#what can i pull off today x3

[bigfatbreak]

I mean this in the kindest, most respectful way, but how the fuck have survived on this earth for so long?

there's no noun there so I assume u mean me, and the short answer is: willpower, spite, luck, and having a family who's ALSO made of wet eggnoodles so we look out for each other

the long answer is: my sister is legitimately disabled while I'm just chronically ill (like, I can still function in public 85% of the time with medication and carefully planned movesets lol) so as a result she knows a shit ton abt medication and the effects therein. I work fulltime so she doesn't have to subject her fragile immune system to an uncaring public, and I get a cool roommate who knows if my head is fucking exploding. I also work fulltime WITH my other sister who has less issues than either of us, so she carries some of the brunt when my roomie-sis and I are down for the count. its a complex balancing act between family members, essentially.

this is they!

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch24

*.°* pairing : pre!military jk x waitress/ secret fuckbuddy reader

"For good service, and cute waitresses."

warnings: smut, alc consumption, fluff, profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idolljungkook, mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity, fluff at the start!! they kiss eachother w lipstick and take pics. but turns sad real quick lol

smut warnings: unprotected sex, they both cry during it, “please dont leave me”, he tries dirty talking mid way and realises thats not what u need, no prep lol, riding, sideways fucking, missionary, aftercare, kissing, its sad but still filthy, oral f receiving, forced eye contact.

wc: longggg

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

*.°* taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020 @rayyrayy10 @elinaki92 @alana4610 @bjoriis @kaitieskidmore97 @cuntessaiii @lovingkoalaface @bigsteppagangsterizzie @hangescn @angie-x3

masterlist | < prev, next >

The diner is buzzing today, but you barely hear it.

The hum of conversation, the clatter of plates, the distant sizzle of something frying in the kitchen—it’s all just background noise to the thoughts spinning in your head.

Jungkook rushed out of Nari’s apartment hours ago, muttering something about a last-minute meeting, and you haven’t heard from him since. Not that it’s weird—he’s insanely busy these days, and you’re trying really hard not to let that little fact ruin your mood.

But there’s only three days left.

Three.

When Jungkook told you he had a week left, you didn’t think he meant he was leaving on Friday.

Friday.

And it’s already Tuesday.

And it’s like time is slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you try to hold onto it.

You push through your shift, doing your best to keep up with Nari’s usual antics—she’s thriving off your distracted state, making fun of you for staring into space one too many times—but it’s all so much.

Before you know it, the shift is over.

Nari drops you home, pulling up outside your apartment with a tired sigh. “You okay?” she asks, even though she knows the answer.

You nod. “Yeah.”

She squints at you. “Liar.”

You sniff, and she groans, already regretting asking. “Go call your stupid boyfriend.” She teases.

“He’s not my—”

“Shut up, yes, he is.”

You roll your eyes, shoving her playfully before stepping out of the car. And the second you’re inside, you call Jungkook.

It only rings twice before he picks up. “Hey, baby.”

The sound of his voice makes your heart ache. “I miss you.”

A pause. Then a quiet sigh. “I know. I miss you, too.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying so hard to keep your voice steady. “I can’t believe it’s so soon.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry—”

“No, don’t be sorry,” you say quickly. “It’s just… I don’t know. Are you free right now?”

There’s a pause. “Right now?”

“Yeah, now.”

“Shit, baby, I wish—” He sighs again. “I have to be up early tomorrow. I’m seeing my family all day, so I don’t think—”

“You’re not gonna see me tomorrow?”

Jungkook hesitates. “I can drop by in the morning—”

And then— You wail.

Like, full-on dramatic sobbing.

“Noooooo,” you cry, clutching your pillow for emotional support. “Please, don’t gooo, please, Jungkook, I can’t do this—”

“What the fuck—” Jungkook panics. “Baby, stop—”

“Jungkook, I’m gonna diiiieeee,” you wail louder, rolling onto your back. “I can’t live without you for one night, pleaseee—”

“Oh, my fucking—”

“Jungkooooooook—”

“Fine!” he finally yells, defeated. “ Fine, fine, I’ll come, but only for a few hours, stop crying baby I-!”

You immediately stop sniffling. “Really?”

Jungkook squints at his phone. Suspicious.

“Yes, really, but I swear to god, if I show up and you’re asleep, I’ll kill you.”

You beam, wiping your totally fake tears. “Okay, hurry up.”

But then—guilt.

“Oh my god, wait, you don’t have to,” you say quickly. “I’m sorry, you’re probably exhausted, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s fine,” Jungkook interrupts. “Really. I wanna see you anyway. But seriously. Only a few hours, okay?”

“Okay, okay, I promise.”

You don’t.

But he doesn’t have to know that.

Just like you predicted, when Jungkook finally shows up, he looks exhausted.

His eyes are heavy, his shoulders slouched, and the second he steps inside, he lets out a long breath like he’s been waiting all day to finally be here.

And suddenly, you feel so guilty. “I’m sorry,” you say immediately, suddenly feeling small as you stand there in your hoodie. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No, stop,” Jungkook interrupts, shaking his head as he pulls you in. His arms wrap tight around you, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deep. “I love you, okay? We don’t have much time left, so I’m making the most of it.”

You soften. “Okay.”

“Let’s forget about it for now,” he murmurs against your skin before pulling back. “I’m only staying till twelve, so, three hours.”

You pout, already feeling the time slipping away. “That’s not enough.”

Jungkook sighs, brushing his fingers down your cheek. “I’ll stop by in the morning if you really want me to.”

Your eyes widen. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

You hold out your pinky, and Jungkook huffs a laugh before linking his with yours, pressing a kiss to the side of your hand for good measure.

And with that, you both settle into your bedroom, climbing onto your bed like it’s just another normal night. You talk about everything and nothing at the same time, just enjoying each other’s presence, fingers tangled together on the sheets.

At some point, you get curious. “So, what do you think you’ll get up to in the military?”

Jungkook hums, shifting onto his side to look at you. “I don’t know. I’m definitely not excited, but I guess it’ll be nice to have a break.”

You nod, listening intently as he sighs. “Unfortunately, I can’t be in one of the fancier units, though.”

“Why?”

“Visible tattoos,” he shrugs. “You can’t enlist in certain sectors if you have them. I’ll probably end up in something boring.”

Your brows furrow. “Wait—does that mean you’ll still be working out?”

Jungkook gives you a look. “Why do you sound excited?”

You sit up slightly. “Does this mean you’ll get bigger?”

He squints. “Maybe. Yes. I don’t know—do you want me to?”

Your entire face lights up. “Yes, oh my god, yes—” You bounce on the bed, grinning. “Please!”

Jungkook laughs, grabbing your wrists to stop you from shaking the bed. “I’m already big!”

“But imagine— bigger!”

Jungkook groans, flopping onto his back dramatically. “Why do I feel like you’re gonna make me send you muscle updates when I’m there?”

“Oh, I am,” you confirm, grinning. “Get ready for me to demand flexing videos every week.”

He rolls over, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you down until you’re nose to nose. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters.

You grin.

A few minutes later, you’re perched on Jungkook’s lap, lips fused to his, hands in his hair, completely lost in him. It’s like you can’t help it—like there’s this unspoken rule now that you have to touch him, kiss him, hold onto him as much as possible while you still can.

Jungkook clearly has the same thought, because the second you try pulling back, he’s tugging you right back in, hands firm on your hips.

But you just giggle, pushing at his chest. “No, wait. I have an idea.”

Jungkook groans dramatically, head falling back against the headboard. “Baby, c’mon—”

You ignore him, scrambling for your nightstand until your fingers close around a tube of lipstick.

Jungkook eyes you warily. “What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, you pop the cap off and swipe the color across your lips. Then, before he can react, you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. Then another. And another.

“Y/N—!” He squirms, laughing as you attack his face, leaving imprints of your lips across his skin. “Stop, that tickles!”

“No,” you say simply, completely unbothered. “You’re cute.”

“Stop calling me cute.”

“You are cute.”

Jungkook groans in defeat, letting you assault his face with kisses while his hands absentmindedly squeeze at your waist.

You grab your Polaroid camera and snap a picture before he can react.

“Hey—!”

Too late. You’re already shaking it, grinning down at the image of his completely kiss-covered face. “Oh, this is going on the wall.”

Jungkook watches as you add it right next to the first-ever picture you took of him—the one where he was buried under your plushies.

The little collection is growing.

You turn back to him. “Okay, take your shirt off.”

Jungkook perks up. “Oh?” He doesn’t hesitate, tugging it over his head in one smooth motion.

You beam. “Good.” Then, you lean down and repeat the process—pressing kisses along his collarbones, his chest, each of his abs—until he’s laughing, trying to twist away from the ticklish sensation.

“Baby—stop, I can’t—”

“Nope.” You snap another picture of him, now covered in even more lipstick stains. “I win.”

Jungkook watches as you struggle to find more space on the wall, eventually just sticking them in random spots. One even goes into your phone case.

“You’re insane,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“You love it.”

He hums, and then, suddenly, “My turn.”

You blink. “What? No—”

Too late. He grabs the lipstick from your hand, rolling you onto your back in one swift motion. “Stay still,” he murmurs, straddling your waist.

“Jungkook—”

“Shhh,” he hushes you, uncapping the lipstick. His touch is slow, careful as he smears the color across his lips. His fingers linger against your jaw, his eyes heavy-lidded as he takes you in.

You’re blushing, gripping at his arm for support.

Compared to how frantic you were before, Jungkook is slow.

Painfully, teasingly slow.

And when he finally leans down, he starts his attack—pressing deliberate kisses all over your cheeks, your jaw, your collarbone, your neck—taking his sweet time.

You squirm, flustered, but he just smirks. “What? You don’t like it when it’s you?”

You grab a pillow and whack him with it.

Jungkook cackles, reaching for your camera. “How do I use this thing?”

You scoff. “Oh, so you’re not a camera expert anymore?”

“I don’t know how to use your kiddie camera.”

You gasp, offended. “It’s not a kiddie camera! It’s a Polaroid, for your information.”

Jungkook grins. “I know how to use it—I just wanted you to teach me.”

You roll your eyes, guiding his hands over the camera. “Like this.”

Jungkook snaps a bunch of pictures of you, grinning at the results. But instead of giving them to you, he tucks a few into his pocket.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“I’m keeping them.”

You pause, realizing. “Will you look at them when you’re gone?”

He shrugs, smiling softly. “Maybe.”

The mood shifts. You’re both curled up in bed now, Jungkook holding you close, rubbing small circles on your back. You feel him shift, checking the time.

“Babe, I have to leave soon.”

You tense. “I know.”

And then it hits you again.

An hour left until he has to go.

Three days left until he’s gone for real.

Jungkook knows you’re thinking about it—he sees it in your face. So he tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I promise I’ll come by tomorrow.”

You nod. “I know.”

“I’ll text you. I’ll update you about everything.”

“You don’t have to,” you murmur. “I know you’ll miss your family, too.”

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah. I will.”

And then you realize—it’s not just you he’s leaving.

It’s his family. His members. His fans.

It’s everyone.

And suddenly, you feel selfish.

Jungkook notices the shift in you immediately, his hand finding your cheek. “Hey. You’re okay. I promise.”

You don’t answer. But you do let yourself relax into him, nuzzling into his chest, letting his heartbeat soothe you. Eventually, you drift off—still covered in his kisses.

Jungkook waits until you’re fully asleep before gently rummaging through your nightstand, looking for wipes. He knows what it’s like to fall asleep with makeup on—it always makes him feel gross in the morning—so he carefully cleans the lipstick off your skin, making sure to be gentle as you unconsciously nuzzle into his touch.

When he’s done, he presses a kiss to your forehead. Then another. And another.

He doesn’t want to leave.

Not now. Not in three days.

He debates staying, but then you stir, your brows furrowing slightly, and he knows he can’t.

So instead, he whispers, “I love you so much.”

And even in your sleep, you mewl at the sound of it, your body immediately relaxing, like it’s enough for now.

Jungkook stands there for a moment, just watching you, before finally slipping out of bed.

He takes in the sight of your room—the little details, the chaos, the way it perfectly reflects you—and he finds himself smiling.

His eyes land on your Polaroid wall, at all the little moments captured there.

He debates taking down one of the pictures you took of him earlier, thinking he doesn’t look great in it, but in the end, he leaves it. And just before he leaves, he snaps one last picture of you—fast asleep, peaceful, his favorite sight in the world.

——

Jungkook drives home in silence.

The whole way there, his heart feels full—so much so that it’s almost enough to distract him from what’s coming. Almost.

But then, the second he steps into his apartment, the feeling changes. He goes through the motions—taking off his shoes, tossing his bag onto the couch, getting ready for bed—but it all feels too normal. Like it’s just another night. Like tomorrow won’t be another countdown to leaving.

And the second he touches his bed, it hits him all at once. The sob breaks out of him before he can even stop it. He curls in on himself, gripping his sheets, his chest aching in a way he can’t even describe.

He doesn’t want to go.

He doesn’t want to go.

And before he can even think about it, his fingers are already dialing your number.

It rings once.

Twice.

Three times. No answer.

You’re asleep.

He knows he shouldn’t wake you up, so he stops himself from calling again—but the loneliness is too much, the silence in his apartment is too loud, and before he knows it, he’s calling again.

But not you this time.

Namjoon answers on the second ring. “Hello?”

Jungkook chokes on a sob. “Hyung—”

“Jungkook? What’s wrong?”

And then it all comes out.

“I don’t want to go,” Jungkook cries, his chest heaving as he grips the phone like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His voice is raw, cracking under the weight of everything. “I don’t—I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to leave her—”

Namjoon sighs on the other end, the kind of sigh that carries years of understanding. The kind that says, I know this hurts.

“I know,” he says softly.

“I can’t do it,” Jungkook gasps, shaking his head even though Namjoon can’t see him. “I can’t—I can’t wake up tomorrow and pretend everything’s fine. It’s not fine. I just—” His voice breaks, and the silence that follows is filled with his quiet, shaking breaths.

“You have to,” Namjoon says after a beat, gentle but firm. “You knew this day would come. It’s not forever, Jungkook.”

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut. “It feels like forever.”

Namjoon hums, thoughtful. “She took you back, right?”

Jungkook nods through his tears, even though Namjoon isn’t there to see it. “Yeah.”

“Then she’ll wait for you.”

Jungkook’s throat tightens. He wants to believe that—he really does. But the fear is suffocating.

“What if she doesn’t?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. “What if she moves on? What if—” His voice cracks again, and he bites his lip hard to keep it together. “I love her. I told her, properly this time. At the beach. And she—she looked at me like I was her whole world.”

Namjoon is quiet for a moment. Then, softly, “Then trust her, Jungkook.”

Jungkook sniffles. “But what if—”

Namjoon cuts him off, echoing his words from when he’d given him advice a long time ago, “Then that’s a risk you have to take.”

Jungkook hates that answer. Because it’s not the reassurance he wants. It’s not a guarantee. But he knows Namjoon is right.

His fingers loosen around his phone, exhausted, defeated. “I watched her fall asleep earlier,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “She was just… there. So warm. So peaceful. Like she knew she was safe with me.”

Namjoon hums again, quieter this time. “And you’ll have that again. Maybe not soon. Maybe not next month. But you will.”

Jungkook swallows down another sob. “I don’t want to do this without her.”

“You’re not doing this without her,” Namjoon corrects him. “She’s still with you. And if she’s the one, she’ll still be there when you come back.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply. He just breathes, listening to Namjoon’s steady presence on the other end. It’s quiet, the only sound their breathing, and somehow, that makes it easier.

Eventually, exhaustion wins.

Jungkook drifts off, his phone still in his hand, with Namjoon still on the line

——

When Jungkook wakes up, it’s to his alarm blaring at 5 AM.

His head is heavy, his throat is dry from crying, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it—he has to meet his family soon.

Without thinking, he reaches for his phone. His fingers type out a message before he can overthink it.

Jungkook [5:07 AM]: hi baby, im coming in like an hour. do you want anything?

No response. You’re probably still asleep.

He sighs, pushing himself out of bed, rubbing at his tired eyes. Then, he hops in the shower, letting the water wash away everything from the night before. There’s still some remnants on lipstick on his chest and his abdomen and he scrubs away even if it physically hurts him to.

When he steps out, he doesn’t check his phone right away. Because if you haven’t responded yet, he’s not sure if he can handle that feeling right now. Jungkook gets in his car, barely even processing the motion of turning the keys in the ignition. His mind is elsewhere.

Two days.

Two days is nothing.

Today and tomorrow.

He exhales sharply through his nose, gripping the steering wheel a little too tight as he pulls out onto the road. He knows today is supposed to be for his family. He’s not mad about it—he misses them, and he wants to see them before he goes.

But at the same time…

He’d rather be with you.

He shakes the thought away, clicking his tongue against his teeth as he focuses on driving. Not like it matters. He still has this morning, at least.

His stomach grumbles, but instead of stopping somewhere for himself, he takes a sharp turn, heading towards a tiny, shitty food truck that he knows has just opened for the morning. The kind of place that only locals know about, nothing fancy, nothing overhyped—just good, simple food.

You’d love it.

So he pulls up without hesitation, quickly placing an order for pancakes and waiting impatiently, checking the time on his phone every other second.

5:30 AM.

He still has time. It’s not enough, but it’ll have to be. His fingers tap against his thigh as he debates his next move.

The field.

His chest clenches at the thought.

Fuck it. By the time he gets his order, he’s already made up his mind. The drive to the field is second nature at this point, muscle memory guiding him as he turns onto the small, secluded road leading there.

When he finally parks, he steps out, stretching his arms with a sigh as the cool morning air washes over him. The sun isn’t fully up yet, but there’s a soft golden glow in the distance, and for a moment, Jungkook just stands there, taking it in.

He wonders if you’re awake yet.

He wonders if you’d be mad if you knew he was here without you.

But he doesn’t dwell on it for long—he steps forward, wandering into the field, eyes scanning for the small patches of daisies that always seem to grow in the same spots.

It takes a few minutes, but he finds them, crouching down and picking a few with careful hands, letting the scent of the fresh petals fill his nose.

And then, without wasting another second, he’s back in his car, pancakes in one hand, flowers in the other, driving straight to your apartment.

Jungkook knocks, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he glances down at the bag of pancakes in his hand and the small bunch of daisies in the other.

It’s almost six now.

It takes a bit longer than usual for you to answer, and he figures you’re probably still asleep. He doesn’t mind waiting.

And then, finally—

The door creaks open, and—

Oh.

His heart clenches so hard it almost fucking hurts.

You’re standing there, still groggy with sleep, wearing a t-shirt that barely covers the tops of your thighs, your hair messy from sleep, one eye squinted shut as you rub at it lazily. You let out a soft yawn, blinking at him like you’re still processing the fact that he’s even here.

And then—

Your eyes widen, fully waking up as you beam at him, and before he can even get a word out, you reach forward, tugging him inside by the sleeve of his hoodie and wrapping your arms around him.

Jungkook barely has time to react before he’s melting into you, inhaling the faint traces of your shampoo as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

You’re so warm.

And it sucks.

It fucking sucks that he only has two days left with you.

But for now—for you, and for himself—he pretends that he’s not leaving at all.

Jungkook expects you to pull him into the kitchen like always, maybe tease him for being up so early, maybe sit across from him at the counter as you both eat.

Instead—

You take the bag from his hands, peeking inside curiously. “What’s this?”

He raises a brow. “Pancakes. And flowers. Duh.”

You smile, stepping closer to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, baby.”

His heart stutters.

But before he can say anything, you drop the bag on the counter and—

Take his hand.

And pull him toward your bedroom.

Jungkook blinks. Wait.

He’s confused for a second, expecting you to sit him down or do something—but you just stand there, looking a little sheepish, rubbing at your arm before mumbling—

“Can you just… hold me?”

His chest tightens.

For a second, all he can do is stare. And then, he tugs you in gently, leading you back to the bed without another word. You follow without hesitation, crawling under the sheets as he settles in beside you.

You snuggle into his side immediately, arms wrapped around his waist, face tucked into his chest, your breath warm against his skin. Jungkook exhales deeply, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his arms winding securely around you.

Two days.

He pretends it’s forever.

The room is quiet.

Neither of you really sleep. You just lay there, wrapped up in each other, lost in silence. Jungkook keeps his eyes on the ceiling, willing himself not to cry. He counts his breaths, focuses on the steady rhythm of your fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against his ribs. Every touch feels like a memory being burned into his skin.

He swallows.

Two days. And then, he feels it.

The slight tremble of your body against his. The way your breath starts to hitch. Jungkook’s brows furrow, and he tilts his head to look at you.

And that’s when he sees—

The tears slipping down your cheeks, soaking into his shirt.

His stomach drops.

“Baby…,” he whispers, heart clenching as he cups your cheek, trying to tilt your face toward his. “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer. You just break.

“Please don’t go,” you sob, gripping his shirt in your fists like it’s the only thing keeping you together. “Jungkook, please, don’t—please—”

His chest caves in.

“Baby,” he whispers, his own voice shaking now, his throat burning as he tries to hold it together.

But he can’t. Not when you’re begging like this.

Not when he has no choice but to leave.

He tightens his grip around you, presses his face into your hair, kisses your temple between ragged breaths.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Because what else is there to say?

You keep crying.

Jungkook just holds you tighter, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, neither of you will have to let go.

Jungkook exhales shakily, his forehead pressed against yours, his own tears mixing with yours. Your breath is uneven, your body trembling against his, and he doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to make this better.

So he kisses you.

Soft, at first. A silent plea, a desperate apology. His lips catch your cries, drinking them in like they’re the last thing he’ll ever have of you. He feels the way your hands fist into his shirt tighter, pulling him closer like you want to crawl into him, like you never want there to be space between you again.

And then you kiss him back.

It’s messy, wet from tears, but you don’t care. Your lips move against his with urgency, with something bordering on desperation, and Jungkook groans softly when you press closer, shifting in his lap, making it impossible for him to think of anything but you.

You break away for a moment, but he doesn’t let you go far. He chases after you, lips brushing yours as he breathes out, “Y/N—”

And then you’re kissing him again.

Harder, needier.

Jungkook tilts his head, deepens the kiss, one hand slipping under your shirt to press against the warm skin of your waist. His thumb traces over your hip bone, slow, teasing, grounding himself in the feel of you.

Because this—

This is what he wants to remember.

The way you taste, the way you sound when he swallows down another whimper, the way you need him like he needs you.

And when you shift again, rolling your hips against his, your hands slipping beneath his hoodie—

Jungkook loses himself completely.

Your hands tremble as they push his hoodie up, fingertips trailing over the warmth of his skin. You’re not just touching him—you’re memorizing him, pressing your palms flat against his stomach like you can carve the shape of him into your skin, like you can hold onto him in a way time won’t steal from you.

Jungkook shudders beneath your touch, a sharp breath stuttering against your lips. “Baby,” he whispers, voice wrecked, pleading, but he doesn’t know what for. For you to slow down? To never stop? To let him drown in you until he forgets he ever has to leave?

He doesn’t know.

But then you’re kissing him again—slower this time, softer. Like you’re trying to soothe the ache neither of you can put into words. Your lips are swollen, warm, and Jungkook melts into you when your fingers slide into his hair, pulling, tugging, grounding him.

His hands roam too—sweeping over your back, gripping at your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. He feels the way your body moves with his, how perfectly you fit against him, and it makes something inside him snap.

“Please,” you whisper, pressing your forehead to his. “Jungkook, please.”

And he knows what you’re asking for.

His hands shake as he peels your shirt off, as he presses reverent kisses down your throat, over your collarbones, his lips mapping out every inch of skin he can reach. His name leaves your lips in a breathless sigh when he takes one of your breasts into his mouth, his tongue slow and worshipful, hands gripping your hips like he’s trying to hold himself together.

But it’s useless.

Because you’re moving against him, rolling your hips in time with the soft sucks of his mouth, and his resolve is crumbling.

You tilt his face up, guiding him back to your lips, and when your thighs tighten around him, he knows he’s lost.

Your fingers tremble as they trace the shape of his face, committing every dip and curve to memory. The slope of his nose, the fullness of his lips, the sharp cut of his jawline. You look at him like you’ll never get to again, and the thought alone makes fresh tears sting your eyes.

Jungkook notices. Of course he does.

“Baby,” he whispers, voice thick, strained. He lifts a hand to wipe at your tears, but before he can, you’re leaning in—pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He stills beneath you.

He’s always the one giving you forehead kisses, tucking you close, making you feel safe, adored. They’re your favorite—always have been. But now, it’s you pressing one to his skin, letting your lips linger against the warmth of him, as if you can pour all your love into this one kiss.

Jungkook exhales sharply. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, like he’s trying to hold back something thick and uncontainable. But you don’t let him—don’t let him retreat into that quiet sadness.

Instead, you kiss him again. And again.

Soft, lingering presses of your lips along his temples, down to the curve of his cheekbone. Then his nose. His jaw.

“I love you,” you whisper between each kiss, voice trembling but sure. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Jungkook shatters.

His hands tighten on your waist, like he wants to pull you in, fuse you to him, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t interrupt. Just lets you continue, lets you map out every inch of his body with your mouth.

You kiss down his throat, feeling the way it vibrates as he exhales shakily, his pulse hammering against your lips. You don’t stop. Your fingers slide beneath the hem of his hoodie, peeling it away from his skin. The fabric lifts easily, exposing the smooth planes of his chest, and you waste no time pressing your mouth to the skin there, too.

His collarbones, his shoulders, the firm stretch of his arms—everywhere you can reach, you kiss. Slow, reverent. Worshipful.

By the time you’re tugging at his waistband, Jungkook is a mess beneath you—his chest rising and falling rapidly, his fingers digging into the sheets like they’re the only thing tethering him to reality.

And when you press a final, lingering kiss to the inside of his thigh, Jungkook exhales a shaky, wrecked, “Baby…”

Like he’s already breaking.

Like he doesn’t know how to survive this kind of love.

Jungkook’s hands tremble where they grip your waist, his breath ragged as you press kiss after kiss into his skin—his chest, his stomach, the sharp cut of his hip. You’re not thinking anymore, not planning. Just feeling. Memorizing.

Your fingers slide beneath his waistband, tugging. He lifts his hips instinctively, letting you strip away the last barrier between you, and you don’t waste a second. You straddle him, chest heaving, tears still streaking your cheeks as you take him in your hand, guiding him to where you need him most.

Jungkook stiffens. “Wait, baby, you need—”

You don’t let him finish.

You sink down in one motion, gasping as he fills you, as your body stretches to accommodate him, as he presses so deep it knocks the air from your lungs.

Jungkook’s head snaps back against the pillow. His mouth falls open, a choked groan breaking from his throat as his hands fly to your hips, gripping tight like he’s trying to ground himself, trying not to lose it completely.

“Fuck—” His voice is wrecked. “Baby, you—shit, you didn’t—”

You shake your head frantically, cutting him off, pressing a palm over his mouth as your whole body trembles. You don’t care. You don’t care. You just need him.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice breaking, your nails digging into his chest. “Please don’t go.”

Jungkook’s entire body tenses beneath you.

Your hand falls from his mouth, sliding up to cup his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones as you lean in. Your lips ghost over his, but you don’t kiss him. Just breathe him in, feel the warmth of his skin, the way he’s shaking from the effort of holding himself together.

“What am I gonna do without you?” Your voice cracks. A fresh wave of tears spills over, dripping onto his cheeks. “I don’t know how to be without you, Jungkook.”

His jaw clenches, his brows furrowing in raw agony. He shakes his head, like he wants to say something, like he wants to comfort you, but he can’t. Because he doesn’t know how.

Because he doesn’t know how to be without you either.

And then you move.

You roll your hips, slow, deep, and Jungkook breaks.

A strangled groan rips from his throat, his hands flying to your ass, gripping hard, as if he can somehow press you closer, somehow keep you here. His head tilts back, exposing his throat, and you kiss him there, feeling the way he swallows thickly beneath your lips.

You lift yourself up and sink down again, choking on a sob as he fills you, as he stretches you so perfectly it hurts. But it’s good. It’s right. Like he belongs here.

Like he belongs with you.

Jungkook pants beneath you, his fingers digging into your skin, but he doesn’t rush you. Just lets you take what you need, lets you set the pace, lets you use him the way he wants to use you.

For comfort. For love. For something to hold onto when everything else is slipping away.

And when you look down at him, when your eyes meet his—

Jungkook looks ruined.

His bottom lip trembles, his dark eyes glassy, pleading, like he’s trying so fucking hard not to cry, trying so fucking hard to be strong.

And you can’t take it.

You bury your face in his shoulder, sobbing against his skin, whispering please, please, please between every ragged breath.

Jungkook presses a hand to the back of your head, cradling you close, his lips finding your temple.

“I love you,” he breathes, voice shaking. “I love you, I love you—”

And then his hands are gripping tighter, his hips rising to meet yours, and you know he’s losing himself, giving himself to you the same way you’re giving yourself to him.

Because there’s no tomorrow.

Not yet.

Right now, there’s only this.

You don’t know how you find the strength to do it.

To lift your head. To force your hands to loosen from their desperate clutch on his body. To just look at him.

Jungkook is barely holding himself together. His chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, his lashes damp, his lips swollen and parted like he’s trying to catch the words before they escape him. But you see it in his eyes.

He’s breaking.

And you don’t have time for that.

You don’t have time for any of it.

So you do the only thing you can.

You push through it. You suck it up.

You exhale shakily, press your forehead to his, and whisper, “Jungkook.”

His eyes flutter shut for half a second, like he’s trying to memorize the way you say his name, the way your breath warms his lips, the way your voice trembles but still holds him.

And then you move.

You wrap your arms around his neck, holding on like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart, your fingers slipping into his hair as you rock your hips against him, slow, deep, dragging him into you over and over and over again.

Jungkook sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, his hands skimming up your back, gripping tight, his nails digging in just enough to ground himself.

And then he’s breathing it back.

“I love you.”

You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut, pressing your lips to his jaw, his cheek, his temple.

“I love you, I love you so much—”

He gasps, his grip tightening, his head tilting back just slightly, enough for you to kiss down his throat, to feel the way he swallows against your lips, to hear the way his breath hitches.

“Please don’t go.”

Jungkook chokes on a sound that’s not quite a sob, not quite a moan, something raw and shattered and so fucking helpless.

And then his arms lock around you, crushing you against him, as he buries his face in your shoulder, his voice breaking completely.

“I don’t wanna go.”

Your entire body tenses. Your breath stutters in your throat.

“I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go—”

It’s the first time he’s said it. The first time he’s let it slip, the first time he’s let himself admit it—that he doesn’t want to leave you. That it’s killing him. That if he had a choice, if the world would just fucking let him—

He would stay.

Your nails sink into his skin, your hips grinding down harder, desperate, frantic, like you can somehow make him stay, like you can fuse yourself to him, like you can press him so deep inside you that he’ll never leave.

“Then stay,” you whisper.

Jungkook’s breath shudders against your skin, his fingers curling into your flesh like he wants to.

Like he wants to so fucking bad.

He doesn’t know what to do with this, with you, with the weight of everything pressing into his chest like a vice. He’s gripping onto you like you’ll slip through his fingers the second he lets go, like he’ll wake up tomorrow and you’ll be nothing but a dream.

“Then stay.”

Your words echo in his skull, looping, endless, clawing at something deep inside him.

He can’t.

He wants to. But he can’t.

And so—he panics.

“Gonna miss this pussy so much,” he mutters, his voice strained, desperate, trying to ground himself in something, anything, trying to fill the unbearable silence that follows his own fucking admission. His hands skim down your back, gripping your hips, fingers digging into your skin.

“Miss feeling you wrapped around me like this—”

You inhale sharply, body tensing, and—fuck.

No.

No, that’s not what you need.

Jungkook realizes it the second the words leave his mouth. The second he hears himself, hears how it sounds—like he’s trying to distract himself, like he’s trying to make this just about fucking when it’s so much more.

He hears the way your breath shakes, how your grip loosens ever so slightly, how you start to pull away—

And he panics again.

“Shit—baby—”

His body moves before his mind catches up.

He flips you over in one swift motion, pressing you into the mattress, his breath ragged, his heart pounding, something frantic and terrified behind his eyes as he cages you beneath him.

Your wide, tear-filled gaze meets his, your lip trembling, and Jungkook’s entire body locks up.

Fuck.

He nearly loses it right then and there. Nearly breaks. But instead—he just moves.

He doesn’t know how to make this better. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to fix the mess he’s made.

So he just— Kisses you.

Soft.

Deep.

He pours everything into it, every unspoken word, every apology, every ounce of guilt, every single part of him that belongs to you.

His hands trace up your sides, slow, deliberate, like he’s trying to commit you to memory.

Like he’s trying to hold on just a little longer.

Jungkook collapses against you.

All of his weight, all of his warmth, all of him—pressing you into the mattress, crushing you, suffocating you, swallowing you whole.

And you let him.

Because if he’s on you, if he’s in you, if he’s covering every inch of your body with his, then maybe—just maybe—you won’t have to face the sight of him leaving.

“Fuck—”

His breath stutters against your neck, his voice wrecked, helpless, and the only thing keeping him from fully melting into you is the slow, deep drag of his hips, the way he’s sinking into you like he never wants to leave.

Like he never wants to stop.

“Jungkook—”

His name leaves your lips in a desperate sob, your hands clawing at him, grasping, clutching, threading through his hair, pressing into his back, like you’re begging him to stay.

His jaw clenches, his fingers digging into the sheets on either side of your head, his entire body trembling with the weight of his own emotions.

“I love you,” you whisper, voice breaking, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “I love you so much—please, please—”

Jungkook’s body locks up.

You feel the sharp, unsteady inhale against your throat, the way his hips slow, the way his entire frame shudders above you.

And then. He moves. Faster. Harder.

Like he’s trying to drown himself in you.

Like he’s trying to answer you in the only way he can.

“I don’t wanna go,” he chokes out, voice thick, breath ragged. His hands find yours, fisting them into the sheets, lacing your fingers together, grounding himself in the way you squeeze back. “Fuck, baby, I don’t wanna go—”

But he has to.

And you both know it.

You barely notice when Jungkook shifts, when he maneuvers you onto your side with him, pulling you flush against his chest, his body curving around yours like he’s shielding you from reality itself.

But you do notice the way he rolls his hips against you, slow, deliberate, grinding against your soaked, swollen folds like he’s trying to commit the sensation to memory.

And fuck—

Maybe he is.

“Jungkook—”

His name comes out in a breathy whimper, your head tipping back against his shoulder, your hand scrambling for purchase over the strong muscle of his forearm, his bicep—anything to keep you grounded.

Because his cock—hot, heavy, throbbing—keeps pressing against your entrance, sliding through the slick mess of your arousal, teasing, toying, like he wants to sink in but can’t bring himself to do it yet.

Like he isn’t ready.

“Shh, baby—” His voice is hoarse, thick with something unreadable. His lips press against your bare shoulder, dragging over your skin, his nose brushing along your throat as he breathes you in. “Just let me—”

His mouth trails lower.

And lower.

Until he reaches your chest.

His arm tightens around your waist as he dips his head, lips finding the curve of your breast, pressing a soft, lingering kiss there before his tongue flicks over your nipple.

And you swear—

It’s not even lustful.

It’s worship.

The way his mouth latches around the sensitive bud, the way his hand cups your other breast, kneading, memorizing, the way he hums against you, like he wants to take his time, like he wants to savor every inch of you.

“Jungkook, please—“

He shudders. You feel it against your spine, the way his breath stutters, the way his hips jerk forward, pressing his length right against where you need him.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, voice strained, mouth still pressing kisses over the swell of your chest, over your racing heart. “I know—”

And then he grabs your chin. Tilts your head back—forces you to look at him.

That’s his breaking point.

Because the second your glassy eyes meet his, the second he sees the devastation mirrored in them, the reality of it all crashes into him.

And he crumbles. “Fuck—”

A strangled sob rips from his throat as he buries his face in your neck, pressing impossibly closer, hips stuttering as he finally pushes inside.

And then—

You’re both crying.

Sobbing into each other’s skin, moaning between gasps of breath, holding onto one another like it’s the last time.

Because it is.

Jungkook’s hand slides under your neck, cradling it, supporting your head as he tilts your chin back, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat to him. And then—

He pulls you closer.

Flush against him, like he wants to melt into you, fuse your bodies together until there’s nothing separating you anymore.

“Baby—” His voice is broken, wrecked, his breath hot against your skin as he presses his forehead into the back of your head, lips parting against your damp, heated flesh.

And then—

He opens you up.

His hand skims down, trembling fingers slipping between your thighs, urging them wider, needing to feel more of you, needing to bury himself so deep you’ll still feel him even after he’s gone.

And you let him.

You let him spread you open, let him take you, let him push in harder—

Until he’s slamming his hips against you in deep, desperate thrusts, shaking with the force of it, choking on every ragged breath, every shuddering gasp.

And god—

You’re both crying.

Crying into each other’s mouths, into each other’s skin, tears mixing with sweat as you claw at his arms, at the hand cradling your neck, clinging to him, needing him closer, harder, deeper.

“Jungkook—please—”

You don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore.

To stay? To never stop? To love you forever?

But he does.

And it destroys him.

“I don’t wanna go—” he gasps, voice cracking, hips jerking forward as he buries his face in your neck, body shuddering against yours. “Fuck, baby, I don’t—I can’t—”

You feel his tears hot against your skin, feel the way his arms tighten around you like he’s afraid to let go, afraid to leave, and god—

You can’t stop touching him.

Your hands are everywhere—gripping his wrist where it holds your neck, clutching at his forearm, dragging over the sweat-slicked muscle of his thigh, his stomach, memorizing the hard planes of his body the way he’s trying to memorize you.

Because this—

This is all you have left.

Your hands come up—shaking, desperate—gripping his wrists, stopping him from moving.

And then—

You push him.

Jungkook barely has time to catch himself before he’s on his back, chest rising and falling in unsteady gasps as you hover above him, eyes wet, cheeks damp, tears slipping down your chin.

You sniffle, rubbing at them frantically, like if you just wipe them away, maybe this won’t feel so real.

But it is real.

He’s leaving.

And there’s nothing you can do about it.

A broken sob spills from your lips as you lower yourself back down, knees pressing into the mattress, hands trembling as you splay them over his chest—warm, solid, here.

And then—

You nuzzle into his neck.

Curl into him like you’re trying to disappear inside of him, like if you press yourself close enough, maybe you won’t have to let him go.

His hands find your hips, big and steady, guiding you gently—up, down, slow, like he’s trying to lull you, soothe you, even as his own breath shudders with restraint.

“Shh,” he whispers, lips brushing your temple, voice thick, aching.

But you can’t.

You can’t stop crying, can’t stop the way your fingers tangle in his hair, can’t stop the way your lips press to his forehead like you’re trying to imprint the words into him—

“I’ll miss you so much—”

A sharp inhale against your skin.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me—please, please don’t do this—”

His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, but it’s not enough.

It’ll never be enough.

You sniffle again, shaking your head, pressing your forehead against his, tears slipping between your lips as you whimper—

“I miss you—”

And Jungkook breaks. Because you say it like he’s already gone.

A strangled noise rips from his throat as his grip on your waist tightens, arms wrapping fully around you, locking you against him as he thrusts up, rolling his hips into yours, trying to chase something he doesn’t know how to hold onto.

“Baby, please—”

His voice cracks, raw, wrecked, and god—

He’s getting harder.

Because he can feel it—the grief, the desperation, the fucking longing—twisting into something unbearable, something that only makes him want you more, love you more, need you more.

“Please don’t say that,” he rasps, burying his face in your shoulder, breath hot, uneven. “I love you so much—so fucking much—”

And then—

He takes over.

Because your pace is faltering, your body trembling from the weight of it all, from the sheer, devastating force of what you’re about to lose.

And Jungkook—

Jungkook can’t let you bear it alone.

But then—

Jungkook pulls you back.

His hands come up—big, warm, trembling—and they cup your face, fingers pressing into the damp skin of your cheeks, thumbs catching stray tears that refuse to stop falling.

You resist.

You don’t want to look at him.

You can’t bear it.

But he won’t let you hide. “Baby—” His voice is a wreck, breathless and broken, and he forces your forehead against his, holds you there, his grip firm but careful, like he’s afraid you might shatter in his hands.

“I love you,” he murmurs, over and over, lips brushing yours with every shaky exhale. “I love you so fucking much, I’ll be back, I swear I’ll be back—”

And you just shake your head, tears slipping onto his skin, slipping between your lips as you sob.

“But you’ll be gone—”

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut.

“You won’t be here—”

His chest is heaving, his entire body shuddering beneath you, his fingers digging into your skin as you whisper, “I’ll miss this. I’ll miss you.”

And then he breaks. “I know,” he chokes, voice cracking, eyes squeezing shut. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry—”

And then—

“Just—just let go for me.”

It’s not a command. It’s a plea.

Because it hurts—

It hurts to feel you like this, to hear you like this, to know that he’s about to leave you like this.

So you do. You let go. You both do.

You scream.

It’s not just pleasure.

It’s everything.

It’s grief and desperation and love and loss, and Jungkook takes it all, swallows it down as his own release rips through him, as he gasps into your mouth, as he lets go right alongside you.

And then—

Then he breathes.

He breathes into your mouth like it’s his only supply of air, like he’s trying to fill you with everything he has left to give.

Like if he breathes deep enough—

Maybe he can stay.

——

Jungkook is still moving inside you.

Barely.

Just these tiny, barely-there thrusts, like he’s trying to soothe you, like he’s trying to lull you down from everything, from the wreckage of it all.

Your sobs have quieted.

You’re just breathing now. Blank, staring past his shoulder, into the dark, your body heavy against him.

And Jungkook hates it.

He rubs a hand down your back, slow and steady, pressing you closer, whispering soft things against your temple—your name, baby, I love you, I’ve got you.

And then, gently— “Baby, can you lift yourself?”

You just shake your head. Barely make a sound, just this tiny, broken grunt that he feels more than hears.

And he laughs.

Sniffles, still recovering, his chest still shaking from the mess of it all, but he laughs—just a little, just enough.

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, voice thick, and then—

He lifts you.

His cock bends in an uncomfortable way, and he hisses, but it slips out, and he doesn’t care—not about the sting, not about the way you’re leaking onto his stomach, not about anything except the way you nuzzle into his neck like you never want to leave.

And then—

“That was really fucking sad.” Your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, but the words cut through the thick, heavy silence, and Jungkook laughs.

Like, actually laughs.

Because, fuck, it really was.

He keeps laughing for a second, shaking his head, still wiping at his face, still recovering, and then—

Then he softens. Then he looks at you, tucking the damp strands of hair away from your face, and says—

“I’m sorry.”

Soft, real.

And then he leans in, kisses your forehead the same way he always does—

The same way that makes your heart ache.

The same way that makes you feel loved.

And you breathe.

You breathe, and you whisper, “I know. I’m sorry for breaking down like that. I don’t know why—”

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head, firm. “No, you’re not the one who should be sorry right now. It’s me.”

And for a second, you don’t say anything.

You just look at him—his wet lashes, his swollen lips, the raw emotion still lingering in his eyes—

And then—

You press a kiss to his forehead.

Just soft. Just gentle.

And Jungkook freezes. Because you’ve never done that before.

His breath catches, his eyes flicker shut, and when he exhales, it’s shaky, but so, so full of warmth. Jungkook doesn’t say anything at first. He just breathes, coming down from the high of you, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your bare hip, grounding himself in the warmth of your skin.

And then he sees the time.

Shit.

He doesn’t let you notice, though. He forces himself to stay in the moment for a little longer, brushing your hair back, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before he sits up, slipping out of bed.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and raspy. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You let him, let him help you into the bathroom, let him be gentle with you. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it, just wets a washcloth and runs it over your skin, his touch careful, reverent. He presses another kiss to your forehead before handing you a fresh pair of clothes.

“Go eat,” he says. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

You don’t argue, slipping into the kitchen while he gathers himself. When he finally comes out, you’re already halfway through your now cold pancakes, sitting on the counter, swinging your legs absentmindedly.

He watches you for a second, committing it to memory.

Then, finally, he checks the time.

Eight. He’s already late.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Baby, I gotta go.”

You pause mid-bite, your expression dropping just slightly before you school it into something neutral. “Oh,” you say. “Right.”

Jungkook steps between your legs, hands coming up to hold your face. You lean into his touch immediately, and something about it makes his chest ache.

“You’ll be okay,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your cheek.

You know he doesn’t just mean tonight.

You nod, forcing a small smile. “You’ll text me?”

“Of course.”

And then he kisses you, slow and lingering, like he’s trying to make it last. Like he wants you to remember.

You will.

Jungkook lingers in the doorway, looking at you like he doesn’t want to leave. Like he’s willing himself to step out, to break the moment before it breaks him.

“I love you,” he says, voice soft.

Your throat tightens. “I love you too.”

He presses one last kiss to your forehead, squeezing your waist before finally pulling away.

“Bye, baby,” he murmurs.

You swallow hard. “Bye.”

And then he’s gone.

The door clicks shut, and you just… stare at it.

You don’t know how long you stay there, sitting on the counter, breakfast forgotten, staring at the empty space where Jungkook just was.

It’s weird.

For the past few months, every single day has had him in it. Whether it was just a text or a call or him physically showing up, he was always there.

And now, in two days, he won’t be.

Your stomach twists, and just as the overwhelming realization starts sinking in—

Your ringtone blares from your bedroom.

You already know who it is before you even check.

You scramble for your phone, pressing it to your ear.

“Hey, bitch, you getting ready?”

You barely have time to answer before your voice wobbles. “Yeah.”

There’s a pause.

“You sound sad,” Nari says suspiciously. “What’s up?”

And then— The floodgates open.

“I don’t want him to go,” you wail, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

“Oh—”

“I don’t, Nari! I really, really don’t!”

There’s a shuffle on the other end, like she’s sitting up straighter. “Oh, babe…”

You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing a hand to your forehead. “I just— We just—” You suck in a breath, chest aching. “It was so much. It was—” You shake your head, unable to find the words. “It wasn’t just sex, it was—God, I don’t even know how to explain it.”

“Like love?” Nari offers gently.

You let out a watery laugh. “Yeah. Like love.”

She sighs, softer this time. “I know.”

“I can’t believe he’s leaving,” you whisper, staring blankly at your reflection in the mirror. Your mascara is already smudged again. “I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to wake up and not have him here. I don’t want to go back to how it was before—”

“You won’t,” Nari interrupts. “Even if he’s gone for a while, it’s not the same as before. He’s yours now, isn’t he?”

You open your mouth, then close it. Because… is he?

You’ve never said it out loud. Never defined it. But it feels like he is. Right?

“…God, I don’t know anymore,” you groan, rubbing your hands down your face. “I hate him.”

“You don’t,” she says simply.

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

You huff, frustrated. “That’s the problem!”

Nari laughs, and despite everything, you find yourself smiling weakly.

A beat of silence. Then, gently, “You’ll be okay, babe. I promise.”

You take a deep breath, trying to believe her. “I’ve had to redo my mascara, like, seven times.”

She groans. “And you’re gonna redo it an eighth if you keep crying. Now hurry up before our boss has another meltdown.”

You sigh, sniffing one last time. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“…No, I don’t.”

“That’s my girl. Love you, bye.”

You close your eyes. “Love you, bye.”

You hang up, taking another deep breath, shaking off the sadness.

Work. You just have to get through work.

You pick up your mascara again. Round eight.

Nari pulls up to your building, glancing at you with a smug grin. You really didn’t wanna get the bus today, so Nari had kindly offered to take you.

“You look pitiful,” she says.

You groan, throwing your head back against the seat. “I literally just was crying, that’s not my fault.”

“No, it’s Jungkook’s.”

You glare at her. “So are you driving me to work, or what?”

She hums, dragging it out, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. “I don’t know. It’s a lot of effort.”

“Nari.”

“Maybe if you beg.”

You groan. “Pleaseeee, oh my god, you know you were gonna take me anyway—”

She smirks, finally shifting gears. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

“You’re a demon,” you grumble, crossing your arms as she pulls out.

“Yeah, but you love me.”

Unfortunately.

The drive is short, and Nari makes sure to grab your face before you step out, inspecting you like a concerned mother.

“Okay, you look fine. Let’s go.”

You drag yourself inside, already dreading the day.

The morning is slow, as usual. The diner hums with the same familiar sounds—the coffee machines, the occasional chatter, the soft rustling of newspapers from the old man who sits in the corner every morning without fail.

You’re zoning out, trying to will yourself to get back into your normal routine when your phone vibrates in your pocket.

Jungkook [9:14AM]: are you at work rn? you probably are. just checking in.

You bite your lip, quickly typing back.

You [9:15AM]: yeah, just started. slow morning. where are you now?

It doesn’t take him long to reply.

Jungkook [9:15AM]: im close to my parents house now. kinda excited actually. but i miss you.

Your chest tightens a little.

You [9:16AM]: i miss you too.

You keep texting back and forth for a bit—him telling you about his plans for the day, you filling him in on how your boss has already screamed about a missing bag of coffee beans. It feels normal. Comfortable. Like he’s still here.

And for now, you let yourself enjoy that.

[numberonetacostan]

hello kind tea bag I have the need to be autistic about tacomic in your inbox.

Hiya Kiara!!!!!^^ Welcome back, and thank you for sending in TACOMIC!!!! And for calling me tea bag I like that a whole lot!!!! X3 These thoughts are quite delicious!!!!

She does have so very many walls!!!! She doesn't let herself feel or think about her own feelings or regrets as much as she's able to block them out, there's no way in HELL she wants to talk about them to anyone, even Mic, and even as Mic becomes more important to her. But when Mic chooses to defend her despite Knife bringing Pickle into the conversation, it really means something to her!! And gets her thinking about the friend she lost as much as she tries to ignore those feelings, which contributes to her actions in episode 14!! She wants to prove to Mic that she's a good partner, that she's useful, she's helping, Mic can trust her, but in doing so she breaks Mic's trust and loses her too!!! And she ISN'T coping well afterwards!!!!!!! Sorry I feel like I'm just restating what you said, but like, your analysis is very good and correct I don't know what I should add.

I see it as Mic being a partner in Taco's eyes until around episode 13!! We see her using "Mic" instead of "Microphone" to refer to her here, this is the episode in which Mic defends Taco, and immediately following it in ep 14 they're joking about Taco betraying Mic (we see Taco handling stressful situations with humor prior to this, that's what I see her doing in this scene as well, playing off a notion that upsets her by joking about it). Even if Taco doesn't want to talk to Mic about her feelings, the care Mic is trying to show does mean something, yeah? And then they divorce. Meowch!!! Taco unintentionally betrays Mic's trust and Mic leaves her, hitting her right where it would hurt when they talk for what Taco believes is the last time, as Mic has been shown to do previously like when she lashes out at Cheesy (who also kinda deserved it with how he kept pushing when mic made her dislike and discomfort with his jokes very clear, but regardless she still does hit them where she knows it will hurt when she lashes out). When Taco finally sees someone as liking her for who she actually is rather than her facade, they leave her, and she falls apart. She had finally just started to really connect with someone for the first time, after the lies, the loneliness, everything, and just like that it's gone, and Mic hates her too.

But, yeah, while the minecart scene makes Taco feel closer to Mic, it makes Mic feel further from and more distrusting of Taco. Taco knows Mic, she's read her diary for cobs' sake, but Mic doesn't know Taco very well, and Taco won't open up to her. She truly does care about Taco, and likes her too!!! But between the seeds of doubt planted in episode 13, Taco's unwillingness to be emotionally honest/open/available, and her kidnapping Mepad, electrocuting Fan, and killing Test Tube after she brushed off promising not to hurt anyone, Mic can't do it anymore. Taco was trying to be genuine and be a good friend, but that involves not listening to Mic, which especially for Mic is a big deal, and proves to her that Taco really is just using her!!! Yes!!!!!!!! Sorry again for not adding much you're very spot on.

Misunderstandings, assumptions, miscommunication, and the push and pull of the trust between them. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA *explodes for the second time today bc I love ii i love tacomic i love taco i love exploding too*

[justmochi]

unbreakable love

pairing :: eden x seokmin

word count :: 1.6k

synopsis :: eden meets up with seokmin in paris

time :: november 15, 2023

taglist :: @cafemilk-tea @cixrosie @moonlight-additions @cosmicwintr @astraw-astro @ateezjuliet @fromfreesia @succulentmom @kimhyejin3108 @enhacolor @multiplums @alixnsuperstxr @meginthebuilding27 @kang-ulzzang @hybesunstone @allthings-fandoms @itzy-eve @choihaneul @strmiu @angie-x3 @Kaitieskidmore1 @evaalopezzzz

November 15, 2023.

She’s seen the Eiffel Tower plenty of times, but she will never get over how breathtaking the sight is. It’s the one thing that Eden has been looking forward to ever since Seokmin arrived.

Evelyn managed to convince Eden to take a trip for herself. It’ll probably be her last chance for a while since she vowed to help her sister when the baby arrived.

Paris and everything in it was a healing experience for her. It was always one of her favorite places to visit. She saw the opportunity and took it when she discovered Seokmin and his group would be there for a few days for an event. He was all for the idea and even if he wasn’t, she didn’t give him much room to argue. She was already on a flight two days before and waiting for him.

It was her first time being in Paris for just herself. Her and the girls usually came for work but other than that, there were no spontaneous visits.

Eden checked the time. It was a few minutes away from the Eiffel Tower to start sparkling like it does every hour. She leaned against the cement railing, switching her weight from one foot to the other as she waited.

“Hey there, beautiful.” She heard a voice right next to her ear that made her jump and shiver.

Seokmin wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him.

“Hey, Handsome.” She giggled, placing her hands on top of his.

He leans forward to kiss her cheek and she smiles. It was only this morning that they last saw each other, but they missed each other already.

Eden turns in his arms, facing him and reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. He tips his head down to kiss her lips. The moan she lets out against his lips is quiet. When they finally pull away, she starts smacking her lips together.

“You taste nice.” She looks up into his eyes.

“Wine. There’s been so much wine today.”

“It’s good, right?”

“It’s very good.” He breaks their gaze to look behind her. His eyes start widening.

“Hmm?” Eden turns her head to look back and sees the Eiffel Tower sparkling.

“Wow.”

“It’s beautiful.” Eden smiles. She breaks free of his hold and grabs his hand. “Come on, I have some things to show you before it goes off again.”

“Lead the way, E.” He smirks, squeezing onto her hand and following alongside her.

They stop at a cart where she buys both of them chocolate filled churros. They sit on a bench near the river and get comfortable. His reaction is priceless as he takes his first bite. She wipes his mouth of the chocolate and sugar as they savor it. Once they’ve finished it all, they wipe their mouths and dust their hands off.

“Here,” She takes the remains from him before getting up and throwing them in the nearest trash can. She walks back, pulling her coat together when she feels a slight breeze. “Brr.”

“Cold?” Once Eden sits next to him, Seokmin wraps his arm around her, squeezing her to him and rubbing up and down to try to warm her up.

“I’ll manage.” She smiles, leaning her head on his shoulder as they watch waves on the river and boats row by. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“It’s very pretty, but not as–“

“Don’t say it.” She cuts him off, removing her head and trying to look threatening and she looks anything but.

“Say what?”

“You know.”

“What? That the view isn’t as pretty as you?”

Eden turns her head, wanting to bite her fist from the way he makes her blush.

“You know I’m right.” He rests his hand on her thigh, giving it a squeeze.

She rolls her eyes, pulling her bag to her lap and digging through it. She hands him a marker and he watches her as she continues to go through it.

“What’s that?”

Eden pulls out a box, angling it towards him. It’s a padlock. She smiles while looking at it. “It’s a love lock.”

She starts to open up the packaging. “On the bridge over there, couples would attach a padlock to the railing with different things written on it and throw the keys in the river. It symbolizes unbreakable love.

“Growing up, I’ve always wanted to find someone to do this with. Right here in Paris. And now I can.” She runs her thumb over the top of the pink padlock, looking up at him. He smiles and she can see his eyes start to twinkle. “But I found out a couple days ago that all the locks that were once there were removed because of the excessive weight in the bridge. It’s illegal now. And as much as I want to be able to tell our kids how our love got us arrested in the most romantic city–it would be an amazing story–we’re gonna have to settle for the next best thing.”

“And what’s that?” He cups her cheek with a smirk.

“We throw the lock in the river, along with the key. I don’t plan on ever fishing it out.” Eden grabs the marker from him, writing the date and her first initial on it. She hands it to him and he writes a D.

“Neither do I.” He puts the cap back on the marker, letting the writing dry as he turns on his camera. “You’re the only one who is ever gonna have my heart.”

She gives him a peck on the cheek. “Good.”

He snaps a picture of the padlock in his hand, inviting her to hold it as well. He takes a few of the river and the bridge, the Eiffel Tower standing perfectly behind everything.

Eden stands to her feet, holding out her hand. “Ready?”

He grabs her hand as she leads the way to the bridge. There are still plenty of locks attached to the railing but the last thing both of them need is to be charged with vandalism. They get to the middle of the bridge before stopping.

“We do this and we will be just in time for the tower to start sparkling again.” They both take a minute to look at the remaining locks. There’s many and they both find it so endearing to know that there are other people out in the world that have an unbreakable, everlasting love just like them.

Eden holds the lock in place as Seokmin turns the key. As soon as they’re sure it won’t budge, they both look up at each other with smiles on their faces. They hang their arms over the railing, dropping the padlock and leaning over just a bit to see it splash and disappear. Her heart starts to ache as they toss the key next.

It feels a little overwhelming to part with something so symbolic of their love for each other, but knowing the real meaning behind it numbs that void.

Eden is still leaning over, watching the waves of the river until Seokmin pulls her back by her shoulders. She soon turns her attention back to him, gazing into his eyes.

“I love you.” He holds her cheeks in both of his hands, looking into her eyes and getting lost in them.

She leans in to kiss him, wrapping her fingers around his wrists as they are both overcome with a warm, cozy feeling inside their chests. He no longer tastes like the wine he had before meeting her. It is now replaced with chocolatey sweetness.

She pulls away, dropping her arms and wrapping them around his waist. “I love you more.” She knows she’s in for it but doesn’t give him the chance to argue before she’s leading him to the Eiffel Tower.

Once they’re off the bridge, the tower is right in front of them and they have to stretch their heads back to look at the top.

“It’s breathtaking.” Eden mumbles to herself, flexing her fingers in his hand as they walk around.

She sees the flash of his camera before the shutter and he’s just taken a photo of holding her hand with the Eiffel Tower in the back.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.” The sly grin on his face tells her he’s not sorry.

She pulls her phone out of her coat pocket to check the time. Three minutes.

To get him back, she lets go of his hand and pulls her own camera out of her bag. She takes a few steps back and begins to take pictures of him like he’s a model. He’s serious until she cracks a joke and he smiles with his teeth. Her favorite.

She hears the people around them in awe. When she looks up from her lens, she can see the Eiffel Tower sparkling again. In this moment, she takes the perfect shot of him looking back at the tower and it’s sparkling behind him.

Not wanting to waste this moment, she shuts her camera off and comes up behind him, rubbing her palm against his back in circles. He looks down at her, lifting his arm and wrapping it around her, pulling her close to his chest where she belongs. Eden hugs his waist with a smile on her face as they both watch the structure dazzle.

Seokmin kisses the top of her head, rubbing his hand back and forth on her shoulder. She tucks the hair behind her ear that escaped from the wind before looking up at him.

“I love you.” She smiles and he meets her gaze. She looks at his eyes until they drop to his lips. He helps her out due to his height, leaning down to kiss her. It’s soft and long lasting.

When they’re ready to part, he whispers against her lips. “I love you.”

[randomfoxehs-belly]

Spent most of today rotating the idea of Pac-Man vore in my brain. It was uncooked for a long time. But it eventually started getting a nice golden glaze going. I cooked. The expression fits.

Somehow thinking of games where the vore is already baked in is harder to sus out x3 but I managed to get a pretty solid mental scenario for Kirby going after all lol

But like Sooooooo much of the vore art that is out there for PacMan is (Mrs) PacMan as prey for the ghosts And I'm like hrrmmmm No I don't think so

Definitely want ghosts as prey

it's never depicted that the ghosts are eating Pac-Man in the games But Pac-Man is explicitly eating them So the free vore all definitely doesn't fit

So I got around to the point of:

So in the games you need to munch a power pellet to turn the ghosts blue and be able to eat the ghosts So maybe ghosts can be eaten consensually just by any pac person, but if they're unwilling that's when the power pellet is needed to munch on the tasty boys who are fighting back about it

Because ghosts Which in Pacman are consistently just depicted as being another species of life forms and not, like, the afterlife or anything like that x3

I was thinking maybe under normal circumstances ghosts can just phase through a pacpersons belly and get out and keep causing trouble, but the power pellet means once they're munched on they're trapped inside.

Like the whole eating their bodies and their eyes running off Is a whole reformation thing lol Which I don't think jives with me So that might be a good reconfiguration for it

Instead, taking that aesthetic and just having it be the ghosts are doing the Danny phantom thing of turning on the intangibility to phase through a pacperson to get out of their belly, having the Look/effect of the floating eyes thing.

It being the same visual from Pac-Man Vs.

Losing their color lol. They get all desaturated and transparent pretty much

So normally, the ghosts can be gulped up but they'll just turn off their color and phase through and out of the belly.

But the power pellet being munched acts like an antacid that coats their belly insides and makes it so the ghost can't phase out~! So when they get eaten after munching a power pellet, they're stuck inside~ like, they eat it and it coats their mouth and belly and that rubs off on the ghosts as they're munched on, so it covering their bodies keeps them from phasing through and out of the belly. That's what gives them the blue "scared ghosts" look. And it loses potency and stops "sticking" to the ghosts after a few moments, but clings onto them and keeps them trapped inside for however long. that works I think >3>

Like it loses potency on the the actual pacperson after a little while, but the actual residue sticks to the ghosts for much longer and keeps them trapped inside belly for X amount of time depending on the pellet

Preyslutty ghosts are happy to stay inside a cozy belly for a while hehe

Pac-people living in Pac-Town and ghosts living in ghost land Segregation O_o So like vore settings usually have preds going to prey town and being all preddy and whatnot But I'm thinking it's probably the other way around, ghosts visit Pac-Town to cause trouble and be bratty preys and pull pranks and whatnot x3

Drawing on the windows of a shop with magic marker. The shop keeper comes out and is like >=o Eats the ghost but the ghost just phases out and goes neener neener and keeps causing trouble

So I was thinking hmm what should power pellets come from, maybe they grow on trees and Pacman has a power pellet orchard But then I was like I dunno maybe that's being too tryhard But then I just found out the Hannah Barbara cartoon did the exact same thing x3

Aaaaand in Ghostly Adventures they're just straight up "berries"

So yeah no, everyone went "magic fruits" lol x3 I have tapped into the collective human unconscious Joseph Campbell as fuck

Vore fruits Power pellets are the ghost sticky fruits Like durians

So that's what I've come up with so far.

[ian-galagher]

for your followers: africa spoilers as big as the fucking shadowland.

today's movie that's totally kid friendly and NEVER ever at any point sexual or violent: the lion king 2.

- ian, day one.

- mickey: grumpy. moody. antisocial. ian:

- ian trying to equal mickey's talent.

- "not good?" he asked, taking a second look at what he'd made. "it's shit, red cheeks."

- mickey and ian discovering he's got a thing for portraits.

- mickey's nights prior to ian.

- ian at jan.

- ian x mickey vs jan.

- "mom?"

- them being young and careless and free in chapter six.

- "she didn't tell me. what the feather means. […] she only told me to give it to you." / "it's a long ass story." / "i'm not going anywhere."

- once again, them at god's window.

- pov: you're ian pulling up to mickey's house for the first time.

- when ian set the pan on fire and thought mickey was talking about him. "like i said, cute as fuck."

- pov: you're ian while mickey and mandy fight.

- obscure figures doing their figure shit in chapter eleven.

- "y'think i'm ugly? / "no, i think you're alive." i can't tell you why, it's just the exact eye expression i expect of mickey.

- "you and your stupid face distracted me." / "guess i'll try my best to be less distracting, then." / "impossible."

- "but he can make it up to me, one dress at a time."

- the braai. case closed.

- it's an edited version, but they made me think of inyoni and her grief. someone give her a blanket and a hot chocolate.

- "just tell him, ian." / "what if he doesn't feel the same way?" / "you know he does." / "yeah, i know."

- mickey: desperately trying to get rid off mandy. ian: "breakfast?"

- the words flew out before he could stop himself. "fuck, you're so beautiful." / mickey lowered the camera. "fuck, you're gorgeous."

- ian x mickey, chapter seven and fiften respectively.

- there. you wanna tell me THAT'S kid friendly? anyhow, ian and mickey, day seven and fifteen respectively. (i've been waiting for this one in particular. i think i'm very funny for it. on the ground.)

- bonus: me at jan.

- bonus bonus: you, planning africa.

- bonus x3: i wanted to add more, but tumblr only allows thirty images per ask. which. fucking rude.

ASKGJHAKJSGHAKS NOSHO!!!! 😭 THESE ARE SO GOOD!!!!!

🦁🪶🦒

Ian on day one is SO CUTE 😭😭😭 and THAT SECOND ONE!!! It's SO them! 🥹🧡

awwh Ian on his first days! Trying to be like Mickey 😭

ajsghakjshgk Mickey's nightmares 😭 oh man this one hurts!

there he is 😂 it's never long before Jan gets a mention!

MOM 😭

IM NOT GOING ANYWHERE 😭😭😭

every movie 😂 they all have a god's window shot 😂

I LOVE the idea of Mickey's house being that rock 😂😂😂 and Ian being all excited over it anyway 😂😂

cute as fuck 😂😂

poor Ian having to watch these two siblings fight all the time 😂

THE FIGURE RETURNS! 😁

that EYE being Mickey's 😭😭😭

Mandy and her dreams of dresses 😂😂😂

THE BRAAI!!!! 😂 *SO* ACCURATE!

THE DOVES 😭😭😭

we are ALL pushing their noses together 😂😂😂

"breakfast?" 😂😂😂 that is so cute!

omg 😂 is it hot in here? 😂 should've used that gif as the header 😂

awwwwh they're gonna start a pride of their own 🥹🧡

okay but that IS you fighting Jan 😂😂😂

and yeah that last one 😂😂😂 also the witch in chapter 5 😂

that's SO rude of tumblr 😂

THANK YOU NOSHO 🥰🧡 that was SUCH an amazing post again! 😍🥰💚

calling the gang! @francesrose3 @juliakayyy @thisdivorce 🥰

🦁🪶🦒🧡💖💚💙❤️🤗😎

[moonlight-at-dawn]

Managed to turn an L into a W today, fuck yeah

Kiddo and I went out to run some errands. On the drive, I had to slam on my brakes to avoid hitting someone. Sounds more dramatic than it was. Well, annoyingly and oddly, a bunch of lights came on. These are all things this car has decided to light up for stupid reasons in the past, so I thought nothing of it. Yeah yeah, ABS, slip, and VDC, I know, whatever. The car is driving normal, so whatever.

An important note: The car is a push start, so you press down the brake pedal then hit a button, and if the key is in the vehicle, it turns on the engine. If you don't press the brake, it enters accessory mode, running on battery.

So, we run into store, they don't even have the thing kiddo wanted, boo. We sit in car. Engine doesn't start, but it enters accessory mode. I try again, watching the display, and it says I need to press the brake to start. But I am. I try again. I try again practically standing on the brake pedal.

I call my husband out of frustration, opening with "Heeeeyyyy, do we still have AAA?" (We do not u_u)

We go over our options, then hang up. I call the dealership we get our services at, and they don't have any suggestions except 'bring it in' of course. I sigh and tell my husband, and we decide to call a tow, because, well, not getting anywhere. Husband borrows Mika's car to come get us.

After I get off phone with tow, getting quoted for $360 for a 40mi tow 😬, I turn to my kid. "I just noticed there's an O'Reillys auto parts right there. Let's go see if they have any suggestions."

They did!

First guy I talk to isn't familiar with push starts, but he asks the next guy who immediately names the part he thinks it is. First guy starts looking up the part for me (brake light switch, which doubles as the electrical impulse for starting the engine), and I ask how hard it is to replace. A 3rd guy tells us it should be easy enough that even my kid can do it.

Well, kiddo was intrigued! We get our $20 part back to the car and I launch a video on the replacement. Not a single tool required, nice. Don't gotta open up the hood or anything, the switch is just above the brake pedal.

I pulled the wire housing off the switch because it took too much finger strength for kiddo. Honestly, was tough for me, too. Then kiddo removed the switch and did most of the replacement of the new one! Husband showed while we were doing the final bit, he went in with his fresh hands and finished it off.

The car started!!!!!

I canceled my tow, then went into the O'Reillys to thank everyone there and let them know it worked, then kiddo and I gave up on most of our outing, got A Little Treat, then went home.

As we left from thanking the guys, I turned to kiddo

"Did fixing the car give you confidence?"

"Actually, yeah! I feel pretty good about that!"

So, hell yeah!!

Then he cooked himself some ramen for dinner!! He's feeling so good and independent after fixing the car x3

And so that's why I consider it an overall Win ☺️ What started as (financially) Scary turned into a $20 confidence boost for kiddo.

[jaywhere]

hello i thought this would be like 3k and it's not so pls have 8.5k of post-x3 rogue/logan about wanting to fuck b4 u die and having literally one option and it's like, super fucking weird actually.

this would probably be the first chapter of 2, idk ill see what im able to finish today ??? pls enjoy the like optimistically 1-2 of u who decide to click on this lmfao

After three months, Rogue eventually finds him washed up in a storm drain.

The sight of Logan with his head slotted into a gutter would be hilarious if the circumstances weren’t so bleak. A few years ago, she would’ve laughed and taken a photo. The sight may have cracked a smile out of her if she hadn’t been so tired, or even if he hadn’t been so damn hard to track down.

Tragically, Rogue doesn’t have the luxury of smiling. Bags tug at her eyes as she stares down at his face. Even under the flickering yellow light of the streetlamp, she can tell his features are completely unchanged, even after five years. His shoulder is bent at an odd angle, white muscle shirt completely soaked through. A thin stream of blood meanders down his temple and into the muddy runoff below.

“Guess that’s to be expected.” Rogue wipes the blood away with leather-gloved fingers.

He’ll wake up soon. The streets are completely deserted at this time of night — almost two in the morning on a Wednesday. No one to call the cops. Beneath the flickering light, the shadows cast by his features appear to lengthen before retreating again.

He’s handsome, at least. Moreso than Rogue remembers, and perhaps far more than deserved given the context. A coil of guilt curls up in her belly.

“Already come this far,” Rogue mutters. With a grunt, she stands, damp ends of her floor-length coat clinging uncomfortably to her ankles. She grabs Logan’s leg above muddy, torn-up boots. His leg hair rustles against her gloved fingers. “No use givin’ up now.”

It’s still drizzling. Ice-cold pricks of rain start to soak her back as she attempts to pull Logan out of the gutter. It seems undignified to leave him there, given what she’s about to ask him to do. Her lower back throbs in protest.

“The hell — whadya weigh, three hundred pounds?” The flickering lights are starting to make her head throb. Runoff trickles past her heeled boots with a soft hiss. When she tugs a final time, her heels slip right out from underneath her.

A frustrated scream leaves her lips before she can stop it. Her ass soaked with muddy rainwater and her hip throbbing from where it’d clipped the curb, she storms back up to Logan’s head and rips off her glove.

His coarse stubble on her fingertips is electrifying. His essence floods her through her along that thin contact of skin on skin. The taste of cheap beer, burn of cigarette smoke in her lungs, knuckles aching after a well-thrown punch, a loneliness that gnaws at the tattered edges of his soul. Virility floods through her.

She counts up to five, taking in slow measured breaths. The glove goes back on as soon as she’s done, leather squeezing tightly at her fingers.

Her back doesn’t hurt.

“Okay, darlin’. Let’s go.” Rogue tosses her hair over her shoulder before scooping Logan up. With her arms under his back and his knees, he’d almost look like a princess — if it weren’t for the way his mouth hung open, head flopping limply over her arm.

Mud and all, she tosses him into the front seat.

“Whew!” Rogue grabs a towel out of the trunk. Wipes off her gloves, her face, and strips off her coat before tossing everything back into the trunk. “I could get used to that. Wow.”

The car’s engine rumbles to life. A thick drizzle coats the windshield. She flips the wipers on and stares out at the little wavering asphalt. The gas station, tattoo shop, and convenience store on this side of the street are all closed. The only sign of life is the bar at the end of the road. Up on the sign, El Apocalipsis is scrawled in yellow neon.

Rogue snorts. “Don’t need a translator to figure out that one, do ya?” She leans over, tapping aggressively at Logan’s cheek. “Wake up, sleepyhead. Gotta tell me where to take ya.”

He doesn’t respond. The seconds tick by. The memory of unfamiliar lips gliding against her own spirals through her mind. She chases it like a feather in the wind — flash of red, the scrape of her stubble against soft cheeks — before it’s gone completely. The windshield is almost completely obscured when she looks back.

“Logan.” She taps his cheek again, harder this time. The sound of leather on skin fills the car. She’d probably stalled his healing when she touched him. A violent frustration fills the empty spaces around her heart. “Wake up.”

This time, dazed eyes flutter open. Pupils the size of saucers stare back at her. Dry lips part. Rogue can’t stop herself from grinning.

“Found ya,” she says. Hadn’t been an easy task, either. Folks a lot smarter than her had been chasing him for years. But Rogue was nothing if not determined. “Where’s home, darlin’?”

Logan blinks. He lurches forward, smashing his hand into the airbag. Rogue shushes him, but doesn’t get too close. Terror, panic, the give of a delicate neck under her broad palms; the sensation of a needle digging into the nook of her elbow. Rogue had learned that one the hard way.

With furrowed eyebrows, Logan’s gaze finally fixes on her. “Kid?”

The smile’s wiped off her face in an instant.

“I’m twenty-six.” She pushes in the clutch and shifts into first with a double thunk. Some part of her hopes Logan notices that she drives stick. “Not a kid.”

Logan stares out the windshield. His chest is heaving with panic. “Where — ?”

“You’re drunk,” Rogue answers. This isn’t going to go well. She can feel it in her bones. But drastic times call for drastic measures. “Pulled you outta the gutter. Where’s home?”

His beard hasn’t been shaved in days. The smell of sweat, beer, and smoke fills up the car. She presses her lips together and tries to cast her own motivations in piecemeal. Sixty percent pathetic desperation, thirty-five percent fear of her own impending death, five percent the nostalgic memory of her schoolgirl crush. Those had been simpler times.

“Truck — “ He wipes at his face, muddy rainwater dripping onto his palm. He turns to look out the back window. “Truck’s about two miles down the road.”

“Cool,” Rogue says. This isn’t going to go over well. It can’t go over well. The car swings in a wide U-turn. At least Logan had been walking in the correct direction when he’d collapsed in the middle of the road.

She drives slow. Logan stares at her, then out the window, then down at his own hands. She wonders if he can feel that she sapped away just a little bit of him. When she reaches, the embers of him are still alive in the back of her mind. A flash of claws sinking through skin, fat, guts, spine shocks her like a jolt of electricity.

And then he’s gone completely.

Silence sets in. Rogue gnaws on her own bottom lip.

“What are you doing here?”

She doesn’t take her eyes off the road. Logan had set up in the middle of nowhere. Water clouds the headlights like dust.

“Um,” Rogue says. She’d imagined this a thousand times. Distracted, driving in the rain, while Logan is drunk had never been one of those scenarios. Lying doesn’t sit right with her, either. “Got somethin’ to ask ya.”

More silence. The wheels churn against broken asphalt.

“Okay.” Logan’s staring at her, expectant.

She coughs. “Best wait until — um, until we get there.”

Another long few beats. Rogue’s heartbeat pounds in her ears.

“Get where?” Logan eventually asks. Rogue pulls off the road, tires scuttling over gravel. The trailer sits demurely behind a cluster of trees. “Oh. Right.”

“And you probably need to sober up, first.”

“Right.” Logan pauses. He stares at her. Even damp, his hair still twists up into little points atop his head. His head bobs up and down five times, lips twitching around a few unrecognizable words. “You’re twenty-six.”

Rogue pulls the keys from the ignition. He’s still staring, waiting for a response. “Yeah?”

His tongue on his lips. Sparse mustache stubble gives way to a thicket of beard on his chin. Rogue wonders if it’s rough on his tongue.

“Why’d you get on the train?”

Rogue squints, wrinkling her nose. It takes her a second to realize what Logan’s asking her.

“Oh.” The realization dawns on her quickly. She still has dreams, sometimes — not so much about the metal cutting through her, but about the horror-struck look on Logan’s face as he’d realized what he’d done. And then the way she’d sucked his full brown eyes completely dry. How she’d left him empty and vacant. “I, um — I almost killed you.”

“How.”

The look he gives her is heavy. Rogue can feel her eyes go shiny with unshed tears. This is humiliating. Her fingers tremble as she grips the wheel, but her voice remains steady.

“I was. You stabbed me. I grabbed you.” Her lungs burn when she breathes in, long and slow. “You were havin’ a nightmare.”

Logan’s fingers pry hers off the steering wheel. The warmth doesn’t soak through the leather.

“Sorry,” he says. “Just had to make sure.”

Rogue nods. She wipes at her eyes. It’s not the memory that’s got her tearing up, but the anxiety twisting that twists in her gut. She hasn’t seen Logan in years. No one has — not really. But the memories of him aren’t going to feel the same after this.

With rain pattering against the ceiling, she squeezes back.

“You wanna come in? Not much, but…” He trails off.

It occurs to Rogue that Logan may not love her anymore. Perhaps now, or perhaps after she tells him why she’s there. With a bit of force, she pulls her own hand away.

“Sure,” she says, cracking open the car door. “That’d probably be best.”

—

“I’d always imagined you livin’ in the mountains.” The trailer’s small, one chair, table about the length of her forearm, a few cabinets, and mattress covered in a threadbare gray sheet. “Livin’ in some li’l cabin. Happier than a pig in poop.”

Logan’s crouched at the edge of the mattress, arms clasped around his knees. “You get more southern since the last time I saw you?”

A smile tugs at the edge of her lips. “I’ve been leanin’ into it. Kinda my thing, now.”

Logan grunts. He pulls out a cigar. “Last one,” he says, shoving it between his lips.

Rogue presses her lips together. “You might,” she starts, as Logan pulls out a lighter. “You might wanna save that.”

His gaze flicks from her, down to the lighter, then back again. “Okay.” He tosses the cigar onto the cluttered countertop next to the sink. “What’re you here for, then?”

His voice is rough. A shiver rattles down Rogue’s spine. She squeezes her own palms between two bony knees, making eye contact with the floor.

“Must be serious.” The tip of his boot taps against the barren floor. It’s not just limited to the floor, Rogue realizes as she tries to look anywhere except at Logan. Dirty plates in the sink, a knife sitting on the windowsill by her arm. Nothing that could be called decoration. It makes her a little sad. “You’ve been followin’ me for a few months.”

Surprise snaps her gaze back up to Logan. “You knew?”

“Knew it was someone.” He leans back onto the heels of his palms. “Didn’t think it’d be you.”

“Oh,” Rogue says. She wonders if he’s happy to see her, or unhappy. If he would’ve stopped if he’d known. If he isn’t thinking anything because he’s still drunk. “Right, yeah. Probably weren’t plannin’ on seein’ me anytime soon.”

Rogue’s heart pounds in her ears. The silence stretches, tugging uncomfortably at her guts.

“You gotta give me somethin’, kid.”

She visibly flinches. “Oh, please don’t call me that.”

Rough leans forward, hiding her face in her hands. From between the cracks in her fingers, she barely catches the way Logan raises his palms up.

“Fine, fine. I get it, you’re not a kid anymore.”

“Just gonna make this harder.”

She breathes out, slow and controlled. She’d been practicing. Same stuff Logan had tried to teach her all those years ago that she’d never taken too seriously. Expectantly, Logan waits.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I’m nervous.”

Rogue had tried this conversation every which way in her mind. Had practiced in front of the mirror. Every intro flips past like a flashcard: I’m sorry I’m asking this, I promise this isn’t about some boy, I’ve missed you, I understand if your answer is no, I can just pretend this never happened if you say no, I know this is inappropriate, but…

What comes out of her mouth is, “The world is looking really not good, Logan.”

She stares at him. Scruffy, handsome, unspeakably sad. When he sighs, bowing his head, she catches a glimpse of the nightstand behind him. A pair of glasses and a little bird sit under the lamp, both cast in red. Her heart aches.

“I’m not fightin’ anyone,” Logan sighs. “I love ya. But I’m done with that. As much as I can be.”

Rogue’s mouth goes dry. “No, no, um. It’s more. It’s personal.” Heart racing, sweat squeezing out of her pores. “Can you just — I just want ya to know I’m sorry that I’m even bringin’ this up. I know — I know that you just wanna be left alone. Which is fine. And I’m honestly feelin’ like a complete yellow-belly right about now, but I came all this way, so I guess I can’t just not ask, or — I mean I could, but…”

The knot in her throat swells up. She wants to cry. Logan growls in annoyance.

“Spit it out.”

Rogue bites into her lower lip. She stares down at her own black boots, scuffed at the tip. The visions that she’d played with, alone in bed in the dead of night, wherein Logan holds her hand, squeezes her shoulders, and lets her rest her head on his chest, feel ridiculous in hindsight. The fantasy that he might even like what she’s about to ask him feels completely childish.

“Um,” Rogue says. Stubbornly, she forces herself to look him in the eye. “I wanna have sex before I die.”

Rain drizzles onto the window. The seconds tick by. Logan stares at her, confused. It takes Rogue a long moment to realize that the complete lack of response means he probably hadn’t understood her in the first place. Humiliation flushes her cheeks bright red.

“Okay,” Logan says. He stands up and digs a plastic cup out of one of the cabinets. “And what, you need my permission?”

Logan turns to her, raising an eyebrow as he holds out the cup. Rogue shakes her head no.

The tap twists on. Rogue watches as he fills the cup, the bare remnants of a logo nearly scratched off the sides. His throat bobs as he swallows, a thin stream of water meandering from the corner of his lip and into unkempt facial hair. Rogue’s jaw flops up and down like a fish.

“No, I mean — with you.”

He chokes. Water backsplashes into the cup. More spills from his mouth, dribbling onto his already-damp shirt. Rogue can’t help but flinch.

“Ha. Ha.” He slams the cup down on his counter. The look he shoots her is genuinely terrifying. “Very funny.”

This may be the worst decision Rogue has ever made.

“I’m not joking?” She doesn’t mean for the words to upturn with hesitation. Biting into her own tongue, she wishes she’d gone for sarcastic, instead. Sitting there quietly, silently begging for his approval, can’t possibly be helping. She leans back, squares her shoulders, and tries again. “I’m not joking.”

Logan’s staring at her like she’s grown a second head.

Raindrops tap on the window. Rogue bites into her own lip, tilting her chin up as she holds Logan’s befuddled gaze. No going back now.

“Why?” Logan asks. His gaze flicks down to Rogue’s gloved hands, her turtleneck, down the length of her gloved legs. “I thought you…”

Lips pressed into a thin line, Rogue nods. “The cure. Yeah. Got about three months outta that.” She laughs, the sound dry and humorless. The look Logan gives her is unreadable. “Hell in a damn handbasket, that was. Don’t know about the others, but when my powers came back — it was like I was a teenager again. Lost all the progress I’d made before.”

She remembers the way Bobby’s lips had gone stiff under hers. The agonizing seconds that had ticked by, chills running down her spine, before she’d realized what was happening. Sobbing uncontrollably over his bed in the basement infirmary. By the time he’d woken up, nearly two months later, the last vestiges of him had finally been fading from her mind.

Rogue had been the one to break up with him. At least another month of crying had followed. The conversation had barely even been necessary — just formalizing what they both had already known.

“I’m sorry,” Logan says.

She’s staring at the floor again. Logan’s wet shoes stare back at her. She had never spoken aloud any of the things she’d learned about Bobby from the facsimile of his consciousness floating in the back of her mind. She’d kept it to herself, even when he started dating Kitty a few months later. The secrets tucked away in the corners of Bobby’s mind weren’t things she was ever supposed to know. They were just a few unspoken bullet points at the end of a long list of Rogue’s regrets.

“Thanks,” Rogue says. “It’s not — it’s not fine, but I’ve made my peace with it.”

Slowly, he crouches down. Ever so slowly, he’s dripping onto the floor.

“Marie,” he says. His voice is rough and steady, painfully serious. Once again, Rogue flinches.

“No, don’t call me that.”

A laugh. “Okay, Rogue.” He holds his hand out. Gently, she places her fingers into his. The leather of her gloves squeaks as he squeezes her. “I hear what you’re saying. And I get what it’s like to be lonely.”

Guilt bubbles up in the pit of Rogue’s gut. He doesn’t need to say that part.

“But you’re young. You’re gonna find someone. You don’t need — ”

Silently, she shakes her head. “It’s not about finding someone, Logan. I’ve found plenty of guys. It’s about not killing ‘em.”

More silence follows. Rogue’s hand is shaking in his.

“I mean. You don’t have to touch someone to — “

Her gaze snaps up to his. Sarcasm spills out of her. “Logan,” she says. At least he has the decency to look sheepish. “Don’t gimme that. It’s not the same. And you know it.”

“It’s not a good idea.”

Frustration overtakes her. “You think I don’t know that? Logan, this is fucking humiliating!” She rips her fingers out of his, scowling at the look of surprise that flashes across his face. “I’m an adult. I say fuck now. Don’t act so shocked.”

The corners of Logan’s lips twitch as if resisting a smile. “You were an adult the last time I saw you, too.”

She remembers. Logan had stood with her at the entrance. She’d almost wanted him to tell her to stay, to tell her how to think. Instead, he’d trusted her to make her own decision.

“I know,” she says. Abruptly, she stands up. Squished up against the cabinets behind him, Logan quickly follows suit. “I’m an adult. So I can make my own decision. And you can say no, if you want. But I’m asking.”

He’s over a head taller than her. Chest to chest, Rogue finds herself tracing out the throb of his pulse as it wanders up his throat. Logan doesn’t say anything.

“Which is — I wanna have sex. With you.” When Rogue’s gaze flicks up, Logan’s peering down at her like a hawk would a mouse. She quickly averts her gaze. “So I don’t die a virgin.”

“You’re not gonna die,” Logan growls. His hands jerk up like he’s going to grab her by the shoulders. Then they stop, falling back to his sides. “Soon. You got time.”

Rogue snorts. “Dunno how much you’ve been payin’ attention, bud, but things aren’t goin’ too well out there. People die every day.”

At the Professor’s funeral, she’d never imagined the following years of her life would be characterized primarily by a series of battles. His headstone had been accompanied in quick succession by Scott’s, and Jean’s. She’d thought the whole affair had been a life-shattering low point. In reality, it had just been foreshadowing.

“I’m not comin’ back,” Logan hisses.

Rogue scowls. She crowds into him, two hands pushing hard on his chest until the cabinets behind him stop the movement. “I’m not asking you to.”

He won’t look at her. She doesn’t know it’s guilt or shame or just plain embarrassment, but in the moment she doesn’t particularly care. A rabid sort of desperation knots her fingers up in the damp fabric of his shirt.

“I just want you to fuck me.” Up on her toes, her mouth hovers only an inch from his chin. So close, but not yet touching. “So I don’t die without knowing what it feels like.”

The warmth of his palms soaks through the thin fabric of her sleeves. To Rogue’s chagrin, he only pushes her away.

“Listen to me,” Logan says. He looks her dead in the eye. Shame makes Rogue’s shoulders curl in on themselves. She’d thought that this many years later, with the curse of an even more extensive library of hurt and grief behind her, Logan wouldn’t make her feel so small anymore. “You do not want that.”

A flash of anger sends Rogue’s fist thumping lightly into his chest. He looks down at her leather-gloved hand, confused.

“Fuck you,” she hisses. She’d been able to taste Remy’s fear every time they kissed, counting down from ten like some perverted version of stop-and-go. “You don’t know what the hell I want.”

Deadpan, Logan meets her eyes. He even bends down just a little so they’re closer to eye level. Rogue wants to slap him.

“You don’t know what you’re signing up for.”

He squeezes her shoulders tightly. She bites her tongue, clenches her fists, and tries to keep her anger in check. It isn’t until she does that it finally occurs to her: at no point during this conversation had he said no.

“Stop trying to convince me to back off.” A strand of white hair swings between them on a pendulum. “I left the others for this. For three months. Dunno how many of my friends are dead now, or if I could’ve saved them if I wasn’t here. I knew that, and I know that now, and I’m here anyways. Because I want this once before I die. So just tell me yes or no.”

Logan is silent. Rogue wants to kill him — as if that’s even really possible.

“Or ask me a fuckin’ question or something. Anything.”

A sigh. “I dunno.”

It’s strange, the way her lips quirk into a grin. “That’s not a no,” she points out.

Logan says nothing. He looks conflicted. Later, she’ll feel guilty — but for the moment, she has to fight not to stamp her feet in glee.

“I’ll just — m’gonna sleep on it.”

He leans forward. It’s just an inch or so, but enough for Rogue to understand that he wants her to step back.

She doesn’t. Instead, she wraps her arms around his chest and squeezes him. He’s damp and warm, chest expanding beneath her cheek as she breathes in. “Thank you,” she says. “For thinking about it.”

“You’re — I’m not gonna say you’re welcome.” Slowly, Logan hugs her back. He smells like sweat. “This is weird.”

With a grin, Rogue replies, “Don’t care.”

—

The next morning, she wakes up to the sound of metal clinking and whispered swearing.

Humidity sticks to her cheeks. The stale, earthy smell of smoke clogs her sinuses. Pinpricks of light shine through a canvass of burgundy. Her back aches from the sunken spot in the middle of the mattress where the springs had long since collapsed.

In one swift motion, she sits up. Long strands of dark hair tickle her shoulders. The blankets fall from around her face, caress the bare skin of her arms, and finally pool in her lap. Logan’s already staring at her, tin mug clutched in his hand. The coffee pot spits and bubbles.

“Sorry. Was tryna…” He pauses, gaze flicking down from Rogue’s face. He turns back to the counter and clears his throat. “Was tryna be quiet.”

Her brain still fuzzy with sleep, Rogue absentmindedly digs her fingers into the stiff muscles in her shoulder. Her palm drops a moment later, tip of one finger catching in the hem of her sports bra. She blinks, remembering all at once that she’d slept in her underwear last night. Her wet clothes are hanging in the shower.

Logan still won’t look at her. When she glances down at herself, her nipples are visible through the thin fabric. She resists the urge to roll her eyes.

With a yawn, Rogue stretches. “Logan?” she asks.

“Hm?” He’s staring at the counter. Trying and failing to act normal. It pisses her off — just a little. It’s hard to imagine Logan acting this way with any other woman. Maybe his mother, or his sister. If he even has either of those.

“Could you grab my duffel? Should be in the backseat.”

Rogue stands, stretching. She turns her back to Logan and spends a long, leisurely moment with her back arched and arms stretched above her head. Trying to give him permission to look. Perhaps it’s selfish of her, but she wants him to think she’s beautiful. More than that, she wants to be able to tempt him.

When she finally bends to pick up her keys from the bedside table, she’s careful not to disturb the shades or the little bird. She turns quickly, lobbing the fob in Logan’s direction. He catches them in the center of his palm even though his gaze stays fixed on the countertop.

Rogue tilts her head. She wonders how good his peripheral vision really is.

“Got it.”

He practically runs out the door. Maybe she should lay off. Give him some space. She had been his student. They’d met when she was seventeen. He’d done his best, for at least a couple of years, to step into the gaping hole the separation from her parents had left. That’s not the kind of relationship that time or distance washes away. Rogue knows, as much as she might want to, she can’t just wish it away.

Crouching down next to the side table, she fixes Logan’s mementos in her sight. If she’s being honest, she doesn’t want her relationship with Logan to change. Suspects he doesn’t want that, either. The sun reflects off red lenses. She knows they aren’t Scott’s real glasses — the coating isn’t nearly opaque enough, and the Ray-Ban logo on the side is an obvious giveaway. And the little red bird — a Robin, Rogue thinks — doesn’t seem like something Jean would ever have owned. They’re just tokens. Reminders.

Logan doesn’t want to forget. She understands.

The door creaks open, followed closely by the thump of her bag onto the floor. Rogue turns. Logan’s pulling the carafe out from the machine.

“Coffee?” he asks. “Black’s the only option.”

The smell makes Rogue’s mouth water. She unzips her bag. “Yes, please.”

Logan had insisted that she take the little twin mattress and Logan would sleep in the truck. Rogue had protested — she could sleep in her car, or curl up in the little chair by the table if that was too cold. Logan had muttered that he wasn’t gonna be sleepin’ much, anyway, before leaving the camper. The door had slammed behind him.

The process of getting dressed is always somewhat elaborate for Rogue. Briefly, she considers changing her underwear, but — Logan would probably just book it again.

Her shirt goes on first, thumbs hooked through the holes at the end. Collar rolled up to her jaw. Thin tights from her toes up to her knees, then jeans over that. The billowy ends of her shirt get tucked in. Tighten her belt to keep everything together. She pulls on a pair of ankle socks. Then, finally, she slides on her gloves.

Logan is watching her now. He leans against the counter, sipping his coffee. She re-packs her bag until only her clear makeup bag is left. It sits in her lap for a moment before she raises it up to her chest.

“Am I using this?” she asks.

Logan stares. “Huh?”

She huffs. “It’s makeup, darlin’.”

“I know what it is.”

Rogue puts a hand on her hip. “Great. So, am I wearin’ some?” When she doesn’t immediately receive a response, she continues. “Because I don’t need to get dolled up to enjoy the company of my Honda Civic.”

Logan’s jaw is tight. He continues sipping at his coffee anyways. “You don’t need to do anything on my account.”

“Logan.” Rogue glares. She snatches up her hairbrush, running it through the length of her hair a few times. It feels like he’s playing games with her. “Are we fucking or not?”

He manages to keep the drink in his mouth this time. Only coughs, setting the mug down onto the countertop. This time, Rogue actually allows herself a quiet snicker.

“Just — “ Logan sighs, rubbing at his face. He points at the chair. “Come sit down.”

She does, but not before grabbing her coffee cup. She lets her shoulder brush up against him and swears she feels him shiver.

The single chair creaks underneath her. She stares up at Logan and tries to hold onto her own confidence. This is going to work, she tells herself. There’s no way she came all this way for nothing. Logan had always been a softie.

“This isn’t because of some boy.”

The question makes Rogue laugh. It isn’t even phrased as a question, she realizes, but it sounds just like something Logan would’ve said to her years ago. “No,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I haven’t been with anyone in three years.”

Logan nods. “The cure,” he starts. It occurs to Rogue that he’d probably spent last night coming up with the questions, preparing to rattle down the list. The thought makes her want to roll her eyes. “Know it’s hard to get now, but you could — “

“It only works once,” Rogue says. The coffee is so acidic it makes her salivary glands seize up. She swallows anyways. “I’ve tried. And don’t even think of saying anything about the fact that I didn’t take advantage of the opportunity. I know.”

In fact, she’d tried. She’d held hands with Bobby every day, kissed him at every opportunity, told him she was ready. Rogue had wanted to live her life. At the time, she’d attributed Bobby’s reluctance to the fact that they had all the time in the world. Rogue had thought that she was rushing things. She wouldn’t find out otherwise until she nearly killed him.

Logan hesitates before delivering the next question. Rogue is grateful for the moment to try and counsel herself out of her own bitterness. It’s not like Bobby had known those few months would be her only chance.

“Have you actually tried to make this work. With some guy who’s not…” Logan trails off, gesturing wordlessly.

Rogue fills in the blanks. Somehow, leaving it unspoken is worse. “My former teacher? And lowkey father figure?”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, she immediately changes her mind.

Logan defates like a balloon. His lips form a thin line. “Yeah?” he says.

Buying time, Rogue takes another sip of her coffee. She pretends, desperately, that this isn’t weird. “What do you mean, make it work?”

Logan’s face is red. From his nose to the tips of his ears. It won’t be until a long while later that she’ll recall this moment and understands the way Logan forges ahead as a testament to how much he loves her. In the moment, she’s just mortified.

“You understand that you can. Like the — Jesus fuckin’ Christ. You know what a condom is, right?”

Initially, Rogue wants to ask Logan if he’s stupid. Instead, she lets the question hang for a long moment. Takes another sip of bitter coffee. “They never let you teach sex ed, did they?”

“God, no.”

More coffee. It almost overpowers her own bitterness.

“That’s good. Yes, Logan. I know what a condom is. It doesn’t work like that.” Briefly, she considers going into detail: exactly what parts of a man’s body covers, the humiliation of attempting to expose only the most intimate parts of herself, the way fabric or latex would shift between two moving bodies. She keeps her mouth shut and spares both of them. “Are we done with the fifth degree, now?”

Embarrassment stains her cheeks. Logan isn’t faring much better.

“I just — I need to ask. I know you’re smart. You just gotta let me ask.”

His knuckles are white where he grips the countertop. She tries to keep a lid on her own excitement as she processes Logan’s words. Briefly, she imagines what it would feel like to have those broad palms wrapped tightly around her hips.

“Fine,” she says. Another sip of coffee. Logan seems to have completely given up on his.

He takes in a deep breath. “This isn’t some — “ he starts, before giving up. She’s can’t recall ever seeing him look this nervous. “If we do this. After, we’re gonna pretend it never happened.”

The if is spoken quietly. Rogue feels her pulse quicken. “Obviously.”

Logan’s tongue is pink on his lips. “You can’t come back with feelings later.”

Rogue narrows her eyes. The mug sits defensively in front of her mouth. “You can’t come back with feelings later.”

Silently, Logan’s thick eyebrows furrow in doubt.

“Now you see how ridiculous that sounds.”

This is not, apparently, the response that Logan is hoping for. He crosses his arms, expression shifting from an open anxiety to stern disapproval. The kind of look a teacher gives a student. Rogue’s heart drops into her ass.

“I’m not an idiot. I know you had a crush on me.”

She bites her lip. “When I was eighteen. You were my — you saved my life. Multiple times, depending on how you look at it. And even without that, it would’ve been normal. At that age.”

She sounds defensive. Panic snakes through her veins.

“And that’s not why you’re doing this now.”

She sets the half-empty mug down on the table. A fat drop of coffee sloshes over the edge and streams down the side. Embarrassing honesty time, she supposes.

“Logan,” Rogue says. “I’m a person. I know you’re hot. And obviously the fact that you saved my life, and were nice to me, and looked out for me, and gave a shit about me when I was a kid makes me like you more. But it also makes this exponentially more weird. This is weird. I’m embarrassed. If I had literally any other options, I would take them.”

The urge to cry takes her by surprise. She wants to whisper to herself that it’s not a big deal. She wants to walk out the door of Logan’s little trailer, get in her car, and never come back. She wants for the first time she runs into him to be a few years from now, when mutants can live safely, when he’s come to terms with the state of the world, when she’s unlocked the key to controlling her abilities that the Professor had always assured her must be locked away inside her somewhere.

Rogue wants that future. The one where she could hug him and thank him for always believing in her. They could drink a beer and remember the good old days. But she knows by even asking, she’s ruined that — let alone if she actually survives the next few years.

“It’s like — it’s not the romance. Or the loneliness.“ She starts talking without Logan even asking for more. She doesn’t even look at him. “Like, I’ve had romance. It’s nice, you know, but it’s kind of hard to lose yourself in that when you know they’re always afraid you’re gonna kill ‘em. And then, like, you’d think it was about the orgasms, at least, but — “

Tears cling to leather-tipped fingers as she swipes them under her eyes. As mortified as she feels, Logan stays serious. She laughs.

“I know how to get myself off. Very well, thank you. It’s literally just the experience. Like, I don’t feel like I have to. I don’t feel like I’m incomplete without it.” She sniffs, loudly. All at once, she’s grateful she hadn’t put any makeup on. “Life just fucking sucks, you know? I just wanna get laid once before I die. Without bein’ afraid I’m gonna send some poor fuck to an early grave.”

Rogue feels sick. She stares down at the table, unable to bring herself to look at Logan. She’d managed to hold it together last night. It’s mortifying, how much she cares about this. It feels almost like she’s guilt-tripping Logan, one of the only people in the world who could ever give her this, except for the fact that the tears that fall down her cheeks are completely genuine.

She’d given up on casual intimacy, then on dating entirely. Giving up on having sex shouldn’t be the hardest part. Perhaps it’s that part of her feels like Bobby stole her one opportunity to have this. Or perhaps it’s just symbolic — one last sacrifice in a long line of sacrifices.

Pathetically, Rogue sniffles. Logan remains silent. She wipes at her own tears. Logan must think of her as even more of a child, now. Crying over the idea of being rejected. Unable to deal with the reality of disappointment. A sharp flare of indignation lashes at her tongue.

“Dude, if you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to search for some excuse!” When she finally glances up, Logan’s expression is much softer than she had imagined it would be. A sage kind of sadness crinkles the corners of his eyes. “You can just say if you don’t want to. I get if it’s too weird, or you’re not attracted to me, or taking some sad girl’s virginity just — sounds like a bummer! It’s fine. Just tell me — “

“Stop.”

Rogue does.

Logan drops to his knees in front of her. He pulls her hands away from her face. A protest rises and quickly dies when she sees his thumb approaching. Muddy, unrefined empathy sloshes across the open connection between them. The dull ache in her back fades.

His presence lingers even as he pulls his thumb away, slick with her tears.

“Not good with words,” he says. The warmth of his fondness radiates through her like a hug. As it fades, Rogue squeezes her own elbows, desperate for more. “You get it?”

She nods.

Logan’s thumbs are damp on the inside of her knees. “There are conditions,” he says. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it my way.”

Rogue sniffles. Logan reaches over her and places a small stack of napkins next to her elbow. Humiliated, she blows her nose.

“Kinda selfish, isn’t it?” She’s trying to joke.

Logan glares at her.

“I mean, how many times have you had sex? A few hundred?”

His eyebrows raise, lips quirking up. “Try thousands.”

It’s funny, at least a little. Rogue doesn’t know why, but the thought makes another sob shake through her. “You motherfucker,” she hisses, laughing at herself even as tears spill over her lashline. “I should call you a slut or somethin’, but hell if I’m not jealous.”

Logan actually laughs this time. His thumb traces out little circles on the inside of her knee. “Just means I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, regular cock in the henhouse.” Rogue rolls her eyes and ignores the confused look Logan gives her. She wipes her nose again. “What’re the conditions?”

Logan clears his throat. “Well, I gotta be gone by tomorrow morning. So we’re gonna do it today.” He leans back, scratching at the back of his neck. There’s something strangely endearing about how hard he’s thinking. “I can’t really take you anywhere.”

He doesn’t have to elaborate. Rogue already knows. Mutants are safe these days, and Rogue doesn’t quite blend in. Instead, she asks, “Why would you need to take me anywhere.”

A flicker of frustration flashes in the quirk of Logan’s lips. “It’s your first time. Gonna feed you first. At bare minimum.”

Rogue can’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry, what happened to no romance?” Logan looks at her like she’s stupid. Maybe she is. Blithely, she decides she doesn’t care. “Or do you always take your floozies out to dinner before you let ‘em take a ride?”

She keeps cackling even as Logan continues to glare at her. “‘S’not romance. It’s common decency.”

“Whatever you say, sugar.” She raises her hands. “Your choice. I don’t care ‘bout that part.”

“What part do you care about?” Rogue frowns in confusion. “What — I mean, is there anything that you wanna do?”

“Oh,” Rogue says. Logan’s sitting on the floor now, embracing the absurdity of the situation. She lets herself admire him. The curvature of his chest, bulge of his arm muscles, way his waist narrows down so thin it almost looks delicate. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t attracted to him. Hadn’t thought about it, plenty of times before. She wouldn’t be here, otherwise. “I want you to be on top.”

Logan’s jaw drops. It only takes him a second to get his composure back, teeth clicking shut, but the initial shock had been impossible to miss. “That is not a good idea.”

She frowns. “Why not? That’s, like, the most normal way to have sex. The guy goes on top.”

Rogue knows this because she’s seen it in movies, primarily. She only realizes the words sound ridiculously uncouth as they come out of her mouth. Thankfully, Logan completely ignores that. “Because if I pass out, I weigh three hundred pounds. You’re not gonna be able to get me off.”

“I will,” Rogue laughs. She watches the gears turn in Logan’s head. “Get your mind outta the gutter. You forgot how my powers work. How do you think I got you in my car?”

Logan freezes. “Oh,” he says. “That does — yeah, that does make sense. Okay.” He stands, remarking almost absentmindedly to himself, “I mean, you’re only gonna do it once, might as well do it every which way, right?”

The comment catches her completely off-guard. Rogue imagines herself perched atop Logan’s lap, bent over like a dog in front of him, her back pressed up against the windows, her legs wrapped around his hips while he —

A broad, bare palm in front of her face. “Touch me.”

“Huh?” Rogue asks.

Logan wiggles his fingers. “Gotta know how much I can take. Come on.”

“Oh,” she says. She starts to peel off her glove. “Most people can take about twenty seconds before they pass out. Thirty seconds before they — well. It’s bad.”

She hesitates. Her fingers hover over his.

“I’m not most people.”

Logan doesn’t hesitate as he interlocks their fingers. He barely even reacts, the veins on his forehead throbbing as the connection flies open like a floodgate. She sees herself through Logan’s eyes, feels herself try to focus on the counter backsplash only to find her attention drawn right back to the one place she’s trying to avoid. The fabric of her green sports bra stretches over her chest as she arches, replaced by her own narrow waist, long legs, heart-shaped ass when she turns. She bites into her lip, cock twitching as she tears her gaze away.

A smile cracks across Rogue’s lips. With Logan flooding her mind, she dives deeper.

In the recesses between her blinks, she sees visions of herself. Beneath him, on top of him, beside him, feels the disembodied sensation of a woman stretching around his cock, all echoed through the walls of memory and imagination. The guilt comes in secondary. The details are fuzzy, staring down at the top of her little green hood with a younger version of herself curled up against her chest. The memory of the child she had been throbs painfully in her mind like an open wound, protectiveness and arousal and the insidious gnawing of self-hate —

Breathless, Rogue’s gaze flicks up to Logan. A thin stream of sweat meanders down his temple. Other than that, he looks fine.

“Have you been keeping count?” she asks.

“Three minutes,” he says. His voice is a little rough. “Thought you said you got stronger.”

She can’t help but laugh. He grins back. The connection swings open wide, the essence of Logan trickling over her skin, her muscles, her bones. She breathes in and hears the wind rocking between the trees outside, feels the camper sway side to side, smells the earth dried in the treads of Logan’s boots.

“I’ve been practicing.” Carefully, she stands up. She squeezes Logan’s hand like a vice. The acrid, bitter aftertaste of the coffee suffuses her mouth. She wrinkles her nose. “Can’t believe you drink that stuff with super taste.”

Logan squeezes her hand back. More firm than he ever has before, Rogue thinks, but the pressure doesn’t even approach the point of pain. “I got super taste?”

Surprised, Rogue laughs. “Guess you’d never know any different, would you?” She inches closer in the narrow space, pressing the back of Logan’s hand between her breasts. “Think about me?”

She’d only ever received flashes before. The impression of herself through Bobby’s eyes, the itch in Remy’s fingers to touch her. But Logan’s thoughts are almost perfectly crystallized as they shudder from his body and into hers. She can match them to the movements of his eyes: a fierce rush of protectiveness as their eyes meet, just a favor as he stares at her mouth, a whispered but that dissolves into dogged arousal as his gaze skates over the line of her shoulder.

A soft noise of pleasure threatens to rise in the back of Rogue’s throat. Her heart is pounding as she leans forward and nuzzles her cheek into Logan’s chest.

He wants her. Rogue’s free hand twists into the fabric of his shirt. His arousal reverberates clearly through the caverns of her mind, touching even the deepest parts of her as she soaks him up like a sponge. The pangs of guilt and uncertainty only make it feel that much more real.

“Logan.” She speaks into the fabric of his shirt. It isn’t until the words reach her ears that she realizes how desperate she sounds.

The arm that wraps tightly around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer, is more than enough reassurance that she’s fine.

“Feels good,” Rogue mutters. She could lose herself in this. Imagines standing there forever. She could linger in the warmth of Logan’s arms, the safety of being protected, the satisfaction of being wanted.

“‘Sposed to.” Logan’s lips are warm against her scalp.

It isn’t until a gnawing pain starts to rattle down the connection that she snaps back to reality.

Rogue jumps back, and the connection connection slams shut like a door slammed in her face. Her back hits the chair with enough force to send the whole camper rocking.

“Why’d you stop?” Logan asks. He’s sweating.

Rogue’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. Logan’s still inside of her. Might be forever, with that amount of contact. She has no idea if it’s a function of time or the life force or something else entirely — the soul. Memories of herself flicker across her mind’s eye, crystal clear.

“You were hurting.”

Much less defined, a flash of red. A smile. The fierce burning of love in the pit of her stomach. An ache that rattles her bones.

The silver of Logan’s claws flashes in the morning light. “I’m always hurting.”

Breath knocked from her lungs, Rogue can only stare. She watches Logan’s veins retreat back into his arms, pallor quickly following suit. She hadn’t absorbed as much of him as she would’ve someone else. The memories are easy to push to the back of her mind.

“You get people’s memories, too, right?”

It isn’t until Logan speaks that Rogue realizes she’s been staring off into space. Logan’s still settling inside of her.

“Kind of,” she says. “Usually it’s — they’re more like feelings. And I can ignore it if I need to. Like a voice in the back of my head.”

Logan nods. His claws are the last to retreat, slotting back into his knuckles. She searches for the memory and, for a split-second, feels the fullness of her own forearm. Her eyes go wide.

“You okay?” he asks.

She laughs. “I should be asking you that.”

“I’m fine. I could go longer.” Logan shakes his head. “Try again in a second.”

Rogue nods. The phantom sensation of her knuckles splitting open slices down her arm — very deliberately, she pushes the thought away. She thinks about herself, instead. Logan’s palms on her knees. Wiping away her tears.

“How long does it stay?” Logan asks.

“Huh?”

He crouches down on the floor in front of her. “Me.”

“Oh,” she says. The warmth of him pulses in the back of her mind. Skin to skin, she wants to touch him again. Arousal throbs low in her stomach. “Depends, but — usually for a while.”

“Anything you see — “

She looks down at her own knees. “I know. I won’t tell anymore, or — ask you about it.”

Logan exhales sharply through his nose. She can feel the way the air moves across her bare hand. “You might see some bad shit. Things you can’t handle. Don’t go lookin’ for it. And if — “

“I’ll tell you to stop,” Rogue says. “If I need.”

Silence hangs. “Good,” Logan says eventually. “Yeah. Good.”

Rogue watches his face. Chapped lips pursed in a frown, crow’s feet pinched in worry, eyes fixed unwaveringly on hers. The old, broken essence of him settles into the back of her mind.

“Try again?” he asks, extending his bare palm to hers.

Rogue hesitates. She bites her lip, then asks, “Kiss me?”

Quietly, Logan snorts. Rogue almost feels embarrassed, wondering if the request is too romantic. His fingers run through her hair, then brush the shell of her ear before curling around the nape of her neck. Rogue’s anxiety settles like sand on the beach.

Once again, it’s Logan’s touch — dry lips against her own — that reassures her. Everything is fine.

[duckduckhjonk]

Heya, here's Chapter 3 of my rtc fic! I had this in draft when I decided to post the first 2 chapters, the rest will probably not be as fast as this X3

Mystery of the Cyclone!

Previous | Next | First

Word count; 2,096

Notes; all in all a decent chapter, mostly setting up some future plotlines! And it introduces some original characters! :D

Mischa's idea of a first day back had low expectations. Yet so few of them had been met. At least it was over and he could go back to playing on the Nintendo DS he just got his hands on. Ricky had recommended him this Pokemon game for him to play.

Mischa descended the stairwell, making his way towards the exit when he was interrupted by a voice at the top of it. It sounded familiar but Mischa couldn't quite place from where.

"Hey, you," the voice called, "you're a student here right?"

"Yes, why do you ask?" Mischa replied, very much disinterested in whatever this kid was about to say.

"Oh, good, I'm new here and was told to come after school to the office," the kid explained, "but I cannot for the life of me find it."

Mischa debated for a moment just scoffing and leaving, but something about this kid intrigued him. Mischa swore he saw him somewhere.

"Alright," Mischa said with a sigh, "come."

"Thank you!" The kid followed a little sheepishly behind Mischa. "Oh, uh, by the way, it's nice to meet you, my name is Kallum."

"Mischa."

It was a few minutes of walking before either spoke another word to each other. Mischa was still extremely offput by this kid. He tried to think of where he'd seen Kallum before, although nothing came to mind.

"Mischa, right? You seem like a Leo to me," Kallum said rather bluntly, "and a rapper, do you rap?"

Suddenly it hit Mischa. This was Karnak. But Karnak was dead. How could he still be here and in the body of a thirteen year old.

"Ah, uhm, yes, to both things, I am Bad Egg on the YouTube, I upload rap songs there," Mischa stuttered, clearly awkward about someone who knew so much about him despite this being their first meeting. "What about you? Do you have zodiac sign?"

"Oh..." Kallum paused, "I'm not quite sure... I was told I have some kind of really bad amnesia so I don't remember much about myself."

"I see," Mischa's voice trailed off, "although you do seem familiar, I have feeling we might have met before, although I am not sure."

"Really?" Kallum asked, seemingly excited to hear about this potential memory.

The conversation died down after that. The two arrived at the office and Mischa was quick to leave. At last alone, Mischa pulled out his brand new phone and began texting his love.

He texted Talia to let her know he was out of school for the day. He told her about his eventful first day. Something about being told you might have been nearly murdered sure does make a day interesting.

The conversation simmered out rather quickly though which didn't sit too right with Mischa. He felt as though something was off, he just couldn't figure out what. He didn't want to ask because he trusted Talia, she'd tell him if there was something going on.

Shaking his concerns out of his head, Mischa found himself in front of a tiny bakery. He'd never noticed it before, despite having taken the same path every day before the Cyclone incident. With a shrug, Mischa entered the bakery and looked around.

For the most part, the bakery was empty aside from one old lady behind the counter. She seemed rather excited at Mischa entering. That confused the boy immensely. Normally people were terrified of Mischa. People would become quickly uncomfortable around him for whatever reason. Mischa walked up to the counter.

"Good afternoon, sir," the lady said, "what can I get for you today?"

Mischa looked over the selection, a neatly wrapped muffin caught his eye. "Ah, can I have that muffin please?" He pulled his wallet out.

"Of course, young man," she said with a smile, "that will be five dollars." She takes the muffin out and places it on the counter.

Mischa hands the lady five dollars and takes the muffin. "Thank you," he said as he moved to take a seat at one of the booths. Mischa took a bite and immediately was greeted with some of the best flavours he could ever expect from a muffin.

As he ate, Mischa kept his head in his phone. He meandered through a few social medias before putting it back down to focus on the food. As he did so, two other students walked in swiftly. They were engrossed in a conversation.

"I'm telling you, if we don't get at least one of them in for an interview, no one is gonna believe us," the taller boy said.

"Yeah, but wouldn't it be a little rude to immediately beg someone for an interview about a near-death experience after just recovering from it?" The other kid replied.

"Ah, Franklin, Maxie, how are you two?" The lady said from behind the counter.

"We're well, Miss Sophie," Max, the shorter kid, replied, "how are you?"

"Oh, you know," Miss Sophie replied, "it's always so quiet here."

"It's a quiet town," Franklin replied, very disinterested, "that Megamall is running everyone out of business. Won't be long before they come for you too." He handed Miss Sophie ten dollars, not even letting her process the very out of pocket comment from him.

Franklin received a plain donut and turned quickly to leave. Max was much slower and stayed a bit after they were handed a chocolate covered one.

"Ignore him," they said, "I think you're doing great." Max slid Miss Sophie a twenty dollar bill before leaving.

When they finally rejoined Franklin, Miss Sophie let out a sigh. "Oh he's right, this old shop might have to pack up soon."

This didn't sit right with Mischa. Gone just like that? After she gave him a really good muffin. "That is not fair," Mischa said, seemingly startling the woman, "you bake amazing things and it would be shame to see it go under just like that."

"Oh you're too kind," Miss Sophie said, seemingly having already accepted her shop's fate, "but traffic isn't coming in as it should. It's like people just forgot it exists."

Mischa was struck with an idea, "I have artist friend, we can make posters to remind people of your bakery."

"Oh you don't have to do all of that," Miss Sophie replied, now flustered.

Mischa stood up, empty muffin wrapper in hand, "this was best muffin I ever tasted. Uranium will know of your skill." He wasn't trying to sound threatening. Mischa meant well.

Miss Sophie nodded, "thank you, very much."

With that, Mischa left the bakery and began to set a course for Ricky's house. He quickly made sure to warn Ricky of his approach via text before he did so.

{Mischa - Ricky I am on my way to your house.

Mischa - you can draw right?

Ricky 😺 - Yeah! Why do you ask? :3

Mischa - I need a poster made.

Mischa - Bakery Lady is sad that she isn't getting customers and might go bankrupt soon.

Mischa - I want to help her.

Ricky 😺 - I see. I can help. :3

Mischa - Thank you.}

Mischa quickly pocketed his phone and picked up the pace towards Ricky's house. It wasn't too far from his own, so Mischa wouldn't have to worry about staying too late. Ricky's house was quite nice for such a small and poor town. It possessed three total floors and towered quite a bit taller than the surrounding ones.

Mischa knocked on the door gently. After a few moments, the door squeaked open. On the other side was a short lady accompanied by a fluffy tabby cat. She gestured for him to enter. She pointed him in the direction of Ricky's room without a word. Mischa nodded in thanks before making his way down the hall.

Ricky's room was easy to identify. It was covered in space themed stickers and a sign with a drawing of a cat in an astronaut suit. It was slightly ajar so the various house cats could navigate in and out. Mischa lightly tapped on the door before pushing it open.

"Ricky? You in here?" Mischa asked as he did so.

'I am. Hello, Mischa,' Ricky signed with a smile, 'come in. I got all my drawing supplies out.'

"Excellent," Mischa said as he found a spot in the room to sit, "I was thinking we put all sorts of baked goods over the paper. The words will say Miss Sophie's Bakery, best bakery in Canada. Fuck that mall."

Ricky began drawing but stopped as Mischa said the last part. 'I don't think we should swear on a poster. It might make her look bad.'

Mischa sighed, "you are right, Ricky. Scratch the last part. We will not mention mall in poster."

Ricky nodded and got back to work on a draft of the poster. Mischa put on some music to accompany the drawing. It wasn't the typical hardcore rap he listened to, instead it was purely instrumental. It sounded spacey. Hopefully Ricky liked his choice.

The poster came together quite well. It was on a tan background with beautiful drawings of various baked goods over it with the words Mischa had suggested.

"Do you have copy machine?" Mischa asked.

Ricky shook his head solemnly, 'I know the library has one. I was already thinking of heading there sometime this week. Maybe we could go together?'

"Yes, that would be nice. Before then I will get Miss Sophie's approval of the poster," Mischa said with a nod.

The two continued talking into the evening. Eventually Ricky's parents brought in some cheap takeout food for the boys.

"I have yet to try this Pokemon you recommended to me," Mischa admitted, "But I look forward to this Soul Silver game."

'Oh, you'll really like it,' Ricky explained, 'I have Heart Gold, so we can eventually trade version exclusives to each other once you learn more about the game.'

Mischa was confused on what some of the words Ricky signed meant. "What, uh, starting pokemon did you pick?"

Ricky pulled out his DS and flipped it open to reveal a tiny green pokemon with a leaf atop it's head. Ricky navigated to his party menu to get a closer look at it. It's name was Goldie and it was a Chikorita. Upon closer inspection it wasn't the green it was standing next to Ricky's character. It was a yellowish colour.

"Why is it not green like the overworld sprite?" Mischa asked.

'its Shiny. I spent hours trying to get it,' Ricky explained.

"Shiny? Is it stronger than the regular one?" Mischa asked.

'actually, no,' Ricky continued, 'its just a cosmetic difference. Every pokemon has a shiny variant, but they're super rare.'

Mischa hummed at this. He could understand the desire for something for merely cosmetic purposes. Perhaps he could attempt to partake in shiny hunts?

The conversation meandered off from pokemon to video games in general afterwards. Eventually ending up with them exchanging friend codes or usernames on nearly every platform. By the time Mischa had to leave, the sun had nearly fully set beyond the horizon.

Mischa hadn't had to walk very long before he arrived at his own house. Without any hesitation, Mischa pushed it open and immediately began to head downstairs and into the basement. Halfway down the stairs, he could hear the people legally considered his parents talking.

"We're going to have to tell him," the man said in a worried voice.

"Why?" The woman replied in an upset tone, "he doesn't have to know what we do with our lives."

"Because it's messed up to bring another child into this house without any warning," the man hissed, "to both the child and to him."

Mischa's entire body froze. They really had the audacity to try and bring another child here? After they locked him away? What happens if they're disappointed in how this one arrives? There's not a second basement.

Mischa attempted to continue down the stairs as quietly as usual but he felt his steps become heavy stomps. He slammed the door at the bottom of the stairs and flopped onto his bed. He took a deep breath and gently opened the DS on his bed.

The game was playing Pokemon, it was on the starter selection screen. He flicked through all three options. Cynaquil, Totodile, Chikorita. He felt conflicted on what to chose. That's when an idea struck. Whichever one turns up 'shiny' first, would be the one Mischa picked.

With that, he reset the game and the hunt was on.

[lemonflowercat]

75 soft (attempt 3): day 1

[] morning walk/run/yoga x6/w

skipped this to do a long overdue house clean-up - was totally worth it!

[x] meditate atleast 15min every afternoon

[x] study 42h/w

kicking it off with a favourite - molecular biology ♡

baby steps, ig. nearly done with molecular biology!

[x] [x] [x] one raw veggie or fruit x3 meals

- peach yogurt with chia seeds, topped with sour-sweet strawberries

- musk melon w sugar sprinkles for a little snack

- cucumber tomato salad with an extra mustard-y vinaigrette at lunch

[] evening wxo x6/w

skipped because I was just so tired from my afternoon out. summer is creeping in and my body's forgotten how draining the sun can be!

[x] 1400 cal/d x6d/w

[x] 2.5L water/d

[x] progress picture/d

[x] brush before bed

[x] no media consumption through freezes/PMS days (one movie/d allowed)

actually watched a movie today - Suncoast. i cried like a baby, and it played on my death-related anxiety strings a lot. it was a cute movie. I kinda kept expecting Doris' friends to pull a Mean Girls on her, and I'm so glad they didn't. The mother-daughter relationship was interesting - i like how the neglect nurtures so much self-reliance in Doris. Paul saying, "this is a gift, though it may not seem like it now" (or something along those lines), reflects what i've often thought about my own turbulent childhood.

in the beginning, I did mostly look at Kristine through Doris' lens, but by the middle of it I could really empathize with her. single woman grieving the imminent death of her first baby, doing her best to make ends meet - Doris does become a bit of an afterthought at this point which, although is unfair to her, Kristine was just an imperfect human doing the best she could. I like how Kristine didn't give Doris too much grief over her "rebellion", perhaps she understood this was her own wacko teen girl way of dealing with everything thrown at her.

the movie was lacking in depth, for sure - but then it aired on Disney+, so I guess it does a decent job of being a sweet coming-of-age-ish story. i like how it dipped its toes into the ethics of medical euthanasia - literally a brief toe-dip, but i'd say good enough food for thought for its target audience.

overall, a decent one time watch.

[petitelepus]

Ok I’ve been thinking about this for a while but what are sari and bots reaction to meeting Isaac business partner? She is always so serious, strict, and a clean freak. She looks young too because she looks to be a teenager and due to her petite high (5’3) but she either in her twenties or 18. She sometimes watch over sari but it’s really boring in sari option because she teaches her, make her clean everything, basically having her do her schedule she had made for her. But when the day came when sari had to move out of her home, she was waiting in Isaac chair while glaring at Powell and that other guy? (Is that his name? Forgot both of their names) and acted like a total badass! Not giving a shit about what they were saying and pointing out the crimes they have made (I tell ya what kinda crimes they attempted cuz i think it’s a lot more than that lol) but when Powell protested and both men threatened her, she did this https://youtu.be/CDJH7S4xSvA (low key deserved that lol and it’s based on that character X3)

You came from a very poor family with even fewer chances of making it out there in the world. Isaac Sumdac took you in when you were at your worst and helped you, taught you, and nurtured you into the person you were today.

The man had a heart made out of gold, but God he could be gullible. It was up to you to harden your heart and watch after this man who took you in when he wouldn't be able to watch after himself.

He swears he didn't teach you to become so cold but you insisted that it was needed to ensure the company's safe future.

Isaac was like an older brother to you so that made Sari your niece. You admit, you were a little cold and maybe that is why Sari so much liked to push your buttons or prank you, but you never hated her.

Of course, besides Isaac, you were the only one that knew about Sari's interesting past and birth.

But of course, he had his secrets he kept even from you... Like that huge robot head that turned out to be evil.

So when your business partner, friend, and brother went lost, you tried to keep the imperium he had built from shattering or worst, twisting into something he wouldn't recognize anymore when he would return.

Isaac had put his foot down that he would never manufacture weapons and you stuck to his words even when that sleazy Powell so smugly took over the business and cast you aside.

"Your services are no longer needed here." The man had said as he made his way to the chief's desk and made himself comfortable on the chair.

"I swear, if you do anything to hurt Sari or this business then I'm coming after you...!" You warned him, but the man had the nerve to laugh at you.

"Please, the girl has already been disposed of and it's just a matter of time before I can get rid of you also. Then nothing and now no one can stop me!"

You never wanted to punch someone so badly, and even more when you heard what he had done to Isaac's daughter, you were furious.

Taking over the company was one thing, but kicking your brother's own daughter out of her own home was outrageous!

"You son of a-!" You grabbed him and were about to punch him when he suddenly yelled, "Help! Someone, help, she has lost her mind!"

The doors to the office slammed open and some big goons, who no doubt belonged to Powell, rushed in and pulled you away from the businessman.

"Throw her out. She no longer works for the corporation."

You were hissing like a venomous snake as you were escorted out. Damn man, he had baited you and you had fallen for his trap like an idiot.

Soon you were there again, on the streets in the middle of a rainy night, but things were different now. It was your job to help your brother now and your niece. You took off your high heels and rushed to the Autobot base where Sari was with the hero Bots.

"A- Auntie?" Sari blinked as she got up and walked to you, "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at Sumdac Tower?"

"I... No longer work there." You said and Sari frowned, "They threw me out..."

"I know... I'm so sorry Sari, I tried-!"

"Why there aren't any documents of me? Shouldn't there be something? Do I not exist? Am I... Am I even real?" She thought out loud as tears rose to her eyes and you felt your heart shatter.

It wasn't your job or right to tell her... So gently, you picked her up and hugged her close to your body.

"You are real. You're Sari Sumdac, daughter of Isaac Sumdac and my niece." You said as you pulled back and smiled sadly at her, "I have an apartment with an extra room if you want to come to live with me until we find your dad?"

"Wait, really?" Sari was dumbfounded. You had invited her over once and stopped there when she had declined, saying that it wouldn't be fun with a neat freak like you.

You smiled as you nodded again. "You can decorate it any way you want!"

"That's so kind!" Sari cheered as he jumped and hugged you, startling you since you weren't used to being touched like that... But then she pulled apart and shook her head.

"While I am thankful for your offer, I want to stay with Autobots." The young girl said as she glanced at her huge friends over her shoulder. "I think together we can find my dad!"

"I see." You nodded as you got up on your feet and started to straighten your suit and fix your appearance. You must have looked awful, running through the city in the rain without an umbrella.

"You have really grown into a fine young lady." You smiled at Sari, who wasn't used to hearing you compliment her or anyone really. It made her smile.

You looked at Autobots and nodded as you took out the stack of your business cards from inside your jacket and offered the dryest to the Autobot leader Optimus Prime.

"I trust her safety to you." You said and turned to address Sari one more time, "Don't worry, I'll come to visit you every day and I won't stop looking for your father."

"Auntie...!" Sari was amazed and you smiled as you turned to leave, but a sneeze caught you off guard. That's what you get for running in the rain.

"Uh, may I offer you a ride to your home?" Big green Bot, Bulkhead asked and you nodded, "If you are so kind?"

[starlightcevans]

Your Ghost - A Ransom Drysdale story

Hello everyone! I have written stories on Wattpad, but I have decided to share the stories on Tumblr too. I have written two full stories based on Ransom Drysdale. I am currently busy on the third story. I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing the story.

A lot of thought and work was put into this story.

Warning: This story contains mature content: Strong language, and smut. I'd recommend 18+ to read this story, but viewer discretion is advised. Please be aware that this fan fiction will contain strong language, explicit scenes that may not be suitable for younger viewers, and scenes of alcohol. There is mature content in this fan fiction.

Please note that this is purely fiction writing. I do not own any of the characters, this is purely for fiction.

Feedback is always welcome. Please let me know if you like this story or not.

If you find any grammar errors, please let me know.

Link to the Wattpad story: https://www.wattpad.com/story/230456351-your-ghost

EVELYN:

I rummage through my cupboard to see what food I have left in my apartment. I am running late already and I have errands to run today.

My phone buzzes and I see who it is.

"Hello H -Mr. Thrombey." I answer on the first ring.

"Evelyn darling! Can you pop through to my place today? I would like us to discuss your book." Harlan kindly asks.

I look at my wall clock. "Of cause I can. I just need to run a few errands before I can see you. Would that be okay?"

"That sounds perfect. Fran will meet you at the door. I have given Marta the day off because she has family business to attend to. And call me Harlan dear." Harlan warmly says and hangs up the phone.

I smile to myself. I was taught as I grew up to respect my elders. When I first met Harlan, I called him "Mr. Thrombey.", but he tells me to call him by his first name. I did seem to have certain faces glaring at me every time I called him "Harlan".

I look at the wall clock and curse. It is nearly the afternoon and I have slept for most of the morning. The shops will close soon. Thank you Sundays!

I finish packing my lunchbox for the day because I really don't have to make breakfast. I know I am going to be on the road for most of the time, so I need to pack some food for the road. This time I remembered to actually pack myself some healthy food - well if you consider a packet of salted chips, crackers, mixed nuts and a soda a healthy snack.

I climb into my car and my phone buzzes. It's a text from him. I don't bother reading the text because I have more important tasks to do today. I throw my phone on the seat next to me and I jolt when I see myself in the rear view mirror. My hair is still in an untidy bun from when I woke up and my face looks pale. I grab what makeup I have in my bag and try to make myself look good - at least presentable. I look down to see that I am wearing normal clothing and not my pajamas.

I start the engine and pull out of my driveway. I first drive to the hardware store. Before I enter the store, I reach for my phone to view what I need to purchase.

Light bulbs X2

Electrical Cable X1

20L Lilac paint X2

20L Undercoat paint X1

I was fortunate enough to have one of the staff members carry the paint tins to my car.

"Thanks Larry." I look at the tall, lanky man's name tag.

"Anytime Ma'am. Don't forget that we do offer a service where our selected staff members will come out and paint whatever you need painted." He smiles at me. I thank him and tell him that I will think about it. My father has offered to help me paint the interior of my apartment.

The next stop I drive to is the grocery store. I take a look at my grocery list on my phone as I grab hold of a trolley and start to scratch out what I am picking up:

Broccoli

Chamomile tea - For Harlan

Avocado - Ripe and ready

1 Bag Apples

1 Pack Grapefruit

2L Milk X2

Cucumber

Cauliflower

Sweet Potatoes

Can of baked beans X3

Pet food X1

Spaghetti pasta

Spaghetti Sauce

Loaf of Bread

Chocolate bars

Garbage bags

Laundry Detergent

Body soap

Once I am done collecting the fruit and vegetables, I walk down the hot beverage section when all of a sudden, I accidentally ram right into someone.

"I am so sorry! I -" I stop talking when I realize who I rammed into.

"Linda!" I seem to sound surprised. This is a grocery store close to where she lives.

"I mean Mrs. Drysdale." I correct myself.

"Hello Evelyn. Long time and no see." She smiles, but her tone sounds condescending.

"I have been very busy lately. Work has been getting busier and I am also trying to renovate my apartment." I tell her in a calm voice.

Linda eyes my trolley while sticking her nose in the air. "Clearly." She blatantly says.

I clench my hands into fists, but immediately unclench them before Linda notices. She will know that she is getting in my head.

I look at my watch. "Anyway I have to get going. I need to finish my shopping." I plaster a smile on my face and pull my trolley forward, literally flying past her.

"When you are done with your shopping...say hello to my dad from me will you?" She says with a snarky attitude.

I halt in my tracks and in the process nearly knock someone else who was about to walk down the aisle. "Excuse me?" I am surprised that my tone is neutral.

Linda walks over to my trolley - in the elegant way that she does - and picks up the box of chamomile tea and raises it in the air. "My dad drinks this specific tea. I know you don't like this tea. If I recall last time you drank this tea, you said it tastes like dirt."

Damn it! I hate that she knows I dislike that tea.

I spout the first thought that enters my mind. "Sometimes trying something new is good."

I shut my mouth. Damn it! Why didn't I think before saying those words!

Linda raises a brow. "Sure...just like being with someone new is sometimes better than -"

"I have to go." I cut her off and immediately turn around. "Bye Li - I mean Mrs. Drysdale."

I walk as fast as my feet can take me until Linda is out of my sight.

I rush to collect the rest of my groceries and once I am in the queue, I look at my watch.

"Shit!" I say out loud and one mother gasps and covers her child's ears.

I apologize and look in the opposite direction. I need to get to Harlan's place. I don't like to keep him waiting. He is a busy man - even at 84 years old. I take out my phone and dial Harlan's home number. Harlan does not believe in having a cellphone. He says that cellphones brainwash young minds with all their fancy apps.

Harlan doesn't answer, so I leave a voice message stating that I am on my way to him soon.

I spot Linda leaving the store. I sigh. I think back to what she told me. She was right. Harlan loves chamomile tea, especially this makes one.

Once I am back in my car, I drive west to Natick to Harlan's house. As I pull up in front of the gothic revival house, I notice that there are no visitors - this time. I sigh in relief.

I am welcomed by Fran, the housekeeper, who looks at me up and down in the way she always does. I know I wasn't her biggest fan whenever I visit Harlan, but I can understand why so I don't blame her. I just made sure that I was kind to her.

"Hello Fran. How ar -"

"Mr. Thrombey is in his study. Would you like any assistance with anything?" Fran cuts me off and smiles at me as she speaks, but I know it is not sincere.

I smile warmly and look at my car. "I have some groceries which need to go into the fridge while I visit. Would that be alright? I mean I can -"

Fran storms past me, rolling her eyes no doubt, and waits by me car. I stand frozen for a couple of seconds, but I shake my head and walk to my car to open the boot and tell Fran what need to go into the fridge. She nods and does not speak to me again.

Once the groceries are in the fridge that needs to be there, I walk to Harlan's study. I open the door.

"Hello Ha - I mean Mr. Thrombey. I am sorry I ran late." I speak quietly.

"Come in child." Harlan softly speaks, closing a book he seemed to be writing in.

I close the door and walk into the cozy red study which has a low, curved ceiling. I sit on one of the two comfortable armchairs.

To this day I still feel slightly uneasy being in Harlan's study. It could be because of...I shake the thought out of my mind; I am here to speak to Harlan.

"You wanted to see me." I tell Harlan.

He looks up at me and takes off his glasses. He clasps his hands together. "Yes I did Evelyn. And for goodness sake! Call me Harlan. You are practically family." He smiles.

I shyly smile back.

Harlan continues. "How is your novel coming along?" He asks.

"It's going great." I lie.

Harlan frowns and smiles. "You can tell me if you are struggling with the story line."

I open my mouth to speak, but Harlan starts to talk. "Last time we were discussing your novel, you stated that you were worried where your story was heading."

I hold up my finger to interject, but decide against it.

Harlan chuckles. "I may be 83, but my memory is still strong. Well...most of the time."

We both start laughing.

I take out my notepad and pen and sit opposite Harlan to discuss a scene from my novel that I am struggling with.

I decided to write a mystery novel about a year ago and at first I did not want help with my story, but eventually my story was not making sense. So I eventually decided to speak to Harlan, who is a mystery novelist.

Fran made tea for the both of us. One chamomile tea for Harlan who hugged me because I found the brand he loves. The tea I drank was flavored, which I didn't mind.

Once we have spent an hour on my novel, we end up changing the subject to baseball for some reason. We discuss how we used to attend baseball matches and there was one time we went and Harlan caught the baseball. He picks the ball up from his desk and throws it to me and we both end up laughing.

Just then the door opens. I look to see who is at the door. "Fran. Is -"

I stop speaking and my laughter fades quickly.

"Hello Eve."

Wearing a white sweater under a brown trench coat, I stare at the man who once made me feel weak to my knees. Ransom.

[odense]

a few of my favorite things

belated response to being tagged by @phoenixrisesoncemore ! first I meant to respond and got distracted by class; now class is cancelled and I’m reminded lol

comfort food: wide rice noodles! It’s the qq, all day every day :D or! the humble venerable toast with butter and honey with tea

comfort clothes: is it clothes? I’m counting it anyway: my stim ring! It’s three interlocking rings that I can roll over each other and fidget with and I make sure to take it anywhere I’ll have to focus. And the rings make a great chiming sound against each other too :)

comfort item: my trans saint, hands down. I matted the sticker of viva il cotello by Fydor Pavlov and gave him a gold frame, and now he hangs over the window over the head of my bed. I put it all together before I came out, so it was as much a project in flying under the radar as measuring twice/cutting once. 

comfort character: obi-wan kenobi! Sam vimes!! And most of all, the very specific version of Jason Todd that lives in me and @crimsontaurus’s heads!!!

comfort song: oh boy in no order at all: mission street, soon love soon, flyweight love, landsailor, etc by vienna teng. Dancing in the dark and my lover man by bruce springsteen. Be still, caution, and many many by the killers. Starlight by muse but specifically the way the a capella group covered it when we were in high school. Uptown girl by westlife. Wedding promises, blowing winter in, acts of creation by echo’s children. The whole album of carmen miranda’s ghost, lmao. Lark of my heart, start with goodbye stop with hello, coming up roses, only for today, by eliza rickman. And that’s what I’ve got on top of my head right now!

comfort youtuber: hm, I don’t have one specifically right now, but back in the beforetimes when I’d come home and watch dianxi xiaoge, it was a great way to unwind.

comfort video game: I’m not a gamer sorry 😔 2048???

comfort film: the martian, the lord of the rings x3, lawrence of arabia, wolfwalkers

comfort show: Rocket Science, from the earth to the moon, the terror, MASH, chernobyl HBO, SG1, SGA

comfort stim: I’ve already mentioned my ring, so shoutout to the time I got to explain my grad research at a picnic/meetup and I was so excited I did full handflaps in public!

comfort activity: reading out on the back deck. Hopefully sitting in the shade, hopefully with some water next to me, but all it really takes is a book and the deck. Somewhere in the Prydain chronicles, Orddu, Orwen and Orgoch set the price for something as (paraphrasing, sorry) a single afternoon, one day out of thousands in a lifetime. And of course I read that first when I must’ve been 10 or 11, so I thought it would’ve been an easy exchange, but then I pulled them out again during lockdown, and a book, a deck, an afternoon - no way, there’s no price you can put on that.

Comfort book, because yeah the original post just left if off in oversight! I had the great fortune to read Thud! on vacation in Yosemite once, and cannot overstate how good that was. Also Night Watch and Jingo and Amazing Maurice. Howl’s Moving Castle, the Kiesha’Ra series, Peter Darling. The enchiridion. Sundays at the Moosewood Restaurant.

passing it along to anyone who wants to! @gwinny3k @stargazerofgoldenwords @doitninetimes @simply-sithel @callmestannismaybe @chubsthehamster @princepestilence @katt5673 @meta-theory @zeromorph @themodethecitythesoul @witchstone ???

[lil23akira]

Alberose Week 2021

Day 6(family)

Oh hell yea today's the day I was most excited about X3

cw: fluff, poor research about flowers and ye olden days methods, maybe ooc but this is assuming they're both completely comfortable with each other now

Albedo was tired. He spent the past 3 days taking Klee on a trip to Liyue so she wouldn't bomb away the fish supply in Mondstadt. It was fun, he won't deny the joy he feels whenever he makes time to spend with his sister. That said, he's social battery is just about drained, and he just wants to recharge. So when he finally reached a small cottage he called home, he considered never leaving again.

He entered the cottage and was immediately greeted by the smell of soup. Without hesitation, he hung up his coat and made his way to the small kitchen. His sweet flower burst out grinning upon sensing his presence, and gave him a nice long hug. "Welcome home! How was your trip?" she said, ears flipping up and down without shame. There was once a time she would hide them, far too embarrassed to let them move an inch. Albedo felt slightly nostalgic thinking back at it, but now he's glad Sucrose was comfortable was comfortable enough to be herself.

"A trip with Klee? Exhausting, but fun nonetheless." he said. Sucrose only giggled at her partner as he buried his head in the crook of her neck. "I missed you, love" he whispered, as he inhaled her essence. "I missed you too" Sucrose simply placed a soft peck on his cheek. Pulling away from the hug slightly, Sucrose continued with "The soup's almost ready, go ahead and clean up. We'll cuddle after dinner, alright?". Knowing full well that she has complete control over himself, Albedo pulled away and went to wash up.

A few minutes later, Albedo emerged from their shared bedroom having only removed his leggings underneath his shorts. He figured he could change clothes right before bed. However, something caught his eyes on his way back to the kitchen. On the windowsill, there was pot that wasn't there before. It was obviously a new flower as there was a tiny bud growing in the center. What intrigued him however was the card next to it.

[ CecilAster 1326, 7 months until full bloom ]

Ah, so it was one of Sucrose's new creations. The exact same one that exploded in fa- wait 7 months? Most flowers would take around 3 months. Sure this one was crossbred, but even so, wouldn't that be far too long for 1 flower? Also, if Sucrose had only just succeed making the seed, how would she know it'd take 7 months? It took Albedo a minute of trying to process the information before he noticed a small strip of paper next to the pot too. Albedo had seen those strips before at the pharmacies in Liyue. Generally, unused sticks would have 1 red line at one end until peed on. Why would Sucrose-

There were 2 red lines.

.. oh.

Oh

With wide eyes, Albedo took in a deep breath before calling out to his lover. "S-Sucrose?"

"Yes??" she said, as she emerged from the kitchen. She must of noticed his bewildered expression immediately as her expression softened. "Is this.. a-are you..?" he stammered, completely caught off guard by this discovery. Sucrose gave him a gentle smile as she came closer.

"yes"

Overwhelmed with more emotions than Albedo could process, he engulfed Sucrose in a hug, almost crushing her in fact. But he would never, especially not now. Not when she was carrying the most precious thing to human life. Albedo wasn't sure what he was feeling, joy, fear, anxiety, excitement, love. Maybe it was all of them at once, it made him tear up honestly. Sucrose, once again could only giggle at her lover as she hugged him back.

"Can I.." he started, unsure how to phrase it. "yes, yes you can." Sucrose answered, knowing full well what he was trying to say.

and that's how the soup Sucrose made inevitably got cold, completely untouched that night. For they ended up embracing each other 'til dawn. All the while Albedo couldn't help but make a mental note for their little rosebud.

"Dear child of sugar and chalk, no alchemy in this world could ever hope to produce a being like you. Nor will we ever try to find out. Nothing in this world could compare to how you are at this moment, and the next, and the next, for all eternity. So for all eternity, we love you. You are the epitome of all life- of our lives. You who are pure, don't you ever worry. For there is no cataclysm too disastrous that could waver our hearts from loving you. When you arrive, we will eagerly waiting for you, ready to teach you all we know and give you all we have for all your days. Our little flower, let's grow together, as a family."

Let's forget about historical logic and just enjoy for the moment XD

Click for better quality

Variations utc

[dnightshade0]

Voltron: never handcuff a werewolf to a vampire…

In this AU, Keith is a vampire and lance is a werewolf. And the reason for their “rivalry” is because of the whole bad blood between vampires and werewolves thing. They absolutely hate each other.

In this scenario, they are still trying to figure out how to form Voltron. they just got done going threw all those failed team bonding exercises and are now sitting down to eat lunch.

Coran: AHOY YOUNG PALADINS! I’ve wiped up a big batch of focusing food! After this meal, you’ll be forming voltron 6 times a movement! And twice on the astral conflux!

Shiro: smells great coran, thanks!

Just as everyone is about to dig in, coran pulls out a remote and space cuffs materialize out of the seats and cuffs everyone together.

Lance: HOLD THE PHONE!

Coran: I saw a lot of solid individual performances today. But your still struggling to work as a team… so welcome to the final bonding exercise of the day.

Lance and Keith fidget, trying to get out of their cuffs and fail. In the end they just glare at each other. Keith hissing and lance growling.

Hunk tries to get at his food, also not succeeding. Then turns to Coran.

Hunk: Coran! I want you to think about what your doing!

Coran: oh this one’s a classic. You get to feed each other LIKE A PACK OF YELLMORES!

Lance: Coran! This is your only warning. UNCUFF US! NOW!

Coran: sorry but this is an essential part of your training.

Lance: I WILL NOT BE HANDCUFFED TO A PARASITIC BLOODSUCKING VAMPIRE!

Keith: LIKE I WANT TO BE HANDCUFFED TO A FLEA-BITTEN MANGY WEREWOLF!

They both start growling and hissing at each other.

Coran: sorry! No can do. You’ll just have to learn to put aside your petty differences and get along.

Shiro: Coran… I don’t think forcing everyone into this kind of situation is the best idea.

Hunk: uh shiro…

Shiro: everyone is a bit on edge.

Hunk: shiro…

Shiro: you need to just give everyone a break-

Hunk: shiro!

Shiro: and let them have their space!

Hunk: SHIRO!

Shiro: WHAT?!

Hunk points at lance with his head.

Shiro: WHAT TH-LANCE STOP THAT! STOP TRYING TO NAW YOUR HAND OFF!

——————-

Lol I guess Lance would rather chew his own hand off then be cuffed to Keith XD

Not that Keith is complaining, win win for him X3

I imagine that any werewolf would resort to nawing their own foot off to get out of a trap or cuffs in order to escape imprisonment.

[mehphoobia]

TRIPLE TROUBLE (PART 2)

Pairing- Tom Holland(x3) x Reader

Summary- Who knew teasing Arvin, Peter and Tom, your three boyfriends would get you such a punishment...triple punishment.

Warning- ABSOLUTE FILTH (I don't know even how but the entire fic is smut. JUST SMUT.)

MASTERLIST | REQUESTS OPEN

_____________________________🤍______________________________

There weren't a lot of people who were into polyamorous relationships. Naturally having more than one person in your life would be a nightmare to anyone. But with Tom, Arvin and Peter everything just seemed so easy.

On some days Peter and you would go out on dates to a beach or just walking in the park hand-in-hand. On some days Tom and you would go to a movie together or sometimes it was a dinner date. With Arvin you felt like a teenage girl again who would be with her first boyfriend. You know the same hormonal teenagers who were always horny. Well that resulted in Arvin eating you out in the car as if there was so tomorrow or the both of you making out behind a bus.

Regardless it was never difficult with them, instead they made your life easier. Your favorite days were when you would tease them with your nudes, whenever you would go out for an office trip. Oh man you loved teasing them. But they had had enough of your teasing and little did you know it was your turn.

It had been two weeks since you had left for your office trip and you were excited to see them again. Your boys...you had missed them. When you stepped outside the airport you found Arvin waiting for you. "Babe!!" you yelled to have his attention towards you. "Hi!!" he mouthed as he ran to you and picked you up. Both of you chuckled and his familiar cologne comforted you. The endearing moment was over when you felt his fingers on the hem of your panties. "Ah" you gasped when you realized his fingers slowly had started making their way..inside.. The skirt you were wearing let him in with no difficulty and the overcoat you wore protected the world from the torture Arvin was doing to you.

"Let's go home kitten..they are waiting." Arvin whispered in your ears and he chuckled as he felt your fresh slick coat his fingers which were still massaging your velvety folds. "O-Okay" as he pulled his fingers out, your folds clenched around nothing.

The entire ride back home was..well difficult. Arvin played this sensual music while his fingers trailed up and down your thigs. That made things difficult because you were already riled up since your little reunion at the airport. "Already kitten? we still have the entire day ahead of us" Arvin chuckled as he saw your restlessness. You were frustrated as they never kept you waiting but you needed it.

You needed to cum.

When you reached home, Peter hugged you and helped with your bags. Tom took one look at knew what was going on. "Vin' already? I thought we were gonna wait." Tom talked sheepishly. "Couldn't control man, you have no idea how wet she is right now" Arvin said as he took out his overcoat and hung it. "Wait for what Tom?" you asked. "Payback time" Peter said as he made his way back, grabbed his bag and winked at you before stepping out of the house for his class.

You blushed as you entered your room and undressed yourself. "Sugar! Don't help yourself" Tom warned from the living room. "We will come to know" Arvin added. "Fucking triplets" you cursed. After stepping outside of your bath, you tried to hunt down your lingerie but you couldn't find any. "Arvin babe where is my lingerie?" you asked. "Not allowed today." You could have swore that you head them high fiving each other.

Around two hours later, Arvin had left for work and it was only Tom and you at the house. You were in the kitchen making some food for the both of you. Fuck your jetlag, two weeks of no sex and these triplets are making you wait. You were sexually frustrated.

"Hey" Tom whispered as he stood behind you dragging his lips on the nook of your neck. Your sexual frustration ran way somewhere when you him picking up your dress-shirt and felt his rock hard dick lined up in your entrance. "Wanna know where did you panties go?" he said while kissing your earlobe. You nodded, "hnng" you withered as he slapped the tip of his cock on your bud. But just when you were gonna cum he pulled away. "We will tell you later" he spoke with no difficulty, "NOOOO just please fuck me..please" you pleaded but he just caressed your hair and walked away. "I am gonna cry" that sexual frustration which had run away somewhere hit you like a truck when you felt your slick running down your thigs.

With all that sexual tension, you had to take a bath again to clean yourself. Now that all the three of your boys were home, you could only imagine what they would do to you. You stepped outside the bathroom and suddenly could feel hot breath on your neck. It was Peter. "Hey Y/N" he whispered. "Peter I just took a bath, I have to clean myself again if you continue to do this." you spoke with frustration clearly evident on your tone. On your sudden confession Peter cocked an eyebrow, placed the ice container and looked behind you. "Not anymore kitten, we have had our fun." Arvin spoke from behind nibbling on your left ear. "We can't control either" confessed Tom occupying your right side. You were sandwiched in between the three of them, it just felt so good. With their hands roaming around your skin and their legs parting your knees apart, oh you could melt away then and there.

Peter disrobed you and all the three of them looked at your now exposed body with lust in their eyes. Peter who was usually the shy one, was the first to crash his lips into yours. Tom made his way down and Arvin massaged your nipples. None of you spoke anything but your moans, all those sensations going around your skin and the three of them panting was enough. But the sudden silence was broken because of a sudden yelp extracted from you when Tom placed an ice cube on your inner thing. "So wet" Tom whispered as he slowly dragged his fingers along your folds followed by the ice cube.

Warm breaths, cold water suddenly on your bud and Tom's fingers slashing through you were enough to have you come undone with a loud moan. "That's it baby, missed this." panted Tom. Peter grabbed an ice cube himself and pressed them on your nipples, he alternated sucking and pressing the ice cube on your perked up nipples. "Ahh..so g-good...fuck" you moaned too emerged in the sensations and you felt Arvin's cock enter you from behind. The foreplay had made you wet enough for them to forego the lubricant. "Fucked you so well..but still this tight isn't it" Arvin panted as he slipped out completely only to slam back into you. "Think you can take Pete too?" Tom asked never once stopping his fingers inside you. "Yes p-please" you whimpered at the suggestion.

Arvin pulled out to have Peter adjusted. Tom fetched his cock out which bounced against his abdomen because of how riled up he was. "Couldn't control huh?" you mocked him as you stroked his dick. He smirked and moaned as you gulped around his cock in your mouth. "Ahh" "Fuck" Tom and Peter grunted as both of them entered you together. The sudden stretch was a bit painful but Peter massaged your clit. "HNNGH" you moaned but with Tom's cock deep down your throat, it only seemed like a vibration. Tom's head fell back as his sensitive cock head received the vibration of your moan.

Peter and Tom alternated and set a pace which had you quivering on the bed. You came the second time that night and Tom and Peter couldn't hold back at your clenching walls. Hot cum ran down your throat and from your pussy. It was rushed, rough and messy and they knew you loved it.

"Feel better?" Peter asked you and your smile said everything. "By the way where are my panties?" you suddenly remembered. All the three of them chuckled and Arvin said, "We jerked off to it."

What else could you say? The sudden confession had fresh slick oozing out of you..again.

_____________________________🤍______________________________

A/N: Okay guys on heavy request here is triple trouble part 2 for you guys. Honestly at this point I don't think its the reader who is sexually frustrated, its me. I mean this fic is pure filth. Do I love it? YAHABSOLUTELY 😂🤣

My inbox is free for requests so go on and dump in your plots and I will surely go through it. 💌

REQUESTS OPEN

Love yourself...you are worth it ❣❣