#guys i’m not kidding this chapter is off the rails

[thatonegirlonhere]

Descendants: Stray Kingdoms Pt 2.

OT8 Stray Kids x F!Reader

You guys asked, I answered. Here’s part 2 to my Stray Kids Descendants AU. I’ve began writing more chapters already so that they can continue to be released without you having to wait a long time in between. Still havnt decided who the main love interest will end up being just yet but time will tell and I’ll figure it out the more I write.

Please enjoy this slow burn with eventual Panty soaking, thigh clenching smut. And as per usual: Eat a snack, drink some water, put a towel down, and get ready to read ;)

Content warning: none yet, just angst.

word count: ~2000

Master list

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MDNI 18+⚠️⚠️

The Dance of Masks.

A royal ball. Because of course that’s what the school thought was a good idea.

“Integration Gala,” they called it. A welcome dance for the Isle kids. But it felt more like a test. Who would play nice? Who would snap? Who would kiss the wrong person and light the whole kingdom on fire?

You adjusted your outfit in the mirror — regal, elegant, flattering but formal. You didn’t know why you were nervous. Except you did.

Because you didn’t know who you were hoping to see.

⸻

The ballroom was dazzling. Floating candles above your head. Magical music shimmering in the air. Dresses spun in every color, crowns glittered under chandeliers.

And then the isle kids arrived.

Bang Chan stepped into the ballroom like he owned it. A tailored black suit with silver trim hugged him perfectly, open at the collar, hair swept back. He looked like a prince — if the prince was planning a coup.

Minho wore deep wine-red silk, sleek and sharp. He didn’t smile once, but he turned heads just by breathing.

Hyunjin — god, Hyunjin — was in all-black velvet with emerald accents. His hair fell over one eye, his lips glossed and smirking. He looked like a fallen angel.

Felix wore storm-gray and ocean blue, sea glass rings on his fingers. His freckles glowed faintly under the spelllight. Deadly and ethereal.

Jisung, Changbin, Seungmin, and Jeongin looked equally incredible — mischievous, chaotic, too confident. They made the perfect contrast to the polished golden heirs around them.

And then Chan saw you.

He didn’t look surprised.

Just pleased.

He walked right up, holding out his hand. “Dance with me.”

You hesitated.

“Scared you’ll like it?” he teased.

You rolled your eyes — and took his hand.

⸻

Chan’s hand settled low on your waist as he pulled you into the waltz. He moved like he’d done this before — confident, smooth, a little dangerous.

“Who taught you to dance?” you asked, breathlessly.

“My mom once cursed a ballroom,” he said casually. “I watched. Picked it up.”

You bit back a laugh. “So romantic.”

“I can be.”

His gaze dropped to your lips.

“I—” you started.

“Mind if I cut in?” a deep voice asked.

You turned.

Hyunjin.

He didn’t even wait. Just took your other hand and spun you into his arms. Your breath caught.

Hyunjin danced slower, closer. He didn’t smile.

“You looked… overwhelmed.”

“I’m fine.”

He twirled you once, then pulled you back against his chest.

“You’re not like the others,” he murmured.

“Because I’m from Auradon?”

“No,” he said. “Because you’re watching us. Not judging. Not chasing. Just… watching. Like you’re trying to figure out if we’re real.”

You met his eyes.

“And?”

He stepped back, still holding your hand.

“I think you want to believe we are.”

⸻

You had escaped to the balcony. The air inside was too hot. Your heart was beating way too fast.

You leaned on the railing, letting the night wind cool your skin.

Then you heard footsteps.

You didn’t have to turn to know it was Felix.

“You always run off after the second dance?” he asked, voice low and smooth.

“I needed air.”

He stood beside you silently for a moment. Then: “They all want something from you.”

You turned, surprised. “What?”

“Chan wants your attention. Hyunjin wants your soul. Jisung wants your curiosity. Minho wants to win. The others want to survive.”

“And you?”

He looked at you carefully.

“I want to know why you’re different.”

You swallowed.

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re scared. But you didn’t flinch when you danced with us. You didn’t look away when I spoke.”

You tried to look anywhere but his eyes.

And that’s when he reached out — so slow — and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers brushed your jaw.

“You’re not like them,” he whispered.

“And maybe… neither are we.”

⸻

Inside, chaos erupted.

A scream.

The spell-glass shatters.

Gasps. Running. Magic sparks across the air — a flash of red. A flash of green.

Someone set off a cursed relic in the ballroom. Panic spreads. The lights go out.

You turn to run—

Only to be grabbed by the waist and yanked backward just before a chandelier crashes where you’d stood.

Your body hits someone’s chest.

Bang Chan’s voice in your ear: “I’ve got you.”

⸻

You barely remembered how you got back to your dorm.

The ballroom had become a warzone of shattered glass, panicked students, and flying enchantments. Someone had unleashed a cursed relic in the center of the dance floor — and they weren’t just trying to cause chaos.

They were trying to hurt people.

You touched your ribs where Bang Chan had grabbed you, pulling you away just before that chandelier fell. You hadn’t even thanked him.

Your heart wouldn’t stop racing.

And you couldn’t sleep.

⸻

All eight of the Isle boys had been called into the head mistresses office for questioning the next morning.

You sat outside on the bench, jaw clenched, waiting. Not because anyone told you to. But because something in your chest needed to know what would happen to them.

Inside the office, voices rose.

“…you have no proof it was one of us!”

“Bang Chan, calm yourself—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, should we just stand here and let you blame us because we weren’t born on this side of the bridge?!”

Another voice — Felix — cool and deadly:

“If we wanted to hurt anyone, you’d know. Trust me.”

You swallowed hard.

When the door finally opened, the boys filed out one by one — cold stares, clenched jaws, tension in every step.

But Chan stopped when he saw you.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly.

“I wanted to know if you were okay.”

He blinked, just for a second. That cocky smirk was gone. Something tired and real slipped through.

“I pulled you out of the way. That’s all,” he said. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Maybe I want to,” you replied.

Silence.

And then Seungmin grabbed Chan’s shoulder and pulled him down the hall.

⸻

You expected the boys to lie low.

They didn’t.

Instead, they showed up to combat class like usual.

Changbin destroyed three dummies in a row during combat drills. The instructor didn’t even stop him.

Jeongin sparred like he was aiming to draw blood. Seungmin growled under his breath when another student said something about “monsters.”

Jisung tried to act normal, cracking jokes, but you could see the edge in his laugh.

And Felix? He didn’t speak at all.

You caught Hyunjin watching you across the field. His gaze sharp and unreadable. Like he wanted to say something. Like he didn’t know how.

⸻

That night, you were sitting on your windowsill, hugging your knees, when the knock came.

Three soft raps.

You opened the door.

It was Chan.

He looked different. Hoodie instead of his usual black-on-black glam. No jewelry. Just… him.

“Hey,” he said, voice low.

“Are you supposed to be out?”

“Probably not.”

You hesitated. Then stepped back to let him in.

He walked slowly, glancing around like he’d never seen a room like yours before. Maybe he hadn’t.

Chan stood by your desk, turning your crystal pendant between his fingers.

“You looked scared last night.”

“I was.”

“I was too.”

You looked up at him.

“I didn’t think you’d admit that.”

He smiled faintly. “Most people don’t expect us to feel anything but anger. Fear doesn’t fit the narrative.”

Silence stretched between you.

And then—

“I wanted to say thank you,” you said.

“For what?”

“For saving my life.”

He turned to you, eyes warm. “I told you. You don’t owe me.”

“I didn’t say I did.”

He laughed softly.

“Why are you really here, Chan?”

His smile faded.

“I need to know,” he said, stepping closer. “What side are you on?”

You blinked. “What?”

“If they try to send us back. If things get worse. If we’re blamed again. I need to know if you’re going to be one of the voices calling for it.”

You stared at him.

And whispered: “I won’t let them send you back.”

Something in his shoulders relaxed. Like he hadn’t taken a breath since the attack.

“Good,” he said, stepping even closer.

Now you were chest to chest. Almost touching.

“You terrify me,” you whispered.

Chan’s gaze dropped to your lips.

“You should be terrified of a lot of things,” he murmured. “But not me.”

Your breath caught.

And just when you thought he’d kiss you—

He didn’t.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear, and whispered:

“Good night, princess.”

Then he slipped out the window and was gone.

⸻

You couldn’t sleep.

Again.

Your body still remembered Chan’s warmth, the way he leaned in and whispered princess like it meant something. But more than that — it was the pressure. The tension hanging over campus like a storm cloud, waiting to break.

Someone had cursed the Gala. And everyone still thought it was one of the Isle kids.

You weren’t so sure.

But that didn’t stop the way people whispered when Hyunjin walked past. Or the way they flinched when Felix so much as blinked.

You got up, wrapped yourself in a shawl, and crept into the garden courtyard — barefoot, quiet, like maybe the silence would keep you safe.

It didn’t.

⸻

He was already there.

Hyunjin.

Sitting on the edge of the fountain in an all-black hoodie, head bowed, one hand trailing in the water.

“I should’ve known,” he murmured, without looking at you. “You sneak out more than we do.”

“I didn’t know you were here.”

“Would you have come if you did?”

Silence.

You stepped closer. “Maybe.”

Hyunjin finally lifted his head. And his eyes…

They weren’t cold.

They were shattered.

“I didn’t do it,” he said softly.

“I know.”

“No. You don’t.” He stood, slowly. “You think you do, but there’s always a part of you that’s wondering. Waiting. Bracing for the moment one of us snaps.”

You walked closer, stopping just a few feet away.

“I don’t know who did it, Hyunjin. But it doesn’t feel like it came from you.”

He looked at you like he didn’t believe it.

“Why not?”

You hesitated.

“Because you’ve had every chance to hurt me. And all you’ve ever done is… watch me. Like you’re waiting for me to flinch. Or run.”

His gaze dropped to your lips, then back up again. His jaw tightened.

“You’re not afraid of me.”

“No,” you said quietly. “But I think you’re afraid of something.”

He didn’t answer.

So you added, gently, “What is it?”

Hyunjin exhaled.

And then did something you never expected.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small charm — silver, tarnished, shaped like a teardrop. Inside it pulsed a faint green glow.

“What is that?” you whispered.

“My curse,” he said flatly.

Your blood chilled.

Hyunjin stepped closer, so close you could feel the cold coming off the charm in his palm.

“Maleficent put a spell on me when I was born. Said if I ever let someone get too close, I’d lose control. Of my power. Of my heart. Everything.”

You stared at him.

“That’s why you don’t touch anyone,” you realized.

He nodded.

“You’ve never kissed anyone.”

His eyes flicked to yours — and for the first time, you saw it:

Fear.

“No,” he whispered. “And I’m not supposed to.”

You should’ve stepped back.

But you didn’t.

You moved closer.

“Then why are you telling me this?”

Hyunjin looked at you like it hurt to answer.

“Because every time you look at me, I feel the curse stretch thinner.”

Then, so gently it made your breath catch — he reached up and touched your cheek with the back of his knuckles.

And the charm in his hand cracked.

You both gasped.

Hyunjin yanked his hand back, breath shaking. The charm pulsed red, a spiderweb of cracks glowing across its surface.

“I can’t,” he breathed. “If it breaks, I— I don’t know what I’ll become.”

“Then let’s not break it tonight,” you whispered. “Just stay. Just for now.”

He let out a trembling breath.

And nodded.

You sat together under the stars, barely touching. His hand resting near yours. Not quite brave enough to lace your fingers.

But the burn was worse than any kiss.

TYSM for reading!!

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[hollcwboy]

lockwood is in over his head.

SOME DOGS THINK THEIR NAME IS NO chapter 14, ghost-touched will be out this friday, june 6.

[wendichester]

Hiiii! I was wondering if you could do something with young or teen Dean Winchester where he finds out that he had like an other brother or something but and John like sent him to live with his brother or something? (I know that John doesn’t have a brother in the show but if he could have one in the fic that would be amazing) and Dean, Sam, and John visit the reader the reads like goes into order brother mode and stuff and he shows Dean and Sam the sights in the town he lives in and Dean and Sam love it there.

If you can’t do that, it’s totally fine too >>>💗✨

⊹ ࣪ ˖ brother from another chapter,

summary. dean finds out he's not the oldest son of john winchester. and honestly? he kinda likes it

pairing. dean winchester x older half-brother!reader genre. messy fluff with a hint of angst

wordcount. 1203

notes / warnings. noncanon, just the fact that our sweet boys crave stability sm. breaks my heart tbh

Dean doesn’t know what he’s expecting when the Impala pulls up to the rickety house at the end of a gravel road. Honestly? Maybe some guy who looks like Dad, just... sadder. Angrier. More reasons to leave.

He doesn’t expect you.

You’re standing on the porch, leaning against the rail like you’ve been waiting forever. Plaid shirt, old jeans, sneakers scuffed to hell. Same way Dean would stand, if he ever had a porch to stand on. Hands tucked into your pockets like you don't know what to do with them. Eyes wary but wide, darting over Sam and Dean like you're trying to memorize them already.

"That’s him," Dad mutters under his breath, as if Dean couldn’t have figured that out.

Dean stiffens in the passenger seat. Right. Surprise, boys—you had family this whole time. Surprise, Dean—you’re not even the oldest anymore, not really. Or maybe you are. He doesn’t know how old you are. Dad wasn’t super clear, just said some stuff about "responsibility" and "couldn’t take him with me" and then clammed up like he always does.

Sam climbs out first, backpack bouncing against his skinny back. Dean follows slower, shoulders tense under the leather jacket that used to be Dad’s but feels more like armor.

You come down the steps, shoving your hands deeper into your pockets. Up close, you’re maybe a year younger than Dean, give or take. Different hair, different nose, but... same eyes. Same heavy, tired thing buried behind them.

"You’re Dean, right?" you ask.

Your voice cracks just a little, like you’re trying not to sound nervous.

Dean huffs a breath. Shrugs one shoulder like it’s no big deal. "Yeah. That’s Sam."

You nod at Sam, who gives a tiny, polite wave, then look back at Dean—longer this time. Like you’re sizing him up.

"Cool," you say. "You hungry? There's this diner down the road that does bacon cheeseburgers the size of your head."

Dean blinks. Not what he was expecting. Not a stiff handshake. Not a weird, awkward "welcome to the family" speech. Just... bacon cheeseburgers.

He glances at Dad, who’s already lighting a cigarette like he’s itching to leave. Figures.

"Sure," Dean says. "Yeah. I’m starving."

You grin. Just a quick flash of teeth, a little awkward around the edges. Like you’re not used to smiling much, either.

"Come on," you say, jerking your chin toward the road. "I’ll show you around."

And just like that, it’s easy.

You lead them down cracked sidewalks and back alleys, pointing out stupid murals and weird landmarks—the school where some kid tried to ride a cow into the cafeteria, the movie theater that still uses actual film reels. Sam laughs. Dean does, too, before he can stop himself. It feels... normal. Easy in a way things haven’t been in a long time.

Later, after burgers and fries and a milkshake so sweet Dean winces, you show them your favorite spot: a busted-up park overlooking the river. The three of you sit on the swings, shoving each other like idiots, trading stories. Sam's laughing so hard at one point he almost falls off the swing backward.

Dean watches you laugh too, cheeks flushed, hair messy, sneakers kicking at the gravel—and something shifts in his chest. Something heavy he didn’t even know he was carrying.

Maybe he didn’t just find out he had another brother.

Maybe he found another piece of himself, too.

And maybe—just maybe—this town, this busted-up porch, this kid with his same sad eyes... Maybe it feels a little like home.

For once, Dean lets himself believe it.

He kicks higher on the swing, nudges your shoulder with his like it’s no big deal, like you’ve been doing this forever. And you nudge him right back.

No ceremony. No speeches.

Just family.

The way it should’ve been all along.

The night comes slower here. Like even the sun’s in no rush to leave.

You lead them back to your place after the sky’s turned that lazy orange-pink, after the river’s gone dark and the swings creak slower. Dad’s already ditched them—muttered something about hunting and responsibilities and disappeared down the road in the Impala, leaving nothing but a cough of dust behind.

Dean’s not mad about it. Not really. He’s used to it.

But when he steps through the creaky front door behind you and Sam, something strange happens.

He exhales. Actually exhales.

It smells like old wood and laundry soap and something cooking in a slow cooker. Like... someone lives here. Really lives here.

Your house is nothing fancy—tiny kitchen, sagging couch, one TV with a dent in the corner—but it feels alive. There are pictures on the walls. Books piled on end tables. A half-finished jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table. A life.

You toss your keys into a bowl by the door and kick off your shoes like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"You guys can crash here tonight," you say. "I got a couple extra blankets and the couch folds out."

Dean opens his mouth to say they can just sleep in the motel in the outskirts of town. The automatic answer. The one that’s wired into his bones.

But then he sees Sam—his baby brother—looking around like he’s just walked into a castle. Like the worn couch and patched curtains are the most beautiful damn things he’s ever seen.

Dean swallows it back.

"Yeah," he says instead. "Sounds good."

You grin. "Cool. You want spaghetti or grilled cheese?"

Dean blinks. "You’re gonna feed us?"

You snort. "Duh. You think I’m gonna let my brothers starve?"

The word brothers hits him harder than it should. Not like a punch. More like... a bandage. Wrapping around something that’s been bleeding too long.

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like he’s not weirdly close to feeling things right now. "Grilled cheese sounds awesome."

You make grilled cheese like a pro—three sandwiches sizzling golden in a pan, butter popping, cheese oozing just right. Sam hovers nearby like he’s never seen food prepared before. Dean pretends not to notice the way Sam lights up when you hand him a plate first.

They eat sitting cross-legged on the floor, plates balanced on their knees, watching some bad horror movie with the sound way too low.

Dean realizes, halfway through his second sandwich, that he’s smiling. Not the fake grin he uses when he’s hustling pool or lying to a cop. A real one. Stupid. Soft. Real.

Later, you toss some blankets and pillows onto the pull-out couch, laughing when Sam immediately dives under them like a little kid. Dean stretches out next to him, feeling the springs creak under his back, feeling the way Sam shifts closer without even thinking.

He stares at the ceiling fan spinning slow circles overhead and lets himself pretend, just for a little while. Pretend this is his life. Pretend he gets to come home to bad horror movies and grilled cheese and dumb inside jokes.

Pretend you have always been here. Waiting.

"Hey, Dean?" you say quietly, from where you’re perched in the armchair across the room.

"Yeah?"

"I’m glad you’re here."

Dean swallows hard.

"Yeah," he says, voice rough. "Me too." And he means it.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[your-unfriendlyghost]

Angela & the Runaways

Chapter 1

Summary:

After the events of That Was Then, This is Now, Angela decides she’s done with Tulsa. But she can’t make a clean break- whether she likes it or not, Mark Jennings has invited himself along for the ride.

or as I’ve been saying for the past two weeks- after reading That Was Then, This is Now, I couldn’t stand the thought of Angela being stuck in some awful loveless marriage. So I’m giving her an escape, and a companion she may or may not want lol, because upon rereading I really really like Mark Jennings. Anyway, I’m really having fun with this duo, and I hope you like ‘em too :))

Roughly 4k words, with a good 8k more already typed and a lot more in the works. Cross posted to Ao3

-

  She ran into Bryon a few days ago. It must’ve been more than three years since she saw him last. He was pretty shocked.

  She’s just standing there on the boardwalk when he comes up to her, staring wide-eyed, and says “Angel Shepard? That you?”

  Angela blinks. “Yeah?” she says without thinking. And then she looks a second time, and really sees him. “Oh…yeah,” she says slow. (Not stammering- even now she don’t stammer hardly ever- but slow is close as she gets to it.)

  “Real funny seein’ ya so far from Tulsa, Angel- what’re ya doin’ here?” Bryon says, looking at her like she’s a cartoon that took a wrong turn into the real world.

  “I live here, what’re you doin’ here?” she says back without any heat. 

  “Been goin’ to school, few towns north. Boy, ain’t it funny we both wound up here?” he says, a glimmer of humor in his big brown eyes. (Like a Saint Bernard puppy-dog was how Mark had described them.)

  Not really, Angela wants to say. It’s not so funny at all. Seems to her everyone ends up in California. The edge of the land, the cliff where the vast expanse of America drops off into the sea, the dead end you find yourself in when there’s nowhere left. 

  A land of opportunity for the smart boys like Bryon and movie stars down south, and the end of the road for folks like her. 

  “Suppose it is,” Angela says, exhaling and watching smoke curl out over the sand.

  “You look nice. You ain’t aged a day since I saw ya last,” he smiles.

  “Well, my hair’s grown,” she says dryly, and his smile drops a fraction. She almost feels a bit bad for that. “What’re ya goin’ to school for?”

  He takes the olive branch. “Journalism. Writing.”

  That checks out. For a hood, Bryon Douglas always loved reading. It was part of what Angela liked about him back before everything that went down- he was more sensitive than other guys in their neighborhood. Well, not more sensitive. More observant, maybe. 

  “You gonna be like Curtis?” Angela says, referring to a kid from the East Side who wrote a book about some gang violence from when they were kids.

  “Nah. I ain’t no novelist.” Bryon shifts his weight. “You read his book?” 

  “Nah,” Angela shakes her head. “I hate Curtis,” she says, which isn’t exactly true.

  “You oughta read it. He’s real smart, that kid,” Bryon sighs, tilting his head up. “But I’m just goin’ for newspapers. It’s easy. Pays decent. That sort of deal.”

  “Ah,” she says. 

  He must be waiting for her to say more, because after a few seconds, he says “You?”

  “Hm?”

  “What’re you doin’ here?”

  Angela snuffs out her cigarette on the rail of the boardwalk. “Hangin’ round,” she shrugs. There’s a lotta good places for all sorts of hangin’ round here. Enough to keep her from getting bored. It’s why they’ve stayed for so long.

  “But like…for work?”

  “I dance,” Angela says flatly. 

  “Dance?” Bryon repeats, laughing. “Didn’t take ya for that type. What, ballet?”

  “Not like that,” Angela says, and she can see the moment Bryon gets what she’s saying, because his face drops.

  “Oh…”

  She chuckles. “It’s not so bad. I get real good tips. If I wanted, I could buy me a Stingray.”

  “Do ya wanna?”

  “Nah.” She’s got more important things to spend her well earned money on. “Ain’t my only work, neither- I got a gig at a diner off Main Street. And y’know- the husband’s got an okay income too.”

  “Husband- oh gee, Angel, how’s that goin’?” Bryon says, eyes soft. He’s still cute, she notices. Taller than her boy by nearly a foot. Darker. Less pretty, more handsome.   “Alright,” she says tightly.

  “I’m…I’m real sorry you had to marry that guy.”

  Angela starts. Oh. Right. He thinks she means that guy Tim made her marry all those years ago. 

  “Oh, he ain’t that one. I left that one a long long time ago,” she says airily. 

-

  Angela re-met Mark Jennings on a burning hot summer day. She was stepping out of a drugstore in Bixby, when she saw a flash of blonde in her car’s front seat.

  Someone was trying to hotwire it!

  She wanted to scream- not with fear, but frustration- she didn’t have time for this! She bit her tongue and snatched her brother’s switch outta her pocket, flicking it open, and held it just outta sight of the thief.

  “Get outta the car,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

  The blond sat up, back still to her, and raised his hands up. “Sorry,” he said, although he didn’t sound it. His voice was familiar. 

  “Turn around,” Angela commanded.

  He did, and Angela’s heart sank into her boots.

  “Oh…hey hey, Angel,” he said, face cracking into a smirk. “Fancy meetin’ you here.”

  How the hell was he here?! Last she heard of Mark Jennings, he was locked in the Tulsa “Criminal Justice Center”- got caught with drugs or something. That was fine by her. Last she’d seen of Mark Jennings, he’d cut all her hair off and left her drunk in a yard. She’d been real pleased when Curly told her he was locked up.

  “Get outta the car, Jennings,” she spat.

  “Cool it, baby,” he grinned. “What’re you doin’ ‘round these parts? Your baby daddy don’t miss ya?” he said, doing a scratchy high-pitched voice and batting his eyelashes.

  Angela’s stomach twisted, feeling her own heart race in her chest. (Was Ricky back from work yet? No, no, he couldn’t be- but what if he was- No, no, no. He- he had to be at work still. He had to be. He wouldn’t find out till late, and by then Angela would be long gone…)

  “He ain’t. I wasn’t pregnant, Mark,” she growled, focusing on that instead.

  “Oh? And the shotgun weddin’ was just for fun, then?” Mark said, eyes wide with mock curiosity.

  Angela shifted, clenching the switch tighter beneath the window. “You ain’t far off,” she said, forcing her voice gentler. “Besides, this way I ended up gettin’ a free Chevy outta the deal, see?” she said, smiling the way she smiles when she’s trying to get a guy to pay for her drinks. Go away go away go away.

  “Ah, that’s how ya got yer mits on this completely cherry car! I was wonderin’,” Mark said, beaming with sharp teeth.

  And I’d like you to get your mits off of it! Angela thought. She swallowed back her irritation and tried her damndest to stay sweet sounding. “Oh, yeah, it’s fantastic, really boss.”

  It was a nice car. Off-white and spacious- a Chevy Nomad or something, although she didn’t remember the year. Ricky’s other car was nicer, though- bright red and sporty-looking, and she really really liked it…but the Chevy blended in more. So it was the Chevy she stole. “Speakin’ of which! I’m runnin’ late, gotta go…bring Ricky his…lunch. So again, I gotta ask ya to get outta the car.”

  “Oh man, little Angie Shepard’s gone domestic! That’ll be the day,” Mark hooted.

  “Not that domestic,” Angela said, touching his shoulder. He stiffened. “You know, I always thought you were Bryon’s cutest friend, Mark,” she said, laying it on thick. “If ya get outta here, I think I’d just have to keep in touch…”

  Mark stared at her blankly. “Are you…” he laughed. “Are you tryin’ to flirt?” Angela tore her hand away, face hot with embarrassment. “Boy, you must think I’m really stupid,” he drawled. 

  He said a few other things too, about Curtis or something, but Angela was distracted- a bright red car zoomed by in the corner of her peripherals. She watched it, heart pounding, till it vanished into the horizon.

  She exhaled, hands trembling. Not Ricky.

  “Just get out of the car, Mark Jennings!” Angela snapped, nervous, ashamed, and losing her patience. “I’m runnin’ late!”

  “Fine, I’ll wire some other piece of junk,” Mark shrugged. “And you’d best not call the pigs, Angel,” he added, lowering his voice. “I do still know where ya live,” he said with his unsettling little smile.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she sneered. And because she couldn’t tell him his threat was pointless, to get the last word in, she said “Bryon’ll do it for me.” 

  But she regretted the words soon as they were out, not wanting to drag this out any longer. The sun was lowering on the skyline. She needed to get the hell out of Bixby if she was gonna cross the stateline by nightfall, and provoking Mark Jennings was a surefire way to slow things down.

  But Mark didn’t flinch, didn’t drop his easy, pleasant voice. “Bryon’ll do it for both of us. Ain’t like he treated you any better.”

  Angela’s stomach twisted at that, taking her by surprise. Detachedly, she noted that it still hurt, thinking about Bryon. She knew she was still mad at him, but she thought it had stopped hurting. And yet there was a dull discomfort in the back of her mind. 

 She played it cool. “I’m late. I ain’t got time for this.”

  “Right, right. Gotta feed the husband,” Mark said mockingly. He swung the car door open, looking her up and down, and she tried not to fidget under his strange gold stare. “Jesus, Angel, I never did take you for the type…” He raised an eyebrow, and looked back into the wagon of the car, and then back at her again. He stood up, eyes narrowing. “You…hey…what sorta domestic grocery run needs a whole luggage along?”

  “That’s not a luggage. That’s my father-in-law’s,” Angela said fast.

  Mark scanned the car again, and then stared at the single grocery bag in Angela’s hand and the switch in her other. 

  “What kinda construction worker eats first aid kits and…rope?” he continued, tilting his head curiously. 

  “This ain’t-”

  “...You’re kinda far from Tulsa for a grocery run…” Mark said slowly. “Oh Angel!” he laughed, high and mean. “You’re runnin’ away! Oh boy, you’re- Ha!”

  “I’m not!”

  “Then why didn’t ya call for a store clerk when ya saw some dude in yer car? It makes perfect sense, I get it, I get it, you’re tryin’ to cover yer tracks!” Mark giggled. “Oh glory, that’s- that’s funny!”

  “What’s so funny about it?!” Angela snapped. 

  “C’mon, Angie, you’re bright- what the hell d’ya think I’m doin’ out here?” he said, leaning towards her. “Ya think I got out of the cooler on good behavior? Hell no!”

  “You broke out,” Angela said.

  “Pshhyeah I did,” he scoffed, grinning. He grabbed her shoulders. “An’ you can be my ride to the state line!”

  “No,” Angela murmured, feeling sick. 

  She was no stranger to jailbreaks and convicts- they came with the neighborhood she grew up in- but driving Mark to the state line? While she was already in enough trouble as it was?

  “What?” Mark said, voice and face still breezy, but his grip on her shoulders tightened.

  Angela shoved him off, knocking the bag into his stomach, before tossing it into the backseat.

  “You heard me. No. I ain’t gonna be your ride. I ain’t puttin’ my neck on the line for you, kid.”

  “Angela, please,” he said, glancing desperately back at the convenience store. 

  “Just wire another car, that’s what you were gonna do, wasn’t it?” she sighed, folding the switch and jamming it back into her pocket. “Don’t see why I gotta be dragged into it.”

  “Well- I- I don’t want to wire a car, not so soon after breakin’ out- they’ll be on the lookout for me!”

  “What, can’t get away with everythin’ no more?” Angela snipped. “Anyhow, they’ll be on the lookout for me, too,” she muttered. 

  “Yeah, but not for twenty four hours at least. You’re gonna be a missin’ person. I’m,” he said, pausing, “an outlaw.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Clint Eastwood, you’re nothin’ but a scummy dealer,” Angela scoffed. 

  “Well you need me for when those twenty four hours are up,” Mark pointed out, regaining his self assuredness. 

  “Why the hell would I need you?”

  “You’re gonna want someone to wire you a new car. In twenty four hours, this here Nomad’s goin’ straight into the system, and they’ll be on the lookout for ya from here clear to California.”

  That was true. Tim never bothered teaching her to wire. And until now, she never thought she’d need to. Still, she held steady, glaring at Mark.

  “C’mon, Angel,” he said, leaning close. In the bright sunlight, his gold-brown eyes look yellow, like a jungle cat’s. Like a sweet-talking tiger, luring her in like prey. “That’s not all you need me for. Think about it. Bryon’s ex-girlfriend and his ex-brother- runnin’ off without him…God, can you imagine? We could send him a postcard…can you picture the look on his face?” Mark grinned. Angela wondered faintly if his eyeteeth had always been so pointed.

  Mark was a dangerous person to get involved with. Angela knew that. Of course she did. He was bright and fast, golden and near-untouchable. He’d laugh his head off on a highway to hell, chewing people up and spittin’ ‘em out. He was exactly the sort of louse she wanted to leave behind in Tulsa, a dot in her rearview mirror that would disappear with the rest of ‘em.

  But she pictured Bryon, Bryon who held her, who kissed her, who loved her better than any guy she’d seen before. Bryon who read books, who could be softer than the others, sweeter than the hoods she knew. Who promised her once that he’d get her outta that town someday…

  She ran a hand through her hair. It was longer now, barely brushing her shoulders, but still too light. Too vulnerable. She remembered waking up in that yard, hungover and head pounding, and seeing her long locks in the mud, and feeling absolutely gutted.

  At least with Mark she knew she was making a deal with the Devil. At least Mark wasn’t trying to hide.

  And anyway, Angela was just as bad as he was, wasn’t she? She was going to hell in a handbasket side by side with him regardless. 

  She told herself then at the time that it was to get back at Bryon, to get back at Tim, to get back at Tulsa and everyone in it.

  But looking back, she suspects that maybe a part of her, just a small, little voice inside of her, didn’t wanna go it alone.

  “Let’s send him a photo reel,” Angela said, finally looking at Mark. “He’ll be horrified.”

  And with a sinister grin, Mark Jennings climbed back into the car. “Boy, you’re cold.” He leaned back. “I dig it.”

  “Jennings?”

  “Hm?”

  Angela jammed the sharp end of her car key into his bare shoulder, and he jolted out of the seat, eyes wide with shock. 

  “What the hell?!” he spat.

  Angela smiled, feeling just a little better about everything. “I’m drivin’.”

-

  They reached Texas by nightfall. 

  “Park there,” Mark muttered, rubbing his eyes.

  “Hm?”

  “The uh…the grocery store lot. Get a chance to uh,” he yawned, “sleep…”

  The grocery store lot was across the road, sort of smallish and mostly empty. Angela wrinkled her nose. Past it there was a neon sign, shaped like a cowboy hat, shining gold and red over the asphalt and houses. Angela squinted- Vacancy. 

  “There’s a motel just a few lots down,” Angela argued. 

  “Hm. No…motels…getcha caught,” he grunted. “ID’s ’n all.”

  “Well when the pigs come knockin’ at this here door, yer gonna be caught all the same, Billy the Kid,” Angela said, and Mark must’ve been real tired, because he didn’t argue. “C’mon, you got a fake ID anyhow, don’tcha?” she said.

  “Not in this jacket, babe,” he scoffed, folding his arms around his middle. 

  “How’d ya get that back, anyway?” Angela said, frowning. He was in the old letterman jacket he used to wear- Dark blue and gold, with the sleeves cut off. He used to say he’d stolen it offa some Soc, but blue and gold were not the colors of any school anywhere near Tulsa. So she’d always been pretty sure he’d just happened upon it at a charity shop.

  “Broke into Bryon’s,” Mark mumbled, eyelids drifting shut.

  “You what?” Angela said, pulling into the motel lot. But Mark was either too sleepy to register it or pretending to be. 

  Whatever. She had a fake ID along with her. 

  “C’mon,” she hissed once she parked, poking Mark’s shoulder with her keys. 

  He blinked an eye open, and gave a small sort of sigh, but let her haul him to his feet. 

  “Get my bag,” she ordered. 

  “Get it yourself, princess,” Mark scoffed. Angela sighed- oh well, it was worth a try. She grabbed her own bag and locked the car. 

  Inside, the clerk looked them over. 

  “A room, please,” Angela barked.

  “How old are you, m’am?” the clerk frowned.

  “Twenty two,” Angela lied, sliding her fake ID across the counter. The clerk looked past her at Mark skeptically. 

  “How old is he?”

  “Forty-six,” Mark said, grinning. 

  “Pardon- what?” The clerk said, eyes narrowing.

  “The secret’s to stay outta the sun and drink only rabbit blood,” Mark winked. 

  “Excuse me?” said the clerk.

  “He’s twenty,” Angela said, elbowing him. “Sorry. He thinks he’s funny.”

  “I am,” Mark smirked. Angela elbowed him harder. Mark caught her elbow and linked arms with her, smiling innocently. “Sorry, she’s in a lousy mood- did ya wake up on the wrong side of the bed, babe?” he said, voice dripping sickly-sweet. 

  “Uh…Okay,” the clerk said, raising his eyebrows. “I’ll just uh…one room then. One bed?”

  Mark’s grin dropped just a fraction, but through gritted teeth, he said “Oh…yeah. That’ll be just fine.”

  Ugh. Great. Now she had to share a bed with Mark Jennings. As if her night couldn’t get any worse.

  “Yes, that’ll be lovely, hon,” she said, wrapping her arm around his waist, relishing in how he flinched just a bit. She fished out Ricky’s card- she figured she could use it for just a little longer before it was deactivated. 

  The clerk scanned it, wrote something down, and gave Mark the room key, giving him another weird look. 

  “Thanks,” Mark said as they stepped outside, with a final nod at the clerk. 

  Outside, Mark quickly detangled himself from her, and walked a few paces ahead. Good. 

  “Hey hey, I get the bed!” Mark called over his shoulder. 

  “You ass!” Angela snapped, racing after him. “Get back here, you little bastard-” But she was wearing heels and carrying her trunk, and he was in his old tennis shoes and empty handed, so there was no contest, and he practically flew up the stairs while she hobbled. 

  “Aw- c’mon, hurry up,” he said, darting back down the stairs to grab her trunk. 

  “Thanks,” she said- but then he slid the trunk down the walkway till it hit the far end, and let himself into the room, smirking like a cat.

  Angela cursed under her breath and stormed off after her luggage. By the time she made it into the room, Mark was sitting cross-legged on the bed, smiling that awful sharp-toothed grin. 

  “Don’t worry darlin’,” he drawled, “the couch is real comfy.”

  Angela flipped him off. “I drove, I get the bed.”

  “Ah, but see, Angel, one of us is on the bed, and one of us isn’t…seems to me that person’s you,” Mark said, shrugging. 

  “Mark Jennings, I don’t have to take you with me- I can still call the fuzz, you know, and they’ll be really thrilled to have you-”

  “But you won’t,” Mark said, smugly. “I know you won’t.”

  Angela seethed. “Why shouldn’t I?!”

  “You won’t,” Mark hummed, stretching out on the bed. “G’night, Angel.”

  “You- ugh!” Angela shrieked. She kicked the bed as hard as she could, and went into the bathroom with her bag, slamming the door.

  “Okay, go pout, princess,” Mark said, muffled by the door. 

  Angela scowled. “I ain’t! I’m changing, you dick!”

  “Su-ure,” he said, laying the sarcasm on thick. Angela bit her tongue to keep from screaming. 

  She took a deep breath. It was gonna be okay. She just had to travel with him till they stole a new car, and then it’d be good riddance, and she’d never have to see him again.

  She set her bag down on the faux-marble counter, and pulled off her shirt and skirt. She dug out an old silky slip dress instead, and tugged it on over her bra- she wasn’t gonna be braless around Mark Jennings.

  The slip was longer than it was meant to be, as it was a hand-me-down from her friend, tall ol’ Evie Peterson. Back before Evie went to college, she’d let Angela raid her closet. 

  Angela smiled at the thought, smoothing the slip over herself. She missed Evie…Evie and her stupid happy endings. Evie got out of Tulsa a year ago, with a partial scholarship to ASU and a pretty boyfriend to boot. (Back in the day, Sylvia and Angela ragged on him nonstop, because he was shorter than Evie, dumb as rocks, and had crooked teeth. Well, next to Mark Jennings, Bryon Douglas, Ricky Corrigan, and all the other awful boys Angela had been around since, Steve Randle was starting to look like a real prince charming.)

  She sighed, brushed her teeth, and closed her bag. She didn’t bother washing off her smudgey faded makeup. She didn’t particularly care to impress Mark, and more importantly, she just didn’t have it in her to. She fluffed her hair a bit, still sad about it, although it did look good.

  Angela emerged from the bathroom and set the trunk down, curling up on the couch. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t that good either. She could feel a spring sticking into her back.

  “G’night,” Mark hummed, buried under the quilt, still in his jeans and cut-sleeves sweatshirt. He didn't bother brushing his teeth. Idiot. 

  He was a little guy- taller than her, sure, but everyone was- and on the big king-sized bed he looked tiny. Resentfully, Angela thought, we could have both fit on that damn bed and there’d still be a yard between us. She rolled her eyes. That was fine. She didn’t want to share a bed with Mark. 

 “Give me a blanket,” Angela said flatly. Mark tossed her a fuzzy throw blanket. It didn’t quite reach her feet. She would have argued more, but tonight, she was tired, so she just quietly wrapped it around herself and tried to fall asleep.

[benispunk]

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 16: It's A Miracle

Logan receives a call from Charles, saying the center needs to close. Little does he know his guardian angel lives under the same roof as him.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W, it's sad and then it's not sad.

A/N: hello!!!!!!! see??? I promised you light at the end of the tunnel and there, you have it!!! though it's only the light, you're not out of the tunnel....yet.... In case you're asking yourself wait...this is super unrealistic, let me tell you I did some research and like 60% of whatever business is going on is real. don't come at me. it's a fan fiction. hope you like it!! enjoy!!!!! (p.s: yes there's nick fury, there, y/n's high school is just an entire mcu reference)

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist /Previous Part / Next Part

The dinner table was a lively mix of clinking utensils and Wade’s animated storytelling. Y/N sat across from Logan, catching his occasional glances but noting the stiffness in his posture. He had barely touched his plate, his fork tracing patterns in the mashed potatoes while Wade relayed his latest gig mishap.

“So then I said—wait, wait, hold on—” Wade waved his fork for emphasis, nearly flinging a piece of chicken across the table. “So this guy yells, ‘You suck!’ and I’m like, ‘Yeah, but only on special occasions, and definitely not for you.’” Wade smirked, pausing for dramatic effect. “Gotta keep the standards high, you know?” He chuckled at his own joke, but Logan didn’t react.

Logan’s brow furrowed as he glanced at the caller ID. His jaw tightened as he stood and picked up the phone. “Excuse me,” he said, stepping onto the balcony and sliding the door shut behind him.

Y/N and Wade exchanged puzzled looks. Through the glass, they watched Logan pace back and forth, one hand holding the phone to his ear while the other raked through his hair. The muffled sound of his voice filtered into the room, sharp and uneven.

“Already?” Logan’s tone was incredulous, tinged with frustration. “No, that’s not—dammit, this isn’t right. Not for them.”

Y/N’s heart clenched. She couldn’t make out the specifics, but Logan’s fragmented words and tense body language painted a grim picture. Wade’s smile faded, concern clouding his features as he tapped his fork against his plate.

“Should we…?” Y/N whispered, her voice trailing off.

Wade shook his head slightly. “Give him a minute. He’ll tell us if he wants to.”

But as the minutes stretched on and Logan remained on the balcony, his pacing slowing to a halt, their worry deepened. Y/N couldn’t stand it any longer. She stood and carefully slid the door open. “Logan?”

He turned at the sound of her voice, his face shadowed by the dim balcony light. The usual strength in his eyes was replaced by an unsettling mix of anger and despair. He swallowed hard, looking away as if to shield them from his emotions.

“The center… it’s closing,” he said finally, his voice raw and barely audible.

Y/N felt her stomach drop. “What? They’re shutting it down?”

“Yeah,” Logan muttered, gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Charles just called to tell me. They’ve hit their limit. Too many students, not enough funding. They… they can’t even guarantee making it to the end of the school year.”

Wade stepped onto the balcony, his usual levity replaced with quiet concern. “Logan, that’s… that’s horrible, man. What are they gonna do about the kids?”

Logan let out a bitter laugh. “Find replacements, supposedly. Like that’s an easy thing to do. They need specialized care. They need consistency. This… this isn’t fair to them.”

Y/N stepped closer, her hand hovering near his arm. “Logan, I… I’m so sorry. Is there anything we can do?”

“No,” Logan said sharply, then softened. “No. Charles said it’s out of our hands. They’ve been barely holding on as it is. Apart from a miracle, nothing can save it now.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he quickly looked away, blinking hard. Wade started to speak, but Logan cut him off with a raised hand.

“I need to…” Logan began, his voice faltering. “I need… I don’t fucking know.” He stepped back, brushing past them into the apartment.

Y/N followed, her heart breaking at the sight of his trembling hands as he grabbed his jacket. “Logan, please, let us help—”

“I can’t handle this right now,” he said, his tone distant. “I just… I can’t.”

Without another word, he pushed past them and went inside, grabbing his jacket from the back of the couch.

“Where are you going?” Wade called after him, concern lacing his voice.

“To see Charles,” Logan muttered without looking back. “Maybe we can… I don’t know. Try to figure something out. Just—don’t wait up.”

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Y/N and Wade in stunned silence.

Y/N stared at the closed door, her chest tight with an ache she couldn’t quite place. “Wade, what do we do?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Wade scratched the back of his head, uncharacteristically serious. “I don’t know, but… he’ll come around. He just needs time.”

But Y/N wasn’t so sure.

———

The apartment was eerily quiet that night. Y/N lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the scene over and over in her mind. Every time she thought of the despair in Logan’s eyes, her heart ached all over again. She rolled over, checked her phone—it was nearly 2 a.m. Still no sign of him.

Just as she was about to give up and try to force herself to sleep, she heard the faint creak of the front door. She sat up instantly, slipping out of bed and opening her door just enough to peek out. Logan was back, his shoulders hunched as he trudged toward his room. He looked utterly drained.

“Logan,” she called softly.

He stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn around. “You should be asleep,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Y/N stepped out into the dimly lit hallway. “So should you.”

Logan sighed, his hand pausing on the doorknob to his room. He didn’t look at her as he spoke. “I… I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Or Wade. You didn’t deserve that.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said, stepping closer. “You’re going through something really hard, Logan. We understand.”

Finally, he turned to face her, his expression weary but sincere. “It’s not an excuse. You’re here for me—both of you—and I treated you like shit. I’m sorry.”

Y/N offered him a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay. Really.”

For a moment, they just stood there, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable. Logan looked like he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he nodded and turned back toward his door.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Logan.”

As he disappeared into his room, Y/N lingered in the hallway for a moment, the weight of the exchange settling over her. The conversation had been brief, but it carried a depth that left her heart aching and her mind racing. She returned to her room, the moment lingering in her thoughts as sleep continued to evade her.

———

The next morning, Y/N sat at the kitchen table, absently stirring her coffee while Wade stared at the fridge, eating cereal straight from the box. The silence in the apartment was noticeable—there was no sound of Logan's heavy footsteps, no gruff "good morning," no sarcastic remark about Wade’s breakfast habits.

“He’s gone already,” Wade said, breaking the silence as he gestured toward the empty hallway with his spoon.

“Yeah,” Y/N replied softly. “He left before I even woke up.”

“That’s not like him.” Wade dropped the cereal box on the counter and turned to face her, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “He’s avoiding us.”

Y/N sighed, setting her mug down. “Last night really got to him.”

Wade scratched the back of his head, his face creasing with concern. “Man, I don’t know what to do. He’s always been the guy holding everything together, you know? Now it’s like… we’re watching him fall apart, and I don’t…fucking know how to stop it.”

“Neither do I,” Y/N admitted, her voice heavy with worry. “But we have to do something. He can’t handle this alone.”

Wade raised an eyebrow. “Like what? You got some magic plan to save the center?”

“I don’t know,” she said quickly, feeling the weight of the situation. “I have no idea.”

Wade sighed, feeling helpless. “That’s not fair. He doesn’t deserve this.”

Y/N shook her head, overwhelmed by everything. Logan didn’t deserve this. His students and colleagues even less so.

———

By midmorning, Y/N was seated in her classroom, going through the motions of preparing for the day. But her mind wasn’t on her students or her lesson plan—it was on Logan, the center, and what she could do to help. The idea had been floating in her mind all morning, and finally, she decided she couldn’t let it go.

When the bell rang, signaling the start of her free period, she made her way to the administrative wing. Taking a steadying breath, she knocked on the door of the school’s headmaster, Mr. Fury.

“Come in,” his voice called from inside.

Y/N pushed the door open and stepped in. Fury looked up from his desk, his piercing gaze locking onto her immediately. “Y/N. What can I do for you?”

She hesitated briefly, gathering her thoughts. “I wanted to talk to you about something important. It’s about a local center for special education—one of my roommates works there, and they’re shutting down because they’ve run out of funding.”

Fury raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt. She continued, choosing her words carefully. “They’re trying to keep things running, but it’s impossible without help. I was wondering if there’s anything the school could do to support them. Maybe a partnership, a fundraiser—anything to keep them afloat.”

Fury leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled. “And why is this something the school should get involved in?”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush. “Because it’s more than just another organization struggling to stay afloat. This center provides critical support for kids who can’t thrive in a traditional school setting. If it closes, those kids won’t just lose a school—they’ll lose their sense of stability, of safety. Isn’t that worth trying to protect?”

Fury’s sharp gaze softened slightly, but he didn’t relent. “Look, I get where you’re coming from, but you know how these things work. The school board isn’t going to greenlight funding or support for a non-affiliated institution without a solid proposal and a damn good reason. It’s not as simple as putting a jar out for donations in the teacher’s lounge.”

“I understand that,” Y/N said quickly, trying to suppress her frustration. “But this isn’t just about money. It’s about showing support, using our connections to help them find resources they wouldn’t otherwise have. If we could just open a dialogue with the center, maybe we could come up with a solution together.”

Fury studied her for a long moment before sighing. “Alright. I’ll bring it up with the board and see if they’re even willing to entertain the idea. But you’re going to have to give me something to work with—a name, a contact, details about their situation. I’m not walking into that meeting empty-handed.”

Relief flooded Y/N, and she nodded eagerly. “I’ll find out everything you need and get it to you as soon as possible.”

“Good,” Fury said, leaning forward. “But don’t get your hopes up. These things take time, and time isn’t something you said they have a lot of.”

“I know,” Y/N said softly. “Thank you for considering it.”

———

As soon as she was back in her classroom, Y/N opened her laptop and began searching for contact information for Charles. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she pieced together snippets of information—articles about the center, mentions of his name in local education networks, and finally, an outdated press release with a phone number attached.

She hesitated only a moment before dialing.

The phone rang twice before a deep, familiar voice answered. “Charles Xavier speaking.”

“Hi, Charles. This is Y/N Y/L/N. I… I don’t know if you remember me, but we met at the center’s party a while back. I’m Logan’s roommate.”

There was a pause, and then Charles said warmly, “Of course I remember you. How can I help you, Y/N?”

“I hope I’m not bothering you, but I wanted to talk to you about the center. Logan told us about the situation last night, and I’ve been trying to think of ways to help.”

Charles sighed heavily. “I appreciate the thought, but I’m not sure there’s much anyone can do at this point. We’ve exhausted every avenue. The center’s closure feels inevitable.”

“Maybe,” Y/N said, her voice steady despite her racing heart. “But I’ve spoken to my school’s headmaster, and he’s willing to discuss the situation with the school board. They might be able to help, but he needs details—how many students are at the center, what kind of resources are needed, anything that could help him make a case.”

Charles seemed surprised. “You went to your school about this?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I know it’s a long shot, but I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.”

There was a pause, and then Charles said, “I can send you the information you need. I’ll email it over today.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said, relief flooding her voice. “This could make all the difference.”

“I hope so,” Charles said gravely. “But don’t get your hopes up too high. I’ve learned the hard way not to expect miracles.”

“Charles…” she hesitated, chewing her lip. “Please don’t tell Logan about this— not yet.”

He paused. “Why not? He’d want to know someone is trying to help, especially if this someone is—”

“I know,” Y/N said softly, “but this is important to him, and if it works out, I want it to be about the center, not me. He doesn’t need to know where the help came from. At least not right now.”

Charles seemed to consider her words before replying, “You care about him a great deal, don’t you?”

Y/N felt heat rise to her cheeks but didn’t answer directly. “I just want to do what’s right.”

“Well,” Charles said after a moment, “I’ll keep this between us. Thank you for trying, Y/N. It means more than you know.”

As the call ended, Y/N leaned back in her chair, a mixture of relief and nervousness washing over her. She wasn’t sure how things would turn out, but for Logan—and for the kids at the center—she was willing to take the risk.

———

Nearly two weeks later, Y/N found herself standing outside the school board’s conference room. She smoothed her palms over her pants, trying to still the nervous energy thrumming in her chest. Through the windowed doors, she could see Charles Xavier seated at the far end of the room in his wheelchair. He noticed her and gave a reassuring nod. Y/N exhaled deeply, gathering her courage before stepping inside.

The meeting stretched on, filled with debates and discussions. The board members, led by Fury, analyzed every angle of the proposal, their questions relentless.

“How do we ensure these students get the same quality of education?” one member asked sharply. “A public school environment is worlds apart from a specialized center.”

Charles leaned forward slightly, his calm demeanor unshaken. “We’ve done this work for decades,” he said, his voice measured but firm. “I created the center with a dear friend of mine, Erik Lehnsherr, our goal was to provide a space where every child, regardless of their challenges, could thrive. We’ve guided thousands of young people through their education, often giving them opportunities they never thought possible. That mission doesn’t end just because the building’s doors close.”

Y/N glanced at Charles, momentarily caught by the sincerity in his tone.

Nick Fury folded his arms. “That’s an admirable sentiment, Professor, but sentiment alone won’t make this work. How do you expect us to handle the logistics of integrating students and teachers into an entirely different environment?”

“The key is collaboration,” Charles replied. “My staff will be willing to continue working with these children under your roof. Transition is never easy, but with the right programs and guidance, it’s absolutely possible. These children deserve the same chance as anyone else to find their place in the world.”

Another board member, a woman with sharp features and a skeptical gaze, spoke up. “Funding. That’s the other hurdle. We can’t take this on without significant financial support.”

Y/N cleared her throat, stepping into the conversation. “We’re already working on securing outside funding. Families, local organizations, and even planned fundraisers are ready to contribute. The school won’t bear this burden alone.”

The discussions continued, with tension rising and falling like a tide. Questions about infrastructure, sustainability, and the emotional impact on the students were debated in exhaustive detail.

At one point, Charles addressed the room with a calm yet impassioned resolve. “When Erik and I started this journey, we knew it wouldn’t be easy. But we also knew it was necessary. These children—and so many others like them—deserve a future where they can flourish. If this partnership can give them that, then I believe it’s worth every effort.”

Finally, after hours of back-and-forth, Nick Fury leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. “All right. Here’s the deal. The school will manage the transition, integrating the students and staff into our facilities. Students can choose between new programs or continuing their current curriculum, with full support provided throughout the process. We’ll secure funding through your community partnerships and additional resources.”

Charles exhaled a deep breath, nodding in appreciation. Y/N felt a wave of relief wash over her, though the reality of what lay ahead was sobering.

Weeks later, when the agreement was finalized, Charles requested a private meeting with Y/N. They met in his office at the center after everyone had left, the shelves lined with photographs of smiling children and proud teachers.

“Y/N,” Charles began, his tone warm and genuine, “I owe you a debt I can never repay. Without you, this partnership wouldn’t exist. The center would have been lost.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Y/N said softly. “I just… I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. Not for the kids. And not for Logan.”

Charles studied her for a moment, a knowing look in his eyes. “You and Logan remind me of Erik in some ways,” he said with a faint smile. “He was never one to stand idly by, either.”

Y/N tilted her head. “What was he like?”

Charles’s expression grew wistful. “Brilliant. Stubborn. Infuriating at times, but his heart was always in the right place. We built this center together because we believed in giving these children a chance to grow, to find their place in a world that so often pushes them aside. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but we shared that vision. And for decades, we’ve seen the impact it’s had. Thousands of young lives changed for the better.”

“But he’s not here anymore?” Y/N ventured carefully.

Charles’s smile faded. “No. Erik left the center many years ago. His convictions… they took him down a different path. We haven’t spoken since.”

There was a brief silence before Charles continued, his tone softening. “I often think about what we could have accomplished if we’d stayed united. But life doesn’t always follow the paths we envision.”

Y/N nodded, touched by the weight of his words. “It sounds like you’ve already made a difference. This place—it’s changed so many lives.”

Charles smiled faintly. “And thanks to you, it will continue to do so.”

He leaned forward slightly. “When Logan finds out—”

“He won’t,” Y/N interrupted quickly. “Please, Charles. Promise me you won’t tell him, or anyone. This isn’t about recognition. It’s about saving something that matters to him. That’s all I care about.”

Charles hesitated, his brows furrowing. “You deserve to be acknowledged for what you’ve done.”

“It’s better this way,” Y/N insisted. “Logan’s been through enough. Let him believe it’s a stroke of luck or the community coming together. Just… not me.”

After a long pause, Charles finally nodded. “If that’s what you want, I’ll respect your wishes.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said softly, a weight lifting from her shoulders.

As she left his office that evening, the satisfaction of saving the center mingled with a bittersweet ache. Logan’s world would remain intact—but he could never know the lengths she had gone to for him.

———

A few days later, the apartment was quiet when Logan returned from work, his bag slung over one shoulder. Y/N was on the couch grading papers, while Wade sprawled next to her, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone.

“Hey,” Logan said casually as he walked in, dropping his bag near the door.

Y/N and Wade both looked up, exchanging a quick glance. He sounded… normal. Too normal.

“Hey?” Wade repeated, sitting up slightly. “What’s this? No broody silence? No existential sighs?”

Logan gave him a faint smirk and crossed the room, flopping down on the couch next to them. “What? Can’t a guy just sit?”

Y/N frowned, her pen pausing mid-note. She couldn’t remember the last time Logan had come home and joined them like this without carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

And she knew exactly why.

“How you doing?” Wade asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

Logan leaned back, stretching an arm along the back of the couch. “Good,” he said simply.

Wade blinked. “Good? Like, good good? Or good as in ‘don’t ask me any more questions’?”

Logan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, his expression unreadable. Then, suddenly, he bolted upright, startling both of them.

“The center’s been saved!” he blurted, his face breaking into the most uncharacteristically wide grin they’d ever seen.

“What?” Y/N gasped, standing up in ‘shock’.

“No way!” Wade exclaimed, springing to his feet. “Are you serious?!”

Logan laughed, a genuine, unrestrained sound that seemed to light up the room. “Yeah! It’s official. They’ve worked out a deal—everything’s going to be fine!”

Before Y/N could react, Wade launched himself at Logan, wrapping him in a bear hug and yelling like they’d just scored the winning goal in a championship.

“Hell yes! I knew it, peanut! I told you it would work out!” Wade shouted, shaking Logan back and forth.

“Get off me, you idiot,” Logan said, laughing as he pushed Wade off.

As Wade released him, Y/N stepped forward, her heart pounding. She hesitated for a fraction of a second—partly overwhelmed by his joy, partly to keep her composure—then wrapped her arms around him. “Logan, that’s amazing. How? How did this happen?”

Logan returned the hug briefly before pulling back, his eyes shining. “It’s incredible. They worked out a plan to keep everything running. The students will transition to a new location, and they’ve found ways to secure funding long-term.”

“That’s incredible,” Y/N said, her voice warm, though her mind raced to maintain her act.

“You’re telling me,” Logan said, his grin widening. “But guess what?”

“What?” Wade and Y/N said in unison.

Logan’s smile grew even wider. “It’s all thanks to your school, Y/N. They came up with the plan, and they’re making it happen.”

Y/N blinked, leaning back slightly to sell her surprise. “What? My school?”

Logan nodded. “Yeah. They’re integrating the program into the high school. And get this…” He paused for dramatic effect, his gaze bouncing between them. “I’ll be working there too!”

“What?!” Y/N exclaimed, her voice a little higher than intended.

“Dude!” Wade shouted, grabbing Logan and spinning him around in celebration.

Y/N watched them, laughing and clapping along, her chest tight with a mix of relief and happiness. Logan hadn’t stopped smiling since he walked in, and seeing him this happy was worth every second of her scheming.

“We’re going out to celebrate,” Logan announced, brushing himself off as Wade finally let him go. “Drinks are on me.”

“Hell yeah!” Wade said, pumping a fist in the air.

Logan headed to his room to grab his jacket, leaving Y/N and Wade alone.

As Logan disappeared into his room to grab his jacket, Wade turned to Y/N, his eyebrows raised. “Alright, Miss Academy Award. Spill.”

Y/N froze. “Spill what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Wade said, crossing his arms. “You didn’t even flinch when he said your school made it happen. So... what’s your deal in this?”

Y/N’s laugh was light but forced. “My deal? I work there, Wade. That’s my deal.”

Wade narrowed his eyes, his suspicion deepening. “Uh-huh. And you just happened to have no idea this was happening? Come on, Y/N. How much of this was you?”

“None!” she said, her voice higher than intended. She winced and busied herself straightening her papers. “It’s just a coincidence. Schools do this kind of stuff all the time, I’m sure.”

Wade stared at her for a long moment before his eyes widened in realization. “Oh my God, it was you!”

“Shh!” Y/N hissed, darting a panicked glance toward Logan’s room. She grabbed Wade’s arm and pulled him toward the kitchen.

“Are you serious right now?” Wade said, his voice a mix of excitement and disbelief. “You’re the reason this happened?”

“Wade, keep your voice down!” Y/N whispered, her tone urgent. “And no, it wasn’t me. I just… I might’ve… encouraged the right people, okay? That’s all.”

“That’s all?!” Wade exclaimed, though he managed to keep his voice low. “Y/N, you saved the center! That’s huge!”

“No, I didn’t. The center saved itself. I just... helped things along a little. And Logan cannot know, Wade. Promise me.”

Wade’s brow furrowed. “Why not? He’d be over the moon if he knew you were behind this!”

“Because this isn’t about me,” Y/N said firmly. “It’s better this way.”

Wade stared at her in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable. You know that, right? Both of you are. Oblivious, self-sacrificing idiots. I hate slow-burns.”

“Wade,” she said again, her tone pleading.

“Fine,” he said, throwing up his hands. “I won’t say anything. But you’re still an idiot.”

Before Y/N could respond, Logan reappeared, his jacket slung over his shoulder. “You two ready, or what?”

“Absolutely,” Wade said, flashing Y/N a grin as he threw an arm around Logan’s shoulder.

Y/N grabbed her coat, her heart pounding as she followed them out the door. Despite the tension of the moment, a quiet sense of satisfaction bloomed in her chest. This was her secret, her gift to Logan—and seeing him this happy made it all worth it.

XXX

[alyxmakesthings]

"Ignite"

Ok so I know I said it would be a week, but I guess I'm a liar. The post from this post is here early.

[Reader is a new vigilante with a tech background who built themself a new arm after losing it in an accident. Thankfully it was their non-dominant hand. They had been knocking heads in Staten Island which kept them off the Turtles radar for the most part until tonight. Now they find themself face to face with one of them and no way to avoid a confrontation.] Rise Donnie / Reader

My brain has gone a little wild for this so I will be writing more for this reader character in the future just not sure when. The event that took the reader's arm is mentioned so, trigger warning for past trauma but no big spoilers. I’ll put up this little guy, 🚨, right before but you’ll see it coming. Song linked in the chapter title!

TAGS: canon typical violence, angst, cussing, aged up characters

"Through the Valley"

When you caught this punk.

You were gonna kill him.

Your chest burned as you kept pace with the ass hole you had stopped from robbing some poor lady. Stealing from someone in the middle of a parking lot was ballsy, although it’s probably more apropos to call it ‘fucking stupid’. 

He had quickly found out how foolish his move was when you had jumped in to put a stop to it. 

Plus you needed the action.

The target Sacks had given you was a no show at all of the places you had been informed of and it had been looking like nothing would liven up the night to distract you from your failure. 

You were thankful to be wrong but this was just getting annoying.

He takes a turn down an alley you know to be a deadend, to see him panicking at the end of it, perfectly trapped. 

The guy turns to you as you make your way down the alley. When you reach him he’s trying to climb a dumpster to get to the fire escape. 

You’re faster.

You have his arm caught in your ‘iron’ grip, pulling him back to face you causing his hood to fall back.

He looked like he was just a kid. Face too round to have fully made it through puberty.

“Hey man!” He wriggled in your grasp, fear the dominant emotion on his face. “I gave it back, I’m sorry ok!” He continues to try and pull away, but you hold firm.

“Minors have a curfew.” His fear was replaced with classic teenage diss-affectedness and it looked like he was going to say something back before you stare him down. 

“If I catch you out here stealing again I won’t let you go. It’ll be straight to the cops.” Now that the kid was hopefully scared shitless, you let him go. He doesn’t hesitate to run past you back down the alley to the better lit street. 

“Fucking kids.” Tonight really has been shit, the itch in your knuckles to hit something hadn’t abated yet, even if the little punk wore you out running away. 

Maybe you needed more cardio?

A chill runs up your spine. 

Something’s wrong.

Someone’s here.

Your slow look up must have given away the fact that you knew of their presence. 

You see a figure shift higher up as the old fire escape groans at the movement. 

You weren’t the only one hunting tonight.

The figure jumps over the railing to then land on the dumpster below, you were surprised the thing endured given its distressed noise. Even more surprising was who was now jumping down from that very hunk of metal.

It was one of THEM. 

The Mutant Turtle Heroes of Manhattan.

You might owe some people money now.

Standing on even ground didn’t make a difference, he was taller than you. Purple markings decorated his shoulders under the dark metal of whatever he was wearing. The addition caught your eye.

“I didn’t realize the ‘Vigilante of Staten Island’ had a soft spot.” Speaking of disaffected, the turtle's flat tone catches you off guard for a moment. 

‘OK, I’ll play.’

“Kids are dumb and do dumb shit,” you scuff your boot on the pavement. “We’ve all been there.” His eyes follow your every move, “And don’t tell the press, you’ll ruin my image.” You lean back against the opposing wall crossing your arms trying to rest some.

“Scoff. What image?” He continued the casual tone but you couldn’t help but see the wooden bow staff on his back. 

“Emotionally despondent,” you tilt your head at him, “did you just say ‘scoff’?” The smile on your face is genuine. Tonight has been so damn weird already that you might as well roll with it if he was going to be chill. 

“It’s called an endearing quality.” His cocky attitude was dangerous, the rebuttal earning a little flutter in your chest. 

‘Change the subject!’

Suppressing the urge to grin at him after that you took your own advice. “It’s unusual for one of Manhattan’s heroes to make it out this way.” You say it as a statement, but he can tell you mean it as a question. 

“We do have a preference for not Staten Island.” You roll your eyes so hard that even in the lower lighting you know he saw you.

“I grew up here,” you tell him flatly.

“Unfortunate for you.” OK, maybe the cocky attitude wasn’t doing it for you.

“Fortunately for me I don’t have to listen to you bash my home.” You stood from where you had been against the wall, but more questions burned in your mind. “Why are you even out here? Aren’t there supposed to be more of you?” 

“I think I can manage a single human on my own.” He literally looks down on you given your height difference, the warmth from how close he was now radiating off of him. 

‘When did I get this close?’

His voice pulls you back, “The answer to both of those questions can be answered in one.” He holds up a single finger on his tridactyle hand. “We’re out looking for you.” The reveal drew your attention from his hand back to his face.

“What do I owe the pleasure?” You lean further from him now, poised to run.

“How do you pick who you go after?” His question all but confirms what you hadn’t thought possible. 

“I don’t tak-”

“I wouldn’t lie,” you look away for a moment. “The data proves your pattern so how do you get your names?” Metal on his back and goggles on his head, you wondered if he had been tracking your movements. He seemed like he could be a tech head.

‘Was him finding you random?’

“Why does that matter?” You sound more caustic than you really intend, his eyes narrow at you. 

“Some of the people you attack are innocent.” He says the last word through clenched teeth.

“Do you guys work for the fucking EPF or something?” Rage boiled in your veins.

“So you know what I’m talking about?” 

“DO YOU?!” You can feel your body growing hotter, the rage burning at your skin. “Why are you covering for those people?” 

“They’re doing their job trying to help-”

“Yeah right! They work for the EPF.” You leaned forward into his space. “How could they be helping anyone?” You then see him reach behind him.

Expecting him to pull the wooden bō from his back you are surprised to see his hand return with a different collapsed metal bō. 

It extends the instant he charges forward, a quick swing sending you staggering back further into the alley. He plants himself firmly between you and your exit.

“This isn’t going to end well for you.” His grin was infectious, your heart twists.

‘He works with THEM stop!’

Today has fucking sucked.

“Funny I was gonna say the same thing.” You know you can’t defend against him ‘weaponless’ as you are. Holding your gloved hand out for a moment you egg him on, fingers flexing in a ‘bring it’ motion. 

He’s eager to comply.

‘End it quick.’

You were tired. The entire night had been a waste. 

You had chased down that kid and almost finished off your reserves. 

Now, you just want to go home. 

You avoid some of his lunges and in reply he spins his bō to strike your arm. 

‘Gotcha.’

The resounding clang of metal on metal was barely cushioned by the gloves. The shock on the turtle's face was evident.

“Oh,” you feel your grin turning malicious. “I guess they didn’t tell you about this.” 

🚨

He looks confused, brain piecing together what was happening. “Then again after an accident like that, I wouldn’t think anyone would’ve made it out either.” You can feel the wrath growing, gnawing at your chest. “I clearly didn’t make it out in one piece,” a tear falls down your cheek, “AND MY PARENTS DIDN’T MAKE IT OUT AT ALL!”

Unlocking the mechanism on your arm you take advantage of the confusion the mutant is experiencing. Pushing off of the ground with your forward foot you shoot out your other to push yourself up the nearby wall. 

Using the bō as support you then relock your arm, using all of your body weight to rip the weapon from his grasp. He’s strong, and it’s difficult, but by the time your feet find the pavement once more, it’s yours. 

“This has to be a misunderstanding.” You throw the metal bō further back the alley and you hear it roll before hitting a wall. “The EPF doesn’t attack civilians.” You scoff.

“I bet you just believe every little thing they tell you, huh?” The ragged edge in your voice makes him wince.

“Well no but…” He sounds smaller than he is but you can’t stop. 

“But nothing!” Cutting him off you continue. “You work with them? Protect them? Then you’re just as bad as them!” You feel blind for a moment the previous exhaustion replaced with white hot steel in your veins. 

“I-,” he wouldn’t get to finish whatever his thought had been as you charge forward.

Instead of engaging he lept back and then up to the fire escape, it shook under the sudden attack and you bet that if you could reach it you could pull it down. He still had another weapon but you assume his hesitance was from the knowledge of your prosthetic. Despite his earlier claims of being able to take you on alone he raises his wrist to speak into it.

“I found her! We’re near the intersection of, AGH!” The EMP device you had installed in the housing attached to your shoulder didn’t just stop his communication. It must have caused a shock to emit from his goggles as he collapses before ripping them off.

“Maybe you’ll do better next time Purple.” Running with your arm temporarily disabled was annoying but you didn’t have a choice. You needed distance. 

Running until you thought you were going to pass you can’t help but lean against the nearest building. There could be wet paint for all you cared for.

Using your teeth to remove your glove as your other arm wasn’t working yet, you let it drop to the ground before fishing for your phone. Dialing the top number you held it up waiting for the ringing to stop.

The deep voice on the line helps you calm down, “What happened?”

“You were right,” you clear your face from the drying streaks of tears that had fallen. “One of them confronted me while I was out.”

“Are you hurt?” Speaking with Sacks now made you think about the new thing from his R&D that he had shown you last week.

“No, I'm fine.” You sound miles away.

“But?” Given that he had taken care of you for the last few years, he knew your little idiosyncrasies. You still felt weird about putting someone else's tech in your arm, even his, but.

“Install it.” You say it firmly.

“You sure?” You have to be. 

Knowing that you would most likely be going up against one, or more, of the turtles in the future had your hand sweating around the phone. 

“I’ll need it.”

Thanks for reading! Like I said there will be more in this 'universe' eventually.

[hummingbird24220]

Chapter Forty-Three: Suspicious Silence and Sappy Hearts

As the sun dipped below the hills, casting a warm orange glow over the peaceful island, a chorus of voices rang through the streets:

“Dinner time! Come home!”

The kids groaned in unison but obeyed, scampering off with calls of “Bye!” and “Come back and play tomorrow!” and “You’re the coolest pirate ever!” trailing behind them.

You stood, stretching your arms overhead with a groan, the flower crowns in your hair bobbing slightly with the movement.

You were covered in grass stains. You were sore from being used as a human jungle gym.

But your chest was warm. Your face still held a tired smile.

This had been… nice.

You waved lazily with one hand, the other gently patting down the crooked flower crown still tangled in your hair.

It had wilted slightly from all the running and roughhousing, but you didn’t have the heart to take it off.

You were tired. Sore. Still smiling.

The slow walk back to the ship was peaceful. The sky had started turning a soft shade of purple, and the sea breeze was light against your skin. You felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with the sun.

But that warmth started to fade the moment the Thousand Sunny came into view.

There were no voices echoing across the deck. No Sanji humming in the kitchen. No Luffy bouncing off the mast. No Usopp arguing with Chopper about something dumb. Not even Zoro’s usual low grumble of “tch” from the corner.

Just… quiet.

You slowed down, boots tapping softly up the gangplank. One step on the deck. Still no one.

Your eyes narrowed. “…Hello?”

No answer.

You walked further in, eyes darting to every nook and cranny. Not even a shadow moved.

“Luffy?” you called, raising your voice slightly. “Guys?”

Still nothing.

You stepped cautiously into the center of the deck, looking around like you were expecting to get jumped. “…Okay. If this is some elaborate prank, you’re all very good at hiding.”

Silence.

Then—a floorboard creaked.

You spun toward it.

Sanji appeared in the doorway from the kitchen, towel slung over his shoulder. He blinked when he saw you, then offered a small, suspiciously gentle smile. “…Hey.”

“Hey?” you echoed, one brow raised.

A moment later, Nami strolled up from below deck. Then Robin. Then Chopper, peeking from around a post. Usopp popped up from behind the railing. Luffy dropped from above like a silent jungle monkey. Zoro came around the mast like he hadn’t been standing there the entire time.

All of them. Casually appearing. Too casually.

“…Why are you all acting like NPCs loading into a cutscene?” you asked, warily.

Robin smiled over her book. “Oh, just curious to see how your evening went.”

You blinked. Looked between them all.

They were standing weird. Like… they’d rehearsed this.

"…What did you do?"

Zoro shrugged, but didn’t meet your eyes. Usopp shoved his hands into his pockets quickly. Chopper looked away and kicked at the floor. Sanji pulled out a drink for you without saying a word.

Your gaze narrowed. “What did you hear?”

Silence.

Then Luffy raised a hand and grinned. “Everything!”

You turned around. “I’m leaving. I’m swimming to the next island.”

Sanji caught your wrist, not letting go. “You looked really happy with them,” he said quietly. “It was nice. Seeing you like that.”

Zoro leaned against the railing. “Yeah. Soft suits you.”

Your face was burning.You yanked your hand away,.

“I’m going to bed,” you mumbled, trying to turn toward the stairs.

Robin closed her book with a soft smile. “We liked your stories, you know.”

“Shut up.”

Chopper beamed. “I liked when you said I give the best hugs!”

“Shut up more.”

Usopp grinned. “And when you said Luffy was the bravest person you knew?”

“Emergency shut up!”

You stormed below deck, grumbling and flustered, the flower crown still bouncing slightly with every step.

The crew stayed behind, smiling, watching the door you disappeared through.

“She’s definitely going to keep wearing that flower crown,” Nami said.

“Of course,” Robin replied. “It suits her.”

Sanji leaned on the railing with a dreamy sigh. “She’s way too cute when she’s caught off guard…”

Zoro grunted. “Tch. Dork.”

And above them, Luffy smiled wide. “She really does love us.”

Nobody disagreed.

[fictionrealms]

Hound's Teeth--Chapter 5

TW: gunfire, grief, angst and more angst, feeling of losing oneself, NHEA, if you can think of any more please let me know my brain is fried rn because I'm sick.

Summary: Have we ever been truly safe? I didn't know. I didn't want to. I know everything I need to; that I have to run. That we aren't safe. That Caleb was home, and protection, and safety. He was everything good in the world. Until he isn't. He is gone.

Word Count: 2830

5/10 chapters

Ongoing. Prelude to another fic in the works.

Also found on A03: Hound's Teeth - Chapter 5 - bhaalistbabe - 恋与深空 | Love and Deepspace (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

Caleb pushes me further behind him and their voices sound like I’m underwater. There’s a loud buzzing sound coming from somewhere in the hall. My eyes slam shut and dig my nails into Caleb’s arm. Smoke is everywhere and I can’t breathe. It cakes my lungs and stings my eyes. But when I blink the smoke dissipates and the buzzing is gone. There’s a sharp ache in my chest, so I shake my head and try to shake whatever had happened. Caleb’s jaw is taut, a cold calculation in his eyes as he stares at the Steel-Eyed Man. Pieces of their conversation come and go out of focus. Things like ‘where did you two meet?’ and ‘how long have you been together?’ Caleb answers quickly, like he already knew the answer before the question was even asked. Though judging based on the way Caleb keeps flexing his hand on my back it wasn’t going the way he wanted.

We were being tested. Questions meant to probe and find a weak point in our story.

He takes a deep breath, turning to me with his hand now resting on my hip. His grip tight and veins in the side of his neck threatened to pulse. It was the effects of the chip trying to override his brain, but Caleb fought to remain in control. I loosen my grip on his arm, running my palm up and down the length of his bicep in an attempt to soothe. Finally, his eyes open and a small smile pulls on the corners of his mouth. The ache in my chest intensified. 

“I’m alright, pipsqueak. I’m okay, but we have to get out of here; now.”

My brows crease and I blink. “What happened? It was like I was underwater and couldn’t hear anything he was saying. Who is he anyways?”

Caleb quickly glanced over his shoulder. “Second Leutienent Harris. He knows something. I’m just not sure what it is.”

He leads me through the crowd until we’re to the doors, turning to look behind us. My eyes follow his line of sight and my stomach twists into a knot. Harris is standing near the middle of the room, a glass of wine in hand as a group talk casually around him. His eyes still trained on us as he raised his glass like he was sending us off. Everything turns into a blur of color and the sound of the banquet hall become muffled. It takes me a few minutes to realize that Caleb was leading me towards the elevator down the hall. His eyes shooting behind us every now and then to make sure we weren’t being followed. 

The elevator doors close and I move to stand in a corner. One hand glued to Caleb’s arm and the other clutching the railing that lines the elevator. When we were kids, he discovered I had a crippling fear of them when he jumped to try and catch a paper airplane he made. In high school, some guy found a sick pleasure in telling me in detail how enough weight could snap the cords holding an elevator in the air. Going so far as to tell me horror stories of people who got stuck in them and not being found for hours. It was an everyday occurrence and when I came home in tears, terrified to even go to the mall, Caleb found the guy and beat him up so bad he needed surgery. He got grounded for a month afterward. Now, he pressed a soft, reassuring kiss to the top of my head. Covering my hand with his, stroking my knuckles with his thumb.

“When the doors open, pip, run.”

The elevator stops and so does my heart. Its doors move to the sides and Caleb grabs my hand before breaking into a sprint through the building. We stop only for me to take off my heels and I leave them behind. Deeming them a liability. Something that would only serve to slow us down. We turn a corner and the air is suddenly much colder than before. The area is dimly lit and I realize we’re in the parking garage on the lowest level of the base. It takes only a few minutes for us to reach Caleb’s car and that’s when it hits me.

My hand freezes on the handle of the door and I stare at him across the roof of the car. There is a sinking feeling in my heart as panic starts to take over me. “We’re not going home, are we.”

He looks up at me, his door already open. “No, pip, we’re not.”

That is all the time we were allotted. Hurried footsteps echo through the lot and we quickly get in the car. We sit in silence, both of us holding our breath, and wait for the sound of muffled voices and footsteps to fade enough to drive away.

It’s raining when we pull out of the parking garage. I rest my head on the window, letting the cold contrast against the heat of my skin. My eyes close as I let the soft pitter-patter of the drops hitting the car lull me back into my thoughts.

It was summer when Caleb first got his license. Having passed the test on his sixteenth birthday, he used Grandma’s car. She promised him he could use it if he passed and he did. We pooled our savings together to buy him his own car the same day. Caleb ran into my room with a smile so big and bright it could light up an entire room. His eyes filled with joy and pride as he ushered me to follow him out to the front yard. Parked in front of the house was a jeep. Top pulled down and painted a purple so deep it was nearly black. Caleb was so proud of himself then. Told me to get in to go for a ride. It was several months later when I realized he never took my half of the money we pooled together. When I questioned him about it, he said he sold some of his model airplanes instead. 

“I could never take from you, pipsqueak. You earned that money. Put it towards something you really want instead.”

I never did.

_____________________________________________

When I open my eyes again, the sun was starting to rise. I must have fallen asleep during the drive. Caleb has dark circles under his eyes and his knuckles are white on the steering wheel. I reach over and place a hand on his thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze to get his attention.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.” His voice is tired and strained, but there’s warmth in his tone.

“How long was I asleep for?” My other hand rakes through the tangled strands of my hair.

“A few hours. Must have been tired.”

“Caleb, you should find a place to park. Get some sleep.”

He gives me a soft smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Nah, we got miles to put between us and them.”

I purse my lips, resigning for the moment to look out the window. I don’t recognize the landscape that stretches in front of us. The crushing reality that we were no longer in Linkon weighed on me. Sinking into my bones and leaving me hollow.

I bring my attention back to Caleb. His eyes straining against the light of the early morning sun. Guilt rips into me. “Pull over in that field over there.”

To my surprise, he doesn’t argue this time. Only does as I instructed, then rests his head against the headrest of his seat. His eyes closed and body slowly starting to relax. I lean over the center console, reaching across his lap to scoot the seat back as far as it would go and reclining it just the same. He doesn’t object. Not even when I climb over and curl into a ball on his lap. My head resting on his shoulder and bring my arms scrunched to my chest. One arm comes to rub my back and the cool that seeps in through my dress tells me it’s his mechanical one. Not even the skin sleeve he wore could mask the harsh contrast of his right from his left.

“This isn’t what I had in mind,” he hums, his voice holding a touch of amusement.

I scrunch my nose, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck. “Shut up. It’s not like we can curl up in a bed.”

“We’re not going to be comfortable at all, you know that, right?”

There’s a teasing quality as he lets out a huff. His hand coming to stroke my hair. I breathe in, not sighing but something close to it. My eyes start to close again and my mind races back to the last argument we had. How we had come so close to talking about the elephant in the room. How I pulled away when I was the one who dared to breach the confines of our friendship in the first place. We should talk about it. Get everything out in the open and clear the air. But there was a time and place for everything.

“You have scissors in here still?”

I feel rather than see the tilt of his head. Curious. Cautious. “They should be in the glovebox. Why?”

“Think I’m gonna cut my hair.”

He bristles but says nothing. I hadn’t had short hair since we were kids. When I tried to color my hair using food coloring and Grandma scolded me for hours about how I had just ruined my pretty blonde hair. Caleb spent hours a day for a week trying to get it out. We were eight and ten then. After spending an hour with my head over the bathtub I ran to his room in tears for help. He’d always been so attentive with me. Even then. Even when I knew he was mad at me or we had gotten into a big fight.

His breathing slows to a steady rhythm. Heartbeat evening against the palm of my hand. We fall into an easy sleep. Letting the light of morning wash over us.

Then there’s gunshots.

_____________________________________________________

Caleb and I react immediately.

I swing my body back into the passenger seat and he doesn’t bother adjusting his seat before slamming the car into drive. His foot heavy on the gas pedal and we’re racing out of the field. Out of our moment of peace and reprieve. Bullets ricochet off his car with a zing. Scraping the sleek black paint off the doors. Narrowly missing the windows and tires. I lean out the window to look passed and assess how many of them were behind us.

“Are you stupid?” he hisses, panic streaking his voice, “Get your head back in the damn car and lock the door.”

I listen. Turning my body to see out the rearview window as Caleb’s Evol comes to life. Lifting the car directly behind us and throwing it violently to the side. It lands upside down in a clash and clang of metal and glass. The engine erupts into a brilliant fire before engulfing the entire car and it explodes. My heart thunders against my chest. Thrashing so viiolently it’s painful. I close my eyes and call my Evol to fruition. Clouds become dark and lightning flashes in their depths. Thunder booms above us. There’s no rain, but the lightning flashes down. Striking the asphalt between us and the car gaining speed behind us. A warning.

The car swerves and bullets hit the rearview window. Shattering it. Caleb swears and behind us the car caves in with an ear-splitting crunch. His Evol pressing into the roof, making the metal creak and screech before flipping the car over entirely. Then that, too, erupts into flames. I will a fire of my own to bloom from it’s creation. Using my Evol to make the flame flicker and lick the ground before spreading across the road behind us. Creating a wall of fire. I hear the screech of tires and crunch of metal on metal as however many cars slam on their breaks. Only to be too late and ramming into the back of the car before it. We are safe—for now. 

Slowly, our breathing evens and his hand finds mine. Holding so tightly it’s almost painful. I squeeze his just as tight. Caleb’s foot never lessens on the gas pedal. We drive in a solemn silence. 

The harsh reality of what this means settles into the both of us. Though I feel it just a little heavier now. Before it had been fleeting. Nothing more than a moment of panic and anxiety before the ease of serenity lulled it to sleep. Before we were safe. We were tucked away in a fantasy playing house. 

We were pretending.

We were lying to ourselves.

Convinced that if we waited, if we played our cards just right, we would be able to hide away in our fantasy.

We would never be safe again. 

The crushing weight of reality pulled me into the abyss. Like a black hole sucking everything into its vast, neverending darkness the moment the breach its borders. Like quicksand. No matter how much we fought to get out, to hold our head above the surface or reach for something solid to lift us, we would be inevitably pulled deeper into the depths of the sands of time. 

It’s suffocating.

I lose track of time and how long we drive for. Long enough to lose sight of the fields that flanked us. Until they turned into nothing more than a blur in the background. Bright neon lights come into my vision, Caleb pulls into a parking spot. I hold my breath.

He doesn’t look at me when he says, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

But I don’t want to stay behind. I want to go with him. I don’t let go of his hand in mine. Nails digging into his skin. No blood glistens from the indents. Because it’s his right hand. His mechanical one that no longer feels or bleeds. What those monsters did to him. Yes, they had saved Caleb somehow. But at what cost? What did they take when they breathed life back into the kind-hearted boy from my childhood? They might as well have taken everything from him.

My emotions flare. Flickering between panic and grief so deep I was drowning to rage. But that rage burned brighter than any fire I could conjure. It burned and scorched my insides until they were charcoal and festering.

I am crying—no—sobbing, when Caleb comes back. Knees pulled to my chest and hands covering my face. My entire body shaking with the force the sobs come from me. I can’t breathe. My lungs sting if I try and I hardly feel when Caleb scoops me into his arms. Holding me so close to his chest I can feel the way his heart beats. He presses a kiss to the top of my head and sets me on a bed. Suddenly, the sobs stop. I blink away the rest of the tears that linger on my lashes. Taking in the room he brought me in.

We’re in a hotel, I gather. There’s only one bed and a small desk pushed against the far wall. A TV stands with its black screen glaring back at me. My disheveled and grief-stricken appearance stares back at me. Green eyes dull and lifeless. Just like the Fleet back in Skyhaven. My stomach curdles and bile rises in my throat. 

Distantly, I hear the sound of running water. Steam gradually filters through the room as Caleb exists the bathroom. I can’t will myself to move. I can only sit on the edge of the bed and stare at my cold, desolate reflection in the TV. Barely even register when Caleb pulls the dress over my head and tosses it over on a chair in the corner of the room. He pulls on my hand, leading me into the bathroom. My feet lift over the edge of the tub, but just barely. Hot water scathes my skin and I close my eyes. Letting the heat of the water burn into me and soothe the ache in my bones that never seems to leave. Calloused fingers massage my scalp. Coaxing a floral scented shampoo into my hair. I don’t even notice when tears slide down my cheeks again. They are silent in their descent. No sound emanates from me as I lift my face to the steam. I imagine I am sinking. Being pulled deeper and deeper in warm sand that encases me like a coffin. It cakes my lungs and fills my ears and nose. I breathe it all in. Pulled forever deeper. Until I am gone and there is nothing left but the vast neverending nothingness. 

I am nothing.

[carlasdreams1]

Gofushi fic —Blessing— by unrequit3dlove on ao3! (Megumi and Satoru developing feelings for each other over the years)

Nanami raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the railing. “When did you start caring about him this much, Satoru? It doesn't seem like the best idea to get attached. You know how this world is.”

“Yeah,” Suguru chimed in, exhaling smoke. “You do realise it’s not exactly safe to let your heart get tangled up in a kid like that, right? Kids get hurt, and you’re—”

“—and you’re not exactly known for your sentimental nature!” Nanami finished, offering a pointed look.

Satoru bristled, clenching his jaw tightly as he glared at his friends. “What’s your point? Just because it’s dangerous doesn’t mean I’m supposed to cut him off emotionally. Maybe I want to be the good guy for once!”

Megumi’s banging intensified, his voice rising in pitch. “I can’t hear you! Let me in, you old farts! This isn’t funny!”

“We’re busy out here, Megs!” Satoru called, but his tone lacked any real urgency to comply with the request.

Nanami leaned back, his expression thoughtful yet unyielding. “You know, Satoru, nothing good lasts forever in a sorcerer’s world. That kid is gonna face some harsh realities. Are you ready for that?”

Satoru’s gaze darkened, the smile fading from his lips. “I’ll make this last no matter what,” he declared firmly, a fire igniting behind his cerulean eyes. “I won't let the world snatch away the joy he has. If I can give him something—anything—that feels normal, I will. He deserves that much."

If you want to read more, please check out my ao3 :) this specific fic has 1/1 chapters and 43k words along with a 23k words sequel! Both are completed and ready to be read ʚ(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )ɞ

[the-peak-tmnt]

Ok Reciprocity readers, I’m sorry it’s taking so long, so please enjoy the first 3 pages of Chapter 20 under the cut.

Content warning for injury/pain

“Oh…oh Raphael,” Kim whispered sadly.

“No, I’m serious, it’s okay,” Raph almost laughed. He felt bad that Kim had apparently believed that whole stunt. He wanted to put her at ease, so he tried explaining again. “That was—well, I dunno how they did it, but that was faked. That wasn’t real.”

Kim opened her mouth to say something, but she was cut off by an agent in tactical gear barging into the room.

“Hands up! Hands up!” he barked at her, his gun raised. Two more filtered in through the door behind him.

“I have security clearance! I’m his nurse!” Kim shouted frantically as she threw her hands in the air.

“Badge!” he demanded, and Kim angled herself slightly to show it clipped on her hip. Another agent came forward to check it, giving an affirmative to the first. He lowered his gun but moved forward to aggressively begin patting her down. The fear on her face was too much for Raph, who swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.

“Don’t grab her, asshole!” Raph growled.

“Raphael, please get back on the bed,” Kim said urgently, her voice thick with panic. “Don’t try to walk! You could fall!”

Realizing this was the first time he’d gotten up without help, Raph knew that she was right. He could immediately feel just how unsteady he was on his feet. His injured shoulder throbbed with the sudden overexertion, and Raph felt lightheaded. He grabbed the side railing of the hospital bed with his good hand and glared at the agent.

“What the fuck is going on?” he growled at the agents.

“There’s been another hack. That broadcast was on everything. We’re locking down the hospital,” the leader said briskly. His expression then shifted into what Raph could only assume was meant to be sympathetic, but felt about as fake as that video had been. “I’m sorry about your brother, but don’t worry, kid; we’re not gonna let this guy get you, too.”

“Everyone’s freaking out over nothing! That shit wasn’t even real!”

“Raphael,” Kim said in a tone someone might use with a frightened child, “I know this is a shock—”

“The only thing that’s a shock is how anyone actually bought that,” Raph said incredulously. “I’m telling you, that thing wasn’t Leo!”

“Orange and Purple secured,” a voice crackled over the radio clipped to the lead agent’s vest.

“Bring them to Red’s room,” the leader responded into his mic. “Did they see it?”

“Negative. They were on the elevator. We intercepted them in the lobby. Arriving back at Red’s floor now.”

Just before the transmission ended, the radio on the other end picked up what sounded like elevator doors opening and Mikey asking “see what?”

“Please, let one of us tell them,” Kim interjected hastily. “We’re professionals, your men won’t know how to break the news gently enou—”

Kim’s plea was cut off by a horrible, guttural scream from down the hall.

“NO! NO NO NO!”

It was Mikey. Raph felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. He’d never heard Mikey sound like that, not even after Raph had been bleeding out in front of him. Raph could hardly breathe when we heard Donnie’s gut-wrenching yell join Mikey’s. The sound of his brothers down the hall was the most terrible thing Raph had ever heard.

He couldn’t stand it. Raph couldn’t let them suffer like that over nothing. He had to tell them the truth. He had to save them from this unnecessary pain. He let go of the bed’s railing to take an unsteady step towards the door.

“Raphael, what are you doing?!”

“I have to tell them it wasn’t real,” he told Kim breathlessly, focusing all of his efforts on getting one foot solidly in front of the other. “They didn’t see, they don’t know it wasn’t real, they gotta know it wasn’t—”

“Kid, stop!” the lead agent said, stepping into Raph’s path and grabbing his good arm. Raph yanked it out of the man’s grasp with a snarl. If this asshole thought he could get between him and his brothers, he had another thing coming to him.

“Raphael, please stop, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Kim said with a level but pressing voice. Raph felt a little sorry to ignore her, but he had to get to his brothers. Raph had failed Leo when he hadn’t been able to get to him. He couldn’t fail Donnie and Mikey like that, too.

He made it another few steps before an agent grabbed at him again, but this time Raph was ready. He threw an elbow at the agent’s face, the force of it sending the man to the ground. The other two surged forward toward him.

“Stop!” Kim yelled, and Raph didn’t know if she was talking to him or the agents. Raph didn’t care either way. He wasn’t going to stop. His dad was right. Raph was a fighter. His shoulder didn’t matter. He had to fight. He had to get to his brothers. He had to tell them—

One of the men grabbed at Raph’s shell in just the wrong place, and Raph stumbled as he felt the broken pieces of his shell shift. He howled in both rage and agony, all well-practiced technique abandoned as he swung wildly at the two men. He felt something crack beneath his knuckles as one of his hits connected, but his satisfaction was short lived as he went toppling over his own unsteady feet.

Raph’s vision whited out as his broken plastron met the floor. He choked and gasped for breath, nothing making it into his lungs past the unbearable pain. Kim’s raised voice was somewhere above him, but could not make out what she was saying. All Raph could hear was the anguished wailing of his brothers in the hall. He had to get to them. He had to get up. He couldn’t fuck this up again. He couldn’t breathe but he had to get up!

Something was touching his arm. Paralyzed by pain and breathlessness, there was nothing Raph could do as he felt the heaviness begin to spread through his veins, pulling him down, through the floor, and into the nothingness.

[typicalopposite]

sentences on sunday

Sharing some from the next chapter of Hopes & Fears! And hoping to have the chapter up today — been sick and fell behind 😮‍💨 but I’m hoping to get caught up and get it finished SOON! 🫶

Ow. 

There is pain in his— everything. 

He tries to think back on what happened… The baby soaps… Hen screaming… The car… Then the pain… so much pain.

“Ow…” he tries again, and actually manages to say it this time. He hears a chuckle, then movement beside him… the soft clattering of something getting set down on a table— beads— rosary beads? “C- Cap?” 

“Yeah, I’m here kid,” Bobby says softly, taking one of his hands, giving him a quick run through of what happened, and his injuries. “Just keep resting, and don’t worry about anything… it’s all been taken care of, everyone has been notified.”

“T- Tommy?” 

“I called him myself. He’s on his way.”

Buck tries to smile at that; he thinks maybe he is… but even the slightest movement hurts and so he feels like his face is stuck in a permanent grimace… He’s too tired to try harder, and so he just lets himself succumb to unconsciousness again. 

The next time he wakes up it’s from his monitors beeping at his nurse, who is changing over his bags of IV medications and fluids. The elderly woman looks at him and smiles, “Hey there handsome,” she says. 

“Whoa now…” Buck replies, sluggishly; he barely has the strength to lift his hand up in a mock defensive manner. “You can’t be— be flirting with me like that… I’m a taken man.” 

“Oh? Well my deepest apologies,” she quickly says back. “She’s a very lucky girl.”

“It- It’s a guy, a- actually,” Buck corrects. “But… he— he’s not the lucky one… that would be me.” 

She finishes off with what she was doing and then leans on the railing to his bed, an intrigued smile on her face. “Really now?” 

“Mhmm…” Buck does his best to nod. “He’s— He’s great. He’s a— amazing, even. He’s a firefighter pilot…”

“Ooo… fancy.”

“Right? He’s so cool! And— And he is tall and built like a tank— I didn’t even know I was into that until him; and he— he has a cleft…” Buck pauses, feeling winded just thinking about it all. “But it- it’s not about any of that, you know. It’s his heart. He has the biggest heart. He’s— he’s so thoughtful and caring and kind…” The nurse smiles as he rambles on. “He puts up with me— all of me…  He listens to me… He makes me feel special… No one has ever really done all that before.” 

“Well you do sound extremely lucky to have someone like that in your life.” 

Buck nods, already feeling the effects of the medication flowing into his veins. His eyes feel heavier with every blink. “I— I love him…” he says… and he’s never said it out loud before. It feels good; it feels right. He says it again. “I love him. I really— really love him. Why— Why didn’t I lead with that… maybe— maybe then he wouldn’t have left…” He tries to focus on the nurse's face, tries to stay conscious long enough to get her input… “I— I should— should have told him that, huh? That I loved him…” 

“You never told him?” she asks, sounding amused. 

Buck sighs heavily, lolling to the side towards her; his eyes finally fall closed and he doesn’t have the strength to reopen them. “It’s… com- complicated.” 

When he wakes again his room is quiet; he guesses it’s empty. 

He isn’t sure how long he slept, or if he slept at all… it definitely doesn’t feel like it. So he keeps his eyes closed and listens to the sounds of the machines, the ticking of the clock, the footsteps outside the door as they come to a stop at his room— 

He hears a sharp gasp, and cracks open his eyes to see Tommy standing in the opening. “H- Hey…” he says tiredly, hoping he said it loud enough Tommy could hear him. “You came…” It’s not that he doubted that he would… it’s just that he didn’t have to. Tommy has no obligation to Buck anymore… besides perhaps growing their kid, and he doesn’t need to be around Buck to do that. He could have sent a get well soon card and it would have been enough. 

Yet here he is… “Of— of course,” he says, like him being there is the most obvious thing in the world.

read from ch 1 on ao3 <3

some no pressure tags for: @30somethingautisticteacher @sunnywithachanceofbi @nine-one-wanton @judymarch15 @herrmannhalsteadproduction

@somethingaboutfirefly @silversky9 @bucksxkinard @mmso-notlikethat @quintessenceofdust88

@littlepaws9 @bidisasterevankinard @lavenderleahy @bangpop91 @weewookinard @beanarie

And anyone else who wants to join in!!! 🫶🫶🫶

[yoditopascal]

Everything I Lost But Found In You

summary: Shinji reflects on everything he lost and gained from Aizen’s betrayal.

warnings: fluff, slice of life, post TYBW, pre-CFYOW, Sen is a tsundere, slightly suggestive content

a/n: I’ve been working on this OC since 2008 and I’m so excited to share her with you guys! The first chapter is short and sweet but I promise the next ones will be longer!

Masterlist//Next Chapter

Everything

Shinji leaned against the wooden railing of his office of the 5th Division headquarters, the air infused with the sweet scent of fresh cherry blossoms, flowing gently through his hair as his wife worked diligently behind him on his paperwork that was now a week late.

As he started to contemplate the twists of fate that had brought them together, warm memories of their earlier days resurfaced to the forefront of his mind. Just as he was starting to get lost in his thoughts the sound of his wife getting to her feet drew him back to his reality. Sen stretches behind him and lets out a huff, as she stood from his pile of unattended documents at his desk, drawing his eye to the undeniable curve of her belly that marked her heavily pregnant form with a smile.

She turned to him, a mix of frustration and affection in her eyes as she started to chide him for letting paperwork pile up so much over the past week.

“I swear the older you get the lazier you get Shinji.” She said with a frown though he could tell from the mischievous shine in her eye that the jab wasn’t serious.

“You can’t keep relying on me to forge your signature, Shinji. I won’t always be here to bail you out, especially when Asahi gets here!” she scolded, but her voice lacking any real bite to it as she rubbed at her swollen stomach. He couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle as he came back into the office space, stepping closer to her and attempting to steal a kiss to her cheek as he gently rubbed her stomach, placing a warm calloused hand over her much smaller one.

“You shouldn’t stress so much. It’s not good for him,” he teased, knowing she wouldn’t let him off the hook entirely. “Besides I said I’d take care of it when we got back, it’s not my fault you decided to start doin’ it before we leave.” he added, knowing how excited she was to see her friends and their kid again even if it was just to watch Chad’s boxing match over at Ichigo and Orihime’s.

Sen smiled at his affectionate antics but swatted him away playfully, “That’s because I knew you wouldn’t do it.” she waved him off as she continued. “Now go and find Atsushi, we gotta leave soon and she’s probably off training with Ichika so I’m sure she’ll need to get cleaned up before we go.”

“Go on, get moving, or we’ll be late!” she urged, her tone light but stern as she waddled past him towards their shared home. “So cold.” Shinji’s expression fell into a mock pout at her dismissal. “At least I know Atsushi loves me,” he quipped back at her retreating form. As Sen walked toward their home to get ready for their trip to the Human World, he continued to admire her form with a smile, hand resting in his cheek as he leaned in the railing of his office once again.

How the hell had he gotten so lucky in life?

The haunting memories of Aizen’s betrayal weighed heavy on him, even to this day, but amidst all the loss, there was a flicker of light, his love for Sen and the family they’ve come to make together never failed to ease his dread over what had come to pass.

He recalled the very first moment their paths crossed back in the tea scented walls of her father Kisuke’s peculiar shop, the warmth he felt the first time she had called him by his first name, their first date that she, to this day, still refused to acknowledge as their first actual date, their first fight, fueled solely by Shinji’s jealousy, over her spending more time with Kensei than him, the first time Sen patched up his wounds and chastised him for not letting her help him in the first place. Their first “I love yous” even though neither of them said it directly, they both knew the implications of what they had said meant to the other.

It was in those moments that he began to understand the depth of her feelings, she loved him, just as fiercely and unconditionally as she loved her family and he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t love her just as strong back then even if he hadn’t known it yet.

[sinsinsininning]

A little bit softer

Chapter 4

Eustass Kid x crew mate!fem!Reader

This includes Kid’s POV of the end of Chapter 3 while the reader is in the shower. 😳

Also to clarify, Badger is a made up character, I didn’t feel like incorporating a cannon character into the reader’s backstory. I spent literally 2 seconds on the name and even less time on a vague description of him which I’ll post later.

TW: swearing, voyeurism, masturbating (both male and female)

~~~~~~~

After you left him on the deck, Kid ate slowly, thinking out the details of his next steps. He had no idea where this bastard, Badger, was or even what he’d look like.

Plus the West Blue was crawling with dangerous crews and the notorious 5 Families of the West, headed up by Capone Bege. Not someone Kid was on good terms with and, depending on how deep into the West they’d go, someone they’d likely run into.

While Kid would prefer to just make this a quick mission, so they could double back and enter the Grand Line, he was excited to think of all the practice the crew would get fighting all these other crews. It’d be good training before they entered the New World.

After finishing, he pulled out the maps and started charting again. Wire eventually returned to join him and the two worked quietly. Kid was making a list of things they could get while in the West Blue when Wire spoke up.

“So what’s this Captain’s name?”

“Why’re you asking?” Kid growled. “Just chart the stupid map.”

“I’m nearly done, I just need to know where to find him, then I can finalize the map. Right now I’ve just got it charted how to get there while avoiding marines bases and included supply stops. But I need a specific area to finish.”

“His name is Badger.” Kid said after a beat.

“Is that his first name or last name?” Wire asked.

“The fuck if I know. His name is Badger, he’s in the West Blue, and I’m gonna kill him. Make the map.” Kid blustered for a moment, he felt a little silly, all this effort and he didn’t even know who the guy was. Fuck he didn’t even know if you’d been honest…. Nah you were nearly crying, you wouldn’t lie like that. Wire sighed heavily and Kid nearly smashed the table.

“Ok, I can’t finish it tonight, but I’ll go through some logs and see if I can get more info on him.” Wire relented, knowing the captain was at his limit. “We should be able to make it to the next island tomorrow, I’ll do some more digging then too.” Kid grunted an acknowledgement, head down as he finished his list, pen nearly tearing the paper.

Wire stood and started putting the supplies away, he glanced at his captain.

“Boss… you know-“ He paused and considered himself, Kid glanced at him with a scowl. Better play it safe. “Just let me know if you need anything, you know I’d help.” Kid bristled at that, but just grunted again to dismiss the tall man.

He doodled a few sketches of his projects on the list, trying to clear his head. Eventually he puts everything up and leans against the railing, watching the waves and night sky.

After an hour or so, Heat joins him to take his watch shift, but brought a few beers for his captain. Kid downs his first two quickly, then nurses the next one.

“It’s none of my business,” Heat starts off.

“Then don’t fucking bring it up.” Kid snaps.

“But I think we should get rid of the sniper rookie.” Heat continues, eyes on the coast.

“What? Why the fuck do you think that?” Kid stood to shout at him. “Thought you two were buddy-buddy?!” He could keep the jealously out of voice.

“She’s alright. But she’s soft.” Heat isn’t phased by the shouting. “She won’t make it in the Grand Line. We can’t have that type of weakness.”

“Quincy’s soft. Wire’s soft. You questioning my authority huh?” Kid gulped the rest of his drink and tossed the bottle behind him. “You think I keep a weak crew?! That what you’re trying to say?!”

“The only thing she’s got going for her is she’s cute.” Heat added nonchalantly, Kid was fuming.

“Fuck off like she’d want your ugly, stitched up headed ass!” Kid grabbed his vest, forcing the other man to look at him. “She’s staying, she’s a good sniper and a good crew mate. Fucking question me again and I’ll fucking throw you overboard!” Heat grinned and Kid felt like he’d been caught.

“I get why everyone’s been fucking with you lately,” Heat chuckled. “It’s fun. You’re so biased for her, I’m a little jealous really, wish you’d defend me this hard.”

Kid wanted to shout again but he felt like he’d reveal too much. Well, more than what he’d already done. His face was hot and he felt deflated, but he released Heat with a shove.

“Maybe if ya did your job and not play mind games I would.” He finally says, Heat resumes his watch. An awkward silence falls over them.

“It’s not that bad, Boss. Trust me it could be worse. Imagine you liked Pomp? He’s fucking insane. I heard he sold his ex husband’s kidney for cheating on him in a dream.” Heat tried to console his friend, not his forte, but he felt a little bad at his trick. Kid let out a short laugh.

“Fuckin’ hell that can’t be true…. Can it?” He started on his next beer, sitting back down. They laugh together again.

“I don’t actually think we should get rid of her. Just sayin.”

“I know.”

“Yeah she’s soft, but she saved my ass that last fight, shooting that guy trying to creep up on me while I was taking care of Reck.”

Kid just hummed in response, still hesitant to say anything about her. Heat noticed.

“I promise it’s not that bad.”

Silence.

“I don’t think she’s scared of you, not really at least.”

“I heard what she said to you.”

“I think she’s scared of her ex captain. Should make her sit down with Wire, he’d sort her head out.” Heat lit a cigarette, offering a pull to Kid who shook his head.

“Not a bad idea. Just don’t want anyone knowing how-“ He paused. “She can go to Wire but I’m not gonna make her.” He said finally, Heat nodded in understanding.

“You can’t say it, I gotcha.”

“I can’t say it first.” Kid sighed, finishing his last bottle.

“Makes sense. Don’t worry,” Heat claps his hand on the captain’s shoulder. “It’ll happen.”

“Since when have you gotten this mushy?” Kid sneered. “I hate it. Go back to minding your own business.” Heat laughed as his captain got up. It was past midnight and he was tired.

He made his way down the halls, he needed to return his dishes or else Killer would bitch at him all day tomorrow. He placed them in the sink, then a thought struck him. Quickly glancing in the fridge, your plate was still there, all wrapped up nicely.

You hadn’t eaten since breakfast, he slammed the fridge shut. Fuck, you probably hadn’t finished your shit yet. He stalked down the halls towards your make shift shop room, irritated that you’d not finished yet and had still not eaten.

A small part of him was excited to have an excuse to talk to you, even if it was just to bitch at you. Maybe he’d walk you to the galley personally, to make sure you followed orders. Maybe he’d sit with you as you ate too, couldn’t let you try to skip out. After that he’d grumble at you for making him stay up late to babysit you, even though he chose to do it.

Then he may as well make you go to bed. His bed. With him. Obviously to make sure you didn’t try to sneak back to your project. He’d keep you pressed in his arms all night to ensure you didn’t try anything.

Fuck he needed to stop, he was hard in the middle of the hallway. He adjusted his belt before entering the shop room, hoping it’d hide his arousal. Somehow the shop was empty, all the weapons cleaned and stacked up correctly. He looked around for any mistakes or mess you’d left behind, anything that’d allow him a chance to speak with you.

But the room was spotless, everything put away correctly. Then where the fuck were you? He wondered if you went to bed right away, tempted to check your bunk. He headed toward it, pausing when he passed by the bathrooms, steam pouring out the door.

The doors to the bathrooms all had hatches at the top that opened to allow steam to vent. He was a little impressed that the hot water still worked after everyone’s showers.

With you in the stalls he didn’t have any excuse to bother you, you’d finished your work and unless he wanted to wait until you were out to force you to the galley, he was out of luck for tonight. Kid turned to go when he heard you moan.

Oh fuck.

He glanced around the halls, no one could hear you or see him palm his cock over his pants. You weren’t generous with your noises, obviously trying to stifle them, but some slipped out.

Your groans and whines sounded frustrated, like you couldn’t work how you wanted. He reached his hand inside his pants to grip himself, jaw clenched almost painfully to avoid alerting you. His mind filled in the gaps of what he couldn’t see. He pictured walking in and offering to help you reach your climax, since you still seemed to struggle.

He thought about how’d you’d look right then if he did, wet and naked, probably surprised and shy. Maybe you’d try to cover yourself, until you’d realize what he was offering. Or maybe you already knew he was there, confident he’d join you. Maybe you’d tell him exactly what you wanted from him.

He’d let you boss him around, at least at the start, but after you cum once or twice, then he’d be in control again. He thumbed his slit right as you let out a different moan.

Oh. That one was much more satisfied, he didn’t know what changed to make everything work for you, but he was pleased. He stroked himself faster now, checking the halls quickly, then held his ear to the open hatch. Your whines and moans were breathier, much more high pitched. He squeezed his cock, picturing it was you. When he closed his eyes and really focused on listening, he swore he could hear how wet your pussy sounds.

Your moans are getting faster and he tries to keep up, hand pumping hard to get himself off. Finally you let off a loud moan, cutting yourself off halfway through in a pathetic attempt to be quiet. He’s not quite there yet, so he moves his hand fast, but freezes when you turn of the shower.

Shit you were done. He was fucked.

Without adjusting his pants he quickly walks down the hall, his workshop is closer than his room. It’ll have to do for now, it’s not the first time he’s jacked off in there. He gets the door closed and locked before resuming.

Part of him is irritated, his high was so close just to be edged back. But more of him felt a little proud, you’d gotten off before him, as you should. Yeah it wasn’t like he’d gotten you to cum, but it still stroked his ego. He thought about that as he sat down, hand around himself again, stroking quickly.

He wondered how many times he should make you cum before he did. Hell how many times should you cum before he even fucked you with his cock. At least two times on his fingers and maybe three times of his tongue, that seemed fair.

He rubbed his tip harshly as he thought about your sounds, they were so sweet and full of emotion. Kid could basically read your mind from how expressive you were, so open and honest with your lewd moans. He could tell when you were close, when you were struggling, and even when something clicked. He wondered what it was that made you moan like that, thinking of ways to extract that info.

His climax caught him off guard as he thought about you. He came across his hand and chest with a groan, some of his spend getting on his pants. As he came down, panting as he leaned back in his chair, he could hear you walking down the hall.

Leaping up, he tucked himself back into his pants, grabbed an old rag to wipe the cooling cum from his hands and chest. He knocked over the chair and toppled a few tools in his haste. Your steps were quiet but he was hyper aware of you as you passed the door.

After a few minutes of quiet he finally exited, going straight to his room and laying face down on the bed. He wanted to shout but settled for smothering himself until he finally dozed off.

[marie-is-seein-stars]

Mafia AU: Stray Kids -

Chapter 1: Rough Start

Word Count: 918

Mdni contains swear words and some suggestive themes

Synopsis: um...so basically girlie is in the streets because her mans was clapping another girls' cheeks when she came back home and there is a flashback moment and stuff and then she runs into Hyunjin, who is a tatted-up BEEFCAKE (oh yeah and he's part of the Stray Kids' mafia🤭)

You were running from people, a vendor you had stolen food from as a desperate attempt to survive, you hadn't eaten since you left your apartment, which was weeks ago. Now here you were, feeding on scraps and stealing food just to keep your body distracted from the sickness that was fogging your mind. Your body might've been occupied, but your brain kept playing that scene in your head like a broken record.

You held on to the rickety metal pole that passed as railing on the concrete stairs to the apartment you shared with your boyfriend, 143-District 9. It reeked of tobacco, but an unfamiliar sound filled your ears 'It's just the neighbors, fucking, again' you rolled your eyes at the noise, reassuring yourself that your boyfriend would never cheat on you. But as you unlocked the door, that noise became louder, and that's when the truth hit you like a ton of bricks.

You walked right up to the bed and they were still at it! “What the hell?!” you screamed and pulled the girl off of your now ex-boyfriend. “Get OUT!!!,” the girl scampered to get her clothes and reached for her purse, when suddenly you had a thought, it was your apartment after all.

 “How about I show you to the door instead!” you dragged her by the hair, and opened the door, throwing her naked form out into the hall for anyone who was out to see. Your boyfriend was petrified the whole time, knowing what was coming for him as well. “Ah, you know what, I’m leaving you here to pay rent with whatever you can scrounge out of my safe, but this?,” you dangle the necklace he had gifted to you only a week ago as an anniversary present in between your slim fingers,”I’m keeping it.” he scrambled after you, blubbering and screeching about all the good times the two of you had together. 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

You were running from people, a vendor you had stolen food from as a desperate attempt to get something to eat. You hadn't eaten since you left your apartment, which was days ago. Now here you were, feeding on scraps and stealing food just to keep your body distracted from the negative thoughts fogging your mind. Your body might've been occupied, but your brain kept playing that sequence of events in your head like a broken record. You turn sharply into an alley, bumping roughly into what feels like a wall.

Except, it’s not a wall, it’s a person, a man who couldn’t be much older than you. But, there was something about him, it was dangerous yet alluring. He had a fuck ton of tattoos; you also took note of the fact that he was armed with a pistol and a switchblade. He had shoulder length dark black-red hair. "Sorry”, you whisper, he gave you a once-over, then muttered “Not a problem", glancing at the pendant you wore added "Princess”.

You were about to protest but his dangerous gaze shut you up. His scent made you want to attempt to swim in black licorice and Axe body spray...even though you hated licorice, (Twizzlers are the exception) and drown in it. The scent was so intoxicating that it actually pulled a response out of you. “mMmn” was all that came out of your mouth, thank the gods! “MMmn~?” he exclaimed questioningly “Oh! Um, I was just uh…” You walk backwards out of the alley without another word and come across a park bench. You take a seat and suddenly remeber the food you had. You eat some now and save the rest for breakfast. You stash the food under the bench, making sure there's no bird dooky or spider webs before placing it in a dark corner and covering yourself with your jacket you had on.

You drift to sleep, thinking about the guy with the yummy scent and tatoos. A few hours later you hear several pairs of footsteps. You freeze, unable to determine if it's some mugger or a serial killing gang. What if it's a cult that has wierd colored contacts, so whenever they give you the bombastic side eye you lose your shit, not because of them but because of those damned lenses, seriously though, whose supplying people with those? Next thing you know, you feel a tight sensation in your leg, but before you can react you body goes limp as you slip into black inky unknown.

(Like and follow for more!)

Hello! this is a collab series with @qwqqmfh! Please note that this is just the first chapter and that more content will be on the way soon! Faith will be making all of the images at the heading of every chapter in this series, so a big shoutout to her!

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[imtooscaredforthis]

Tethered

Part III- Chapter Thirty Six: Tethered

Mentions of: Angst, Break ups, Murder, But a happy ending!

A/N: Yeah, we’re finally at the end!! I hope you enjoyed! I’m shadow banned on my main acc so I rlly hope this post shows up 😭

Tags: @prettycutebunny @dead-bxxxtch-walking @mama-miya @vandeaad @moonshineinasippycup

There was something peaceful about Mount Ormond when you woke up. There were no howling winds that would beat against the glass or make the walls shake. It was calm. You moved your hand to the opposite side of the bed, reaching over for Frank, but feeling nothing but the sheets. You sat up and undid the bandages around your waist, noticing that your wound had healed and was gone completely. It was like it had never happened.

After grabbing a shirt and slipping it on, you got to your feet and stretched. You hadn’t left that bed in days. Of course, most of the time you were close to death, so it was warranted.

You peered out the door, gazing down the hallway. No one was there. However, you heard voices coming from downstairs. You crept down the hall, following the voices, your bare feet padding against the plush carpet.

When you reached the end of the hall, you peered over the railing, spotting Frank and Julie downstairs in the living room.

“You said we were soulmates. That we were meant to be-”

“I know what I said, Julie, but I don’t feel that way about you anymore.”

“What, because of her?”

“Yes! I’ve loved her for years. Ever since we were kids. The things we went through. She never gave up on me, and she still doesn’t, not even now, when she knows what I- when she knows what we did. I’ve always loved her, and I always will.”

“But did you ever love me, Frank?” Her voice was soft and sad, the pain clear in it. A heavy guilt weighed on your shoulders.

“I…”

“Answer the question!”

“I don’t know, okay? I thought I did, but now I- I don’t know.”

She scoffed, shaking her head at him. “That’s what I thought.”

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed off. Frank groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

“Hey.” You were so quiet that Frank almost didn’t hear you. He looked over his shoulder, spotting you walking down the stairs, going to join him in the lobby/living room area. He offered you a weak smile. “Hey.”

You sat beside him on the couch, taking his hand, holding it gently. “Tell me you didn’t hear that conversation?”

“I did..I feel awful. I’m sorry for her, and I’m sorry I put you in this situation.” You squeezed his hand. He squeezed it back, reaching it over and pressing a kiss to the back of your palm.

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

“Don’t blame yourself-”

“No, (y/n). It is. I should’ve told her sooner. I should’ve known. All that time we were apart, I knew. But I did everything to convince myself I didn’t..And what I did. I don’t regret killing that guy, but I do regret making the others kill him with me. I dragged them all here with me, and we’ll always be here now.”

“Do you think..Do you think you’d still be together if I wasn’t here?” You couldn’t help but ask.

He was silent for a moment, before he spoke again. “There’s something I have to show you.”

He went back up to his room, and he returned with the notebook. The one you had given him all those years ago. He handed it to you.

“You kept it?” You opened it, seeing that first note you had written him.

“Well, The Entity did. I had thrown it out, but The Entity kept all the notes I had written to you. I guess she knew how important it was to me.” He admitted.

You smiled softly, flipping through the pages and seeing how many letters he had written. “So you really did write the letters, huh? Did they help?”

“...Sometimes. Read them.”

You flipped back to the front page, reading the first letter he had written you.

–

It hurts. It hurts too much. Why did you leave me (y/n)? Why did you abandon me, just like the others?

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stared down at the paper, clutching it tightly. “I’m so sorry Frank. I wish I knew-”

“Shh, shhh, it’s not your fault baby. I chose to leave. I had to deal with the consequences. I just- I missed you so much.” He wraps an arm around your shoulder, wiping your tears and holding you close to him and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Can you keep reading for me?”

You nodded, taking a deep shaky breath and moving on to the next page.

–

“I don’t understand. On these pages, it says that you’ve moved on. That you’re happy with your group and your decisions.” You stared down at the last note.

He shook his head. “Do you think if I was happy with my choices, I would’ve written to you about it? All this time, I was thinking about you. Writing to you. And you know how much I hated school and writing. So no matter what front I put up, I was always thinking about you, caring about what you thought, what you’d do if you were there. Like I said before. I tried so hard to hate you, but I never could.”

He laughed softly. “And even when I thought it was over, when I thought I would be here forever, without you, The Entity brought you back to me. We’re stuck here together, for eternity. But there’s no one else I’d rather be stuck with than you.”

Your expression softened, and you smiled at him, letting him press his forehead against yours. “Yeah, you can never get rid of me now.”

“I’d never want to. I love you, (y/n).”

“I love you too, Frank.”

You leaned in, kissing him softly. After a few long moments, you pulled away.

“Are you sure your friends can handle us being together?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I mean, Susie loves you, and Joey does too. I’m pretty sure he had a bit of a crush on you for a while.” He admitted, making you giggle.

“What about Julie?”

He sighed softly. “She’ll get over it eventually.”

You nodded solemnly. “It doesn’t matter, because no matter what I have you and we'll always be together.”

He cupped your cheek, kissing you again. But as he did, you felt yourself fade away, being pulled into a trial.

You let yourself get pulled, let the darkness overtake you, unafraid to face the fear, suffering and pain ahead. It didn’t matter. You had Frank and you knew, as long as you were with him, everything would be okay.

The End.

[whenthebirdsings]

the stranger in spring [ch. 5]

pairing: gojo satoru x reader [no smut here but very explicit language. the full thing is also very horny. so mdni]

tags (for this chapter): once again very bad banter, stalking, public fingering, sexual tension

word count: 4.3k

ch. 4 / full ao3 fic

Sunlight claws at your face as you crack the door open. One eye closed and the other one hidden behind a hand as everything turns blinding white before you blink it away.

The world around you seems to jolt in joy — but everything in you screams the opposite. Your shoulders slouch. Your lips downturn into a frown. A crease between your brows; that dull ache of an oncoming headache again. The day just started and you already feel like going back to bed. But you know you can’t afford that luxury. Already, your phone is blaring with one notification after another from your boss. It’s not even 7:30 yet.

You sigh as you reply to each and every one of them. The birds chirp, and you can vaguely make out the sound of school kids laughing as you sling your bag over your shoulder. Ah, you think, already despondent, another day, another round of depression at work. It’s something you used to say as a joke, but you don’t think it is anymore. Between your workload and the fact that your boss seems hellbent on making your life miserable, you might as well be selling your soul to the devil. Which, to be honest, wouldn’t be that far off the mark.

At this point, you wonder how you’re keeping yourself together. Your body is worn, your eyes have shadows underneath them, the lines of your face are terribly fatigued. And you think you’re starting to drag your feet more and more with each day. Every step is heavier, the pit in your gut seems to grow bigger. You feel suffocated. Just this morning, you looked into the mirror and you think you saw death. You feel like one, at least.

“Excuse me,” a voice chimes in from beside you, breaking you out of your reverie.

You turn just in time to see a delivery guy standing before the apartment next door. Briefly, you look down to see all the boxes from last night already gone. Then, you peer at the one in the delivery guy’s hands — this one seemingly bigger, seemingly heavier. Causing him to struggle as his arms shake and his legs threaten to give out. He’s trying not to stagger back into the railing as he eyes you sheepishly.

“Um, sorry,” he says. Apparently flustered. “Do you know if the person who lives here is at home? I have their package, but they’re not opening up no matter how many times I knock on the door.”

Well, at least you’re not the only person having a bad day.

“I’m not sure, I haven’t met them,” you answer. Smile soft, but bitter comfort. You can understand the pain of being just a cog in a bigger system. “Perhaps you can leave it there? I’m guessing you have other packages to deliver, so it might not be the best idea to wait. They probably already went to work.”

He seems to consider that. “You could be right,” he agrees. A pause before he then heaves out a sigh as though exasperated. “See, I could just leave it here, but I kinda need their sign? I dunno, company rules or whatever.” He looks over at you and appraises your work bag and your well-dressed outfit. “Sorry, you must be on your way to work as well. I shouldn’t be keeping you.”

You laugh. Shaking your head and dismissing him with a wave. “No need,” you say. Fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. You glance down to see school kids boarding the bus near your apartment. In a few seconds, the doors close and you watch it drive away. “But, yeah. There goes the school bus — which means mine might be here in, like, five minutes or something. So I do have to go.”

“Ah.” He nods. Following your gaze before sparing you an apologetic smile. “Right. I hope you have a good day, then.”

“You, too,” you say, nodding back. Your lips pulling up into a grin. Maybe today’s start wasn’t that bad. It’s been a while since anyone’s told you to have a good day. You check your wristwatch before spinning on your heels — but not before bidding the delivery guy farewell. “Well! That’s my cue to leave. Wishing you luck on that package. If push comes to shove, just knock the door down.”

He doesn’t say much else. Simply laughs as he waves back. Or tries to, at least. With that huge box pretty much covering up most of his body, you don’t think he can afford the privilege of freeing one hand to respond to your gesture. Still, you appreciate it nonetheless.

You step down the stairs just in time to hear the delivery guy knocking at your new neighbor’s door again. It creaks open — and your curiosity piques. Had it not been for your bus, you probably would have glanced back just to catch a glimpse of your next door neighbor.

But then the driver sounds a honk, and the thought is immediately forgotten. You rush through the doors just in time to notice a tall body behind the delivery guy. They’re covered, though — hidden behind a package too large. All you can tell from this angle is the fact that he’s a guy. His figure seems like one, at least.

“Took you long enough.”

Satoru opens the door to see Suguru standing there with a huge box. His lips thinning into a scowl as he exhales a loud, frustrated huff.

“Suguru,” is all Satoru says. Peering past his shoulder to stare at the bus speeding away before he dips his gaze back to his friend. A frown now marring his forehead as Suguru waits for no response and simply nudges him aside to step into his apartment. “What are you doing here? I thought you said you wanted no hand in this?”

“Well, I wanted to have a look at the girl,” Suguru shrugs. Dropping the box unceremoniously at the center of his room. “As always, she’s none the wiser. It’s kinda funny.”

Satoru stares into space before the lost look on his face dissipates. Eyes glazed over before they’re back to their calm ocean blues again. “What did you talk about?”

Suguru purses his lips in thought. Apparently displeased that he’s ignoring his snide remark before he expels a sigh. “Nothing you don’t already know, I’m sure,” he replies, voice lifting in a laugh as Satoru levels him with a look.

“Tread carefully, Suguru,” Satoru warns. Voice composed, save for that cold edge underlying his tone. “If she finds out who you are, it might jeapordize the both of us.”

“You mean you,” Suguru points out. Sounding a scoff as Satoru’s shoulders tense into a rigid line before he wills them relaxed again. “Don’t get your boxers in a bunch, ‘Toru. I doubt she’ll even remember me if she sees me again.”

Satoru contemplates that. “And if she does?”

“Then you know what to do,” says Suguru simply. A shrug of his shoulder uncaring as he flops on the couch and switches on the TV. Flipping between channels to find something interesting before landing on a terribly-made horror movie. “It’s nothing you haven’t done. It’s par for the course the moment you decided to get involved with her, no?”

Satoru wisely opts to pay that no mind. “If you want anything to eat, there’s some leftovers in the fridge. Just heat them up,” he offers instead. Sparing a glance at the clock ticking 7:45 before grabbing the remote and changing the channel again.

“Hey!” Suguru protests. Hand already shuffling through some of the snacks in one of Satoru’s boxes. “I was watching that.”

“It’s a bad movie anyway,” Satoru snorts. Slapping away Suguru’s hand from his snacks as he gestures towards the fridge instead. “I do have a microwave, ya know? Besides, I need you to watch someone else for me. Don’t do anything yet. Just keep an eye on them.”

“I told you,” Suguru starts, words slurred and muffled from chewing on the few chips he managed to snatch before Satoru took the whole bag away, “I’m not interested in whatever weird plan you might have. This obsession has to stop somewhere.”

“And yet, you’re still playing along,” Satoru points out with a wolfish grin. He knows he’s won for now when Suguru presses his lips tight. “It’s nothing much. Just tell me what they’re up to now and then. Also, dig up some dirt if you have to.” There’s a pause as Satoru’s eyes flash. The slightest of a laugh before he curbs it. “The filthiest dirt possible if you can.”

Suguru looks down to see Satoru sliding him a photo. “She doesn’t even remember you, ‘Toru,” he says, voice oddly gentle. “I can do that for you if that’s what you need. But I’m not sure if I’m liking where this is going.”

Satoru peers him over for a moment. “Is that your opinion as an accomplice or a best friend?”

“Both,” Suguru’s answer comes quick. Even so, he takes the photo out of Satoru’s grasp. Albeit, not without heaving another sigh. “This won’t end well. You know it never does,” is all he says. It’s what he always says.

And then, Satoru would always give him the same expression. That same cold smile, that same edge in one eye. Features a vacant stare; gaze dead like he’s already lost to time. Like this, with the sunlight scratching at his face, his complexion seems strangely sharp. Details of his face tired but ruthless. Shards of glass broken to pieces; waiting to cut, to break through skin. Nothing good will come out from being at his receiving end or the object of his affection — whatever that means in Satoru’s point of view.

But that’s not Suguru’s problem to worry about. Not until later when he has to clean up after Satoru’s mess.

So he’s not surprised when Satoru simply brushes him off. As always, reticent. As always, flippant. Walls closing in on himself.

“She’ll remember,” is all Satoru says. It’s what he always says. That same pensive tune again. “She has to.”

[8:15am] handsome money bags: guess what

You halt mid-typing to glance at your phone. Satoru’s contact name stares back at you in white text, a half-smile tugging at your lips at the thought of him reaching out to you so early in the morning. You’re also already working your ass off so early in the morning, but you think it might be easier with something nice to leer at.

[8:16am] you: did your butt get stuck to the bed or something? how come you’re not already here at the office. lucky you, must be pretty privilege again

Stretching in your seat, you’re about to put down your phone so you can avert your attention back to work. But then your phone dings with another notification — a laugh leaving you at the words written on the screen.

[8:17am] handsome money bags: youre just jealous im hot. which, tbh, i don’t really get it because youre already hot as fuck. [8:17am] handsome money bags: but to answer your question, nope my butt did not get stuck to my bed. stop thinking about ass at work, y/n! that’s scandalous smh [8:18am] handsome money bags: also, what i meant to say before you (very rudely, might i add) interrupted me is that i had a dream about you

You arch an eyebrow at that last message. A flush coming to rest on your cheeks over the thought of him being that affected by you. It makes your chest swell with pride; the briefest of your ego stroked before you try to massage the blush away. Unfortunately, your hand isn’t an eraser, so it doesn’t help much.

Your fingers are an odd tremble as you brush them over the keyboard. Mindlessly typing out your reply.

[8:19am] you: bold words for someone who stares at my ass every five seconds [8:20am] you: also what do you mean you had a dream? haha what is it about? i’m totally not that curious.

You were too distracted by the feeling of your heart stuttering to notice the presence behind you. That is, at least, until you feel an arm draping over your seat. His cologne creeping up your nose even before you turn to face him as you meet dark sunglasses before white and blue. That sly grin lining ever so perfect and soft lips. Now that he’s so close, you can definitely tell that he’s wearing lip balm. The arrogant prick.

You find your own tingling with heat — itching to touch, to taste and smother him out of breath. Kiss the moisture away from his lips and replace it with a smear of red from your lipstick. Yet, you suppress the urge. Grabbing at his collar and shoving your tongue down his throat when your colleagues could walk in at any given moment probably wouldn’t be the best idea. Tempting, but not the best.

“Three guesses on what it is,” Satoru says. Looking around for any onlookers before leaning in to place the sneakiest of a kiss along your temple when he notices none. You jut your lower lip out in a pout — disappointed by the cryptic answer and the fact that he didn’t kiss you where you want. Then again, you don’t know if you’d be able to stop if he did.

“Speaking in riddles much?” you retort, sinking back into your chair and pinning him with a sarcastic smile. Seemingly calm, despite the red flushing down your neck and disappearing under your shirt. His gaze follows the trail of your shame; blues dimming in lust before he blinks it away.

“Curious much?” he shoots back. Hand propping himself against your desk as his sunglasses slide down to the bridge of his nose. He’s grinning; a little too smug and a little too pleased. You roll your eyes, but the look loses its intended effect when you sputter at the feel of his foot brushing up your calf. “For someone who claims she’s not.”

You scowl. “I’m really not,” comes the huff. Not that it says much with the lack of bite in your tone. The crack in your voice as you shudder when he inches his face closer. Too close, you think. Feeling his lips hover over yours, his hot breath on supple skin.

His hand wraps around your shoulder. His voice dipping into a low purr. “Yeah? You sure about that?”

It takes a moment for you to swallow a lump in your throat. Your chest tight before you cough out loud.

“Why are you here so early anyway?” you ask instead of supplying him a response. Changing the subject before the blood rushes too much to your head. “Didn’t peg you as the type to clock in fifteen minutes earlier.”

Satoru doesn’t say anything at once. Lips slanting into a smile as his gaze flickers in amusement. Seemingly entertained by your lame, pathetic half-attempts at collecting your tattered composure.

Still, he allows you some distance and reprieve. Pulling back — but not before giving your shoulder a squeeze and relishing in the sound of your breath hitching. Not before granting himself another chaste kiss on your cheek and tucking your hair behind your ear. Soft, before he’s gone again. Out of your space and away from your fingers that crave to pull him in. Closer and closer, until you don’t know where you end and he begins.

“Hm.” He sounds the hum, whirling your seat around to tilt you into facing your laptop’s screen again. In an instant, your hands start meandering over your keyboard — instinctive as you type out some words on a work file. Only slightly focusing on the task at hand as Satoru leans down. Lips ghosting the shell of your ear, breath wisping the hair on your nape.

“Well, I, for one, definitely pegged you as the type to clock in at least thirty minutes earlier,” he whispers. Teeth catching your earlobe before tugging it back. Nipping hard then letting go. “So I figured I might as well see you before anyone else. You know, maybe steal a kiss or two. Fuck my cum once or twice into you.”

Your fingers stop. A low whine escaping you as your mind grows heady with desire. Your skin prickling from where he touched, warmth left behind as his hand absent-mindedly traces your collarbone. Fingers dipping just slightly under fabric, mapping a line up your slender neck and eliciting a shiver. His nails scrape against your pulse — and your eyes flutter. Your toes curl and your knees buckle. Neck still remembering the memories of his hand wrapped around your throat. That crazed look in blue eyes as you choke, you pant, you sing him praise for knocking the air out of you.

“Satoru,” you pant. In warning, in want. Eyes blown wide before you blink away the haze in them. Panic flitting past your face at the sight of your coworkers walking in one by one. Satoru lets go at the same time you lean forward — laughing at you as you threaten to curl into your laptop in hopes that no one noticed.

“Relax,” he says. You glare at him, but it’s half-hearted. The slightest of lust lingering still even through your exasperation. He shrugs; that annoying mischievous grin ever present. “No one saw. They were too busy looking at their phones.”

“Thank god for social media,” you sigh in relief into your palms as you drag hands over your face. Peeking from behind your fingers just in time to see Satoru pulling out a chair from one of the other cubicles. “Nuh-uh, you’re not doing that. Also, Kujishima might have a day off today but I don’t think you should be using his belongings however you want.”

But it’s too late. Satoru’s already placing it next to you and sitting down by the time your tangent is finished. He ignores the weird looks your other coworkers send in your direction.

“Okay, little miss perfect,” he laughs. Brushing you off with a wave and tucking his chin into his hand as he studies the document in front of you. “And it’s called borrowing. I’m sure Kuji-what’s-his-face won’t mind.”

“Kujishima,” you correct him. But you don’t say much else. Exhaling a sigh as you already know he won’t relent either way. Satoru shrugs a shoulder, sounding a nonchalant scoff as he traces a thumb over the side of one paper in your many files.

“Honestly, you should be the one having a day off,” he says. Frowning a little as though in thought. “Do you even take breaks? I feel like all I see you do is work.” There’s a pause as he ponders that for a moment. You know from the glint in his gaze that it’s nothing good — even more so when his ankle flutters past yours from under your desk. “And, well, some other things.”

You flush at the implication, but choose to pay it no mind. “You never told me your dream,” you remind him instead.

He taps a finger on your desk. For some reason, the single sound resonates in an echo in your head. One thud louder than the last.

“It’s something to do with our weekend hang out,” he answers. Once again, a sly grin. Once again, something in his face you can’t really pick apart. “You’re still down for that, right? You said yes last time, but it doesn’t hurt to check.” You raise an eyebrow at him and he lifts up his arms in defense. “Hey now, don’t look at me like that. I’m just making sure so I don’t get stood up is all.”

All that does is cause you to shoot your other eyebrow up. This time, in surprise rather than confusion. “You’ve been stood up before?”

Another laugh breaks out of him. “No.”

“Oh,” you say, before slipping out your own laugh. Right. You should have figured as much. It’s just that there had been something there — his smile hadn’t been as wide, his laugh not as sincere. For a moment, it actually made you wonder.

He pouts at that. “Just ‘oh’? You’re toying with my heart over here.”

You slow down your typing to look him over. Somewhat enjoying the way he seems to fidget as he waits for your response. It sits foreign on his face — that look like he’s holding his breath. Maybe even afraid of a no.

You suck in the inside of your cheek. Smiling to yourself as a thought sneaks into mind. “Well,” you start, cracking your knuckles before resuming your typing again. Fingers quickly tapping on your keyboard. “I did say yes. But now you’re making me think it over because you’re being a dick about your dream.”

Satoru purses his lips. But then they tilt upwards. Another roguish grin. You can’t help but feel like you’ve walked into another trap. “Say yes and you’ll find out. We can just, you know, re-enact what happened in my dream and see what happens.”

You shoot him an accusing glare. “You’re trying to trick me again.”

He feigns a startled gasp. One hand to his chest for added effect. “You think that little of me?” he fakes a sob. Only to break character when you make an exaggerated gesture of rolling your eyes. “Seriously. I’m not trying to trick you. I’m just, uh, providing you a practical demonstration. Works better than a detailed retelling, right?”

There are eyes digging into your back as he leans too close. Shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee as he pretends to peer over the document you’re working on. You can already hear the whispers; the so-called tea spilled, the gossip under hushed breaths. But at the moment, you can’t seem to care. Not when Satoru’s trailing fingers up your thighs. Not when he’s parting your legs and kneading at supple flesh. Up and down — his laugh drowning out your low pant.

“You said three guesses,” you say lamely. Thankful as he drops his jacket over your lap and scoots you further into your desk. Hiding what’s happening underneath in plain sight. Not that it helps, because anyone with a brain and working eyes would be suspicious. But you can’t deny the thrill of excitement down the base of your spine. Aroused, even if another part of you fears getting caught.

“I did,” Satoru murmurs. Another laugh as he slides underwear to the side. Fingers feeling wet folds before sinking into tight heat. “But you don’t wanna guess.”

He hooks his fingers and angles them at your g-spot. Slow, deliberate strokes that cause your hips to shake. Firm rubs of his palm on your clit that render you speechless and mindless as he calmly flips through your files like it’s a normal Tuesday. He pulls out almost entirely before shoving back in — and you bite back a scream. Pleasure short-circuiting your brain as your mouth hangs open. Rust on your tongue as your teeth break through skin.

All that leaves you after that is a yes.

“You’re coming over?” you say as your best friend brings up Satoru. Your legs still feel like jello; shuddering and threatening to collapse even hours after. Even now, you can still feel his warmth on the apex of your thighs. His laugh burning into your skin. Tongue on your cheeks, lips on your lips. The way he pushed you against the wall in the store room during lunch break to finish what he started.

“No, I don’t mind,” you reassure her. You hope she didn’t notice how your breath grew heavier before you recouped yourself again. “It’s just that. He’s. Wow. He’s just. Wow,” is all you can manage to utter out. She barks out a loud from the other side of your phone and you’re flustered. Red tinting your cheeks as you try to cool that heat forming in your belly.

“Anyway.” You clear your throat. Deciding to save the topic of Satoru until after she’s over at your place so you don’t accidentally fuck yourself in the middle of nowhere. Not that being turned on in front of your best friend would be great either — but, well. Better than on a dark road at least. “Do you want anything? I might drop by the convenience store in a bit. Was just gonna grab a pack of beer, but since you’re coming over, think I’m gonna need the whole store.”

You lean into your phone just in time to catch her telling you to fuck off. A laugh ripples out of you — but that sound, too, gets drowned out by the rain as it drops quickly down your umbrella. Everything else muffled in the midst of the loud pitter patters surrounding you as you squint your eyes. Only barely making out the lights of the convenience store through the heavy downpour.

“Girl, I gotta hang up,” you say. Noticing that you’re almost running out of battery. “Text me when you’re co —”

“— ming over. Also, let me know what you wanna eat.”

One step, two steps, three steps — he follows you like a shadow sticking closely behind. Movements synchronized, pace set to match yours. Twenty feet becomes ten feet, and he’s lingered too close. Still, you don’t notice. Still, the rain is too loud for you to notice. He tilts his umbrella down to cover his face as he eyes your heels clicking towards the convenience store. Another waiting game. He’s had too many of those over the years.

He sniffs in the air. Catching moisture and petrichor at the same time you step out of the store. Always none the wiser; lips that oblivious grin, eyes that bright life despite the shadows all around. He sounds a laugh — but you don’t hear that either. Nor do you notice his steps; footfalls quiet and deadly composure. Any other day, he wouldn’t be able to wander this close.

He has the rain to thank for that.