain, pure, dreadful silence that has him wondering if he’s breathing properly.

At long last, Wade comes back from his expedition, keys dangling from his fingers. “It was quite the treasure hunt, you know? You’ve got a lot of garbage in there.” He sticks his face between Logan’s and yours when you don't answer him. “Guys, is there something wrong? Are you doing a staring contest? If so, can I join?”

“I need to start getting ready for work,” you announce, standing up from the couch. Logan mimics you, and you open the door, your fingers curling around the knob. “You should get going. And Wade,” you pause, acknowledging only him, “I need to talk to you later. In private.”

Without Logan. That’s what you wanted to say but didn’t.

“Sure, my queen. I live to serve,” Wade says in rejoinder, and he kisses your forehead briefly, which forces Logan to avert his gaze the whole time his lips are on you, feeling uncomfortable watching. “Take care, alright?”

You give Wade a small nod, waiting until he’s outside your apartment to glance at Logan.

“Goodbye,” you croak, and he knows he should say something, that he—

The door almost closes on his nose.

Had he been an asshole? He was merely expressing his thoughts. The idea of soulmates didn’t sit well with him.

Once settled into Wade’s apartment, Logan steps into the shower, water rinsing off his body. Yet he finds himself unable to stop thinking about you.

The disappointment in your eyes when he asked about your soulmate.

The coldness in your tone at the end, so different from the warmth you initially offered.

He feels drawn to you, as if some sort of invisible string is tying the two of you. Were it possible, he would use his own claws to cut it, but he can’t discern where it begins or ends. Instead, he prefers to blame his touch-starved state for this reaction.

He’s already hating this earth. So much for a man whose skin refuses to scar.

And where is yours, then?

His words shouldn’t have stung the way they did. All the charm—the gruff exterior, the mysterious personality—had vanished.

The guy from another universe, with the claws, the healing abilities, and the raspy voice, is a moron.

A ridiculously good-looking moron? Yes, but a moron nonetheless.

There is something about him you can’t quite place. A chill creeps down your spine as you replay the instant your eyes first locked. Your body had reacted in ways it never had before, drawn to him like metal to a magnet.

Why? You’d seen handsome men before, even been with some. Yet, you’ve never felt this—this gravitational pull, this inexplicable pull to invade someone’s personal space.

How would your soulmate feel if he saw you like this, lusting after another man?

You shudder at the thought. This isn’t like you. You pride yourself on loyalty—perhaps a little too much. You don’t read two books at the same time, and you’ve been buying the same brand of shampoo for the past five years.

So why now? Why him? It feels like a betrayal of your own mind, your conscience turned against you.

Let things stay as they are—it’s safer that way. You don’t want to know the reason behind this forceful need.

After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, he’ll stay holed up in Wade’s apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? You’ll forget about him. Easy-peasy.

That afternoon, as you take a nap on the couch, he invades your dreams. It’s not even a wet dream, but he’s there, staking a claim on a part of you he has no right to.

You wake up with your hand clutching your chest, a frustrated punch landing on the nearest cushion.

The next day, you drop by Wade’s place for a quick visit, your eyes darting around the room every few seconds, half-expecting Logan to appear out of nowhere.

“I told you, he’s sleeping. That guy’s got a fucked up sleep schedule,” Wade says, urging you to take a seat beside him at the table. “Why don’t you wanna see him?”

Because he’s messing with your sanity. Your brain cells are practically disintegrating at the mere thought of breathing the same air as him.

“I just—I need to tell you something.”

“Are you pregnant?”

“What? Wade, no! You’ve been gone for three days—pregnancies take months.”

“I’d make an amazing uncle, though.” He grabs your hand between his, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Babies are so adorable at that—”

“My scars are back,” you cut him off, putting an end to his nonsense. Pulling the neck of your sweater to the side, you show him the thin lines etched into your collarbone. “But they are different this time.”

“Different? You mean they changed?” His disbelief is clear as he reaches for your arm, frowning while he inspects more of your scars. Wade’s jaw slackens, color draining out of his face. “Fuck. Fuck!”

“Fuck?”

“Yeah, fuck!” His strong arms envelop you, and you lean into the embrace, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “Is this good news? Are we happy? Does this mean I have a shot at becoming an uncle after all?”

You laugh a little at his eagerness, rubbing gentle circles into his back. “I am happy. I just—I don’t know what these changes mean yet.”

Althea steps out of the bathroom, her cane tapping the floor in rhythmic beats. “I already told you what they mean.”

Wade pulls away from you, glaring at her. “You meddler! Haven’t we talked about not eavesdropping? Hasn’t life taught you anything after all these decades?”

“Upside of being blind: I’ve never seen this motherfucker in Crocs,” she says, pointing her cane at you, though you know her aim is Wade. “Downside of being blind: I hear everything in this apartment. And you, kid, have a new soulmate.”

“I know what we talked about the other day, but... it doesn’t make sense, Al. You only get one soulmate,” you protest, feeling the tension grow as you pace around the table. “Why can’t it just be simple? My friends are getting engaged, years are flying by, and I’m still out here chasing this… this idiot who no one can even find!”

That’s when Logan appears, emerging from his room, holding several empty beer cans. He rolls his eyes and walks straight into the kitchen. “Great. Who else is coming tonight?”

Wade smirks, clapping a hand on Logan’s shoulder as he looks at you. “Sweetie, Logan’s going through his second puberty at the ripe old age of two hundred. The pediatrician said it’s just hormones, nothing to worry about. Excuse his shitty attitude.”

With a low groan, Logan shrugs off Wade’s hand, scowling. If anything, the younger man’s grin just grows bigger. “Wolvie, I gotta admit that whole ‘Don’t fall in love with me or I’ll break your heart’ personality shouldn’t turn me on, but here we are.”

You decide to take that as your cue to leave. You grab your bag, muttering a quick goodbye to Althea as you head for the door.

But Logan calls after you. “Can we talk?”

You freeze, your back to him. “How much did you hear?” you ask, not daring—not being able—to meet his gaze.

“All of it,” he admits after a beat, and you curse under your breath. “But it doesn’t—Hey!” He follows you into the hallway. “I’m talking to you!”

“No, you’re not.” You fumble for your keys, fingers shaking as you try to unlock your door. “Leave me alone.”

“I won’t,” he mumbles behind you, his voice softer now. “Come on. Don’t be so harsh.”

“I can’t believe you,” you whisper, finally finding the right key and jiggling it into the lock. The door swings open, and you step into the safety of your apartment. But when you try to close it, Logan’s foot wedges into the gap, blocking it. “Get out.”

He doesn’t budge. “No.”

“Logan, I’m not in the mood.”

“Well, me neither. But I owe you an apology.”

You wonder if he realizes the hold he has on you. No matter how hard you try to mask it, the unbearable pounding of your heart betrays you.

Scanning his features, you trace the rugged contours of his face with your eyes, lingering on the lines on his forehead—the aftermath of what it looks like a life lived through bitterness and pain.

“Can I come in?” he insists, his tone on the verge of sounding pleading.

You hesitate. The sensible part of you screams to send him away. Thinking that avoiding him would be as easy as stealing candy from a baby is a long-forgotten idea now: you’d been naïve to even consider it possible.

He’s going to find a way to sneak into your space, your home—and you’ll let him in. You’ll grant him a chance to cross a boundary that should’ve been already drawn.

It feels like you’re fifteen again, infatuated with the guy you know you shouldn’t get close to. Paul from high school wasn’t your soulmate back then—Logan isn’t now.

The smart thing would be to take a step back, accept his apology, and ask him to leave. That’s how you preserve what little remains of your sanity and protect your heart, which is already hanging by a thread.

But God, it feels so good to be near him.

You step aside. He walks in. Something tells you this won’t be the last time.

“I’m waiting.” You stay near the counter, pressing your back against it, and keeping your distance. Logan sits awkwardly on the edge of your couch, unsure of where to begin.

“Look, about what I said yesterday…I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” He sounds sincere, earnest. “I didn’t know you believed in soulmates.”

“It’s not a matter of believing in them or not, Logan. My soulmate is out there—yours too.”

Your words coax a grin from him, and he shakes his head. “I guess we’ll never see eye to eye on that.” In a fluid motion, he crosses the room, and you find his unexpected proximity a bit exasperating. “Do you forgive me?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Give me a break, darlin’. I’m trying my best.”

“Well, you were an asshole.”

“Yes.”

“The first time we exchanged words.”

“Also yes.”

“And now you’re apologizing.”

“Positive. I just did.”

It’s not that you’re easy—it’s Logan’s persuasive allure that gets to you.

“What else can I do to win your forgiveness?” he wonders aloud, his syrupy voice making you tighten your grip on the counter.

An idea sparks in your mind. You move toward the pile of books next to the TV, eyeing the titles, until one catches your attention: your copy of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, one of the first novels you’d read when you were younger.

It’s adorned with colorful post-its, and the pages, sort of rough to the touch, are marked with handwritten notes in the margins.

“How do you feel about reading?”

“Not my strongest suit,” he answers, arching a brow as he takes in your enthusiasm. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“You want me to believe you’re sorry for what you said? Then read this,” you say, wiggling the book in front of him, “and we can start over.”

“What is it about? Let me guess: love and soulmates. Did I get it right?” he asks, playfulness lacing his tone. His breath hitches as you press the book against his chest, silently urging him to take it. His pinky grazes your hand, feeling your skin and sending a jolt through you.

Logan watches you with half-lidded eyes, and it takes every ounce of willpower to tear yourself away from him and his maddening touch.

You clear your throat. “Open it to page one hundred fifty-three.”

“Do you—you remember specific pages?”

“And read what’s underlined in black,” you murmur, eyes fluttering closed for an instant. “Please.”

Logan must mutter something along the lines of ‘You’ve got to be kidding me’ before searching for it. It’s only then that he begins to recite the passage:

He is not to them what he is to me. He is not of their kind. I believe he is of mine; – I am sure he is – I feel akin to him – I understand the language of his countenance and movements; though rank and wealth sever us widely, I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him. Did I say, a few days since, that I had nothing to do with him but to receive my salary at his hands? Did I forbid myself to think of him in any other light than a paymaster? Blasphemy against nature! Every good, true, vigorous feeling I have gathers impulsively round him. I know I must conceal my sentiments: I must smother hope; I must remember that he cannot care much for me. For when I say that I am of his kind, I do not mean that I have his force to influence, and his spell to attract; I mean only that I have certain tastes and feelings in common with him. I must, then, repeat continually that we are for ever sundered: – and yet, while I breathe and think, I must love him.

You’ve chosen a damn good page.

Logan looks up from the book, his mouth slightly parted, as if he’s about to speak. You interject before he can find the words.

“You’ve got a week to read it.”

“How long is it again?”

“Four hundred pages.”

He surrenders, sighing in defeat. “You’re killing me here, y’know?”

“Write an opinion essay if possible.”

Right there, Logan offers you a mock laugh. “Haha. That’s so funny.”

“It is for me,” you talk back, unable to hide your smile from him, and soon he mirrors your expression.

As Logan steps toward the door, he hesitates and glances back. “We’re all good then?”

Leaning against the doorframe, you raise your chin defiantly. “We’ll be when you finish the book.”

What he says next has your stomach turning into knots. “You’re trouble.” His tone shifts—no longer teasing, but grounded in truth. Gone are the jokes; he seems to mean every word.

For the rest of the night, one line from the book doesn’t stop echoing in your mind—the line about soulmates: I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him.

You’re trouble for him, and he’s trouble for you. You hope he knows it too.

He thought that not seeing you for a week would snuff out his feelings. That by next Wednesday, every thought tied to your name, every urge to uncover the last of your secrets, would be extinguished.

That's what time usually did: it diminished dangerous desires that couldn't afford to be voiced, and buried those longings that had no place in the light of day.

Logan now figures he’s been underestimating the spell you cast on him with just a few glances and the intensity of your eyes. He’s seen you animated, angry—both defiant and vulnerable.

Each of your gestures feels like a memory he can’t quite place.

The way you laugh, the right corner of your mouth lifting just slightly higher than the left—he swears it isn’t the first time he's seen a smile brighter than the sun.

Still, he convinces himself it’s all in his head. He must be the one losing his mind, the years finally catching up to him. It’s the only reasonable explanation for the thoughts that consume his every waking moment.

He’s wrong—you’re right. He’s seeing things where there are none—you’re simply too kind.

Too kind. Too young. Too damn clever for your own good, with your books and that sharp mind of yours. He wonders how you see yourself.

Do you like the reflection in the mirror? Are you content with the way your life has turned out?

Do you, too, lie awake at night, the bed stretching endlessly, aching for a touch that never comes?

The walls in this place are paper-thin. When darkness falls, and the moon rises, the big, scary Wolverine can’t close his eyes.

Instead, he listens.

Some nights, you play the same movie on repeat—a romantic comedy that lasts exactly one hundred and twenty minutes. For two hours straight, he’s privy to your laughter, your commentary at the characters on the screen.

He hears you cry when the lead couple drifts apart after a terrible argument, but they always find their way back to each other, and you watch every second until the credits roll.

None of the other films you pick ever ends in heartbreak, he realizes. They all have happy endings—the kind you wish for yourself.

One way or another, there must be a way to get you out of his system. He knows, without a doubt, that you wouldn’t want him. He’s not your soulmate, and it’s clear that finding that person has become the center of your existence.

Logan can’t allow himself to be the moron who derails your purpose.

Sure, he’s done bad things, but he likes to believe that at least a part of him—some small fraction—hasn’t been lost yet. That there’s a piece of him that can be saved, which is the reason why he stayed here: to be a better man than the one he was in his universe.

But it’s hard. Harder still because it’s you who disrupts his quest for redemption. How is he supposed to go on with his life when every thought circles back to you? The idea of holding you, kissing you—sleeping beside you haunts him.

And so the images blur, new dreams twisting with his usual nightmares.

Which one is worse, he can no longer tell.

One afternoon, while deliberately steering clear of Jane Eyre, he reluctantly turns to Wade in search of answers. “Tell me more about her.”

Wade, lounging on the couch, stops scrolling on his phone and drops it onto his chest, drawing his eyebrows together.

“Her? Who do you mean?” His tone oozes with feigned innocence, barely containing a shit-eating grin when Logan grits out your name, his tone rough, almost pained. “Oh, Romeo. You’ve got it bad.”

Intending to maintain some semblance of control, Logan strides into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and the last bottle of whiskey. As he tips it, only a few drops fall into the glass.

“No, I don’t,” he says, extending his arm and holding the bottle up. “We’re out of whiskey.”

“You keep saying we, but you’re the only alcoholic in this apartment.” Wade kicks off his shoes, propping his feet on the coffee table. “So, why the sudden interest in the lady? She getting through that tough exterior of yours? I’ll give her points for that.”

“And you wonder why I don’t talk to you.”

“I saw the book,” the younger man replies, lacing his fingers behind his head, watching as Logan rummages through the fridge with increasing frustration. “You never told me you were into classics. If I’d known, I’d have gotten you a copy of Pride and Prejudice.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“I’m sorry, weren’t you the one who came to me, looking for the essential oil of truth?”

The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable, mood-killing.

“See what I just did there?” he adds, and Logan feels forced to shake his head from side to side, appearing conflicted. Wade lets out a low huff. “That was Virginia Woolf. Add her to your reading list.”

“Has anyone ever told you how obnoxious you are?”

“More times than I can count. I’m just not everyone’s cup of coffee.”

“Tea, Wade. Not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“Whatever.” Wade simpers, as though Logan’s correction is the punchline to a joke only he gets. He sets his palms flat on the table, looming closer with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, what would you like to know about my dear friend?”

Logan hesitates, the weight of his question heavy on his tongue. “What’s the deal with her scars?”

The air shifts. Wade’s playful expression fades and he tilts his head, his tone turning serious. “I don’t think it’s my story to tell,” he begins, gaze dropping to the floor. “But she lost them years ago. She was living a normal life, and one day, they were just—gone, like they were never there. It broke her. We didn’t know each other back then, but you’ve seen her.”

Wade’s eyes flick back up, while Logan stands there, tongue-tied. “You even know the kind of books she reads—nothing can shake that belief in real love, in soulmates being destined. Imagine how she must’ve felt when she found out her presumed soulmate was dead… without a single warning.”

From what he had heard, that sense of loss was impossible to put into words. Those who’d gone through it described the experience as if half of you—your body, your soul, your very essence—was being ripped away.

The pain was excruciating, and the only way to survive it was by means of tolerating it—no remedy, just the endurance to outlast the agony.

It wasn’t just a momentary hurt. It was the kind of torment that lingered, making you question who you were and what little remained of you.

You and Logan had more in common than he’s willing to admit.

“She’s a good person,” he mutters absent-mindedly, his thumb grazing the cover of the book. He had carried it everywhere for a week now, without even cracking it open.

“Oh, you dirty pig…” Wade whispers, his eyes lighting up as if a lightbulb suddenly went off in his mind. “Now I get it. You wanna know her. Like, really know her!”

“I don’t—”

“Your sex life is none of my business. I’m all up for you putting your mutant dick to work, otherwise it’s just wasted potential. But it’s my friend we’re talking about.”

Logan’s jaw tightens, and he snaps. “Drop the speech, alright? I’m not trying to get into her pants. I just want to be nice. That’s all.”

“Nice, huh? What’s your version of nice? Starting a two-person book club?” Wade stifles a laugh, pressing a finger to Logan’s chest. “Look, if you want to sleep with her, and the feeling’s mutual, then go for it. Just tell me this—how long’s it been since you visited Pussy Village? Was it before or after the Big Bang?”

Things are never truly serious with Wade Wilson. “I’m not answering that.”

Wade raises both hands in surrender, still chuckling. “Fine, fine. But if you’re really interested, just be clear about it. She doesn’t need a half-assed situationship.”

By now, it’s like a mantra he repeats again and again, hoping that eventually both Wade and he will start to believe it. “I don’t want to have sex with her.”

As he heads back to his (now Wade’s old) room, Wade adds, “I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you underlined some quotes you like.”

Much to his dismay, that’s exactly what Logan does.

His handwriting isn’t the most legible, but he tries his best, leaving notes in the margins of some pages, such as:

I hate this John kid.

Her aunt is a cunt.

This is too cheesy.

Mr. Rochester’s married?

St. John—what a prick.

He finishes the book at 7 a.m. A long-ass book—just for you. While getting ready for work, Wade calls him an unemployed fucker, and Logan knows nothing better than to shoot back a similar insult, stretching his arms as the first rays of sunlight creep through the curtains.

Wade was right about something, even if Logan himself doesn’t wish to admit it: he’s behaving like a teenager—staying up until dawn, practically chained to the bed without daring to go out. Falling for a girl he didn’t know a week ago.

Learning to control his impulses has been a hard task, especially with his temperament. Over the years, Logan thought he’d mastered the art of self-restraint, long past the point where his body moved without his mind’s permission.

As his feet carry him down the hall toward your apartment, he recognizes how wrong he is.

This is a terrible idea, he thinks. And yet, his fist knocks on the wood. Three times.

Fuck.

The door opens just a crack. You peek out, your face barely visible, eyes puffy from sleep. “Logan?”

His name isn’t a fancy one. It’s pretty normal, pretty standard. There must be a thousand other guys named like him—yet it’s only when you say it, your voice turning it into something rare and unique, that it feels different, like it’s only his.

The tone you use with him isn’t the one he’s used to: Logan, you’re a disappointment. Logan, how dare you turn your back on your friends? Logan, they’re all dead. Logan, it’s your fault.

Yours is inviting, and warm, and new. He likes new.

“I just finished it,” he answers, holding up the book, mindful not to grip it too tight as not to crumple the pages.

You scratch the back of your head, blinking at him. “You just finished it… at 7 a.m.?

Yeah, it sounds stupid now that you say it out loud, but it’s true. Hoping his reaction is enough to explain what he can’t put into words, he gives you a slow nod.

This time, you don’t wait for him to say more. “Come in?”

Yes, this is what he’s been looking forward all week. This moment, this interaction.

This Come in. This Yes, thank you. You’re so kind.

His quiet acceptance of your invitation, the unpronounced thought of I don’t deserve this, but I can’t back off now, because how could I ever say no to you?

He follows you into the kitchen as you move to make tea. “Want some?” you ask, but he declines the offer. If he were to drink anything right now, it would be something much stronger, not tea, despite the early hour. “You’re here to talk about the book?”

“Well, you told me I could come back after reading it.”

“I did,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips as you hide it behind your mug. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be so punctual.”

You don’t need to know that he’s been counting down the seconds, marking each minute in his mind since the last time he saw you. That’s a detail he’ll keep to himself. “It’s a good story.”

“Tell me about it.” You smile even wider, and he takes a moment to absorb the details of your face—the crinkles by your eyes, the way your nose scrunches when you’re amused. “I lent you my most precious book. Fell in love with it years ago.”

“I can see why you liked it,” he explains, flipping through the pages to find the one he marked. “All the romance and the yearning—”

“Hey, it’s also good for other reasons,” you try to defend yourself, but any other argument dies on your lips when he finds the passage he was looking for and begins to read aloud.

“I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you, especially when you are near me, as now,” he recites, his voice lower, almost reverent, as he looks up from the page to meet your gaze. “It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your frame.”

You seem startled by the sharp sound of him closing the book. He’s sort of breathless, and from where he stands, he can tell you are too. “That’s one of my favorite passages.”

“I can’t blame you for believing in soulmates if this is the kind of thing you read growing up,” he teases, handing the book back to you.

Though a part of him almost wishes he didn’t have to—so that it would still be a reason, a tether, pulling him back to you again and again.

Grinning, you take it, your eyes remaining trained on his. “I happen to notice it hasn’t changed your perspective on soulmates.”

“It’ll take more than a book.”

“This is, in my opinion, one of the best love stories ever written. How else will I convince you?”

“Why do you feel like you need to convince me?” He takes a step forward—you take a step back. “Why can’t it be the other way around? I might end up being the one who convinces you.”

“You could never,” you respond, clasping your hands behind your back. “It would be like convincing me the sky is green instead of blue.”

Logan retreats slightly. “Don’t you get tired?”

“Of what?”

“Of waiting. Of always being on the lookout.”

You don’t react badly to his question. You’re not even shaken, not fazed in the slightest. “When I meet him, I’ll know all the waiting was worth it.”

“And in the meantime?” Logan inquires, pressing himself further into your intimacy, edging closer as if testing the boundaries you’re willing to cross. His words are a subtle request for more, for answers. “What will you do until you find him?”

If you ever do, he thinks, but it’s left unsaid, lingering in his thoughts. He’s getting better at not saying the things that sit heavy in his chest without thinking.

“I think you misunderstand, Logan.” You study him through your lashes, and he feels he’s become the keeper of your most sacred secrets. “It’s not about waiting as if my life’s on pause. I’ve been with other people. But in the end, I want to choose him.”

That casual admission strikes him like a wave of cold water. A flicker of jealousy burns at the edges of his composure, though he tries to smother it.

I’ve been with other people, you say, your tone so nonchalant, and yet the mental images that flood his mind are anything but comfortable.

He imagines someone else standing in your kitchen. Perhaps in five minutes, there will be another man knocking on your door, here to discuss a book, and it won’t be him.

Perhaps this isn’t rare for you—all this come in, grab something to drink, let’s talk when you’re done reading.

Perhaps he’s not as important as you make him feel.

His thoughts spiral until your voice pulls him back from the brink.

“Don’t you understand how beautiful it is?” There’s a dazzling glint in your expression, a light in your eyes that makes him ache. “Outside of these four walls, there’s a person who’s waiting to meet me, in the same way I expect to meet him. I can’t grant myself the choice not to believe in something like this.”

Far from easing the martyr in his mind, this conversation only deepens his internal struggle. The questions overlap each other: what happens if you never find him? Would you ever consider settling for somebody else?

He rephrases that last one—would you ever consider being with him?

“He’s a lucky guy,” Logan murmurs, and just like that, he feels himself slipping deeper, falling into the rabbit hole with you guiding him through the madness.

For a moment, he can pretend—pretend that matching scars and bonds that defy the rules of his principles make sense.

Maybe, just for you, he’ll allow himself to believe it.

Your eyes soften with sudden emotion, glistening with the beginnings of tears. He feels the primal urge to reach out, to cup your cheek, to be there when the first tear falls. “You think so?” you ask, your voice fragile.

I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you, especially when you are near me, as now.

“Of course I do,” he replies, his tone quiet but laden with a strange, undeniable truth.

It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your frame.

Whatever this is between you—it’s messed up. He’s messed up. And you… you’re just as tangled in this chaos for indulging it, for looking at him in that way that calls out to him.

The more time he spends with you, the less he feels like himself. Everything he’s done lately—reading that damn book, standing in your apartment at 7 a.m.—none of it feels like something he’d do.

It’s not just his mind you’re messing with: it’s his very sense of self.

Logan’s smart mouth had always been a liability, getting him into trouble either by saying too much or by choosing the wrong words. Bad things had always followed in the wake of his tongue.

Somehow, when it comes to you, he’s the most careful he’s ever been. He doesn’t want to upset you, nor does he want to be the cause of any sorrow that might affect your heart.

When the two of you stand at the threshold once more, just as you have other times before, you softly say: “I feel like I’m experiencing a déjà vu.”

He laughs, because it sounds ridiculous. “Care to explain why?”

“You come, we talk, you leave.” You lean against the wall, your hand ghosting over the handle. “But you never stay that long.”

There’s no mistaking the layered meaning in your words. You, who work with language and its peculiarities for a living, never speak by chance—every phrase, every pause, carries an assigned weight. The double meaning in your statement doesn’t escape either of you.

You’re a natural at this madness, diving headfirst into it. You must be losing it, too, because your actions don’t match what you said before.

Slowly, his fingers brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the perfect excuse to feel your skin, to close the distance without saying what he actually wants.

They say food and shelter are the basic human needs, but Logan chooses to believe they forgot to include the longing to reach out and just feel you.

“I can’t stay,” he finally responds to your earlier comment, his hand still lingering against your skin.

His strength—the only thing saving him from completely giving in—helps him pull himself away.

Before the impulse to kiss you becomes too overwhelming to resist, Logan leaves.

Some time later, you’re making lunch, music playing softly in the background at the same time the city’s distinct noise finds a way to break through your tranquility.

You rely greatly on the knowledge that you’re good at multitasking—now more than ever, with a book in one hand and the other stirring the pasta on the stove.

The warmth from the pot rises around you, but you trust yourself not to be careless. Not to be stupid enough to burn yourself with the boiling water.

This time, you miscalculate. Not only do you dip the wooden spoon into the pot, but your fingertips too.

Though it only lasts a second, and the voice in your head instantly screams Hot! Hot! Hot!, the shock makes you drop the book to the floor. You yank your hand back, racing to the sink to run it under cold water.

“Fuck,” you grumble, watching the skin redden in protest. “Lesson learned: no more multitasking.”

The funny thing is, just a door away, Logan’s watching a movie with Wade when he feels a sting in the tips of his fingers.

It’s barely there, practically faint, but he looks down, inspecting his hand like it doesn’t belong to his own body. His skin briefly flushes with irritation before returning to its normal state.

Wade notices his distraction. “Hey, you okay?”

Logan pays no mind to it. “Sure. Just felt something strange.”

Is it still called avoiding if you’re both doing it? You’d like to think so.

For the sake of clarity, let’s say you’ve been actively avoiding Logan, but truth be told—he’s been avoiding you too. That last encounter in your apartment didn’t help matters at all.

If anything, it made everything worse.

You’ve been down this road before, knowing men like him too well: they’re everywhere, until they’re not.

One day, they vanish without a trace, leaving you staring at the empty space they used to occupy, asking yourself ‘What happened to my Prince Charming in disguise?’

They disappear as though they never existed, and not even the best detective can track them down.

So far, your avoidance strategy has worked wonders. Maybe it’s for the best. He’s a distraction—an undeniably attractive one, the kind anyone would want to trip over.

Yet you miss him, which is dumb: why are you missing someone you were never supposed to care about in the first place?

You return home after a long trip to the grocery store, arms laden with bags. It’s the kind of errand that exhausts you, though you keep telling yourself it’s better than thinking about him.

As you struggle to get through the building's exit, you resign yourself to the fact that it’ll take several trips to bring everything up to your apartment.

Then the elevator doors slide open, and you drop everything to the floor.

You should’ve known better than to assume victory so soon. After days of successfully avoiding him, there he is.

And of course, it’s when you look your worst—tired from running around, weighed down by groceries, barely holding it together.

“Hey,” he greets you, standing just outside the elevator, like he’s not sure if he should step inside or stay where he is. He’s dressed in a red-and-black flannel shirt, layered over a white vest, a leather jacket tossed over his shoulders, and a pair of jeans that seem made for him.

He looks... ridiculously good.

“Hi,” you manage to answer after a beat, scrambling to collect the bags you’d dropped. “Just—give me a second.”

“Let me help you,” Logan says, ducking down to gather the groceries, but you pull them away.

“I’ve got it. Are you going out? On a date, maybe?” You nod toward his clothes, trying to keep things light, teasing even.

Glancing down at himself, a crease appears between his brows, and in one swoop, he gathers all the bags with a single hand. “I’m supposed to meet Wade at a bar, but he’ll survive without me.”

“Logan, you don’t—”

But he’s already moving, one hand tugging you out of the elevator, the other gesturing toward your apartment.

“Not up for debate,” he mutters. Then, without waiting for permission, he holds out his hand. “Keys.”

Sighing, you dig into your pocket and drop them into his open palm. He unlocks the door with practiced ease, stepping inside and placing the bags on your kitchen counter.

As he starts to unpack them, you stop him. “You really don’t need to do that.”

That seems to catch his attention. He pauses, turning toward you with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the counter.

His unrelenting stare sizes you up, and he cocks his head to the side. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

He thinks he’s so discreet, so smooth. “Well, I’ve been busy,” you explain, fiddling with the frayed edge of your sweater, tugging at it like it might unravel your nerves.

You hear him click his tongue. “Been busy too.” His words hang in the air, thickening the atmosphere. Your body tenses, and you stare at his shoes, until— “Sweetheart,” he calls you softly, and your eyes snap shut for a moment, your chin almost pressing against your chest. “My eyes are up here.”

A quick flutter of your lashes brings you back to him, and your chest tightens with the effort it takes to look into his eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you ask, praying he’ll let this go.

You watch as his mouth twitches with something halfway between a smile and a smirk. “You already want me to leave?”

“If you have plans, then yeah.”

He huffs out a laugh, inhaling a shallow breath like you’ve missed something obvious. “Wade can wait. He’ll be fine.” His expression shifts, and the playful tone in his voice falls away, replaced by something more raw. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You can’t help but snort. “Oh, please. Like you haven’t been doing the same.” You walk over to the couch, feeling your legs wobble beneath you. You collapse into one corner, hoping the distance will help you breathe.

Like a shadow, Logan follows after you, sitting far too close. His legs splay wide, so wide they’re almost grazing yours.

“At least I have a reason for it. What about you?” His hand reaches out, fingers closing around yours in a grip that’s both firm and gentle, enhancing your anxiety. Your throat tightens, the room shrinking around you. “I need you to tell me I’m not crazy,” he says, his voice rough and low. “I need you to tell me you feel it too.”

Panic flares in your chest, and you scramble for time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, but your voice cracks, the uncertainty leaking through the cracks in your bravado.

He doesn’t buy your acting. “You do. We can’t keep playing dumb. You’re gonna make me lose my fuckin’ mind one of these days.”

It’s not just his words—it’s the way he stands so close, heat radiating from his body, the roughness of his hand gripping yours like he’s terrified you’ll slip away.

The intensity of it all weighs on you in ways you can’t even begin to describe, leaving you breathless, caught between denial and desire.

“Logan, this isn’t—”

“What? Okay?” There’s a glimpse of mirthlessness in his tone as he speaks, his forehead furrowing. “I can’t stay away from you, don’t you see it? It feels too good to be wrong,” he utters, inching forward. You know you should take a step back, tell him to stop. Nothing good can come from this. “It takes two to feel these things. It can’t be just me.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to give in.” Blood pounds in your ears, your pulse racing as your heart hammers unpleasantly. Little shivers of ice run through your spine, and yet, your stomach burns with desire.

More than ever, you feel yourself slipping, your sanity at risk.

Logan runs his eyes up and down your face, agitated, almost going cross-eyed. “Earlier you asked if I was going on a date. Would you like that? Me being with other people? Kissing another woman?” His hot breath caresses your cheek, and you avert your gaze momentarily. “Answer me.”

Don’t do it. For the love of God, don’t. “I can’t—I don’t—”

“Come on, baby.”

“I don’t want you to be with other people,” you mumble, your lips almost grazing his, and that’s all he needs to grip your chin and pull you into a kiss.

His mouth moves hungrily over yours, pushing you back until the armrest digs into your lower back. A choked whimper gets lost in your throat, and you bring him closer by grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket, your chest pressing against his.

Logan bites down on your lip, soothing the sting with his tongue, and the moan you let out reverberates in the apartment.

“This is what you were hiding from me?” he rasps, his forehead bumping against yours. “These sweet sounds you make?”

You end up perched in his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips. He’s hard beneath you, and as you shift, your center makes contact with his erection through the layers of fabric.

Both of you sigh into each other’s mouths, your hips moving on their own accord, rocking slightly against his clothed cock. He hooks one of his arms around your waist, guiding your movements.

Everything seems to fall into place. Outside your window, birds chirp. The world feels lighter, like a better place. The beast inside you quiets, and for once, your mind is blissfully blank.

Logic? Error 404—not found.

You tug at his hair, and Logan growls, breaking the kiss. “Do that again.” He jerks under your touch, bucking up into you. Encouraged, you pull his hair again, fingers wrapping around a strand at the nape of his neck, and you’re rewarded with a deep groan.

He’s dizzy for it, but you’re no better, not when he trails his kisses down your neck, his mouth latching onto your skin, tasting the sweat and salt.

“I can’t control myself around you,” he murmurs, groping your tits, and you wail, the ache between your legs becoming intolerable. His hands slip under your sweater, caressing the scars on your back.

That’s when recognition settles over you.

What are you doing? And why are you doing it?

He ceases sucking your flesh when you go rigid on top of him. Pecking your lips once again, Logan’s hands cradle your face, his thumbs rubbing circles on your cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t understand how he does it, how he can remain so calm. Doesn’t he realize the gravity of this? “We have to stop.”

“Why?”

“Don’t ask me something you already know the answer to.”

His arms drop to his sides, releasing you from his hold. You push yourself off him, away from the couch, putting as much distance between you as you can.

Pressing your palms to your eyes, you shake your head. “God, I’m stupid. This is stupid.”

Your reaction seems to get on his nerves, his frustration somehow increasing. Logan stands, towering over you. “Was it stupid when you were dry humping me?”

“Fuck you, Logan.”

“I’m not the bad guy here. You kissed me back.” He doesn’t let up, trailing behind you as you try to escape. “You want me as much as I want you.”

“Will you stop saying that?” you bark, throwing your arms in the air. Your chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. “Yeah, we like each other. So? Does that make it right? How can you just ignore how wrong this is?”

His expression hardens, anger flashing in his eyes. “Forget your idea of what's good and bad. You're just upset you can't control what you feel.”

“He’s closer than ever.”

Logan gawks at you, his voice bitter as he goes on with his rambling. “That fucker again? Don’t you ever get tired of talking about someone who you don’t even know? Because you’re certainly wearing me out.”

“You wish you were him, don’t you?” You jab your finger into his chest, feeling his heartbeat, a flutter you choose to ignore. “You want to be my soulmate.”

“Damn right I do,” he practically spits his words, narrowing his eyes at you. “But I’m not him.”

“No. You’re not.”

Everything seems to fall out of place. Outside your window, birds don’t chirp—they scream for mercy. The world doesn’t feel lighter, but heavier. The beast inside you roars back to life, restless and louder than ever, while your mind spins in chaos.

“We shouldn’t see each other anymore.” Your voice pierces through the thick silence in the room, and you swallow down the lump forming in your throat.

“If that’s what you want,” he replies, his jaw clenched tight, irritation radiating off him in waves.

“It’s what we both need.”

“Speak for yourself. I don’t have a soulmate.” His tone is biting, but you don’t miss the undercurrent of longing in his words. “But if in any other universe I do, I hope it’s you.”

Your hand turns the knob, and then he’s halfway out the door, sparing you one last glance before he turns his back to you.

No more visits. No more books. No more bruising kisses that leave you questioning your mere existence.

Let things stay as they are—it’s safer that way. You don’t want to know the reason behind this forceful need.

After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, he’ll stay holed up in Wade’s apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? You’ll forget about him. Easy-peasy.

It didn’t go well in the end.

You remember your first heartbreak—seventeen, fresh out of high school. One of your hands clutched a million dreams, and the other, a pillow soaked with your tears.

Your mother remained by your side, caressing your back, attempting to soothe the sobs that racked your body. She murmured that it’d pass, that you wouldn’t feel like this forever. You believed her then, and trusted that things would eventually be okay.

Almost ten years later, another heartbreak shouldn’t come as a surprise. By now, you thought you would’ve developed the tools to survive it. You should be able to piece yourself back together by instinct.

But life, as it turns out, has a peculiar way of catching you off guard.

Whether it’s pent-up horniness, touch-starvation, or genuine affection—it doesn't change the fact that your pseudo-relationship with Logan fell apart.

Though you’re not the one who’s suffering the most. Neither is Logan.

Wade, the third party in this tangled mess, has somehow taken it the hardest.

“I feel like a child of divorce,” he says, his head resting on your lap, eyes distant as they fixate on the peeling wallpaper. “You need to do something about that.”

“I’ll take care of it next month.”

He’s supposed to be the one supporting you, but it feels like the roles are reversed—you’re comforting him, letting him vent.

“My two favorite people now can’t even be in the same room. What are we gonna do for Christmas? New Year's Eve?” Straightening up, he grabs the nearest cushion and buries his face into it to muffle a defeated scream. “Damn it, Cupid! You had one job!”

All in all, Wade’s emotionally unavailable at the moment, grieving your separation from Logan as if it were his own loss, too caught up in his melodrama to be of any real help.

Meanwhile, you fill your days with work, books, anything to keep your mind occupied.

You go to bed too late, you wake up too early. Sleep too little, cry too much.

One thing stays constant—you and Logan don’t talk. Stolen glances in the hallway, awkward elevator rides—those are the only remnants of whatever you once were. Back to being strangers again.

Well, not really. Strangers don’t know the route to your mouth the way he does.

The ache lingers every day. Missing him when you’re awake is a common occurrence. At night, as you toss and turn beneath the sheets, he stars in your dreams. You can’t recall the last time he wasn’t lodged in your thoughts.

Where there used to be ideas, creativity, and plots worth scribbling down, there’s now only Logan—a man destined to problematize your stay on earth.

That fucker again? Don’t you ever get tired of talking about someone who you don’t even know? Because you’re certainly wearing me out.

And yet, despite all of it, you continue to prioritize someone else. Someone who isn’t even here. Clung to the idea of a soulmate, you chose him over Logan.

What did he expect? For you to abandon your principles, your belief in destiny? It’s who you are. Nearly thirty years of life guided by one belief can’t just be discarded like trash.

You liked to separate things into categories: good and bad, right and wrong. A simple method to structure everything, to make sense of your world, and it has worked most of the time.

But now? The limits of those sacred categories look blurred. Your judgment feels unreliable, and you wonder if the choices you’ve made lately have been the correct ones.

Each of your decisions seems to be leading you further down a path you can’t recognize.

What’s the goal? Finding your soulmate, the voice in your head mockingly answers for the hundredth time, rolling its imaginary eyes. And where is he?

You’ve shut Logan out, a man who’s made it clear he has feelings for you, for this elusive person. Isn’t it time he steps into the light at long last?

This is what you fear the most: loneliness.

You don’t want to be the lone woman who sits by herself in a cafe, drawing pity from waitresses who discuss her solitude. By no means do you wish to be that friend who dispenses wise dating advice, but goes home to an empty bed. You refuse to become the godmother whose hand no one holds when her time comes.

No, this can’t be all fate has to offer to you. There must be more. If your life were a book, you’d be flipping through the pages to the last chapter, desperate to see how it ends.

Or, better yet, you’d grab a pen and rewrite it yourself. What kind of ending you’ll have—you’re not so sure about that.

It’s Sunday, one of those endless weekends where the only way to survive is by rearranging your entire apartment. You could manage it alone, but help would be nice—Wade’s help, to be more precise, would be perfect for this kind of task, and you find yourself knocking on his door.

No answer. Deciding to dial his number to see if he’s fallen asleep, you try calling him, waiting through the rings until he finally picks up. “Hey.”

Except it’s not Wade’s voice that answers. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

The door swings open, and Logan appears right behind it, holding Wade’s phone to his ear.

He narrows his eyes, leaning against the frame, a single eyebrow lifted in curiosity. “How sad. You don’t remember what I sound like.”

You feel foolish for still being on the call, so you lock your phone, ending it. “Where’s Wade?” you ask, frowning as you hold your breath, your voice sharper than intended.

“Out and about. Didn’t tell me where he was going,” Logan replies, glaring at you as he raises the phone to your face. “He left without this.”

Abort mission! Nodding in agreement, you begin to step back. “Great, I’ll look for him later.”

You’re close to being locked up once again in the safety of your apartment when you hear him: “You need anything?”

It’s the most he’s said to you in weeks. You hesitate, keeping your back turned. “I’m moving some heavy stuff around. Thought I could use the help.”

“I could do it.”

No. Not really. He’s doing that thing again—offering help when you know you shouldn’t accept it. You shake your head.

“It’s not necessary,” you say, forcing a casual tone.

“Doesn’t have to mean anything,” he retorts, his footsteps heavy and deliberate as they draw closer. With each passing second, your options shrink, leaving you no room for retreat. “Don’t worry. I won’t try to kiss you again if that’s what’s got you all worked up.”

“I’m not worked up,” you hiss, and he sidesteps you easily, his arm nudging yours.

The electricity is still there, undeniable, but neither of you has the courage to acknowledge it, acting as though it’s an ordinary occurrence.

His eyes roam the room, like he’s forgotten what your apartment looked like. He pauses by the bookshelf, his fingers gliding over the spine of Jane Eyre, and a low whistle escapes him as he slips it back into place.

You, frozen at the threshold, feel your irritation simmering just beneath the surface, and the urge to hide in your bedroom only becomes stronger.

After this, you’ll have to burn your favorite book. What a pity.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, hooking his fingers into the loops of his jeans, his posture both confident and annoyingly relaxed.

There’s a challenge in his tone, and he acts as if you’re the one who pulled him into this situation—like he didn’t worm his way in here.

You gesture toward the couch. “Can you put it by the window?”

He sets to work, moving the smaller pieces of furniture aside to make space for the couch. Under no circumstances are you going to just stand there and watch him sweat.

Instead, you busy yourself with the long-forgotten glasses and cups gathering dust in one of the kitchen cabinets, each one glinting with past disappointments.

Wetting a towel, you start by wiping the rims. The air feels heavily charged with uneasiness, but you're relieved that for once, you can breathe without feeling like you’re on the brink of a heart attack.

You can already imagine Wade’s face when you tell him—

“So,” Logan’s voice cuts through the silence, startling you, “how’s the search going? Got any luck?”

His words have the desired effect on you, and the glass slips from your grasp, shattering against the floor in a crash that mirrors the jump of your heart. You curse under your breath, stepping back from the mess, taking in the shards sprawled around your shoes.

“Be careful,” he says from the other side of the room, still dragging the furniture into place, and you scrutinize him over your shoulder, your brows knitted.

“I don’t need your advice,” you murmur through gritted teeth as you crouch to pick up the larger shards. His attention returns to the couch, but you guess he’s not technically thinking how nice of a person you are.

As you kneel, your hands tremble slightly, and you wonder when that started. You fumble for a larger shard of glass, bracing your hand against the floor for balance, unaware of the smaller piece lying dangerously close to your fingers.

The sting comes fast, slicing through the skin of your pinky. You flinch, raising your hand, and Logan, hearing the faint wince, abandons his task and crosses the room to you.

"I don’t need your advice," he echoes, mocking your tone as he squats beside you, his hand closing around yours to inspect the wound. "You’re bleeding."

“Brilliant observation, Sherlock. I hadn’t noticed—” The words die in your throat, your eyes widening as you take a closer look at his hand. “Wait, why are you bleeding?”

He snorts, diverting his attention to his own hand. “What do you mean I’m—” Whatever it is he intended to shoot back remains unsaid as both of you stare down at the small cut in his pinky.

Driven by instinct, you place your hands side by side, your finger grazing his. The cuts are identical: same place, same width, same depth. The only difference is his vanishes within seconds, leaving only a few droplets of crimson blood as evidence.

Logan couldn’t have cut himself. He was nowhere near the glass. “Are you…?” You swallow thickly, trying to string together a coherent thought, dizziness making its triumphant appearance. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yes.”

“And what is that—”

“I need a drink.”

“Can you stop acting like a dick for one second?” You peer into his glossy eyes, watching him try to avoid your gaze, though he can’t seem to resist. “Please, Logan. Look at me.”

When he does, his mouth parts as if to speak, then closes again. “I don’t understand. I thought I didn’t have a soulmate.” His gruff tone slows even further, like he's straining to push the words from his lungs. “I thought—I thought I was alone.”

It explains so much: how your scars had reappeared once he and Wade returned from The Void.

The instant attraction, the yearning to be near him.

The dread that washed over you each time he walked away.

The dreams that plagued your nights, and the tightness in your chest these past few weeks that made you wonder if you could ever coexist in the same space as him without breaking apart.

All those times you felt he was getting closer weren’t just a figment of your imagination—he was, in fact, right there.

But he wasn’t just anyone—it was him. Logan is your soulmate. You two are meant to be together. How long would it take for you to truly believe it? Until it no longer sounded like something too good to be true?

Without uttering a sound, Logan gazes at you, silently pleading to see them. To see your scars. You extend your arm, and with a gentle motion, he rolls up the sleeve of your shirt, revealing the marks etched into your skin.

He runs his fingers along the lines, trying to understand the bond you now share—both his and yours.

In a sense, you’re his. You carry his scars, the physical manifestation of the life he has lived. Even though he may not bear any of his own, you do, and that’s more than enough.

He belongs to you just as much as you belong to him.

“There are more,” you tell him. your voice barely above a whisper. He stands, offering you his hand, and you take it, rising to your feet. Logan inches closer, his mouth hovering just above yours, his large hand coming up to cup your cheek.

The look he gives you is one reserved for those he loves, a look filled with such warmth and affection that it almost feels dreamlike.

“Do you want me to see them?” he inquires, and all he needs is a nod from you to gently tug your shirt up your chest and over your head.

He lets out a dry chuckle when you attempt to tame your hair, the effort proving to be in vain. The clock on the wall seems to pause its ticking the moment his fingers begin to trail each of the scars that captures his gaze.

You can’t even begin to fathom what thoughts might be swirling in his mind, but if the flicker of lust and desire you catch in his expression is anything to go by, you’re not so worried.

Logan’s touch carries an unexpected softness, a tenderness you never imagined a man like him could possess.

Deep down, you wish he understood that these scars don’t hurt, that they never have. “I’m okay,” you reassure him, prompting him to explore more of your skin, to claim you as his.

“Do you… like them?” he asks without meeting your eyes.

Do you like my scars? is the real question hidden underneath.

Do you like me? is the one he can’t bring himself to pronounce.

“They’re yours. I could never not like them.”

Before you stands a man you once believed was meant to be your burden, your trial. Logan had been the earthquake sent to test your endurance, to see how much you could withstand before surrendering and waving the white flag.

The same fingers that once imprinted his mark on you now linger on the strap of your bra, waiting for you to decide whether to let him go further or stop.

Desire has a limit before it overwhelms. There’s only so much need a person can contain before it spills over, uncontrollable and raw.

This game, one you never learned how to play, feels as foreign to him as it does to you—neither of you knows the rules.

“Can I see more?” He’s still talking about the scars, still fumbling with the strap, and you nod, your eyelids growing droopier as you take his free hand and direct it to the front of your jeans.

He catches the hint, undoing the button with ease, allowing you to shed the last layers of restraint.

Bare, moments away from being completely naked, standing in stark contrast to Logan, who remains fully clothed, your stomach does a flip as he rubs his thumb along the sides of your underwear.

Leaning your forehead against his shoulder, you stifle a sigh when he splays his hand across your lower back, pulling you closer.

His rough grip tightens on your ass, testing the feel of you, while your breathing becomes shallow, erratic.

“What is it, honey?” He slides his fingers your stomach, just below your belly button, brushing a small scar in there. “Want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” you croak, the plea slipping out involuntarily, throwing your arms around his neck. He buries his face against your jaw, his lips parting against your skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck.

You tilt your head back, exposing more of your throat to him, breathless as you whisper: “I’ve waited so long.”

He moves toward the couch, and you follow, trying to anticipate what he’s got planned for you. “I know, baby. I know. You’ve waited long enough.” Guiding your body down, he has you lying horizontally on the sofa. He unhooks your bra, kneading your breasts with both hands, eliciting a ragged gasp from you. “But I’m here now. You don’t have to wait any longer,” he huffs by your ear, rolling your nipples between his fingers, his breath mingling with yours, each exhale warm and inviting. “Gonna let me make you feel good? Show you how much I’ve been thinkin’ about you?”

Instead of answering with real words, you surge forward, crashing your lips against with his, reveling in the way he cages you with his biceps, locking you up in a prison of desire from which you never wish to break free. He tries not to settle his full weight on top of you, attentive not to crush you.

As he nips at the column of your throat, you squirm beneath him, canting your hips up to seek the friction you crave.

He presses his knee against your center and you push back, grinding against him with an animalistic urgency.

You can’t recall ever feeling this desperate, this overwhelmed by a man. But then again, he’s unlike any other you’ve encountered in your array of momentary hookups.

His kisses grow even more insistent as breathy moans roll off to your tongue, merging with the occasional creak of the couch beneath your movements.

Logan spreads your thighs wider, sinking to his knees on the floor to tug your lower half forward until your ass is almost hanging in the air. He places your thighs on his shoulders, supporting you as he leans in to pepper your soft flesh with kisses.

One can be certain that he’s marking your inner thighs with a hickey or two, the scratch of his beard feeling magnificent against your sensitive skin, and you can hardly bring yourself to think about the potential burn he’ll leave behind. Logan inhales your scent, the tip of his nose dangerously close to your cunt, and you tangle a hand in his hair as he continues to test your patience.

“Eager?” he wonders aloud, looking at you through his lashes. While maintaining eye contact, he presses a kiss to your clit through the fabric of your panties.

He does it again, and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, his fingers deftly pulling your underwear down your legs.

The first drag of his tongue along your folds has you scrunching your eyebrows in pleasure, tightening your grip on his hair. Logan moans against you, the sound muffled as he dips the tip of his tongue into your entrance, lapping at your arousal with an insatiable hunger.

The way you purr his name—a soft caress, a pat on his back that says Yeah, you’re doing fine—only spurs him on, infusing every one of his ministrations with fervor.

His longing for you radiates in the intensity of his touch, sending shivers through you, making you writhe because of his hands alone.

Your core throbs. Your skin prickles with electricity. Your legs quake on either side of his face. He’s hungry and you’re his feast. He’s parched and you’re the last bottle of water in an arid world.

Logan eats you out like this will be the only time he’ll have the privilege—each movement calculated, pushing all the right buttons, pulling out every trick he knows to make you think No, it doesn’t get any better than this. This is as much as one can get.

Then his fingers join the symphony of pleasure, pumping in and out of you as he keeps flicking your clit with expert precision, and your back arches from the couch, following his pace with your hips. He pushes back, you push forward—he pushes forward, you push back.

Who is enjoying this more: him or you?

His pointed tongue teases your bud, matched with the persistent hammering of his fingers plunged into your wet heat. The combination has you coming on his mouth, falling over the precipice while you struggle to keep yourself together.

Your walls flutter around his digits, and your cries fuse with his groans, both overshadowed by his insatiable desire to savor until the last drop of your release.

Shockwaves ripple through your body and you prop your weight on your arms to capture his lips in a fervent kiss, your eyes rolling rolling back in ecstasy as you taste yourself, a mix of sour and sweet.

In a frenzy, he sheds his clothes, practically tearing them away, and you wrap your hand around his length, stroking him in time with your kisses. Logan pulls back, panting against you, and you steal a glance at him.

Your gaze travels down to his hard cock, the tip a furious red, and he seizes your wrist.

“Why don’t you kiss it better?” he rasps, his voice dropping an octave. In this moment, you’re taken aback by his beauty, and the urge to express it rises within you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur against his thigh, showering his skin with heated kisses. You stare in disbelief at the trail of hair leading to his girth, mouth watering at the sight.

A kiss on the tip, followed by a broad lick along a prominent vein—Logan’s grip on the armrest tightens, his knuckles turning white. “So perfect.”

“Shut up,” he retorts breathlessly, but you revel in the strangled noise that escapes him as you take him deeper, his head disappearing between your lips. His palm rests on your nape, anchoring you in place. “Goddammit. The fuckin’—mouth you have on you.”

You try to take him in further once you’re feeling more confident, while Logan fights with all his might against the need to thrust his hips up into your warmth. He can’t stay still, grunting and smothering you with lavish praise that heightens your arousal, slick pouring out of you in waves.

“Pretty thing you are. Don’t even know how to function around you. You got me all—fuck, actin’ all stupid.”

At one point, he tells you to stop, because he doesn’t want to come just yet. You know what comes next as he rubs his cock along your folds, blending your wetness with his precum.

It’s sloppy, and dirty, and messy—and God, do you love it.

He sinks into you and the world collides in a way you never expected. Everything you thought you knew falls apart, leaving you stranded in unfamiliar territory.

You can’t comprehend how you’ve spent so many years without him. Without this.

Your lips find his, and he swallows every sound he punches out of your lungs. His thrusts grow harder and faster as you adjust to his size, how big he feels inside you.

He digs his fingers into the globes of your ass, yanking you towards his shaft every time he fucks into you. You feel the brush of his balls against your skin, the way his muscles flex beneath your touch.

To this day, it’s still hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that love is what humans both strive and die for.

You come to understand it fully as his eyes flicker to yours, checking for any signs of discomfort in your features.

You understand why people write books and songs about love when he breathes your name in the shell of your ear, chanting how good you’re taking him, how tight and wet you are for him.

You understand the place love occupies in your life as the sound of your bodies slapping together creates a melody which has never been played before.

You understand why you’ve searched for this your entire life, lifting every carpet in hopes of uncovering the love you’ve pined for.

In the past, it had always felt like a race—finding your soulmate before the clock struck twelve. Now that you have him, you wonder what the future holds for you, how this connection will evolve.

For now, you can allow yourself the possibility of relishing the drag of his cock in your interior. His pace doesn’t falter for a second—something about mutants and their non-stop stamina, no doubt. He shoves a hand between your sweaty bodies, rubbing circles on your already swollen bud.

Each time he fills you to the brim, you have to ground yourself, resisting the pull of an altered reality.

“So full,” you blurt out, mewling with a specially hard thrust, a chocked sob lodged in your throat. “Please, stay.”

It could mean many things: Please, keep fucking me. Please, don’t leave after this. Please, remain by my side form this moment onward, because I don’t know how to go on with my life now that I’ve experienced this closeness.

Whatever meaning he ascribes to your words is of little importance. He tightens his arms around you, kissing you deeply, tongue and teeth clashing as they compete to see who wins the battle. “Never. I’m never lettin’ you go, y’hear me?”

Heat pools in your lower back, a coiling tension radiating through your limbs. “You’re mine, princess. Can’t afford to lose you now that I found you. Gonna remind you every day.”

His rambling pushes you over the edge, your dripping cunt spasming around him as you reach your climax, moaning his name against his shoulder. You cling to him, convulsing beneath his body, and he grinds his hips into yours, his chest rumbling as he growls.

“Inside,” you mumble, extending your hand to press it to his waist. “Need you inside me. Please, I want it so bad.”

Logan stutters against you, his forehead falling against your collarbone as he finishes with one powerful thrust, his cock pulsing warm ropes of come within your cunt. You clench around him, whining as he prolongs both your pleasure and his, milking the last drop of his seed. His voice is a constant murmur, filling every space in the room until he slumps against you.

Night has fallen. The cut on your pinky no longer stings. Your scars, after all, are still there, nestled against Logan’s unmarked skin. You caress his back, sighing contentedly as a wave of peace washes over you.

You’ve never felt this relaxed.

Logan grasps your chin and tilts it up, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips. “Hey,” he mutters, his gaze roaming all over your face.

You cup his cheek, his rough stubble grazing your palm. “Hey, stranger. Long time no see.”

A genuine laugh pierces through the silence. the kind he rarely allows himself. Crinkles form at the corners of his eyes, his brow furrowing as he glances at you with love.

Love—hadn’t you pondered its existence for so long? Your fuel for living, the muse behind your best poems, a recurring motif in your fantasies.

Love now has Logan’s name written in ink, no longer a blank canvas awaiting its unknown owner. No—it’s all his now.

You’d do it all over again if it meant ending up like this, tangled and intertwined, with the promise of a future together. He has many stories to share—about his past universe, about himself. You have secrets to unveil, too. There’s so much you both have yet to discover about each other.

But time isn’t up. This isn’t a race, you remind yourself: things are just getting started.

Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is. Love is dressed up in an expensive silk robe, a ribbon tied neatly on top of it. You reach closer, trying to unravel it, though it's pointless. The moment love sees you—truly sees your longing for it—it flees, and you struggle to keep up. Love runs faster than anyone, hiding within the bushes, counting the seconds until its next appearance.

Finally, you’ve wrapped love around your finger.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

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