#really going to clog up the tags now

[theelegantmentalist]

What would you do if Xeno whispered in your ear mihoy minoy

If Dr. Xeno Houston Wingfield leaned I n all dark and brooding and fucking whispered "mihoy minoy" in my ear?

I’d lose structural integrity instantly. Knees? Gone. Panties? Ghosted. Self-respect? Never heard of her. I’m popping my husband stitch like a champagne cork at an orgy. Don’t ask how it got there just know it’s gone now, and so is my last shred of dignity.

He says it in that low, gravelly voice and suddenly I’m bracing myself on the nearest desk, begging him to whisper “are ya ready kids?” while he rearranges my insides and drops his kids off in my ass. He’d better be ready because once this magician drops the act, I’m not pulling a rabbit out of the hat. I’m pulling his soul out through his dick.

You sure Xeno didn’t hear minor minor? I heard he likes to email the little boys.

[digo3d]

Currently obsessed with the Stressors oneshot so I'm actually gunna turn it into a full story because all of what I want to do in it is too long for a oneshot so yeup

[javierduffy]

if i don’t draw javieran dancing when i get home from work i fear i may die

[starlinggirll]

Art x breastfeeding reader…. She’s over supplying and yk EXACTLY where that’s going…

art thought having twins would make things easier in some aspects.

like breastfeeding.

each boy will have a boob to suckle out of, they would both be happy. and happy kids = happy wife. and a happy wife means a happy life.

right?

right.

both boys had a favoritism to your right boob. he doesn't know why, he personally finds both of them as pretty as the other. but now you're in pain, something about your left boob clogging?

he doesn't know what that means, but your left boob does look bigger, but not in a good way. in a 'about to burst' way.

"are you okay?" he whispers, careful not to piss you off. his hands rub your sides, his eyes gently and full of worry. you shake your head, whimpering. "no. nothing is coming out and-" you groan, looking up at him with tearful eyes. "there's alot of milk in this one but nothing is coming out. not even the pump is helping."

he gulps, slightly conflicted because he's just as out of his element as you. his hand goes up to your jaw, offering a nervous smile. "maybe i can help...?"

in a matter of minutes you're on his lap, left tit in his mouth while he massages your right one. you try not to moan, your hand softly gripping his hair. "you're having too much fun.." you whine, and he continues sucking, a bit of your milk dripping down his chin.

its in about a minute of him sucking that you feel it physically unclog. he pulls away, looking up at you with the biggest smile. "did it work?" he asks and you nod, smiling while letting a sigh of relief. "thank you so much." you mumble, kissing him before getting off him.

"you taste really good..." he mumbles, grabbing your hand before you pull your shirt back on. "can i have more, please..." he whines, pulling you back into his lap. "the twins have enough already."

you dont get to answer before he's already sucking your nipple, his forehead pressed against your breast, you're too tired to say no, and the position he has you in is comfortable. and the relief he's giving you by practically pumping your milk.

he notices how comfortable you're getting, and he smiles. "you're so strong, you know?" he praises, pressing lingering kisses against your neck. "you can sleep.." he purrs, cradling you like you cradle the twins. "its okay."

໒꒱‧ tags below

@hrtshapedblg @val3ntin33

[nereidprinc3ss]

andromeda | (dybmn? bonus)

a bonus vignette from spencer's POV. we find out how he really feels about reader. takes place the day before the argument at the bar.

note: this is not part six! takes place between parts four and five.

series masterlist

18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, semi-graphic descriptions of sexual fantasies, some angst, you're not actually present, mention of alcohol, very vague discussions of murdery stuff bc he's supposed to be working, sassy spencer makes an appearance a/n: for all my angels who said they wanted a snippet of spencer's POV! i'm sorry if i'm overdoing it with this story or clogging the spencer tags, i'm just having a lot of fun! i hope you enjoy or that this may be clears some things up for you, pls lmk your thoughts:) ily!!!

Spencer is incessantly drumming the particle board table underneath his fingers.

The polymer veneer is one of his least favorite textures—he hates the grain of it and if he were to accidentally scratch the table with his nails he knows it would make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

But of all the things he’s worried about, that ranks very low on the list. 

He’s got a lot of mental tabs open all the time—and the tabs, he can deal with. It’s when he starts trying to operate with multiple windows that he begins to struggle. His brain, while it is a very fine tuned sort of computer, only has one monitor. Unfortunately, no human (except for the ones who’ve had their brain hemispheres surgically split) is immune to the inevitable pitfalls of multitasking. By dividing his mental energy between you and his job, he’s really fucking up his job. But he also thinks he really fucked up with you on that phone call the other night and for being as logical as he is he can’t seem to make that feel unimportant—even though he’s disgusted with himself for it because there are literally people dying. 

Someone knocks on the open conference room door—he looks up, skimming his lips over his fist. 

“What’s up?” he says too quickly upon seeing Emily’s mildly concerned face peering in on him. 

Her mouth bridges into a sort of nonchalant frown and her brows kick up. 

“Just… checking in. Haven’t heard from you all morning.”

“Yeah, the, uh—the geo-profile. I’m still… I’m still working it out.”

It’s not like he’s ever been phenomenal with his syntax in a social sense, but Spencer is certainly aware he’s doing even worse than usual right now. 

“Okay. Uh… is there anything in particular stumping you, or…?”

“Nope. Just not enough information. But I’m—I’m going to keep trying.”

“Alright. Got your phone handy?”

It’s an odd question—of course he has his phone handy. He’s been doing this job longer than Emily has. How else would he communicate with the rest of the team? He bristles. 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

Emily shakes her head. She’s always been particularly good at reading his moods.

“You’re not under attack, Reid. I was just asking.”

Just as he’s about to say, why would you assume I’m not prepared for my job, he manages to swerve away and stifle the words with his fist. Instead he looks back down at his copy of the map and nods. In reality, he truly isn’t prepared for his job today. The reason he has his phone so close, fully charged and at top volume is because he’s worried he’ll miss a call from you. 

Emily says something else, and he hums in response, and then she’s gone. 

He shouldn’t be reading into your reticence this much. It’s not like you just sit by the phone all day, eagerly awaiting a call or text from him (like he does you). You have a life. You’re busy. And even if you are intentionally dodging his texts, he can’t entirely fault you for it. Spencer knows he’s clingy. He knows he’s overbearing. It’s part of why he panicked the other night and told you the whole humiliating story about Elle. Because he can’t ever just be cool and he felt the need to explain himself. 

But the problem was, and is, that he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without saying those three words that fucked him over all those years ago.

So he’d danced around them. Applied them to someone else to try and avoid outright professing his all-consuming love for you over the phone. However you feel, Spencer has to assume he feels more. Spencer always has to assume he feels more because he usually does and it’s gotten him into trouble before. And now he’s pretty sure he was exactly right, as often is the case, because you didn’t tell him he was mistaken and you’d clammed up and you haven’t talked to him since and he’s not supposed to be reading into it this much. 

Three victims killed and dumped within a 6 mile radius of the first victim plus one victim killed and dumped 23.8 miles away. That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Fuck this guy. 

Spencer decides the problem is that he needs more caffeine. 

Or possibly, if he were a different kind of man—copious amounts of alcohol. 

So he stows his phone in a pocket and asks the first person he sees where the coffee machine is. 

“Looks like you found it earlier,” the woman says, glancing pointedly down at his mostly empty mug. A playful smirk tugs at pinkish-brownish lips. She’s pretty, he realizes distantly. But he registers it the same way he’d take note of the model of a car, or the species of a bird, or the kind of shoes someone is wearing. It doesn’t actually interest him. It’s just part of processing his environment. “I can show you to it?”

He doesn’t have the heart or energy to explain that someone else brought him his cup earlier and he’s not flirting with her. 

“If you could just point me in the right direction…?”

She laughs, short and dry, before she’s pointing down a hall. 

“Kitchenette down there and to the left.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, already walking away without sparing her a second glance. 

She’s the kind of woman he would have paid a lot more attention to before you came along. Not that he’d ever sleep with someone on the job (not since he was 25, anyway), but if he’d met her under any other circumstances he probably would have cared more about the way her pupils dilated and her eyes had widened slightly and she’d adjusted her posture and all the other small things people do when they’re attracted to someone else. 30 year old Spencer might have slept with her. 27 year old Spencer definitely would have slept with her. Current Spencer obsessively pines for a woman who is already his girlfriend and whom he has yet to sleep with at all far too much to think about other women like that. 

But god, does he think about you like that. 

His feet carry him down the dim, carpeted hallway but really it took barely a nudge and he’s thinking about you like that. At work. As he’s pouring himself coffee. 

Spencer is confident in the fact that if anyone were to look at him right now, they’d never guess he’s running clips of you in his mind like a dirty supercut. Because he’s just pouring coffee. That’s one good thing about having all those tabs open all the time. He can toggle between them quickly. He has enough going on in the background that people look at him and all they can tell is that he’s thinking hard about lots of things. Some of them just happen to be the way you look when you’re naked on his bed, skin shining and glazed eyes sleepy, parted lips higher in color than usual and catching your breath. Some of them happen to be your hair brushing his stomach before he gathers it back for you. Some of them happen to be the way your thighs feel on either side of his face, or how you stretch around his fingers, or how you might feel when you stretch around his—

He hisses as hot coffee overflows from the mug and burns his hand. 

Maybe he’s not as calm and collected as he thought. 

But on top of all the other things he’s dealing with, having been so close to actually sleeping with you the other night is really fucking with his head. Even if he tells himself he wouldn't have done it, he knows himself better than that. He's too familiar with the effect you have on his judgement.

“Found it okay?” 

Spencer looks down, surprised to see the woman from earlier sitting at her desk and watching him as he quickly passes by on his way back to the conference room. Her legs are crossed. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a flouncy sort of blouse which seems impractical for working in an FBI field office. Maybe she notices his eye catching on her figure and misguidedly swivels her chair to give him a better look. But all he’s noticing is that it doesn’t look like yours. Now he’s picturing the curve of your hip dripping in silk after that first night at Rossi’s. How your waist and your stomach feel when he slides his hands over you. This woman—she might as well not even be here for all he’s actually seeing her. 

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

Then he’s gone. Very briefly he acknowledges that he should feel sorry for so obviously brushing her off, but he doesn’t care even close to enough. He sets the coffee down on the table and rounds to the board where one of several maps is taped. On autopilot he draws lines between dump sites because one of the background tabs had deduced, while he was busy watching you like porn, that the distance between dump sites form the beginnings of the constellation Orion with some mathematical precision that’s too exacting to be coincidental. Orion’s Belt plus the most recent victim. Betelgeuse. 

There are ten formally named stars that make up Orion. He marks all of them, but circles the transposed coordinates of Bellatrix, Saiph, Rigel and Meissa as the next most likely dump sites. Most probably it will be Orion’s head. They’re all in wooded areas. He calls Garcia. Garcia will call Emily, wherever she is. If the unsub sticks to pattern, which they always do, they have until midnight. It’s trite, really. Predictable, like people always are. Far too quickly he drinks half the cup of scalding coffee and retraces his steps through the office to find the bathroom. 

It’s empty. The fluorescent lights hum. Spencer washes his hands with cold water and presses still wet fingers to his eyes. You’re waiting for him behind the black of his lids.

At first you would whine, and he would kiss you and you’d moan into his mouth and say his name when he opened you up as far as you would go. The air would be thick and warm with sex and vanilla perfume. Afterwards he’d take care of you and buy new sheets for his bed in your favorite color even if they didn’t match the walls and there would be nothing you’d want for that he couldn’t give to you ever again. 

But. 

That’s all contingent. 

No matter how often he fantasizes about it, no matter in how much detail, and regardless of how often those details change wildly, one thing always stays the same. 

The shape of your lips, swollen from kissing, bending around five or six vowels and only two consonants (it seems odd that there are only two consonants in I love you), sometimes before you start, sometimes in the middle or right at the peak—but always there, always moving in slow motion—and always silent.

In real life, they’d be aloud. It’s why his fantasies aren’t good enough. It’s why he can’t stop fantasizing about it. That’s the only part that really matters to him. The rest varies. 

Not because having sex with you doesn’t matter—it matters so much he almost shatters his molars whenever he starts picturing it around other people. But because Spencer can’t have sex with you until you love him. 

And he worries that you can’t love him until you have sex with him. 

The last time he thought that about a person, it didn’t turn out well.

Maybe there is some magic number. Some amount of times you need to have sex with someone before they’ll love you back. 

If there is, he knows for a fact it’s more than 32.

And he also knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he cannot have loveless sex with you thirty three times while he waits to find out. 

Not again. 

But he's going to hold out as long as he possibly can until you say it because he so badly wants you to love him back. He'll let the weight of every ignored text, every reminder that you don't feel that way about him, hang from his shoulders until he collapses. And then he'll probably try to get back up.

Recycled paper towels scratch against his skin. He dries his face and hands and throws them crumpled into the trash can. 

Outside the restroom, he pulls out his phone. For safety reasons and paranoia disguised as professionalism, you’re not his lock screen. It’s a photo of the Andromeda Galaxy. Whatever distance lies between you and Spencer, it could always be greater. No matter where you are in the world, you will always be the same 2.537 million light years away from Andromeda that he is. 

It makes Orion feel much closer. You, too. 

He sends you a text—the third message in a row. 

The distance between blue bubbles feels like light years. 

I’ll be home tomorrow. I miss you. 

[sunskisser]

Hi my love!!

I’d LOVE a scarf for Christmas.

Can I do James Potter and “please forget all the times where i complained about you being a hugger.”

Maybe where reader is not really a touchy person most of the time (cuz I’m not either lol).

Thank you! Love you!!!

here’s your scarf, lovely mk!!🧣thank you for the request, love you loads <333

phone | j.p.

— “Please forget all the times where I complained about you being a hugger.”

james potter x reader

summary: there’s a creep, and it’s cold outside. fortunately, james lives nearby

tw: creepy guy, protective james <3, sorry i know i said that most of the sleepover drabbles would be christmas themed but the only christmasy thing about this is that the weather’s cold 😭

“Make sure she gets home safe!” you yell to Mary over the din of the club, steering a very drunk Lily into her arms. She grins and flashes you a thumbs-up as you turn around to leave.

Your tipsy friend’s high-pitched giggles can be heard as you make your way out, your heart jumping on beat to the music. It’s not just loud, it’s booming, and paired with the blinding disco lights, acutely overstimulating.

When Mary had first suggested this place, you definitely had your reservations — more often than not, you spotted drunkards stumbling out with either bruises on their faces or girls on their arms. But you decided to tag along. Admittedly, it had been fun. Now you were more than ready to go home to the warmth of your bed.

You’re about to push the door open when you realise you’ve left your coat back at the table. You swivel back around to find Lily swaying side to side, bent over.

She lets out a bulky groan, and your lips curve into a slight grimace in anticipation. You open your mouth to warn somebody but it’s too late; she hurtles forward, throwing up over everything in a one metre radius — your coat included.

You turn back to the front door and swing it open with a barely concealed sigh, heels clicking against the pavement as you step outside.

Cold wind hits you like a slap in the face. You’re pretty sure that your shudder is audible, rows of teeth clacking against one another as you curl into yourself. 

The mini dress your friends had picked out for you does nothing to help. You tug the ends of it downwards, squeezing your thighs together and wrapping your arms around yourself in a desperate attempt to keep warm.

You glance at the road, frustration starting to nip at you. There seem to be no taxis in sight, demand raging high on a Friday night. Walking home wasn’t an option — it was way too far away and freezing was an understatement for how you felt right now. 

James’ house was nearby, but you had been pulling out all the stops to avoid him for the past few days. Not that you didn’t like him — on the contrary, you really, really liked him. A friend from high school had introduced you to him at a party and you were immediately smitten. He asked you out, and you’d been seeing each other for a couple of weeks. He was everything you could’ve wanted in a man, more than what you’d ever hoped for. You just spent a lot of time worrying you were going to screw it all up — hence never called when he asked you to, made up excuses not to meet when he wanted to. James deserved better.

“Darling!”

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the sudden voice, rough and sultry from behind you. You whip around, instinctively taking a step back as your eyes land on the long-haired man staggering around in front of the club. His face is tilted downwards, staring into his empty liquor bottle almost… sadly.

But then he looks up at you. His eyes are dark with desire, mouth curving into something vile. It scares you. “Come here, darling. Come here.”

“Go away.” You try to sound unafraid. It comes out on a shaky breath, betraying the anxiety clogging up your throat. You take a few more cautious steps backwards, eyes darting between the man in front of you and the path behind you.

Your hand is already reaching for your phone in your pocket as soon as he starts stumbling towards you. Your fingers feel heavy, turned to smudge as you switch it on and desperately click on James’ contact.

“I asked you,” the man growls, “to come here!” He takes bigger, unsteady steps towards you, liquor bottle smashed to the ground without a care in the world.

Your heart feels like it’s being roped out of your throat, mind turned to mush in your head. You press your phone to your ear, turning around and mustering the quickest steps possible in your 6-inch heels. The cold is all-consuming now, tearing at your skin like wild dogs to prey. But all that’s on your mind is getting home safe. 

You’re barely a few rings in when James’ voice cuts through. “Hello? Y/n, is that you?”

“James!”

“Y/n, sweetheart. God, have you been ignoring me? I was so worried, and thought you hated me, and — “

“James.” The panic in your voice must be really palpable, because he shuts up immediately. “Yeah?”

You glance backwards for a split second as you walk ahead, seeing that the man has sped up. His arms are outreached towards you, and he’s spewing dirty lines you’d kill never to hear again. The smirk on his face widens by the second.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” James’ concerned voice comes through again, and you snap your head forwards and exhale shakily.

“You know that club really close to your place, the one with the um… the huge statue of a horse outside? I’m near there. Could you please walk over and fetch me? There’s a creep, and it’s cold, and —“

“Hold on, there’s a creep?” His worry is obvious. You hear the rustling of fabric and the flipping of switches on his end. “Are you safe?”

“Not really,” you croak honestly, sparing another look behind you to find your stalker doubled over, spilling his guts out onto the side of the road. You fasten your pace.

You can almost hear the frown in James’ voice. “Be careful, sweetheart. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

You hang up and pocket your phone. Your nose is running, you can’t feel your fingers where they touch your cheek. You’re numbed.

You force yourself to keep walking, chanting James’ name like a desperate prayer in your mind. Your train of thought is interrupted by the creep once again. You squeeze your eyes shut as his voice hovers by, dangerously close, bracing yourself for what’s to come.

“You stupid girl, you better turn around or else I’ll —“

“You’ll what?”

Your eyes crack open immediately to find James jogging over to you, eyes locked on the figure behind you. It’s like your prayers have been answered. His gaze drifts to you, and in a second he’s got his arm wrapped around your back as he pulls you into his chest. 

“I’m asking you again, jerk. What do you think you’re gonna do to my girl?” You feel yourself melting into him with relief, letting your eyes flutter shut as you absorb the vibrations of his chest with each word he pushes out. His voice is hard, strained. A tone you’d never associate with the sweet boy holding you, but love does silly things to people sometimes. Maybe he loved you.

Your stalker mutters something unintelligible, along with a very loud, “Fuck you!” before staggering away.

James’ attention is on you instantly. He pulls away slightly to grip you by the shoulders, looking you over with a worried frown. “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

You shake your head, teeth chattering too rapidly to give a straight answer. Your shivering doesn’t go unnoticed. He conjures up a jacket from seemingly nowhere, draping it over the back of your shoulders.

You can tell he’s trying to hold back for your sake, one hand rubbing circles into your shoulder while the other brushes strands of hair off your face. You’ve never been the type to want to be touched. But it’s exactly what you need right now, the gentle warmth of a hug that’s been wanting to be given, waiting to be received.

You lean forward and make your intent clear, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face into his chest. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, immediately pulling you in and tightening his hold around you.

“You good, hon?” he says into your hair, face tilting downward to rest on the top of your head.

“Yeah,” you mumble, feeling the tension start to dissipate from your joints. You cling to him like a vice. “Please forget all the times where I complained about you being a hugger. Boy, did I need this.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle and starts to gently draw his hand up and down your spine. “You did? Well, I’m always glad to provide it.”

“Mhm,” you murmur, legs curling around his like you’re trying to hug him with every part of you. He stamps a kiss to the top of your head before slipping his hands under your thighs, hoisting you up till you’re wrapped around his waist. 

It earns a soft grunt from you before you’re relaxing into him, warmth seeping into your skin. He holds you with all the tenderness he would a baby.

“Your dress is lovely, by the way,” he mutters as he readjusts the jacket to cover your exposed ass. “You look absolutely lovely.”

“Thank you,” you mumble with a shy smile, tilting your face to rest it in the crook of his neck. 

He carries you back to his apartment, telling you all the things he’d wanted to say these past couple of days when you weren’t here for him to say it to. You decide that James is too lovely to let anxiety push away. You’ll probably phone him again sometime soon.

san’s christmas sleepover

[crowliphale]

Shadow Gid AU Stuff!

Info for my AU!! I might update this post in the future, so keep a look out!!

Gideon dies by successfully sacrificing himself to save Kremy's life, resulting in some kind of explosion. This leaves cool scorch marks on Kremy's arms and tail

Kremy goes catatonic for three months just crying and trying to find ways to bring Gid back, simultaneously blaming himself for Gid's death and isolating himself from everyone around him. No one really blames him for this but they ARE incredibly concerned.

Gideon comes back (as a shadow) roughly a week after dying. Kremy doesn't believe it and thinks it's his own shadow playing tricks on him. Gid convinces him he's real! It does almost nothing to soothe Kremy's mourning

(Adding a read more so it doesn't clog any tags)

(During that aforementioned week, Gideon's soul was pretty much trapped in limbo, with the Baron or whatever god trying to convince him he could wait for Kremy in the afterlife. Gideon simply kept refusing until they got sick of him and sent him back as Kremy's shadow.)

Kremy pleads with the Baron twice before Gideon gives it a shot. The first time was almost immediately after Gid's death, and Kremy could barely form a coherent thought through his violent sobs. The second time he was much calmer, but he kept taking a completely emotional "I can't live without him" approach. Gideon argues he has a contract with Kremy that he has to be alive to fulfill. The Baron gives Kremy the ability to summon Gideon after this.

Initially Kremy has to focus really hard to hold concentration, but it quickly becomes second nature. He gets a dedicated item to help him do this a couple months in, and on the anniversary of Gid's death they get enchanted rings! (Ofc they hold a little impromptu wedding about this) Gideon can now stay corporeal and go anywhere he wants as long as they both have their rings on.

Other notes:

- Kremy no longer has control of his own shadow, it's gone forever and replaced by Gid. When Gid is corporeal, Kremy HAS a shadow, but it's just a normal shadow with no special abilities

- before they get the rings, if either of them are knocked out, Gideon goes back to being a shadow. If Gideon is the one to get knocked out, he has a cool down period before he returns as a shadow again. Kremy is always terrified when this happens.

- Kremy and Gideon now have some kind of vague telepathic link. Its up to viewer interpretation whether this link lets them speak telepathically or not, but at the very least they can sense one another from a distance, and Kremy can clearly communicate with Gid even in his shadow form

- once they get the rings, either of them can remove it to turn Gid back into a shadow. Kremy almost always reserves this for emergencies where Gideon may be in danger, but Gid sometimes uses it as a way to practically teleport to Kremy (as a shadow he still has the proximity limit)

- there ARE a couple cases where Kremy feels petty enough to turn Gideon into a shadow mid-argument. Because he's Kremy. It genuinely only happens one or two times tho, Gid's autonomy is important to him

- Gideon has to do charades to talk to anyone outside of Kremy when he's in his shadow form

- Kremy and Gideon get VERY unhealthily attached after this whole debacle. They get physically uncomfortable if they aren't in the same room as one another. This eventually gets more lax, but not by a lot (they'll likely insist on being in the same building together for the rest of their lives)

- During Kremy's mourning period, he often forgets to eat, sleeps a lot, and puts pretty much NO effort into taking care of himself. As a result, Gideon forms a lot of habits where he fusses over Kremy's health and appearance. These habits carry over even once Kremy's healthy again, and Kremy lets him be as fussy as he wants.

- when Gideon becomes corporeal again, he comes back with green/purple flames rather than his usual red/orange. This change is permanent

(Once again, this post might be updated over time as details get added! Keep an eye out! Also, reblogs are turned off so older versions of this post don't get spread around, but comments are welcome and appreciated!!)

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 2003 - who are we to fight the alchemy?

chapter summary: Things are back to normal at the X-Mansion, other than the new, permanent addition of Logan. But he's not here for anything other than you.

word count: 18.1k+ (total 36.6k+)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: honestly, i got carried away with the slow burn, and i genuinely mean that cause how is this just 36k+ words of pure fluff?? i think i just clogged myself up with so much pain and angst that i needed nothing but happiness???

also, this is only part 1, it was meant to be one chapter but since it was 36k+ it didn't fit in one post, so go read the next chapter for the full story!

(if you want easier access, you can read the chapter on ao3)

warnings/tags: fluff, reader is a mutant with time manipulation powers, reader wears glasses, shy!reader, logan pining, soft!logan, slow burn (like... slow. burn.), one bed, brief sickness, brief insecurities, almost too much fluff holy sh-, reader has slight backstory, mention of twirling hair, brief injury

series masterlist - chapter 7 → chapter 8.5

The students walked out of the classroom, chatting amongst themselves until there was only you and the sound of you straightening the stack of papers in your hands before walking out yourself.

You stepped out of the classroom, the chatter of students fading behind you as you turned right, eyes down on the stack of papers in your hands. Only to bump straight into someone, the impact making you look up, surprised to find Logan standing right in your path.

“Whoa there,” he murmured, catching you by the arms just long enough to steady you before letting go, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Guess you’re still not watchin’ where you’re going.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you mumbled, “Sorry, Logan. Lost in thought, I guess.” You gave a small, self-conscious smile, unsure whether to meet his gaze or look anywhere but at him.

Logan’s eyes softened as he took in your flushed expression. “Not a problem,” he said, his voice unusually gentle. He nodded to the papers you were holding. “You really take this teaching thing seriously, huh?”

“Well, yeah,” you replied, shrugging with a shy smile. “I’m kind of… the physics teacher, so I have to.”

A low chuckle escaped him. “Right. Wouldn’t want to let the kids think they could slack off, now would ya?” His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, something warm and thoughtful in his gaze. “Never took you for the shy type, though,” he said, almost to himself.

The comment caught you off guard, and you raised an eyebrow, trying to make sense of the meaning behind it. “Is that a… problem?”

“Nah,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “Actually… kinda nice.” His voice softened as he added, “Makes you different. But in a good way.”

For a moment, you stood there, unable to quite find the words to respond. Logan didn’t often compliment people, and even if he did, it was usually with a dry remark and a half-smile, not this almost tender edge. You felt your heart skip, but the butterflies in your stomach were quickly interrupted as a few students walked by, nudging each other and glancing at you and Logan with barely disguised amusement.

Logan seemed unfazed by the sudden audience, though. He just glanced at them with a raised eyebrow, making the students scurry off with stifled laughs.

“They’re onto you,” you said, amused despite yourself.

“Oh yeah?” He tilted his head toward you, his smirk widening just slightly. “And what exactly are they onto?”

“That you’re… softer with me,” you admitted, a bit nervously. “I mean, you’re usually not, well, nice.”

Logan let out a small huff of laughter. “Maybe I just don’t see the point in givin’ you a hard time. ‘Sides,” he leaned in just a fraction closer, “I’ve got my reasons.”

You couldn’t hide your flush this time, the intensity in his gaze making it hard to form any coherent response. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but then Jean’s voice rang out from the hallway, breaking the moment.

“Y/N! Hey, do you have a second?” She sounded friendly, as usual, but there was a flicker of something else in her tone—an undercurrent of urgency that made you glance over.

You cleared your throat, stepping back from Logan. “I should… probably go.”

Logan nodded, but you noticed the way his hand brushed against yours, lingering for a moment longer than necessary before he finally let you go.

Jean approached, offering you a warm smile that turned curious as she looked between you and Logan. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she teased lightly, though her expression wavered slightly. Her eyes seemed darker somehow, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite name.

“No, no, you’re not interrupting,” you said quickly. “Logan was just… giving me a hard time.”

Logan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Yeah, sure, make me out to be the bad guy.”

Jean laughed, though it sounded slightly forced. “We all know that’s not true, Logan.” She turned to you with a softer expression. “Walk with me? I had a question about one of the classes.”

You nodded, giving Logan a small, shy smile before walking off with Jean. You could feel his gaze lingering on you as you walked away, though you didn’t dare look back.

Once you were out of earshot, Jean sighed, a thoughtful look in her eyes. “You know, he’s really different around you,” she observed quietly. “I mean, he cares about all of us, but… it’s different with you.”

You felt a pang of curiosity mixed with uncertainty. “Different how?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Jean said, pausing for a moment as she thought. “It’s like there’s a part of him that comes alive only when you’re around. A gentler side.”

“Logan? Gentle?” you asked, laughing a little despite yourself.

Jean’s expression turned somber. “You’d be surprised.” Her gaze flickered with something that seemed… almost ominous, though it passed quickly. She offered you a reassuring smile, but there was still a hint of tension. “Just… be careful, okay?”

You frowned, taken aback by her shift in tone. “Careful of what?”

Jean shook her head, waving off the question. “It’s nothing, really. Just… I think he cares about you a lot more than he lets on.” She hesitated, then squeezed your hand lightly before heading down the hall.

You stood there for a moment, trying to piece together her words, her cryptic expression, and the tension that seemed to hang in the air, almost like a storm was waiting just beyond the horizon.

---

Logan hadn’t stayed long enough before to know what normal days were like at the mansion. Now he did. After classes, students filled the halls with laughter and chatter, some rushing off to the next thing, while others wandered outside. He watched as they sprawled across the lawn, huddled over comics, or playfully sparred with their mutant powers, while others claimed the common room and TV with that strange, easy camaraderie that he hadn’t known in a very long time.

And, he realized, it wasn’t so bad.

He was leaning back against a wall in the hallway, lost in thought, when he spotted you walking toward him, papers and a thermos tucked under one arm, your focus somewhere else entirely. His lips quirked up as you grew nearer, completely oblivious to his presence until he let out a low whistle, causing you to stop short, looking up at him with that small, startled smile he’d come to recognize—complete with a glossy shine to your lips.

“Deep in thought there, aren’t you?” Logan’s voice was a mix of teasing and warmth as he raised an eyebrow, watching as you took a quick, steadying breath.

You gave a shy laugh, a flush heating up your cheeks. “Sorry, I was just… thinking about today’s class.” You shrugged, gaze darting away briefly, only to return to his with a shy, half-curious look that gave him pause. “The students had questions about particle physics, and I… well, I didn’t expect so many, honestly.”

Logan’s smirk softened as he watched you. “Not surprised they keep you on your toes. You get all animated when you’re in teaching mode.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to that low, familiar tone that always seemed to linger just for you. “Must be why the kids don’t skip your classes.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Oh, sure, I’m just the highlight of their day.”

“Yeah, don’t sell yourself short, Y/N.” Logan tilted his head, his gaze holding yours just a moment longer than necessary. “You’re kinda the highlight of mine.”

Your heart skipped, and for a split second, you couldn’t quite meet his eyes. You mumbled, “You’re… not so bad yourself, Logan,” giving him a soft smile that seemed to settle his expression into something gentler than usual.

Before either of you could say more, Kitty zipped past, phasing halfway through the wall and glancing between you two with a cheeky grin. “Just passing through! Don’t mind me,” she called over her shoulder, sending a wink your way.

You felt your cheeks heat up, but Logan just shook his head with a slight, bemused smile. “Kids,” he muttered.

Still flustered, you cleared your throat. “So… got plans for the rest of the day?” you asked, attempting to regain your composure.

“Thought I might head down to the Danger Room,” Logan replied, eyes twinkling slightly as he glanced at you. “You’re welcome to join me. Unless you’re too busy grading.” He nodded at the stack of papers under your arm.

Your laugh was soft. “Grading or Danger Room training? Such a tough choice,” you said, your voice teasing. “Guess I could spare an hour.”

Logan’s smirk turned into a full, almost mischievous smile as he straightened up, giving you a nod. “Good answer.” He turned and started walking toward the elevator, his stride easy and sure, and you followed, still clutching your papers but already half-forgetting about them.

As you both walked through the main hall, a few younger students glanced at you and Logan, exchanging knowing glances and whispers. The whole mansion seemed to have picked up on this unspoken…something between you and Logan, and though no one dared say it aloud, you couldn’t quite ignore the amused glances.

In the elevator, you finally dared a glance at Logan, noticing the faint grin on his face. “I think the kids are starting to make bets on us,” you murmured, half-embarrassed.

Logan raised an eyebrow, giving you a sideways glance. “Oh, yeah? What’re the odds?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I’m not sure, but I have a feeling they’re rooting for you.”

“Smart kids,” he replied with a wink.

Your heart gave an involuntary flutter at the easy way he teased you now, each small interaction charged with a warmth and a familiarity that you were still getting used to. Yet, there was something else too—an intensity in his gaze that lingered, something that spoke of memories and past lives you didn’t know you shared. It made you wonder, in quiet moments, just how long he’d felt this way, as though you were a mystery he was determined to keep close.

When you arrived at the Danger Room, he shot you one last playful glance before stepping inside, holding the door open for you like it was the most natural thing.

You hesitated at the door, glancing over at Logan with an uncertain smile. “I’m not sure if I’m the best partner for this,” you said, shifting your weight as you adjusted the stack of papers in your arms. “I don’t really know how to fight.”

Logan shrugged, his lips curling into an easy smirk. “Well, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To teach you.” He stepped inside and gave a nod for you to follow, his expression softening as he watched you. “Besides, with that time-bending power of yours, you don’t really need to know how to throw a punch, do you?”

You chuckled, shyly pushing your glasses up on your nose. “Yeah, but it’d be nice to do more than just freeze people in place. You know, in case I need it someday.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you, warm and a bit amused. “Good point. Never hurts to be prepared.” He walked over to the center of the room, beckoning you forward with a slight tilt of his head. “Alright, Y/N, let’s see what you’ve got.”

You hesitated for a second, clutching the stack of papers and your thermos, until he chuckled and reached over, taking them from you. “I’ll hang onto these. Can’t have you distracted,” he said, setting them on a nearby bench. His hand brushed against yours, and the warmth of his touch sent a shiver up your spine. You looked up, catching his eye, and felt the now-familiar flutter in your chest as he held your gaze, a slight smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Alright,” he started, gesturing for you to follow him to the center of the room. “First lesson in not gettin’ hurt—learn to dodge.” He flashed a quick grin. “Figured we’d start there, since, y’know, might keep that pretty face of yours from getting bruised up.”

You couldn’t help but smile, nervously adjusting your glasses as you let out a soft laugh. “Dodging sounds like a safe place to start,” you agreed, glancing around the room, which hummed with potential energy, screens and obstacles waiting to spring to life at Logan’s command.

“Good.” He took a step closer, his gaze flickering over you with a warm familiarity, one you couldn’t quite place but found oddly comforting. “Just follow my lead.”

With that, Logan gave the signal, and a few small projectiles began to emerge from hidden panels along the walls, firing in your direction. They weren’t dangerous, just enough to test your reflexes. You shifted, trying to move away from them as they came, but missed dodging a couple, barely able to sidestep in time.

Logan let out a low chuckle, stepping in to help as he guided you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’re overthinkin’ it,” he murmured. “Trust yourself—move with the flow of things.”

The warmth of his hand sent a jolt through you, but his words were steady, grounded, like he was trying to give you a part of himself that made all of this seem so natural to him. You nodded, focusing on his voice rather than the projectiles, and found that dodging them came a little easier, your body moving in sync with his instructions.

“Good,” he praised, his voice softening as he stepped back to give you space. “See? You’ve got it. Just takes a bit of trust.”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “I… guess it helps to have a good teacher,” you said, your voice quiet, but he caught the shy smile on your face, and his eyes softened, almost as if he was seeing something more than just you standing there in the Danger Room.

“Yeah,” he replied, that lingering look in his eyes returning. “Been waitin’ for this, believe it or not.”

Your brow furrowed, confusion tugging at you. “Waiting for what?”

He didn’t answer right away, just held your gaze, something unspoken passing between you both before he finally shook his head, breaking the tension with a smirk. “For you to stop bein’ so serious in class,” he teased, lightening the moment. “Takes a bit to get you to relax, doesn’t it?”

You felt your face heat, and you laughed softly. “Guess I’m still getting used to… all this.” You motioned to the Danger Room and then to him, and Logan nodded, his expression unreadable for a second.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he said softly, that nickname slipping out as naturally as if he’d used it a hundred times before. “We’ve got time.”

Before you could ask what he meant, the Danger Room doors opened, and Scott stepped inside, eyebrows raised as he took in the sight of you and Logan standing close, with you looking flushed and Logan wearing a rare, softer expression.

“Didn’t know you were takin’ up teaching, Logan,” Scott remarked, a hint of a smirk in his voice.

Logan just shot him a lazy glare, but you could feel the warmth of Logan’s lingering gaze on you even as Scott’s teasing drew your attention. "Someone's gotta keep ‘em on their toes," he replied, his voice gruff but playful.

Scott nodded, giving you a smile. “Well, keep it up. We could use more of that around here.” He nodded to Logan before leaving, leaving you alone with Logan again.

Logan let out a small chuckle, glancing at you. “Guess word’s out I’m takin’ the ‘soft’ approach with ya,” he said, his voice a bit lower as he took a step closer, his gaze settling on you with a steady intensity that made your heart race. “But maybe they don’t need to know everything.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you felt something pull you closer to him, something you didn’t understand but couldn’t deny. And Logan’s expression, a mixture of longing and patience, made you feel like he was waiting—waiting for a moment only he understood.

---

Logan had been looking everywhere for you—your room, the library, your office, your classroom, but he couldn’t find you. He finally walked into the kitchen, Scott was rummaging through the fridge while Jean and Ororo talked by the island.

“Have you seen Y/N?” He asked.

Ororo glanced out the window, “it’s raining,” she stated.

“And?” Logan frowned at the window, watching the rain trickle down the glass.

He barely caught the hint of a smile Jean gave as she said, “She’s outside in the back. Probably reading.”

Of course you’d be out there. He nodded a quick thanks, stepping through the back door and into the soft drizzle. A few steps down the porch, he spotted a faint light coming from the field. He walked across the grass, the rain matting his hair and soaking his clothes.

Logan stopped a few feet away, taking in the scene. You were sitting cross-legged on the damp grass, a book open in your lap, oblivious to the world around you. Above, raindrops hung frozen in the air, suspended like tiny prisms under the glow of your lantern. It was like you’d created your own little world, untouched by the rain.

“Interesting reading spot,” he said, his voice low but with a hint of a smirk.

You glanced up, startled, but relaxed when you saw him, pushing your glasses up. “I just… like being outside,” you mumbled, glancing away. “It’s quiet.”

He stepped closer, hands still in his pockets, the rain parting above him as he entered your time-slowed bubble. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, a hint of that rough charm lacing his tone.

You nodded quickly, shuffling over a bit. Logan sat beside you, his broad shoulders just inches from yours. He looked up at the still raindrops around you and let out a low chuckle. “Nice trick. Keeps the rain out and all.”

You bit your lip, glancing down at your book to hide the small smile creeping onto your face. “Just… didn’t want the pages getting wet,” you murmured. “Or my glasses fogging up.”

“Guess I’d never thought of glasses as somethin’ that needed their own bubble,” he replied, amused.

You finally dared to look up at him, meeting his gaze for just a moment before shyly looking away again. “You’re drenched. I didn’t… I mean, you didn’t have to come out here.”

“Didn’t have to,” he agreed, leaning in slightly, his shoulder brushing yours just enough for you to notice. “But I wanted to. Figured I should see what’s so important about readin’ out in the rain.” He glanced at the title of your book. “What’re you readin’?”

You held it up, realizing he was genuinely interested. “The Da Vinci Code,” you said softly, almost embarrassed. “I don’t really like it.”

He raised an eyebrow, “you’re more than halfway done.”

“I don’t like not finishing books.”

Logan gave a soft chuckle, glancing from your face to the book. "Guess that makes you pretty stubborn, huh?”

You shrugged, fiddling with the corner of the page. “It just feels… wrong to stop halfway. Like I’d be giving up on it.”

"Giving up, huh? I don’t see you as the quitting type.” He leaned back, resting his hands in the damp grass, completely unfazed by the rain still dripping off his hair. “So, what’s got you so unimpressed?”

You hesitated, then sighed. “I think it’s trying too hard. Like it wants to be smart, but it just feels… obvious.”

“Guess it’s good I didn’t pick that one up.” His lips curled into a grin. “You always pick out books you know you’ll hate?”

A quiet laugh escaped you. “No. But sometimes I get curious, and it doesn’t always pay off.” You glanced sideways at him, pushing your glasses up again. "Not like I expected you to be much of a reader, though.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“I don’t know…” you trailed off, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “You just seem like the… outdoorsy type?”

He gave a low chuckle, leaning a bit closer. “I’m full of surprises.” The warmth of his gaze lingered on you, holding your eyes just a second longer than you expected.

You looked away quickly, biting your lip. "Maybe you can recommend me something better next time," you said, feeling your cheeks warm under his stare.

“Oh, I’ve got some ideas,” he replied, his voice soft but teasing. "And maybe I’ll bring you a book worth readin’ in the rain.”

You hid another smile, turning back to your book. But Logan didn’t seem in a hurry to leave, just sitting there beside you, letting the quiet settle between you both.

---

“I rewired them and added a few more breakers. I think you should be all good now,” you said, standing up from the floor and dusting off your hands. “Jean?”

Jean looked up from the workbench she’d set up in the corner, an appreciative smile crossing her face. “Thanks, Y/N. I swear, some of this equipment’s older than I am.”

“Just needed a bit of extra care,” you shrugged, glancing at the exposed circuits. "Or maybe some serious replacement," you added with a grin. "Hopefully, that’ll keep it from sparking every time someone uses the projector.”

Jean chuckled, brushing her hair back as she leaned against the bench. "We’ll see. You’ve got the touch, though—half the mansion would be out of power by now if it weren’t for you.”

“Oh, come on, I’m sure Scott would’ve figured it out eventually,” you teased, earning a snort from her.

“Scott knows how to flip a light switch, but you?” Jean shook her head. “It’s like you speak machine.” She tilted her head, a hint of curiosity glinting in her eyes. “So… reading in the rain again?”

“Um… yeah,” you replied, pushing your glasses up self-consciously. “I like the quiet.”

“That I understand,” she said warmly, but then, for a brief second, her gaze flickered. Her smile stayed, but something in her eyes looked distant, almost… wary. The change was so subtle that you almost thought you imagined it.

“Jean?”

She blinked and the moment passed. “Hmm? Sorry, I spaced out for a second. Must be all those late nights.”

“Yeah, you’ve been pulling a lot of shifts,” you said, watching her closely. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Oh, you know… just the usual.” She waved a hand, brushing it off with a small laugh. “Professor’s been on my case about resting, but there’s so much going on.”

You offered a soft smile. “Maybe he’s right. You can’t be everywhere at once, Jean.”

Jean’s expression softened, a hint of something wistful touching her features. “Sometimes it feels like I have to be, though.” She looked down, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the workbench. “With all that’s happening… it feels like I need to be ready. Prepared.”

There was a quiet intensity in her voice that gave you pause. “Prepared for what?” you asked gently.

She glanced up, her eyes meeting yours with an almost searching look. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly, but her tone had an edge of urgency. “Sometimes it’s like… there’s something inside of me, something I can’t quite understand. And it’s growing.”

You hesitated, then reached out, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone, Jean. You’ve got me, the Professor… all of us.”

Her expression relaxed, and she covered your hand with hers, giving it a grateful squeeze. “I know. I’m lucky to have you, Y/N.” Her gaze softened further. “Sometimes I think you’re the only one around here who isn’t constantly asking if I’m okay, like I’m some fragile thing.”

“Well, you’re not fragile,” you said firmly, earning a grateful smile from her.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Jean said, her voice a little lighter now. “And if you ever want to get away from Logan’s constant staring contests, I’m always around.” She raised an eyebrow playfully.

You blinked, your cheeks instantly warming. “Logan? Staring?”

“Please,” she teased, laughter dancing in her eyes. “He’s been all over you since you got here. I mean, he’s not exactly subtle, is he?”

You tried to shrug it off, though you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of warmth in your cheeks. “I don’t know… I guess I just thought he was… friendly.”

Jean laughed softly, nudging your arm. “Friendly? Y/N, I think he’d growl at anyone who tried to interrupt your time-bending reading sessions.”

“I’m sure he’s like that with everyone,” you replied, though the thought made you feel unexpectedly flustered.

“Sure, everyone,” Jean said with a smirk. “Except… you’re the only one he follows into a storm just to sit beside in silence. I’d say that’s more than ‘friendly.’”

You bit your lip, looking down as you tried to stifle a smile. You’d always thought there was something about Logan that made him linger around you, but hearing it from Jean made it feel… different. Like maybe you hadn’t imagined the little moments he stayed close or the way his gaze seemed softer when he looked at you.

---

You didn’t like meetings, and while you preferred being in the Professor’s office with everyone else over a one-on-one, it didn’t mean you liked it. The Professor was going over a mission debrief, his gaze sweeping across the team. You sat a little toward the back, trying to keep a low profile. Logan, who had come in just a few minutes before, took a seat close to you, his usual habit of hanging back subtly pulling him toward your side of the room.

As the Professor continued, you felt Logan's eyes on you, but every time you dared to glance his way, he looked like he was concentrating on something far away. It was small things like this that always made you wonder—little, lingering looks or quiet moments in the hallway where he’d pass by just close enough that his presence was hard to ignore.

You did your best to focus on what the Professor was saying, but after a while, you felt Logan shift slightly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, relaxed yet distinctly attentive. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him watching you again.

Finally, you dared to meet his gaze, giving him a small, shy smile.

“What?” you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear, still moving your pen back and forth between your index and middle fingers.

“Just wonderin’ what’s goin’ on in that head of yours,” Logan murmured, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Caught off guard, you blinked, feeling your cheeks warm as you continued twirling the pen in your fingers. “Um… just… listening,” you stammered quietly, not meeting his eyes.

Logan chuckled softly, his gaze steady. “Sure ya are.”

His tone held that familiar teasing edge, and you could feel him watching you even as you tried to refocus on the Professor’s words. The others in the room were paying attention to the debrief, but you had the odd sense that Logan’s attention was entirely on you, as if he could see through the quiet, reserved front you tried to put up.

Logan's teasing smirk lingered as you tried, and failed, to redirect your attention to the Professor's debrief. But as you continued twirling your pen, he leaned closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Y’know,” he murmured, “that pen-twirlin’ of yours is makin’ me a little anxious.”

You stopped mid-twirl, blinking up at him, feeling a surge of embarrassment. Before you could apologize, he wordlessly reached over and took the pen out of your hand. But he didn’t give it back. Instead, he held onto it, letting his fingers linger on yours, and then, almost casually, his hand slid down to hold yours under the table.

You tensed at first, your eyes darting around to see if anyone noticed. But everyone else was absorbed in the Professor’s talk, completely unaware. Logan’s hand was warm, grounding, and despite your nerves, you felt a small surge of comfort. Slowly, you relaxed, letting your fingers curl around his.

He glanced sideways at you, a small smirk still tugging at his mouth. “Better?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, though you could feel your heart racing. Without your pen, you found yourself nervously tracing little patterns in the palm of his hand, letting your fingertips wander over the rough lines of his skin, tracing the knuckles and the faint scars along his fingers. You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first, just lost in the simple, steady motion.

Logan’s thumb brushed gently over your hand in response, his hold tightening slightly, and you swore you felt a quiet, satisfied hum rumble in his chest. Despite your shy nature, you couldn’t ignore the way he seemed to soften in these moments, as if he was just as reluctant to let go.

For the rest of the meeting, his hand stayed around yours, his thumb grazing lightly over your knuckles in a rhythm that was both reassuring and subtly flirtatious. You weren’t sure if he knew what his touch was doing to your already racing pulse, but from the quiet satisfaction in his expression, you suspected he did.

As the Professor wrapped up, some of the other team members glanced your way, but no one commented. Logan's usual stern exterior was unmistakably gentler, and a few of the younger mutants exchanged knowing looks, though they quickly looked away, perhaps sensing that it wasn’t something to tease you about.

When everyone started to disperse, Logan finally released your hand, slipping the pen back into your fingers with a slight, almost reluctant brush of his fingertips. He gave you a smirk, one eyebrow raised. “See? No need to keep spinnin’ that pen around.”

Your cheeks warmed as you fumbled with the pen, and you looked away, managing a shy smile. “Maybe I just need more practice.”

Logan chuckled, his gaze lingering on you as he pushed himself up. “Well, you know where to find me,” he said, his tone holding just a hint of something more. Then, with one last glance, he turned and headed toward the door, leaving you feeling like he’d stolen more than just a few minutes of your time.

---

Jones continued blinking, changing the channels on the small TV, until he landed on the nightly PBS station. Theresa huffed and folded her arms as you guided both of their focuses back to the cookies they had asked you to make with them.

"Okay, so, you take a little bit of the dough and roll it into a ball. It doesn’t have to be perfect," you said gently, showing Jones and Theresa the process with a small smile. Both kids looked on, wide-eyed and eager, Theresa’s fingers already sticky with dough, while Jones seemed more interested in sneaking bites than rolling.

“Like this?” Theresa asked, holding up her dough ball, which was more lopsided than round.

“Exactly,” you said, giving her an encouraging nod. “They’ll all taste the same anyway, even if they look funny.”

Jones looked from his misshapen dough ball to Theresa’s, smirking. “Mine’s better,” he teased.

“Oh yeah?” Theresa challenged, nudging him playfully. "We’ll see whose tastes better!”

You chuckled softly, gently placing both of their attempts on the tray. “Alright, let’s focus on making a few more before you eat all the dough.”

In the background, you caught a glimpse of Logan lingering by the doorway, half-hidden in the shadows. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching the three of you with a quiet, almost nostalgic expression. You caught his gaze and gave him a small, shy smile, which he returned with a faint nod, his eyes softer than usual. It was a look you had started to notice more and more—a silent warmth reserved only for you, one that was almost protective.

Logan’s gaze stayed on you as you guided Theresa’s hands, helping her with another dough ball, and encouraging Jones to try shaping one like a star. You were so good with them, Logan couldn’t help but remember all the other times he’d seen you with kids in your past lives. You had always been gentle, patient, the type to make them feel safe and seen.

“Think they’re ready for the oven?” you asked, brushing flour from your hands.

Theresa and Jones looked from each other to you with eager nods.

“Yes!” Theresa chimed in.

“Finally,” Jones added, stifling a small grin as he looked at the tray.

You carefully put the cookies in the oven, setting the timer before turning back to the kids. “They’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes, so no peeking!”

Jones pretended to be exasperated but nodded, and Theresa let out a small, delighted squeal, her mind already on tasting the finished cookies.

Logan watched the scene quietly, noticing how natural this was for you. This wasn’t just kindness—it was something deeper, a warmth that drew people to you without you even realizing it. He could see why the kids adored you, why others in the mansion sought you out for comfort, and why his own instinct was always to protect you, to be near you.

As you turned to put away some ingredients, Logan finally stepped forward, his presence a little more obvious now.

“Didn’t know you were such a baker, Y/N,” he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

You jumped slightly, not realizing he’d come closer, and turned to see him just a few steps away. “Oh! Um… I’m not, really,” you replied, glancing down. “I just… Theresa and Jones wanted to make cookies, and I didn’t want to let them down.”

“Well, from what I saw, you did pretty good. They look like they’re havin’ the time of their lives,” he added, his gaze softer than usual.

Theresa, noticing Logan now, grinned up at him. “You’re just in time to taste them, Logan!”

Logan chuckled, crouching down to her level. “I wouldn’t miss it, kid.”

Jones, though pretending to ignore the adults, cast a knowing look between you and Logan. “Yeah, right. You’re just here to watch Miss Y/N.”

You felt your cheeks warm immediately as Logan gave Jones a look of amused surprise, lifting an eyebrow. “Watchin’ her bake isn’t as fun as watchin’ you two mess with the dough, kid.”

Jones didn’t look convinced, but Theresa gave a giggle, pushing her little fist up to her mouth. “Miss Y/N’s the best at baking.”

“Oh, really?” Logan said, his voice laced with humor, eyes back on you. “Didn’t know I was dealing with an expert here.”

You bit your lip, flustered by the attention and not quite sure how to respond. “I’m just… I’m just helping them. Nothing special.”

Logan stepped a little closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Seems special to me.”

You quickly looked away, busying yourself with wiping down the counter, feeling your pulse race under his gaze. The way Logan looked at you was different—intense, as if he could see right through every shy attempt to brush things off. And though his usual gruff tone was still there, there was a gentleness that only seemed to surface when he was around you. It was impossible to ignore how your heart jumped a little every time he was near, or how his subtle flirtations left you more flustered than you cared to admit.

After a few minutes, the timer beeped, and Theresa and Jones jumped up in excitement.

“They’re ready!” Theresa squealed, bouncing on her toes.

You smiled, moving to pull the tray out, but Logan was faster, reaching over your shoulder to grab the oven mitts, his arm brushing against yours as he did so. “I got it,” he said, his voice low and close enough that it sent a shiver down your spine.

He pulled the tray out effortlessly, placing it on the counter with a smirk. “Better be good. Don’t wanna waste time tasting any duds.”

Theresa shot him a mock-scowl as Jones reached for a cookie. “You’ll love them, I bet,” he said confidently.

You watched as Logan took a cookie, biting into it with a skeptical look that quickly melted into a smirk. “Alright, kid, not bad.”

The kids cheered, and you couldn’t help but smile as Logan glanced your way again, a knowing look in his eyes.

---

Dinner was quiet, though technically an understatement with kids running around, to Logan it was. You were nowhere to be found, and although you occasionally came to dinner late, never this late.

Logan leaned back, eyes scanning the crowded dining room for any sign of you, brows furrowing slightly when he didn’t see you among the younger kids or the teachers.

“Maybe she’s asleep,” Ororo said, noticing Logan’s expression. “She was up half the night after Artie had a nightmare.” She rounded the table, pulling a reluctant Jones back to clear his plate while Theresa ran to help with the dishes.

Logan grunted a reply, shifting his gaze down the empty hallway outside. You were dedicated—more than most. You made sure the kids felt safe, even if it meant running on little sleep. He considered waiting it out, letting you get some rest, but something made him push back his chair and step quietly out of the dining room, deciding to see for himself.

After a few knocks on your door and no response, Logan checked the usual places but still didn’t find you. Finally, he spotted you in your office, forehead resting on your arm, glasses crooked as you lay slumped over your desk, papers scattered beneath you. The light cast a soft glow over the room, illuminating the stacks of student projects and physics diagrams you’d been grading late into the night. He sighed, leaning against the doorway for a moment, debating his next move.

With a quiet step, he entered the room and came to your side, noticing how your breathing was soft and even. Gently, he rested a hand on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice low, “time to get you to bed.”

You didn’t stir, and Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. Usually, you were a light sleeper, sensitive to the slightest sound or shift. He tapped your shoulder a little firmer, but still, you didn’t wake. He huffed, a small, amused grin flickering over his face. “Out cold, huh?” he whispered.

At that moment, Jean appeared in the hallway, pausing when she noticed the scene. She tilted her head with a slight smile. “Want me to take care of it?” she asked, her voice hushed as she gestured toward you.

Logan glanced at her, giving a subtle shake of his head. “Nah, I got it.” He shifted his gaze back to you, his expression softening as he carefully slid one arm under your legs and another around your back, effortlessly lifting you into his arms. Your glasses slid a little, and he gently adjusted them, his face inches from yours as he whispered, “let’s get you somewhere more comfortable, alright?”

You stirred faintly in his arms, leaning your head against his chest with a quiet sigh but remaining asleep. Logan carried you down the dimly lit hallway, nodding to a few passing students who shot him curious looks, their expressions a mix of surprise and amusement at seeing him carrying you with such care. He ignored them, his attention focused solely on you.

Reaching your room, he nudged the door open with his boot, stepped inside, and carefully lowered you onto the bed. He removed your glasses, then began taking off your sneakers while glancing around your room. Logan had never been inside before, only ever coming as far as your door, and he was surprised to find it… bare.

There were a few essentials: a neatly stacked row of physics journals, a small, worn plush that looked like it had seen better days, and a tiny hourglass that caught the light in an odd way, giving off a slight, shimmering glow. The space felt like yours in some ways—quiet, orderly—but the walls were nearly bare, with just a single calendar marked with scribbled notes. For someone who had been part of the X-Men for a while, you hadn’t left much of yourself behind in this room, almost as if you were ready to leave at any time.

Logan brushed his fingers over the small hourglass, the delicate grains slipping through it in slow, mesmerizing intervals. It reminded him of you somehow—the way you seemed caught between moments, present yet not fully anchored, as though you were perpetually passing through.

As he adjusted the blanket over you, his hand lingered a moment, thumb brushing softly along your shoulder. You shifted slightly in your sleep, unconsciously leaning toward him, a faint smile ghosting over your lips. Logan felt a tightness in his chest he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge in years, a warmth that reached beyond the fleeting attraction he could brush off. This was something else, something that had lingered across time and lifetimes.

In the dim light, he could make out the subtle rise and fall of your breathing, the way a strand of hair fell across your cheek. It struck him how familiar this all was—the softness of your expression, the quiet trust in your sleep. He remembered a hundred small moments like this, times when he’d watched over you, sometimes even held you like this in his arms. He’d seen you fade away in all those lives before, but here you were, whole and breathing, even if you didn’t remember a single moment of those past lives. He was the only one who did, the weight of those memories settling heavily in his chest.

The door creaked, and Logan looked up to see Jean standing there, a soft smile curving her lips as she observed the scene.

"She works harder than most of us," Jean murmured, her voice almost reverent. “You don’t see her resting very often. Guess she trusts you, though.” There was a look in Jean’s eyes, something Logan couldn’t quite place, a flicker of warmth edged with something almost... distant, like she was there but not entirely present.

“She’d trust anyone if it meant looking out for the kids,” Logan replied, his voice low, glancing down at you before looking back at Jean. “Guess she pushes herself harder than she needs to.”

Jean nodded thoughtfully, crossing her arms, and for a moment, her gaze seemed to turn inward, distant. “She does,” Jean said slowly, “but there’s more to it, I think. She… well, it’s like she feels she has to prove herself, even if she’s already earned everyone’s trust.”

Logan’s jaw tightened subtly. That sense of needing to prove yourself, even when it was clear to everyone else that you’d more than done so, was all too familiar to him. He could see it in the way you volunteered for every duty, looked after every stray kid with barely a complaint, and stayed up late grading assignments, wanting to do right by everyone in the mansion.

Jean’s eyes softened as she took in the way Logan still watched you. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said softly, lingering in the doorway for a moment. She tilted her head, an almost curious look in her eyes. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Jean’s words lingered as she walked away, her footsteps fading down the hall. Logan let out a breath, looking back down at you with a mixture of tenderness and frustration. You’d been lucky in so many ways and tragically unlucky in others—dying each time he found you, leaving him with nothing but memories of those fleeting moments.

He brushed another stray lock of hair back from your face, his thumb lingering near your cheek as he spoke quietly to you, “One day… maybe one day, I’ll get to keep ya.”

After a moment, Logan gently placed the small hourglass on the bedside table, right where you’d see it when you woke up, before rising and heading toward the door. He cast one last glance back at you, reluctant to leave you alone even now. But he knew you needed the rest more than he needed to stay. Besides, he’d be just down the hall if you needed him.

---

There was one thing Logan had been wanting to know for some time—something that at times kept him up at night.

That damn glossy lip of yours. He knew it was either cherry or strawberry flavored, but other than that, he was clueless. It didn’t help that one of your nervous ticks, other than twirling your pen in hand, was rolling or biting your lip while in thought. Sometimes you bit your lip to try and hide a smile or laugh, like now, as he watched you and Jean walk down the hall.

“Empire Strikes Back is the best sequel ever made!” you declared, nudging Jean as you strolled down the hall together. “It’s everything you want in a sequel—a better story, more character development, actual stakes…”

Jean laughed, her eyes sparkling. “You do realize it’s just a movie, right?”

“Jean, please,” you said, feigning offense. “This is Star Wars. ‘Just a movie’ doesn’t apply.”

Jean held her hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine,” she said, suppressing a smile. “But A New Hope started everything! You have to respect the original.”

“I do,” you insisted, adjusting your glasses and smiling up at her. “But just because it came first doesn’t make it better. Empire has that… well, darkness. It’s iconic.”

Logan was a few paces behind, arms crossed, a subtle smile tugging at his mouth as he watched the back-and-forth between you and Jean. The way you grew animated when you were comfortable, your enthusiasm spilling over in debates like this, wasn’t something he saw often. There was a quietness to you, a gentleness—qualities that seemed to draw people in without you even trying.

It was no wonder the kids gravitated toward you, or why Jean looked at you like a sister she’d known her whole life. Logan found himself watching you more than he’d ever let on, his attention caught on those small, unexpected things.

“Fine, Empire wins, A New Hope second,” Jean conceded. “But I draw the line at Return of the Jedi. Those Ewoks were pushing it.”

You laughed, giving her a playful nudge. “I’ll give you that.”

Logan shook his head, stepping a bit closer. “Gonna let me in on this debate?”

You jumped slightly, turning to look at him with a surprised smile, cheeks coloring faintly at how close he’d gotten without you noticing. “Oh! Um… Well, we were just arguing the merits of Empire Strikes Back over A New Hope.”

Jean rolled her eyes. “Arguing is putting it lightly.”

“Some of us just have good taste,” you teased, looking at her before glancing back up at Logan.

Logan smirked. “Good taste, huh? Alright, which one’s your favorite then?”

Without missing a beat, you answered, “Empire. No contest.”

“Smart choice,” he said, his voice lower, eyes lingering on you a second longer than usual. There was a softness in his expression, an ease that wasn’t there with most people, like he was letting a bit of his usual guardedness fall away when it was just you. And it didn’t go unnoticed; Jean caught the subtle exchange, a knowing smile slipping onto her face, though she kept quiet.

“See?” you said to Jean, feeling a little surge of confidence with Logan’s agreement. “Logan gets it.”

Jean gave a mock sigh. “Well, I guess I’m outnumbered,” she said, looking between you two with a slight smirk. “I’ll just have to wait until I find a couple of people with my taste.” She shot you both a teasing look before starting down the hallway.

“I don’t think you’re gonna find any,” Logan called after her, making you chuckle.

You and Logan fell into step together, and you felt a little flustered, not entirely sure what to do with the silence that followed. Logan’s attention was a bit overwhelming—yet strangely comforting at the same time. He had a way of looking at you, like he was noticing details even you hadn’t paid attention to, and it left you a bit tongue-tied.

He gave you a sidelong glance, his expression softening. “Didn’t think you’d be into sci-fi movies.”

“Oh, I—well, yeah,” you said, giving a small, bashful smile. “I guess I’m full of surprises.”

Logan chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that somehow made you feel warm inside. “Yeah, guess so.”

The hall was quieter now, most of the students already heading to their rooms or the common areas for the night. You pushed your glasses up, looking down as you fiddled with the strap of your watch. “I guess it’s just, I don’t know, nice to get lost in a different universe sometimes. It’s a little easier when there’s lightsabers and the Force involved, I guess.”

Logan nodded, his gaze drifting over your face, as if he was trying to memorize every detail. “You ever feel like you’re still in a different universe when you’re here?”

You thought about it, then nodded. “Sometimes. It’s… hard to explain.”

“Don’t need to,” he said, voice soft. “I get it.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the understanding in his tone. He held your gaze, his expression uncharacteristically gentle, almost as though he was sharing in that quiet space with you. There was something in his eyes that felt like familiarity—a feeling of being seen that made you shift nervously, warmth blooming in your cheeks.

“Thanks,” you said softly, a shy smile touching your lips.

“Anytime,” he replied, the words seeming to carry a weight you couldn’t quite place.

---

Some of the kids were training with Ororo and Scott in the Danger Room, while you sat on the sidelines, observing intently. The kids were sparring, testing their powers in controlled scenarios, but it was more intense than you’d expected. Even from the sidelines, you felt a little thrill from watching their dedication.

You’d learned to dodge and block a bit from Logan about a month ago, but that was the extent of your training. Though your time-manipulation abilities offered you certain advantages, you still felt unprepared when it came to hand-to-hand combat. After all, a time freeze was helpful, but it couldn’t teach you how to throw a proper punch. You adjusted your glasses, watching as Scott demonstrated a move for Jones, who was trying to keep up, determination written all over his face.

“Ya look like you’re itching to join ‘em,” Logan’s voice came from behind you, low and teasing. You hadn’t noticed him enter, but his presence felt natural by your side. You looked up, feeling your cheeks warm as he met your gaze with a familiar glint in his eye, one you’d come to recognize as playful but warm—especially when it was directed at you.

“Well,” you admitted, shyly tugging at your sleeve, “I feel like I should know more. I mean, just in case.” You glanced back at the training session, feeling a little vulnerable for admitting it, especially to him.

Logan gave a small chuckle, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall beside you. “In that case, why don’t I show you a thing or two? You’re not gonna get there just watchin’.” His gaze softened. “If you want to, that is.”

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.” Your voice was quieter than you’d intended, a little unsure, but there was something reassuring about the way he looked at you that made you want to try.

Logan led you to an empty part of the training area, away from the others. “Alright, first things first,” he said, taking your hands and guiding them into fists, his touch careful. “A punch isn’t just throwin’ your fist forward. You want to aim with your whole body—so start by grounding your feet.”

He placed his hands on your shoulders to adjust your stance. His fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary, and your heart skipped a beat. He guided your arm into position, his touch steady and sure as he moved your arm, ensuring your wrist was aligned.

“Now, try to punch me,” he instructed with a small grin, stepping back and raising his hand to form a target.

You glanced at him, nervous but determined, and took a swing. Your punch landed, but he didn’t even flinch. Instead, he raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Not bad for a first try. Try again, but this time put your weight into it. Use your hips,” he suggested, moving closer to guide you through the motion again.

Taking a breath, you tried again, focusing on his advice. This time, you felt the force of your punch increase, though he still didn’t seem fazed. Logan nodded approvingly. “There ya go, that’s it. Now, keep practicing that. Remember: control, not just power.”

As you kept practicing, Logan’s focus remained on you, his gaze warm and encouraging. You caught Ororo and Scott exchanging glances, a knowing smile on Ororo’s face, though neither said anything. You brushed off your flustered thoughts, managing to hold Logan’s gaze with a shy smile.

Eventually, after a few more attempts, Logan put his hands up in a surrendering motion. “Alright, I think you’re ready to take on the universe,” he joked, his eyes crinkling with that soft smile that seemed to be reserved just for you. “Now, don’t go punchin’ the wrong people, alright?”

You laughed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll try not to.”

As you both headed out of the training area, Logan walked beside you, his shoulder just barely brushing yours. His tone was playful, but there was a tenderness in his gaze, and you felt a connection you couldn’t quite explain—something you couldn’t put into words but could feel, lingering between you.

---

You zipped your suitcase, a small carry-on for your few-day trip to California. The upcoming Quantum Information Science conference had you both nervous and excited, though you'd never been all that eager to travel alone.

Jean poked her head in, her expression soft but amused as she saw you standing by your suitcase, taking a breath before the journey. In her hands was a wide-brimmed sun hat, clearly out of place for the mansion but perfect for a California trip.

"Since you're heading to sunny California, I got you this," she said, plopping the hat onto your head with a grin. “Just because you're going to a conference doesn’t mean you can't look like you’re on vacation."

You adjusted the hat, laughing softly, though the nervous energy still lingered. “Thanks, Jean. I’m sure it’ll come in handy,” you replied, a little shy, but you knew she was only trying to lighten the mood.

Just then, Logan appeared at the doorway, crossing his arms as he leaned against the frame. His eyes held that familiar glint as he took in the scene, though there was something else—a flicker of protectiveness, one you’d come to recognize. Logan was rarely this obvious about it, but when he looked at you like that, it was hard to ignore.

“So, all packed?” he asked, his tone light but his gaze serious.

“Just about,” you nodded, glancing at the suitcase before looking back at him. There was a strange ache in your chest, almost like you were about to leave behind something important. But it was only a short trip. You didn’t expect to feel this way.

He gave a quick nod, then shrugged as if trying to brush off a thought. "Mind if I tag along?" He asked it casually, but the tension in his posture said he wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.

“Oh—uh, well, I mean, if you want to,” you stammered, caught off guard. “But, Logan, don’t you have training and—”

“Y/N,” he interrupted, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Wouldn’t sit right with me, you crossin’ the country all alone.” His voice softened. “Call it me lookin’ out for ya.”

Jean smirked, rolling her eyes as she slipped past him. “Well, you two have fun in California,” she said with a wink, clearly in on the unspoken connection between you and Logan.

As she left, you tried to push down your shy smile. “You know, I’ll be in a conference room most of the time,” you teased him. “Not sure it’ll be much fun.”

Logan just shrugged. “Yeah, well, I can think of worse ways to spend a few days.” He bent down, hoisting your suitcase up with ease, then gestured with his head for you to follow him.

---

The flight was uneventful, but you found yourself hyper-aware of Logan's presence beside you. Each time he glanced your way to check in, your heart skipped a beat. Eventually, you arrived at your hotel, a sleek conference venue just a short walk from the beach.

Logan was grabbing the bags from the cab as you checked in.

"Yep, a single room—" the woman began.

"Oh, uh—actually, I called earlier and upgraded to a double," you interrupted.

The woman at the front desk popped her gum, gave the computer screen a flat look, and then glanced back at you. "Yeah, the single is the only room available," she said, unfazed by your surprise.

You bit your lip, stealing a glance at Logan, who had just entered with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. His expression didn’t change—casual as always—but you could sense a flicker of discomfort beneath the surface.

“Guess that means we’ll be getting cozy,” he said, deadpan, though there was a mischievous glint in his eye.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks. “Uh, yeah,” you managed, offering the desk clerk a smile before accepting the key. Logan followed you to the elevator in silence, though you could practically feel him smirking beside you.

Once you got to the room, you stepped in and took in the minimal space: one bed, no couch. A tiny table with one chair was pushed against the wall. Logan set his bag down by the door, glancing around before turning his attention to you.

“Looks like I’ll be takin’ the floor,” he said, already half-kneeling to lay out his bag.

“Wait,” you protested, shuffling closer and folding your arms. “You can’t just sleep on the floor. It’s… well, I don’t know what’s been on it,” you finished with a grimace, barely resisting the urge to pull a face.

Logan chuckled softly, his eyes meeting yours, and something softened in his expression. “Couldn’t let you sleep there. Besides,” he added, with a faint smirk, “I’ve slept on worse.”

You hesitated, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “We’re both adults. We could… share.” You kept your gaze on the floor, hoping he couldn’t see the flush creeping up your cheeks. “I mean, just sleep,” you added quickly, regretting the bold suggestion the moment it was out.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, but he didn’t make a joke at your expense, which you appreciated. “Sure, if you’re comfortable with that.” His voice was softer, reassuring even, which only made your heart pound a little faster.

You gave a small nod, not trusting your voice to stay steady, and took a seat on one side of the bed, facing away from him. You could hear the soft rustling as Logan removed his boots and jacket, settling onto the other side of the bed. The silence was almost tangible as he lay beside you, and your senses were suddenly on high alert—aware of every small shift he made, the warmth of him radiating just inches away.

After a few moments, Logan’s voice cut through the silence. “Nervous about this conference?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, grateful for the distraction. “It’s… a lot of pressure. Presenting in front of so many people. I know I’m prepared, but it’s hard to shake the nerves.”

He was quiet for a moment. “You’ve got nothin’ to worry about. You know your stuff better than anyone, from what I’ve seen. Besides,” he added, his tone softening, “you got me around if you need backup.”

You smiled, glancing over to meet his gaze. “Thank you, Logan. Really.”

He shrugged, but there was a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “S’what I’m here for.”

The two of you lay in silence after that, but you could feel the faint pull of sleep starting to settle in.

---

He shouldn’t have been surprised when he woke up like this—his arm draped loosely around your waist, your hand resting on his, and your back pressed against his chest. Logan’s breath was steady, brushing against the crook of your neck as the early morning sunlight filtered faintly through the hotel curtains. For a moment, he just lay there, motionless, taking it all in.

It wasn’t the first time he’d woken up tangled with you—not in this life or the ones before it—but it still hit him differently every time. That same ache, deep and persistent, stirred in his chest. The sense of déjà vu was almost unbearable, made worse by the fact that you didn’t remember any of it.

Logan’s thumb brushed the back of your hand, and he let his gaze drift down to where your fingers loosely curled around his. Even in your sleep, there was trust in how naturally you leaned into him, as if some part of you, deep down, remembered too.

“Darlin’, you’ve got no idea what you do to me,” Logan murmured softly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. His voice was low, almost a whisper, as if saying it out loud would make it too real. He knew you couldn’t hear him—not like this—but the words still felt heavy on his tongue.

“You’re always slippin’ away from me. Feels like I’m just chasin’ ghosts,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “But not this time. Not this time.”

He pressed a feather-light kiss to your neck, just above your shoulder. The gesture was fleeting, tender, but it made his chest tighten. It was a moment he couldn’t allow himself to linger in—because if you woke up like this, he knew it would mess with your head, and the last thing he wanted was to throw you off before the conference.

Carefully, Logan began to shift, untangling himself from you with slow precision. He froze as you stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent, but your breathing evened out again, and he exhaled quietly in relief. Once he was free, he moved to the other side of the room, his footsteps barely making a sound on the hotel carpet.

Leaning against the dresser, Logan ran a hand through his hair and let out a soft sigh. He glanced over at the bed, watching as you turned onto your side, still deep in sleep. You looked peaceful, content even. It was a rare sight, and he found himself unwilling to look away for a long moment.

The guilt clawed at him, as it always did. You didn’t ask for this—for him to carry around the weight of all your lives while you got to start fresh every time. He wondered if you’d even want to know if you could, or if you’d see him as just another piece of baggage tying you down.

Shaking off the thoughts, Logan turned his attention to the clock on the nightstand. It was just past 7 a.m., and the day would start soon enough. If he wanted to make sure you were ready for it, he needed to keep his distance—for now, at least.

He grabbed his jacket and stepped out onto the small balcony, letting the cool California air clear his head. The streets below were already bustling, the morning hum of the city a sharp contrast to the quiet of the room. Logan lit a cigar, taking a slow drag as he leaned against the railing.

No matter how many lives you lived, some things about you never changed—the way you tilted your head when you were lost in thought, the soft curve of your smile, the determination in your voice when you talked about something you were passionate about. It was those small consistencies that kept pulling him back to you, no matter how hard he tried to stay away.

When he finally reentered the room, the sunlight had grown brighter, filtering through the sheer curtains and spilling across the bed. You were starting to stir, your hand brushing against the pillow where his head had been moments earlier. Logan sat in the chair by the small table, keeping a casual distance as he watched you slowly blink awake.

“Morning,” he said, his voice low but warm.

You stretched slightly, rubbing at your eyes before adjusting your glasses. “Morning,” you mumbled, your voice still laced with sleep. You glanced over at him, your cheeks flushing faintly when you noticed how closely he was watching you.

“You ready for today?” he asked, his tone deliberately casual. He leaned back in the chair, the cigar long gone, but the faint scent of smoke still lingered around him.

You nodded, though there was a flicker of hesitation in your eyes. “I think so. Just… need a little coffee first,” you added with a shy smile.

Logan stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “I’ll get us some,” he offered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You just focus on getting ready.”

You watched him as he moved toward the door, your smile growing a little softer. “Thanks, Logan.”

He paused, glancing back at you with that familiar warmth in his gaze. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

---

You took another glance at Logan, who was seated beside you, looking ahead at the stage where Roger Koch was going to talk about dc SQUID Qubit’s.

“You didn’t have to come with me to see these talks,” you said, tilting your head slightly to look at Logan.

The two of you were seated toward the back of the conference room, a relatively quiet spot where Logan could stay unnoticed while still keeping a clear line of sight on everything. Not that anyone here would recognize him—he doubted quantum physicists ran in the same circles as mutants with claws and anger issues—but old habits died hard.

He leaned back in his chair, legs stretched out in that effortless, Logan way, arms crossed. His eyes flicked to yours, a hint of something unreadable in his expression. “Didn’t seem right, lettin’ you fly cross-country alone,” he replied, his voice low, just loud enough for you to hear over the murmur of the crowd.

You blinked, a little surprised at his candor. “It’s not like I haven’t done things on my own before,” you said softly, adjusting your glasses out of habit.

Logan shrugged. “I know that.” His lips curved into a faint smirk, the kind that always sent a little flutter through your chest before you could tamp it down. “But maybe I didn’t feel like sittin’ around the mansion while you were out here. Figured someone oughta keep an eye on you.”

You raised an eyebrow, fighting the small smile tugging at your lips. “Keep an eye on me? Logan, this is a science conference, not a battlefield.”

“Still plenty that could go wrong,” he said, the smirk fading as his voice took on a softer, almost serious edge. He didn’t elaborate, but the meaning lingered between you.

For a moment, you hesitated, unsure how to respond. You weren’t used to this kind of protectiveness—it wasn’t overbearing, exactly, but it felt... personal. A little too personal for someone you’d only known for a few months.

“Well,” you said finally, keeping your tone light, “I hope you don’t regret it. Physics lectures aren’t exactly your scene.”

Logan gave a short, quiet laugh. “I’ll survive.” His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before drifting to the front of the room. “Besides, not like I’m here for the science.”

Your cheeks warmed at the implication, and you quickly turned your attention back to your notebook, pretending to jot something down. Logan didn’t need to know how those little comments of his threw you off balance.

The lights dimmed slightly as the speaker, Roger Koch, took the stage. You straightened in your seat, trying to focus on the introduction, but it was hard to ignore Logan’s presence beside you—the subtle way his shoulders shifted, the quiet rhythm of his breathing.

It wasn’t fair, really, how easily he unsettled you. And yet, somehow, it felt... familiar, even if you couldn’t place why.

As the talk went on, Logan didn’t make a sound. But every so often, out of the corner of your eye, you could see him glance your way. It was subtle—nothing anyone else would notice—but it sent a quiet thrill through you every time.

By the time the presentation ended, the room buzzed with quiet chatter as people began to stand and stretch. Logan leaned closer to you, his voice low. “You catch all that?”

“Most of it,” you said, closing your notebook and giving him a small smile. “You?”

His smirk was back, teasing. “Not a damn word.”

You laughed softly, the sound surprising even you. “Why’d you even come, then?”

Logan shrugged, standing and slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. “Told you. I’m not here for the lectures.”

You shook your head, but the warmth in his tone lingered, chasing away the awkwardness.

“And the next one is…” he looked down at the pamphlet but didn’t say anything, his brows furrowed as he tried to comprehend the words on the paper.

“Rabi Oscillations in a Large Josephson Junction Qubit,” you said, a hint of amusement in your voice. Your eyes flickered back to Logan, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “You really don’t care about that talk, do you?”

Logan just shrugged, unfazed, his lips curling into a grin that made your heart skip. "Nah," he said simply, as though that was all there was to it. "Not my thing."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a soft warmth in your gaze as you looked at him. You had to admit, it was hard not to be aware of him, even in the middle of a room full of physicists discussing things you could barely wrap your head around. It wasn’t just that Logan had a presence that drew attention. It was the way he made you feel seen, even in a crowd.

Still, you tried to refocus on the upcoming lecture, shifting in your seat and tapping your pen against your notebook. The faintest flicker of discomfort crossed your mind as you realized you had no idea why you were even thinking about him this much, especially when you needed to be thinking about work.

Logan, meanwhile, seemed to have a permanent attachment to his casual indifference, but you noticed his gaze flicker to you again as you adjusted your glasses. His smile, small and knowing, stayed just at the edges of his lips, a quiet contrast to his usual stoic demeanor.

"So," Logan began, stretching his legs out even more, "what else is on your little agenda for today?"

You raised an eyebrow, amused by how interested he seemed in your plans, despite the fact that he'd already admitted this wasn’t his idea of a good time. “You really want to know?”

“Why not?” He gave you a small shrug, making it clear he wasn’t just asking out of courtesy.

You hesitated. Your typical habit was to keep things close to your chest, but for some reason, you felt a little more open with him. Maybe it was the fact that you’d been awake for the better part of the night on the flight out, or that Logan, for all his gruffness, wasn’t like most people you met. And it wasn't just because he was a member of the X-Men—there was something more. Something you couldn’t quite put into words.

“I think there's a session on quantum coherence in the afternoon," you said, glancing down at your schedule. "And then the poster session afterward. You’re probably gonna get bored quickly with all of that."

A slight laugh rumbled in his chest. "Guess I’ll have to keep my eye out for any... interesting distractions," he said, his voice low and just enough to send a shiver up your spine.

You pretended not to notice the way his words lingered in the air between you, but you couldn’t quite hide the slight flush that creeped up your cheeks. It was... impossible not to notice him when he spoke like that.

The conversation drifted back to the talk as the lights dimmed once again, signaling the start of the next presentation. Logan’s eyes never fully left you, even as the speaker began his complex talk on quantum information systems. His gaze, though, was softened now, absent of the usual intensity. It was as if, in the span of a few moments, he'd gone from being the aloof, silent protector to someone who just... wanted to be near you.

The thought crossed your mind unbidden—Could he be like this with anyone? Or was it only you?

But before you could chase the thought any further, the speaker’s voice became the focus of the room again, and you pushed the lingering thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand.

---

After what felt like hours—though you knew it had only been a couple—you were finally able to slip out of the conference hall. The speaker had wrapped up, and you both decided it was time for a break. The session wasn’t your favorite, but you couldn’t help but feel relieved to step out into the cool California air.

“You don’t need to keep me company, you know,” you said, a little sheepishly, as Logan followed you down the hallway, close enough that his shadow loomed over yours.

His hand brushed against yours lightly, almost absentmindedly. “Figured it was the least I could do.”

“Least you could do?” you chuckled, giving him a teasing look over your shoulder. “You’re already here. What more could you possibly do?”

Logan’s lips curled into a faint smile at your teasing tone, though there was something different in his expression. "Maybe I just like being close to you."

Your heart skipped a beat. You quickly turned your gaze forward, your cheeks warming despite your best attempts to hide it. “You sure it’s not just the coffee you're after?”

“Could be," he replied, his tone low but warm, almost as if he didn’t mind the teasing. "Could be.”

There was something in his voice, a hint of something unsaid, but you didn't push him on it. Instead, you focused on the coffee stand ahead of you, grateful for the distraction.

---

The week was over, and you both made it back to the mansion late in the evening. You stepped through the double doors of the X-Mansion, feeling the warmth of familiarity wrap around you after days of being surrounded by unfamiliar faces. Logan trailed behind, carrying both your duffle and his, despite your protests on the ride back.

“Seriously, I can carry my own bag,” you muttered as you pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

“Don’t mention it, darlin’,” Logan replied casually, his lips curling into a faint smirk. He didn’t bother to look back as he headed toward the main staircase, your bag still slung effortlessly over his shoulder.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, pulling into a small, amused smile. It was hard to stay annoyed at him when he insisted on doing little things like that.

“Jean’s in the rec room,” Logan said as you both turned toward the hall.

“How can you possibly know that?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He just tapped his nose in response, grinning in that way he always did when he knew something you didn’t.

When you walked into the rec room, Jean was exactly where Logan had said she’d be—curled up on one of the couches with a book in her lap. She glanced up as you entered, her eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

“Hey! You’re back!” Jean closed her book and stood, crossing the room to pull you into a warm hug. “How was the conference?”

“Pretty great,” you said, grinning as you reached into the bag Logan had just set down. You pulled out a navy-blue baseball cap embroidered with the words Quantum Information Science in bold white letters and plopped it onto her head.

Jean laughed, adjusting the cap so it sat properly. “Oh, wow. I feel smarter already.”

Logan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a quiet smirk on his face as he watched the two of you.

Jean’s eyes flickered to him briefly before settling back on you. “Did Logan behave himself?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, your cheeks warming slightly. “He was fine. Kept me company during some of the talks, even if I don’t think he understood a word of them.”

“I understood plenty,” Logan said, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. “Like how coffee’s the most important part of any conference.”

Jean laughed softly and shook her head. “Sounds about right.”

You reached into your bag again, this time pulling out a small, neatly wrapped package. “Oh, and I got you this,” you said, handing it to her.

Jean’s eyes lit up with curiosity as she unwrapped the package to reveal a sleek pen with her name engraved on the side. “This is beautiful. Thank you, Y/N.”

“It’s nothing,” you said quickly, brushing off her gratitude with a shy smile.

Logan watched the exchange quietly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary before he turned toward the door. “I’ll let you two catch up,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll be in the garage if you need me.”

As he disappeared down the hallway, Jean turned to you, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “He’s been hanging around you a lot lately.”

You busied yourself with unpacking, trying to ignore the faint heat creeping up your neck. “We were just at the conference together. It’s not a big deal.”

“Uh-huh,” Jean said, her tone teasing but not pushy.

“Don’t start,” you muttered, though there was no real bite to your words.

Jean laughed softly, giving you a look that said she wasn’t going to let this go so easily. But for now, she dropped the subject, slipping the cap off her head and setting it on the coffee table.

“Alright, I’ll let it slide—this time. But only because I want to hear about all the science stuff I missed.”

You smiled, settling onto the couch beside her and launching into a recap of the conference, doing your best to keep the focus on the lectures and not the way Logan had stayed by your side through it all.

---

You were sitting on the bed with Jean when the first sneeze happened. You had just been telling her about how you were up with Jubilee last night since she caught a cold from Kitty, and now you hoped you weren’t getting sick.

Jean raised an eyebrow from her dresser, where the soft glow of a candle flickered against the room’s walls. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her expression shifting to mild concern as she turned to face you.

“Y/N, don’t tell me you’re catching what Jubilee had,” she said, folding her arms as she leaned back against the dresser.

You sniffled, rubbing at your nose with the back of your hand. “I don’t know. Maybe? She sneezed on me last night, and I don’t have a healing factor like Logan.”

Jean grimaced in sympathy and gestured for you to sit. “Well, you’re not about to suffer alone. Sit. Let me check.”

“Jean, I’m fine. It’s probably just a tickle.” But you obediently perched on the edge of her bed, watching as she crossed the room with her usual calm precision.

She pressed the back of her hand to your forehead, her cool touch a stark contrast to the faint warmth radiating from your skin. You crinkled your nose at the sensation, and she laughed softly. “You’re warm. Not quite a fever, but you should rest. I can cover your classes tomorrow if it gets worse.”

You started to protest, but she waved you off. “Don’t argue. If you’re sick, the students will survive one day without you explaining quantum mechanics.”

Your lips quirked up in a small smile. “Thanks, Jean. I owe you.”

“Always,” she replied lightly, moving back to the dresser. As she fiddled with the candle wick, she glanced at you. “Do you need anything? Tea? Soup?”

You shook your head, but just as you opened your mouth to respond, another sneeze caught you off guard. Jean sighed dramatically. “I’m taking that as a yes to tea.”

Before Jean could head to the kitchen, there was a knock at the doorframe. Both of you turned to see Scott leaning casually against it, arms crossed as a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t tell me you caught it now,” he said, nodding toward you.

“Caught what?” you asked, sniffling as you dabbed at your nose with a tissue.

“Whatever Jubilee had. She’s been sneezing all over the place like it’s her mutant power,” Scott replied, stepping into his and Jean’s shared room. He glanced at Jean. “Is it serious?”

Jean shook her head, giving you a playful yet sympathetic look. “Not yet. She’s warm, but I don’t think it’s a fever. Just a little rest and tea, and she’ll be fine.”

“I’m fine now,” you muttered, though another sneeze betrayed you mid-sentence. You groaned softly and dropped your head into your hands. “Okay, maybe a little tea wouldn’t hurt.”

“I’ll get it,” Scott said, surprising you. He glanced back at Jean, giving her a small smile. “You stay. I can handle tea duty.”

Jean raised an eyebrow. “You? Making tea?”

“I’ve watched you do it enough times. How hard can it be?” he shot back, his tone light. Without waiting for a response, he disappeared down the hall, leaving the two of you alone again.

You leaned back against the bed’s headboard, glancing at Jean. “Is it just me, or was that oddly thoughtful?”

Jean shrugged, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Scott can be thoughtful when he wants to be. He’s just not great at showing it all the time.” She perched on the edge of the bed, studying you. “But enough about him. What about you? When did you start feeling off?”

You shrugged. “Probably this morning. I thought it was just because I didn’t sleep well. Jubilee was up half the night, and I didn’t want to leave her alone.”

Jean smiled gently, nudging your arm. “You’re too nice sometimes, Y/N. It’s okay to put yourself first every now and then.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time a student sneezes directly into my face,” you replied dryly, earning a soft laugh from her.

---

The soft clink of glass against your nightstand roused you from sleep. Blinking through the haze, you squinted at the figure in your room. Even in your half-conscious state, there was no mistaking the broad frame, the wild hair, or the quiet, almost protective presence.

“Logan?” Your voice was hoarse, barely more than a croak, as you shifted to prop yourself up on one elbow.

“Yeah, darlin’. It’s me,” he said, keeping his voice low. He straightened, setting down the glass of water and the small plastic cup with pills inside. “Figured you could use these.”

You blinked at the items, then at him, confusion mixing with an embarrassing sense of gratitude. “How did you know I wasn’t feeling well?”

He shrugged, his eyes scanning your face briefly before resting on the nightstand. “Jean mentioned it when I ran into her. Said you might need some downtime.”

“Oh,” you murmured, sinking back against your pillows. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to—”

“Didn’t say I had to,” he cut in, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Wanted to.”

That simple statement left you momentarily speechless. You weren’t used to this—the small, subtle gestures that showed he cared in his own quiet way. Finally, you managed a faint smile. “That’s... really nice of you.”

Logan chuckled, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Nice, huh? Don’t let that get around. Got a reputation to uphold.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound dissolving into a cough that you quickly muffled with the crook of your arm. Logan’s brow furrowed, the teasing edge slipping from his expression.

“You sure you’re alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured him, though your voice wavered just slightly. “Just need some rest. And maybe a hazmat suit next time Jubilee gets sick.”

That earned a low chuckle from him, and the sound sent a strange warmth curling in your chest. He pushed off the wall, his boots heavy but quiet against the floor as he approached your bed.

“Take the meds, Y/N,” he said, his tone soft but insistent. “And drink the water. No arguing.”

“Yes, sir,” you muttered, though there was no bite in your tone. Reaching for the cup, you downed the pills with a grimace and a sip of water. When you glanced back at him, his gaze hadn’t shifted.

“Better?” he asked.

You nodded, setting the glass back on the nightstand. “Better.”

Logan lingered for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if to make sure you weren’t bluffing. Finally, he nodded, stepping back toward the door.

“Get some sleep,” he said gruffly, though his voice held an unexpected warmth.

“Logan,” you called softly before he could leave. He paused in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the soft light spilling in from the hallway. His head turned slightly, his sharp eyes flicking back to meet yours. “You can… stay if you want—or, uh, can you stay?”

The words tumbled out of you, shy but sincere, and you weren’t entirely sure what you expected. Logan hesitated, his fingers flexing slightly as they rested on the doorframe.

“I don’t wanna bother you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind.

“You won’t,” you said quickly, the corners of your lips curving into a small, nervous smile. “I mean, unless you snore.”

That earned a faint chuckle from him. “You’re the one who’s sick, darlin’. Sure it’s not the other way around?”

You laughed softly, the sound fading into a sniffle. “Jean says I get cuddly when I’m sick,” you admitted, fiddling with the hem of your blanket. “Last time, she stayed in here with me instead of with Scott.”

Logan’s brows lifted at that, a mix of surprise and something else flickering in his expression. He stepped fully into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. “Alright,” he said after a long moment. “But if I’m stayin’, you’re restin’. Deal?”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to the bed as Logan pulled up the chair from the corner of the room. He turned it backward, settling into it with his arms crossed over the back.

But the sight of him there—close, but not close enough—made you hesitate. Gathering your courage, you patted the empty space on the bed beside you. “You could sit here, you know. It’s more comfortable than that chair.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to the spot, then back to you. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

Logan studied you for a moment longer before nodding. He rose from the chair and approached the bed, the mattress dipping slightly as he sat on the edge. When he didn’t move further, you reached out and tugged lightly on his sleeve.

“You don’t bite, do you?” you teased, the shyness in your voice tempered by a touch of humor.

That coaxed a smirk from him. “Not unless I’m provoked.”

You rolled your eyes but shifted to give him more room. What he didn’t expect—what surprised him to his core—was the way you shifted closer, curling into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your head rested on his shoulder, and one of your hands lightly gripped the fabric of his shirt.

“Jean was right,” you murmured sleepily, the warmth of him lulling you into comfort. “I do get cuddly when I’m sick.”

Logan swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing as he glanced down at you. His arm, tentative at first, came up to wrap around your shoulders, his hand resting lightly against your arm. His heart, which had weathered over a century of battles and losses, seemed to ache in a way it hadn’t in decades. Not since the last time you’d smiled at him like that—lifetimes ago.

“You’re fine, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a rumble. “Get some rest.”

You hummed in response, already half-asleep, your breathing steadying as you settled deeper into his side. Logan leaned his head back against the headboard, the faint scent of your shampoo lingering in the air between you.

He couldn’t remember where he was born. Couldn’t remember the faces of his parents, or the details of any life he’d had before them. But he remembered you—every life, every smile, every loss.

And as you rested against him, Logan vowed silently that this time, he’d do everything in his power to protect you. For as long as he could, for as long as fate allowed, he’d stay by your side.

---

Logan opened the kitchen door, his palm resting against it until it clicked open fully. You walked through without hesitation, balancing a pile of graded papers in one hand and a steaming mug of tea in the other. Your focus was elsewhere, likely on your day’s agenda, leaving you unaware of the small effort he made to keep the door steady for you.

“Thanks,” you murmured absently, not looking back as you continued into the hallway.

Logan followed behind, his boots a quiet, steady rhythm on the floor. He didn’t respond, didn’t need to—you’d said the same thing a dozen times this week alone, and each time, you hadn’t quite noticed who you were thanking. His lips tugged into a faint smirk as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

The hallway was bustling with students heading to classes, some chatting animatedly, others juggling books or laptops. Logan stepped closer to your side, subtly adjusting his pace to match yours as the two of you navigated the crowd.

One of the students, a wiry teenager with goggles perched on his head, nearly stumbled into you as he fiddled with a small gadget in his hands. Logan’s hand shot out, a firm but careful grip on your elbow guiding you out of the boy’s path.

“Eyes up,” Logan said, his tone gruff but not harsh.

“Sorry, Mr. Logan!” He called back, clutching his gadget and scurrying off.

You glanced up, startled for a moment, before flashing Logan a small, grateful smile. “That kid’s going to accidentally build a time machine one day.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh. “Probably already did. Just hasn’t figured it out yet.”

You shook your head, your smile lingering as you shifted the papers under your arm. Logan stayed close as the two of you weaved through the remaining students. When you reached the door to your classroom, you paused, glancing at him as he leaned against the frame.

“You’re not my shadow, are you?” you teased, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

“Guess you’d know if I was,” he quipped, the corner of his mouth twitching in a half-smile.

Rolling your eyes, you nudged the door open with your shoulder, juggling your tea and papers. Before you could get too far, Logan’s hand darted out, steadying the door before it could swing back against you.

“Thanks again,” you said, the words automatic as you made your way inside.

This time, Logan didn’t reply, watching as you set your things down on your desk and began sorting through them. You were focused, your brow furrowing slightly as you pulled a red pen from the pocket of your blazer and began marking something on one of the papers. He didn’t interrupt, but he didn’t leave either, leaning against the doorframe and letting his gaze linger just long enough to notice, once again, the faint sheen of gloss on your lips.

Logan clenched his jaw, willing the thought away as he straightened and stepped into the room. “You eat anything yet?”

“Hm?” You glanced up, your pen pausing mid-sentence. “Oh, uh, not yet. I’ve got a granola bar somewhere.”

Logan raised a brow, unimpressed. “That’s not breakfast, Y/N.”

“It’s close enough,” you argued, though your voice lacked any real conviction.

“C’mon,” Logan said, jerking his head toward the hallway. “Kitchen’s still got pancakes out.”

You hesitated, glancing between your papers and the door. “I should really get through these—”

“They’ll wait,” he cut in, his tone firm but not unkind. “And so will the kids. You’re not gonna teach ‘em anything on an empty stomach.”

You sighed, relenting with a small smile. “Alright, alright. Lead the way.”

Logan smirked, stepping aside to let you pass before falling into step behind you. As the two of you walked, he couldn’t help the faint sense of satisfaction that crept over him.

You might not have noticed the small things—the doors, the guiding hand, the way he made sure to keep you in his sight in a crowd—but he did. He noticed everything, because every moment with you, no matter how ordinary, felt like a fleeting gift.

And if there was one thing Logan had learned in the countless lifetimes he’d lived, it was how to savor the things worth remembering.

---

You sat on the bench in the Danger Room, the kids, Rogue, Bobby, Peter, and Kitty, had just left, Jean and Ororo behind them.

You let out a deep sigh, looking down at your water bottle, clutched between your hands.

Jean leaned against the bench beside you, her expression calm but thoughtful as she took in your posture—the hunched shoulders, the downturned gaze on the water bottle cradled in your hands.

"Rough session?" she asked gently, her voice breaking the quiet.

You exhaled slowly, barely lifting your head. "Not rough. Just... pointless."

Jean frowned, shifting slightly to face you more directly. "Pointless? You’re one of the smartest people here, Y/N. I’ve seen the way you handle yourself in simulations. You’re anything but pointless."

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. "Simulations are one thing. But in real life, what can I do? Everyone else has powers that actually help in a fight. Logan, you, Ororo... even Bobby. And then there’s me—slowing down time but not actually stopping anything from happening. It’s like... I’m just a delay button, not a solution."

Jean tilted her head, her brows knitting in concern. "You don’t think slowing time is a solution?"

"Not when it’s all I can do," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can’t fight. I can’t stop an attack. I can’t... save anyone. Not really."

Jean was quiet for a moment, her gaze softening. When she spoke again, her tone was steady but full of warmth. "Y/N, the reason so many of us are still here—why we’ve survived the fights we’ve been through—is because of people like you. People who think ahead, who create opportunities for the rest of us to make it out alive. Slowing time isn’t just a delay; it’s giving us a chance to breathe, to act, to survive."

You didn’t look up, but her words seemed to reach you, making your grip on the water bottle loosen slightly. Jean shifted closer, her hand resting lightly on your arm.

"You’ve saved people more times than you realize," she continued. "It’s easy to think that because you’re not throwing punches or shooting fire, you’re not contributing. But the truth is, without you, a lot of us wouldn’t have the chance to do those things in the first place."

You blinked, swallowing hard against the lump forming in your throat. "I just... feel like I’m not enough. Like I’ll never be enough."

Jean’s hand squeezed your arm gently, grounding you. "I’ve known you long enough to know that’s not true. And I think, deep down, you know it too. It’s not about being like everyone else, Y/N. It’s about being you—and using what you have to make a difference. And you do make a difference."

Her words hung in the air, settling in your chest like a quiet reassurance. You nodded slowly, still unsure but comforted nonetheless.

"You’re not alone in this," Jean added softly, her gaze turning slightly distant as if searching for something she couldn’t quite grasp. "We’re a team, and we’ve got your back. Just like you’ve got ours."

You managed a small, grateful smile, finally looking up at her. "Thanks, Jean. Really."

She smiled back, but there was something in her eyes—a flicker of something not quite Jean. It passed quickly, but not before you noticed it.

"You’ll see," she said, her tone steady again. "You’re stronger than you think."

And as she rose from the bench, her hand briefly brushing against your shoulder, you couldn’t shake the feeling that her words meant more than she let on. As if she knew something neither of you could quite explain.

---

You were making a simple pasta dish for yourself for dinner, it’s not something you do often, but since you didn’t have anything to do this Saturday night, you thought ‘why not?’

The pasta was almost done, the garlic and onions were caramelized in the pan, and now all you needed was the small can of tomato paste in the cupboard, way above your head.

You got on your tiptoes and reached up, your fingers grazing the can but unable to fully grasp it. You let out a huff as you stood back on your feet, frustration bubbling.

“Fine,” you muttered, glancing at the counter. Climbing up was starting to look like your only option.

You grabbed the edge of the counter and were just about to boost yourself up when a low voice from behind startled you.

“Need a hand, sweetheart?”

You spun around so quickly you nearly lost your balance. Logan leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He looked like he’d been there for a moment, just watching.

“I—uh,” you stammered, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Logan pushed off the frame, walking toward you in that unhurried way of his. “Not my fault you’re so focused on... whatever it is you’re makin’ over there.” His eyes flicked to the stove before landing back on you. “What’s goin’ on? You stuck?”

You folded your arms, trying to mask your embarrassment. “I can get it. I was just about to—”

“Climb up there like a squirrel?” Logan teased, one brow arching. Without waiting for your reply, he stepped closer, his hand settled on your lower back as he reached over your head. Logan held the can of tomato paste out to you, the smirk still lingering as his eyes scanned your face. “There. Easy enough, yeah?”

You took the can from his hand, feeling the warmth of his fingers brush against yours. “I had it under control,” you replied, though your tone lacked conviction.

“Sure, sweetheart.” His voice was low and teasing, but not mocking. “Looked like you were about to break out a ladder for that one.”

Your cheeks flushed as you turned toward the stove, trying to focus on your cooking rather than the way his presence seemed to fill the room. “Thanks, though,” you muttered, keeping your back to him.

“Don’t mention it.” Logan didn’t move away, instead leaning against the counter beside you, watching as you added the paste to the pan. “So, this what you do for fun on a Saturday night? Whip up a fancy dinner for one?”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. “Not exactly. Just didn’t feel like the dining hall tonight.” You stirred the mixture, trying not to let his teasing tone get to you. “Besides, it’s not that fancy.”

He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Smells pretty damn good for ‘not that fancy.’”

You felt your lips twitch into a small smile despite yourself. “It’s just pasta.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still impressed.” He nodded toward the pan. “You always this good in the kitchen, or is this a one-time thing?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Definitely not a regular thing. Usually, I stick to coffee and toast.”

“Figures.” Logan reached over, snagging a piece of garlic bread from the plate on the counter before you could stop him. He took a bite, his smirk deepening. “Not bad, though. You might be sellin’ yourself short.”

“Hey!” You playfully swatted at his arm. “That’s supposed to go with dinner.”

He held the bread just out of your reach, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’m just helpin’ you taste-test. Gotta make sure it’s up to standard.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Fine. Just don’t eat all of it.”

“Scout’s honor,” he said, raising his free hand in mock sincerity before taking another bite.

You turned your attention back to the stove, but you were acutely aware of Logan’s lingering gaze. It wasn’t uncomfortable—if anything, it was grounding, like he was anchoring you in the moment. Still, it made your stomach flip in a way you weren’t entirely prepared for.

“So,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter, less teasing. “What’re you doin’ with the rest of your night?”

You shrugged, keeping your eyes on the bubbling sauce. “Probably nothing. Maybe read a little.”

“That Physics of Time book you’re always lugging around?”

You blinked at him in surprise. “You noticed that?”

“Hard not to.” He leaned a little closer, his voice dropping to that rough, intimate tone that always seemed to make your pulse quicken. “You carry it like it’s part of you.”

“Well, it’s... interesting,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “And, you know, kind of relevant.”

Logan chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Guess it is, huh? Still, doesn’t sound like much of a Saturday night. You ever think about takin’ a break? Havin’ some fun?”

Your lips parted, caught off guard by the question. “I... guess I just don’t think about it much.”

He tilted his head, studying you with a look that felt uncomfortably close to knowing. “Maybe you should. Life’s short, darlin’.”

You couldn’t help the small, ironic smile that tugged at your lips. “Coming from you?”

His expression softened, something almost wistful flickering in his eyes. “Even for me.”

The moment hung between you, quiet and heavy, until the sauce began to hiss and pop, snapping you back to the present. You turned to the stove, giving the pot a quick stir. “You staying for dinner, or was this just a drive-by teasing?”

Logan smirked, stepping back and crossing his arms. “Depends. You invitin’ me?”

You hesitated, then glanced at him over your shoulder. “Maybe.”

His grin widened, and for a moment, you saw something behind it—a flicker of something deeper, something he wasn’t quite ready to say. “Guess I’ll stick around then.”

You turned the burner off before going to a bottom cabinet and pressing the wall inside, revealing five wine glasses and a bottle of wine. You grabbed two glasses and the bottle before placing them on the counter.

Logan raised an eyebrow, “so there is alcohol here.”

You chuckled, “it’s mine and Jean’s secret. We had Scott build a secret compartment a while ago for us.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a smirk as he reached for the wine bottle. “Scott, huh? He’s got a soft spot for his favorite students, I take it?”

You rolled your eyes, pulling a corkscrew from the drawer. “More like Jean batted her eyelashes, and he caved. I’m just lucky to reap the benefits.”

“Smart move.” Logan opened the bottle with ease, the cork popping with a soft thwip. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You blinked, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Logan poured two glasses, sliding one toward you. “Don’t sell yourself short. A secret wine stash, cooking skills you claim are ‘basic,’ and a brain that can bend time—pretty damn impressive if you ask me.”

You laughed softly, taking the glass. “When you put it like that, it sounds cooler than it is.”

Logan lifted his glass, his eyes meeting yours over the rim. “Trust me, it’s cool.”

For a moment, you were caught in his gaze, the easy confidence in his expression making your pulse quicken. Then you shook your head, breaking the moment. “Okay, well, to secret wine stashes and mediocre pasta.”

Logan clinked his glass against yours. “I’ll drink to that.”

You both took a sip, the smooth wine adding a warmth that settled over you as the night unfolded. Logan leaned against the counter, watching you plate the pasta and sauce. You felt his presence like a magnet, steady and impossible to ignore. When you finally handed him a plate, he took it with a nod of thanks, heading toward the table without being asked.

“You always this much of a gentleman?” you teased, carrying your own plate to the table.

“Depends who I’m with,” Logan replied, pulling out your chair. His voice was casual, but there was a weight behind the words that made your breath hitch.

You settled into your seat, trying not to overthink it. “Guess I should feel special then.”

“You should,” Logan said simply, taking the seat across from you. He didn’t elaborate, but the look he gave you said plenty.

The two of you ate in companionable silence for a moment before Logan spoke again. “Jean know you’re hiding wine from her boyfriend?”

You nearly choked on your pasta. “She’s the one who helped me hide it! I’m not about to risk her wrath by spilling the secret.”

Logan chuckled, his grin wide. “Good to know you’ve got a rebellious streak.”

“It’s not rebellion,” you said, twirling your fork. “It’s... strategic resource allocation.”

He laughed, a low, rich sound that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The conversation flowed easily after that, ranging from light teasing about your cooking to him recounting a story about a bar fight he once got into over a bad jukebox selection. You found yourself relaxing, the usual shyness that often held you back melting away under Logan’s steady, easy presence.

After dinner, you leaned back in your chair, sipping the last of your wine. “Thanks for sticking around. It was... nice.”

“Nice, huh?” Logan leaned back, resting his arm on the back of his chair. “High praise.”

You laughed softly. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” His tone softened, and his gaze lingered on you a moment longer than necessary. “You’re good company, Y/N. Don’t sell yourself short on that either.”

You ducked your head, hiding your smile behind your glass. “Thanks.”

Logan stood, gathering both plates before you could protest. “I’ll get these.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he cut you off gently, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You watched him move to the sink, his broad shoulders a comforting presence even as he washed the dishes. A warmth settled in your chest that had nothing to do with the wine.

For the first time in a long time, the quiet of a Saturday night didn’t feel so lonely.

And Logan had to ignore the faint pink stain on your wine glass in the shape of your lips.

remember to go read the next chapter for the full story!

[phyllisamaryllis]

HOW RICK PORTRAYED THE GREEK GODS AND WHY IT WAS SO IMPORTANT

So people are going to notice that a lot of my complaints aren't just in PJO but extend to media portraying Greek Myths in general. But I want to focus on Percy Jackson and not other media, so I'm going to focus on Percy Jackson and not other media.

Starting off.................

The way Rick portrayed the Greek Gods was important because PJO was the most read book series that heavily centered around Greek Mythology he pretty much destroyed their images at the time.

There's an entire anti Percy Jackson tag as well as an anti PJO tag for you to scroll through to see how Rick Riordan portrayal of the Greek Gods was terrible. Be my guest and treat yourself to it. Search it up.

There are also people like @alatismeni-theitsa, @margaretkart and @katerinaaqu to ask for correct information on Greek Mythology. So be their guest too.

Today, we have PJO fans running around having incorrect perceptions of the gods and flinging hate and abuse at the real Greek Gods while Greeks have to suffer through all this bullshit.

The torture is REAL. Just ask them.

I mean, you have people claiming that they are the CHILDREN of VIRGIN GODDESSES.

Artemis, Athena, Hera and Hestia don't have any demigod children. They can't have any demigod children.

If you really want to, call yourself their chosen champion. Not their child. It's disrespectful to Greek culture and religion to do otherwise.

Rick Riordan read about and taught Greek Myths in school, so he must have read the actual versions of the myths.

And knowing these, he decided to twist them into his terrible, inferior, crappy versions.

That man literally wrote Hephaestus, a rapist, as a poor guy trying to get a girl, oh, he's so sad and pathetic, and Athena's such a mean bitch for not accepting his advances even if she doesn't want it!

I'm not joking.................and I don't have words for this. I just don't.

Riordan doesn't really have any tact, does he? None at all.

And no, Greek people cannot get away from these horrible portrayals, because there are too many Percy Jackson fans clogging up the Greek God tags with their Rick Riordan written PJO versions of the gods, which is kind of terrible for people who just want to read about real Greek Mythology, not Percy Jackson. And this happens in real life, too. I mean, people using PJO as a substitute for real Greek Mythology.

Pro tip for PJO tumblr users: if you're typing about a god, use the Greek God PJO tag, like PJO Apollo or PJO Aphrodite, not just Apollo or Aphrodite, ok? Thanks for reading this.

There are many common misconceptions about Greek Mythology due to Percy Jackson. So, if you're not sure about something, please search it up on verified academic websites or ask real people-you can do this online too.

Now I am aware that Rick has the creative license to portray Greek Gods however he wants-

but let us as educated people all be aware of the fact that we should not always take portrayals of the Greek Gods in modern media depicting them seriously and if you want to read up on the actual gods, then read the myths and the Odyssey, Iliad etc.

Now, to name another shockingly appalling writing choice-

In the very first book, WW2 is atrociously used as a plot point

Yes, that's right-Rick Riordan, beloved author of a bestselling franchise for children and adults alike, reduces WW2, one of the most bloody and complex conflicts in history with a multitude of a reasons for its existence, to a fight between fictional demigods of the Big Three simply to have a reason for the Big 3 not to have children.

Do you actually know how serious this is?

Millions of people even today are affected by the WW2 due to generational trauma and abusive parents. WW2 killed millions of soldiers and civilians alike, and the Holocaust was so horrible that some people would faint just reading about what happened. I will not go into the bloody, gory details here, but if you still don't believe this, go search up WW2.

To have Rick Riordan portray it in such a callous way, to make a literal Greek God sire war criminals in modern history, when there were other methods he could have used to intertwine the mythological world and demigods and history.........it makes you wonder what was running through his mind at the time.

There were so many other ways he could have portrayed the prophecy-make it so that Big 3 children were constantly causing natural disasters and fictional wars in the mythological world, not the real world, and constantly dividing the cabins at CHB. Maybe they had their own war parallel to WW2. There were so many ways to do this- and none of them had to do what was ultimately done.

PJO WWII IS THE ULTIMATE INSULT TO THE GREEKS

What makes this even WORSE is that during World War II, the Greeks were in fact part of the ALLIES.

The Allies were fighting against the Axis powers, the latter of which contained Nazi Germany, Fascist Italy and Japan.

When the Nazis invaded Greece-well, it's never a good thing for a country to be invaded by enemies during a time of war.

At least 250,000 people died during the Axis occupation. And the country's economy and infrastructure were ruined quite horribly.

And generations of Greeks are traumatised because of this, even today. Not just Greeks-thousands of people. Millions of people all over the globe are still traumatized from this war, be it direct experience or generational trauma.

And to make ANCIENT GREEK GODS responsible for WWII is simply, totally and absolutely unforgivable on Rick Riordan's part.

To make the Greeks' enemies the sons of their ancient gods........no. Just no.

And yes, Hitler is a son of Hades in canon. Rick later changed it because of the backlash. He's absolutely disgusting.

WHY THE HELL ARE THE GREEK GODS IN AMERICA?

Now.........the Greek Gods are in the USA!

But..........they're Greek, right, which means that they should be in Greece! So why now are they in the USA?

Well.........here's Rick's explanation for it.

Apparently, the Greek Gods started with the fire of the Western Civilisation and then moved onto other places.

'Flame of the West' crap my ass. Search it up-there's this great article called the Whitening Thief. Read that.

Apparently, without the flame of Westernisation, there would be only darkness and chaos. As someone who's not part of a Western country, this is pretty racist to countries like mine and I'm pointing it out.

@margaretkart

@alatismeni-theitsa

@katerinaaqu

These are all good blogs to disillusion yourself with Percy Jackson and learn about what really happened in Greek Mythology.

And I just want to say-Percy Jackson is an ok start for venturing into Greek Mythology as long as you've read up some basic background beforehand, but-

But-

Do NOT, under ANY circumstances whatsoever, take RICK RIORDAN'S portrayal of the Greek Gods as the REAL Greek Gods.

Never do that. That is the one thing that must not be done.

Hera doesn't just love perfect families. She literally lives in the most dysfunctional family to ever exist. And she loves you if you try. She really does.

Hades would not threaten to eternally torture literal children just because of what their parents did to him. His literal job is to uphold justice in the underworld, and sending a child to Tartarus just because her father angered him and he couldn't punish the father isn't justice now, is it?

Ares loves his children and as for why Rick made him hate them-

Rick has a hate boner against the war god, that I will swear on. Read this post and the explanation for why Rick shouldn't have done it.

And the gods are actively depicted as cruel, neglectful, abusive parents, when in the myths they are quite the opposite.

Real Aphrodite loves her son Aeneas and frequently comes to his aid on the battlefield. She also tells him to not marry a woman (TO GIVE UP LOVE, HER LITERAL DOMAIN) so that he can fulfil his destiny of becoming a king.

Real Ares loves all his children. He tries to avenge his son Cycnus when Heracles kills him with good reason for being a cruel tyrant-and they were even riding chariots together when Heracles came across them. He avenged his daughter even at the cost of being punished by Poseidon and Zeus, neither of whom liked him.

Now, what I want to tell you is that the PJO Greek Gods are Rick's interpretation of them.

An interpretation of a Greek God by a modern author (who isn't Greek, by the way, please take note) is not the same as the real Greek God. Please understand this and accordingly adjust your views.

This also goes for Madeline Miller, Rachel Smythe, etc.

And lastly, one of the most ironic things is that though Richard uses the Greek Gods in his books, he has never ever added a single Greek character in it.

I'm talking about a modern Greek demigod who comes from Greece. Imagine them teaching the other demigods Modern Greek and Greek culture, language and traditions!

It's very ironic that he includes Chinese, African and Native American culture in his works and then turns around and pretend that Greek culture doesn't exist.

The demigods are in Athens, but for how much time before they go back to America? Barely any at all. And nothing learnt about culture while they're there.

(No hate to his already shitty representation. I'm merely making a point that there should have been a Greek character in a book that heavily centers on Greek Gods and their children, even if it's in America.)

RICK DOESN'T USE GREEK CULTURE OR RELIGION AND IN FACT INSULTS GREECE IN HIS WORKS

So, if you've read the title, let me tell you something-

Do you know that Greek Gods are still worshipped?

Some of you do, some of you don't, but let me tell you, they are still worshipped.

And accordingly, you must respect them and their worshippers, just like you would do for Christians. You cannot maliciously ridicule and condemn Hellenistic Pagans who worship Greek Gods just because they are a minority.

And if you've read the myths and think that the Greek Gods being cruel......

They're not, actually. I mean, yes, you think they're cruel, but most of the myths aren't taken literally by Hellenistic Pagans who worship Greek Gods.

What the Greek Gods do is supposed to be symbolic.

Hades kidnapping Persephone symbolises death ripping children from their grieving parents' arms. It's an explanation for the seasons and it finally represents the fact that daughters could be given away by their fathers with the mother having no say in it whatsoever.

Demeter's grief and her actually being able to do something about her daughter's marriage and Persephone being returned to her is supposed to be a comforting tale for grieving mothers who have lost their daughter.

Artemis' cruelty towards certain people? It represents the cruelty of nature towards humans and what it will do to humans if they provoke it.

Zeus' infidelity and abuse of his power? Well, it represents what kings do. Zeus represented the kings of Ancient Greece, and kings abused their power and had many mistresses besides having a wife.

Many Greek kings also claimed to sons of Zeus or descendants of the gods, so it the idea that Zeus had many affairs with ladies and princesses of royal lineages was conceived.

The link above provides many good reasons for why the Greeks wrote Zeus having many affairs with mortal women, so check it out.

Also, Zeus is symbolic of storms. Storms are volatile and raging, and so was Zeus at times. He was a god of storms and as such symbolised them.

Hera punishing the mistresses and children in a jealous rage to bother Zeus? That's what queens did back in the day since they couldn't directly punish their husbands.

Dionysus being charming and fun but also being mad and wild? Well, he represents breaking away from social norms and going fully wild. Also, wine can make people fun and charming, but at the same time, it can turn people into mad, raging creatures.

The point is, most of what the Greek Gods did was symbolic to their domains. And no, contrary to popular thought, Greeks did not live in fear of their Gods striking them down every moment. In fact, many of them genuinely devotionally loved their gods.

And Greek Gods themselves are very kind and benevolent to their devotees, even today, as long as you don't provoke or seriously insult them. Just ask Hellenistic Pagans who are their devotees and you'll be surprised at the results. I'm serious.

The problem here is that we're trying to moralize divinity.

According to the Greeks, gods weren't humans. They were modelled after humans, but they were above humans and human flaws.

And the Abrahamic gods do terrible things too, but do we mock them? No, we don't, because their worshippers say that they are above humans and human flaws, so similarly, the Greek Gods are above humans and our flaws.

CONCLUSION

And no one cares about the fact that a guy is objectifying and making money off a culture all the while removing its significance and turning it into a joke.

Even though Greeks have a millennia old and rich culture, people are always bastardizing it. Non-Greeks really must stop doing this. It's very culturally disrespectful.

I've also seen grown adults saying that the Greek Gods are American so they're allowed to do what they want with them now, and that's absolutely disgusting. They literally stated that the Greek Gods were American now, right out in the open on Twitter.

Let me add one last thing here.

Rick Riordan has a series called Trials of Apollo in which Apollo is cast down to Earth as a human for the third time to defeat Python.

What I want to talk about here is Apollo's human name-Lester Papadopoulos.

Papadopoulos is a common Greek Christian surname that means 'son of a priest'. One of Apollo's domains in prophecy and he has many priests, so maybe this is a reference to that.

But what is most upsetting is that this name is used for comedy.

It's belittled, laughed at and ridiculed for its longevity and hard pronunciation when it is in fact a very normal Greek surname. Even if it's not an American surname, even if it doesn't sound normal and sounds ridiculous to you, it's not ridiculous to others and you should respect it.

Can you imagine how Greek people with that last name read the books and felt bad about their last name? Or felt furious. I know that I would be FURIOUS if my last name was used like that.

And the fact is that Papadopoulos isn't even that hard to pronounce! It's literally just 5 syllables that you can repeat a few times until it doesn't twist your tongue.

And if you can't repeat this simple name, then you need to go back to kindergarten. Hell, go back to preschool even.

And there are people who have the audacity to say that the Greek Gods belong to America and are American. Grown adults, actually, on Twitter, no less. Tweeting it for the whole world to see their absolute foolishness and audacity.

They're pretty tactless, huh?

The Greek Gods were and always will be GREEK. Foreigners are not their rightful descendants-the Greeks are (Greek immigrants included). I mean...........this is bizzarre.

To conclude, (really conclude this time) though it's a series heavily entwined with Greek Gods, the only Greek thing about the series is the Gods. There's no Greek culture, religion or language, and even the Greek Gods are heavily Americanised, which is pretty disappointing.

(Side note: If you think anything I've said is wrong, tell me. I'll correct it immediately.)

@fandomloverangel

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Pent Up 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you seek validation through online correspondence with incarcerated men, only for one to lock you down in turn.

Characters: convict/excon!Thor (silverfox)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You can sense the reluctance as Thor drags his finger around the crumbs on his plate. You cannot mirror the sentiment. You are desperate to get away. You wipe your fingers with a napkin and cough. 

“Thanks, uh, again, that was really nice but I should probably go.” You look around evasively. 

“Oh?” He utters flatly. “Should? We could go for a walk? See a movie? I must admit, I didn’t get to see much when I was away. I have much to catch on.” 

You make yourself look at him. Despite his size and strength, even his age, there’s something very puppyish about him. That twinkle in his eye gleams with hopefulness, a stark contrast to your own doom. 

“Well, you know, I gotta get back to the house. My stepdad’s super paranoid and I did say I’d hold down the fort, so... yeah.” 

He nods as his brows arch curiously. 

“They’re off on vacation and he thinks the neighbour’s been dumping grass trimming in the back...” 

“Away? Without you?” Thor wonders. 

You have to keep from visibly cringing. Again, you said too much. Just like online. Just like how you got yourself into this mess. You give a sheepish smile. 

“Well, I have work so... just couldn’t make it work.” 

“But you have the house to yourself?” He asks. 

You stare at him and nod. Shit. 

“If your stepfather worries, would it not be better for you to have some protection? My queen, I must admit, to think of you all alone, it makes me worry,” he taps on the edge of his plate. “All those months in prison, I worried. I could not wait to be out, not only to look upon your beauty in the flesh but to make sure that you are safe.” 

Your breath clogs in your chest. You squirm. Your lies always just compound into a trap. This is why honesty is best yet you know telling him the whole truth won’t help you now. 

“Well, maybe you can walk me home?” You shrug. “Like I said, my stepdad. Super controlling, I don’t think he’d be okay with me having company.” 

He narrows his eyes and sits back, puffing his large chest as he strokes his beard thoughtfully. “Mm, yes, this stepfather of yours, he does sound as controlling as a prison guard. Well, my queen, you needn’t mind the peasants. Your king is here.” 

“Thor, please, it’s fine. I... he’s not that bad and I... I live there so... it’s the least I can do,” you shrug. 

“Not for much longer. You should not live with him if he cannot trust you. If he cannot see you for the treasure you are,” he crosses his arms, his muscles bulging in the flannel. “You deserve a castle of your own.” 

“Right, uh, that’s so sweet but really, I’m tired. I need to go,” you cautiously stand and put your empty mug on the small plate. 

“Yes, my queen, you have blessed me on this happy day, when at last we are together,” he stands and gathers his own dishes before reaching for yours. “Do not trouble yourself. Allow me to serve you as you deserve.” 

You let him take the plate. You watch him go to the counter and leave them there. You hurry for the door. Not quick enough. He’s there to meet you. He opens it in his gentlemanly way and you step out. 

“I have to catch the bus, you know? So you don’t need to come all this way.” 

“The bus? No, my queen, I have a vehicle,” he assures as he catches up to you. You wince as he wraps his arm around you, his hand firmly on your cushy hip.  

You touch his knuckles as you squeak. “Oh.” 

“Forgive me, queen, I cannot help myself,” he growls. “I finally have you near...” he squeezes as he leads you the sidewalk, “and you are softer than I could know.” 

“Please, er,” you look around. “I... not in public.” 

“Yes, my queen,” he recoils, dragging his hand across your back with a huff. “I understand, you would save our love only for us.” 

“Um, sure, yes, exactly,” you agree frantically. 

“This is me,” he points to a big red truck.  

You slow and eye the bright paint. It’s not what you expect. It looks brand new. You eye him warily. He wouldn’t steal on day one? Well, you know his record. He’s done worse. You shiver at the thought. 

He opens the door once more. He helps you up into the lifted truck. You’re dizzy, not just from the height. This whole situation is disorienting. 

You stare through the windshield. Pedestrians trawl by lazily, ignorant to your predicament. If they knew, they’d judge you anyway. Stupid girl. 

You should’ve left it alone. You should have stayed alone. Nope, you just needed to feel special. You needed to let these dirty old criminals tell you the same things they’d say to a forty-year-old. It was never real. Or never should have been. 

“My queen,” he snaps in his seat belt. You glance over at how it stretches over his thick torso. “You must secure yourself.” 

Your eyes flick back and forth. You cough and nod. You click the seat belt in and fight to release the air trapped in your chest. 

“Do you work tomorrow, my love?” He asks as he turns the engine. 

You brace the interior of the door and force the breath through your nose. Your blood is boiling. You can’t think fast enough to lie. Haven't you done enough of that? 

“Nope,” you gulp. 

“Perfect, then I shall plan us a wonderful day,” he proclaims. “And we will be together and happy.” 

“Thor, I... I have chores,” you eke out. That’s not a lie. You told your stepdad you’d take care of the place and you slacked on the vacuuming and laundry. 

“Hm, yes, a very responsible woman. It is how I know you will make a good wife. Well, I could assist--” 

“Wife--” You squeak and curl your fingers around the handle of the door. “Thor.” 

“Yes, well, we will take it one step at a time,” he grins at the road as he steers. Somehow, he seems too small for the gargantuan vehicle. “I’ve not yet kissed you as I’ve longed to. Held you. Worshipped you from head to toe.” A breath rumbles up from his chest and plumes from his nose in a growl. He shifts in the seat. “You cannot know how you’ve saved me, queen. You kept me good. You got me out.” 

You press yourself to your seat and pray for spontaneous combustion. He stops at a light and hums. His large fingers tap the ridges of the wheel. 

“Which way do I go, my queen?” 

You point. Your voice is stuck deep down in your gut. He turns and you blink away the horror. You manage to pluck out a sliver of courage. You use it to guide him to your stepfather’s house. The thought of being away from him is what gets you through. 

He stops at the curb as you declare your arrival. He reaches and grips the seat above your shoulder. You pause as your hand rests on the seat belt. Your heart pounds. Is he going to do something? 

“My queen, I hate to part so soon after waiting so long,” he slips his hand free and strokes your cheek. “But to look upon your beauty, to have you near at all, will soothe me for a time.” 

He cradles your face, his thumb rubbing your cheekbone. His touch alone dwarfs you. Your brain swirls like overcooked soup. You’re going to pass out. 

“I-- thank you, I... that’s-- thanks for the ride but I...” You cautiously look away. 

“Yes, yes, I promised to deliver you unscathed.” He retracts his touch and inhales deeply. 

He undoes his seat belt as he puffs out his reluctance. He gets out and you unbuckle. He opens your door and lifts you out before you can resist. You yelp, once more startled by his easy strength. 

He places you on your feet and you don’t think before you grab him for stability. Your legs are hollow and shaking. The longer he’s around, the more dire, the more real it all is. 

“Allow me to escort you to the door. For safekeeping,” he hooks his arm through yours and guides you up the walk. 

You move on instinct alone. The instinct to get away. You stop at the door and pull away to find your keys. You feel his gaze on you. 

“Before I leave, my queen, a kiss?” He sounds as nervous as you are.  

You look at him, stunned by the vulnerability in his voice. You make a noise and wet the roof of your mouth. Your chest fills with sand. Your lips open and close. 

“Okay?” You utter. 

His cheeks pinken slightly. You stare at him. Why did you say that? 

He smiles and puts his hand on your shoulder as he makes you face him. You quiver as he bends and his other hand comes up under your chin. You squeak as his mouth meets yours. His tongue flicks across your lips but does not delve deeper. 

He parts with a hum. You stare wide-eyed. His tongue glides out to taste his lips. You babble. 

“My queen? Are you unwell?” 

“I never...” you trail off and shake your head. 

You yank your keys free of your bag and face the door. He stays close, “you never kissed a man? Only me?” He wonders. “You saved yourself for me, my queen. I am honoured.” 

You choke and struggle to open the door. Heat encases your body. You push the door inward and it hits the side table just inside. 

“Uh, yeah, er, bye,” you flit through and quickly swing the door shut.  

You lock it and lean into the wood for good measure. You blink and press your back to the door. The smart screen on the side table shows Thor on the doorbell cam. He runs his hand down the door before he goes, his steps heavy. 

You blow out a breath and sink down onto the mat. You sit and stare down the hall as you listen to the engine turn. You stay there until it rumbles off down the street. 

Your daze is broken by the jitter of your phone. You blindly take it out. It’s Andy. Shit. 

You swipe the call away and get up. You leave your shoes by the door and head up to the guest room. You toss your bag on the bed and pace around with your phone. 

Do you call the cops? What did Thor do? You’ve watched those TV shows on stalkers. You’ve seen the horror stories of indifference. Take notes. That’s what they say. What good are notes going to do against a man like that? 

You yipe as your phone shakes again. Andy, leave me alone. You answer, just to get him off your back. 

“Hi,” you answer sharply. 

He sighs. “What did I say about guests?” 

“Huh?” 

“I said none, didn’t I?” He challenges. You blink, confused. 

“What?” You stop and frown at the wall. The door cam. He checks that app incessantly. “No, they just drove me back.” 

“Is that all?” He scoffs. You know he saw it all. You want to throw up. 

“Andy, please, he’s gone--” 

“Bit old for you,” he snorts. 

You shake your head, “I’m an adult.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” he clucks. “You’re lucky your mom took the kids for a hike. I’m sure she’d be less than impressed to see you doing that.” 

“I...” you shrug. He hates everything you do. 

“I didn’t think you were that kind of girl,” he says. Your stomach knots. What does he mean? “You always were so nice.” 

You sniff, “it won’t happen again.” 

“Hm,” he tisks, “not any of my business. It’s just my house.” 

“I get it. Okay?” 

“Do you? You know exactly what you’re doing with that old man?” He sneers. 

“What do you care?” You blurt out. “You hate me.” 

He tuts again, “I don’t know where you got that from.” 

You wallow in silence. You can’t handle this right now. “Okay, Andy. I’m sorry.” 

“Hm, was that so hard?” He sighs again. “Don’t forget to mop the kitchen.” 

You hold back a heave of your own. How does he always know? You nod as your hand shakes around the phone. Your stepdad is nothing compared to your real problem. 

“Yes, sir.” 

He hums, “don’t be like that.” 

“Okay, Andy, I’ll mop right now.” 

“Good,” he preens victoriously. “And I’ll keep this little secret between us.” 

“Right, er, bye.” 

You hang up before your skin melts off your bones. Something about his tone has your nerves roiling. He always talks down to you. Like you’re stupid. A burden.  

Well, you’re just the baggage your mother brought to the marriage. He’s ready to offload you completely, and it might just happen sooner than he knows. The more you think about it, you almost prefer the criminal to your own stepdad. 

[emmcfrxst]

Hear me out… lil blurb of old man Logan and reader just slow dancing together to find comfort, despite all of the evil going on around them 😭

okay so i got carried away and tweaked the prompt a little bit. this is fluff with a spoonful of angst. little more than 900 words. reader’s gender/characteristics are not specified but it’s implied that you’re shorter than logan. putting the drabble under the cut as to not clog the tags <3 inspired by lyrics from The Mountain Goats’ song Sax Rohmer #1

The soft melody of the rain outside harmonizes with the dull buzzing of the old, beat up fridge you’re leaning against, a glass of water cradled between your palms. Your gaze falls on Logan as he walks through the front door, droplets of water gliding down the exhausted lines of his face. He says nothing as he sheds off his suit jacket, eyes lingering on you for a moment before he cocks his head to the side, an eyebrow arched in question.

“Couldn’t sleep?” his voice sends pleasant tingles down your spine; the rich, raspy quality of it enveloping you with his every word. You wish he’d speak more often— you would love nothing more than to drown in the depths of his voice, but Logan is a man of very few words, and you’ve long since made your peace with the realization that not much could ever change that part of him; and you wouldn’t want to, either. Your relationship with him may be complicated at times, but you remain certain of the depth of your feelings for Logan— you’ve come to love him as he is, not interested in trying to modify the results of over two centuries of pain and loss; his past is part of who he is, and you love that person wholeheartedly.

“Was waiting for you.” the softness of your tone seems to reflect the look in his eyes as he steps forward, clothes leaving a trail of droplets behind. Your eyelids flutter lightly once his hands are on you, curling around your hips like they have done so many times before— it’s been years of living by his side, but his touch still manages to set your insides alight with the kind of trepidation that one feels for their first love. You move forward until your chests are touching, rain quickly saturating the shirt you’re wearing— one of his; an older, more tattered one you’ve held onto all this time, as if needing proof of your shared past. You wrap your arms around Logan’s neck, tilting your head upwards so your foreheads can meet in a tender press, his beard tickling the top of your lip. Up close, you can see the array of new bruises making their home on his handsome face, a frown downturning the curve of your lips.

“M’okay.” he mumbles quietly, already expecting you to point it out— these days, you find that you don’t really have to say anything anymore, whether it be from the synchronization of your souls or your lover’s dismissal of any and every concern about the changes in his physicality; Logan has a way of soothing your worries away with a tender brush of his lips on your forehead, sincerity enveloping his tone like a warm blanket on a cold day. He knows his limits, and after a series of tearful confessions between the worn out sheets of your shared bed, he knows not to push them too much so as to not upset you. Nodding in response, you let your nose rub against his, comforted by the fact that he will tell you about the events that led to the purple blooms across his skin all in due time— it would end up being a group of drunks like usual, anyway; a small pack of testosterone filled idiots emboldened by the alcohol and refusing to pay for the services Logan offered them. Nothing I can’t handle, he would add afterwards, cradling the side of your face with a tenderness very few people have ever seen the great Wolverine exude. You’re okay with pushing all of these thoughts to the side for now, anyways— focus on him, because he kept his promise to you again today

I’ll always come home to you.

“Dance with me.” your lips brush against his as you whisper out your demand, making Logan raise one eyebrow at you playfully.

“There’s no music.” he states as if that was obvious— because it is, but under the dim lights of the kitchen, here with him in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care. A soft chuckle leaves him when you shrug lightly, your lover’s head tilting down to give you a proper kiss; the first one since he arrived a handful of minutes ago.

“Doesn’t matter. Just wanna feel you.” your explanation makes his heart ache, idly wondering if he would survive the tearing open of his chest in an attempt to gift you the appendage— it would be worth the pain, and there is no one else he would die for like the way he would for you. It belongs to you anyway, he thinks serenely.

“Alright.” he ends up saying, voice laced with layers upon layers upon layers of tenderness. He takes a moment to memorize the way your eyes light up at his acceptance, wanting to take the visual away with him were he to meet an untimely death the next time he steps through the threshold of your front door— he wouldn’t go down without a fight, but he’s old and tired and aching and although he denies it when it comes to you, he knows his body doesn’t heal the way it used to; there is a chance, every time he leaves for work, that he won’t be able to keep his promise of coming home to you, but he will try anyways— would come home with blood pouring out of his mouth if it meant getting to hold you for one more night. You make it worth it. You make him want to live.

You rest your forehead on his shoulder, body swaying along with his as he kisses the crown of your head in silent reverence.

Tomorrow may not be guaranteed, but none of that matters tonight as you wrap yourself around him, dancing around the kitchen in the moonlight, anchoring him with the steadiness of your heartbeat and giving him something to fight for for a little longer.

[milksnake-tea]

hey all !! normally i wouldn't engage in something like this on my blog, but considering that it's happening to a friend of mine, i felt i had an obligation to speak out. sorry for clogging up the tags/interrupting your scrolling 😭

tldr: @/hxveneru has stolen the works of my good friend @lowkeyren not once, but twice and is deleting any comments calling them out.

edit: they've changed their user to @/yneri; if you've blocked them already, this doesn't really matter bc they're still blocked :) reminder to not engage with them, they're just looking for attention. block and ignore!

i know. fun stuff. proof is under the cut.

please note that i'm doing this of my own accord, and the only involvement ren has had in this post is me asking for permission to post it since, well, it's an issue mainly affecting her.

also i should say beforehand but. don't ??? send them death threats please 😭 we are better than that. i'm mainly making this to spread awareness about the issue :)

reblogs are appreciated to spread awareness.

first stolen work is ren's oneshot "drunk words, sober thoughts!" for aventurine here.

as you can see, it was posted on June 15th, a little over two months before hxveneru posted their own oneshot.

for reference. hxveneru is a new blog and all of their posts are in the month of september, proven here via their archive.

and here's the two oneshots side by side, with ren's on the left and the stolen one on the right.

notice how the oneshots are exactly word-for-word except for the title and synopsis? even the author's note is exactly the same. obviously i can't fit the whole thing here, but this should be enough.

honestly it's. i have to laugh at the audacity to just copy and paste like hello???

and here's the second work that was copied, with hxveneru's "diff scenarios w hsr men" taking from drabbles from two of ren's works.

these are the two fics that were stolen from, with their dates attached. both are posted far before september. links are here and here if you want to double check..

now let's look at the drabbles that were - once again, copy and pasted. first is blade's, again with ren on the left and the stolen one on the right (ren's is circled bc they didn't take the hcs part).

and here is the sunday drabble that was stolen.

so far, those are the only works posted on their blog. i was also informed that they had apparently stolen from @/exuvianen's post here but deleted it, but since said post is deleted, we don't have evidence for that so take it with a grain of salt.

but yeah! just wanted to let yall know out there, especially since the plagiarized works have already gained some traction and have 100+ notes on them. i've talked about them vaguely on my blog before, so if this sounds familiar, yeah this is them.

plagiarism is shitty, i shouldn't have to say that. it is not that hard to just write your own stuff. i know validation and publicity make you feel good, but stealing someone else's hard work is not the way to go. writers already have enough to deal with. just don't do it. what's the point of getting validation if it's not even your work?

again, don't send death threats, please. that's a bit far, and they likely won't even do anything since the plagiarizer has already been called out before and this was their response.

not a single ounce of remorse or shame. people have gotten way too comfortable on here.

also "who the hell is ren anyway" bestie you blocked her 😭😭 and ignored her ask to you. that's why ren can't dm her to sort it out privately btw, in case you were wondering.

anyways! that's all i have to say, thanks for sticking around this long and have a great rest of your day. hxveneru if you see this. hi ig ?? id say smth to you but i doubt you'd take it seriously so i won't <3

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Phoenix

Written for day 5 of @subeddieweek AND for round one of the @steddiebingo

Prompts: Pain | Wax Play & Mirror Sex

Rated: E

Words: 2,363 [also on AO3]

Tags: Post-Vecna; Scars; Trauma; Survivor's guilt; Self-worth issues; Friends with benefits; Eddie has a crush on Steve; Wax play; Pain play; Bondage; Soft dom!Steve; Sub!Eddie; Mirror sex; Coming untouched; Shower sex

“I think we’re good to go,” Steve murmurs. Eddie can hear him move around behind his back. Knows he could see him, too, if he were to open his eyes, but that would require looking in the mirror, and he doesn’t wanna do that right now. “You okay?”

He hums a weak affirmative. He knows that’s not what they agreed on, but he doesn’t feel like talking either. His mind has drifted off to that pleasant, floaty state he likes so much, lulled in by Steve’s voice, the gentle pressure of the ropes on his naked skin, and the scent of the candles.

“Eddie.” 

Steve’s voice isn’t unkind. He’s never unkind with him, no matter how much Eddie barks and bites and provokes, no matter how much he tries to get a rise out of him. It’s goddamn annoying. 

It’s also strangely soothing. Knowing that, no matter what he does, no matter how hard he lashes out, Steve will always be there to keep him in check, patient and steady and firm like the ropes binding him to the chair. It makes him feel secure and grounded and held, and that’s what annoys him more than anything else. 

A hand wraps around his chin, just over his throat, tilting his head upwards with gentle pressure. 

“C’mon now, we had a deal. Eyes open.” 

He obeys. 

It takes a moment for Steve’s face to swim into focus above him, breathtakingly beautiful against the flickering, golden glow of the candles. Eddie blinks tears from his eyes and tells himself that it’s because he’s still adjusting to the light.

“There you are,” Steve praises. The tips of his fingers are warm as they caress the scar on Eddie’s jaw. “Can I get a color?” 

Eddie huffs. He's so goddamn polite. Like he isn't the one in control here. Like Eddie isn't bound and naked and helpless in front of him, utterly at his mercy, in so many more ways than one. 

Steve just holds him and waits. He's taken off his shirt while Eddie was spacing out, and the back of Eddie’s head is resting against his naked chest. His other hand has started playing with the tip of the braid he pulled Eddie’s hair into. To keep it out of the way. 

He's so fucking considerate, Eddie hates him for it. Hates himself more for how it makes him feel, how the knowledge of being cared for like that settles warm and heavy in his belly. 

“Hey, stay with me,” Steve mutters. His eyes sparkle as they watch him, and Eddie's heart skips a beat, but he tells himself it's a trick of the candlelight. “Still need that color.” 

Eddie exhales - a long, shuddering rush of air that rattles around the lump in his throat. 

“Green.” 

Steve smiles. “Alright. Eyes ahead, then. Want you to see how pretty you are.” 

Eddie gulps, swallowing against the nerves and the humiliation clogging up his chest, and does as he is told. 

Steve has outdone himself with the ropes today. They're black and shimmery and soft, forming a stark contrast with his pale skin and gnarly scars. They criss-cross over the mangled flesh and ruined tattoos on his chest in a complicated pattern of knots, forming an intricate harness and securing him to the backrest, wrap around his ankles where they are tied to the legs of the chair. 

“See?” Steve says. He's leaned forward to double-check the knots securing his wrists behind the backrest, his breath tickling the shell of Eddie’s ear. “Beautiful.” 

He's not. He's really not. 

He's a hideous, ugly thing - broken and bitten and ripped into a hundred shreds. Sure, they stitched him up at the hospital, but he knows that he's all twisted and wrong, like a shattered vase sloppily glued back together. 

Chrissy was beautiful, but she's dead and he's here, and isn't that the biggest fucking joke in the entire world?

But if Steve says he's pretty? 

Steve said you're not gonna die, dragging him back through the gate while holding his guts inside with one hand, so he didn't. 

Steve said you'll walk again, supporting his weight when own legs wouldn't, so he did. 

Steve said it was okay to feel guilty for having made it out when others didn't, that night Eddie broke down and sobbed into his chest. Steve said it was okay if Eddie didn’t wanna go home that same night, that it was okay if he stayed until morning. So he did. 

So if Steve says he's pretty? Maybe he can believe him, if only for a little while. 

Steve gives the ropes one last tug, and Eddie holds back a whine as he steps out of his space and takes that warmth with him. But then Steve picks up one of the candles and the whine turns into a punched-out moan. 

“Let's give this a try then,” Steve mutters. Eddie can feel the heat of the flame on his skin as he steps closer, can feel a similar heat pulsing low in his abdomen, but he doesn't dare turn away from the mirror. Steve said to keep his eyes on the mirror, so he will. “Want you to tell me exactly how it feels, right? So I can stop if it's too much.” 

“Right,” Eddie rasps, as if anything Steve does to him could ever be too much. As if he wasn’t the one who asked for this. “Right, I promise, just- … Steve, please.” 

“Okay,” Steve says, and drops to the floor. 

“What are you-” Eddie croaks, naked cock twitching at the feeling of Steve’s breath puffing over his skin, the sight of Steve on his knees in front of him, burning candle still in hand. Like a worshipper before an idol. One of his hands pulls on a knot, and just like that, Eddie’s right leg comes free. 

Panic grabs at his insides and twists. He can't be free, he needs the ropes. Needs them to hold him down, needs them to keep him together or he'll crack along the seams of his scars and shatter back into a thousand pieces. 

“Shhhh,” Steve says, voice rustling over his frayed nerve ends like a calming breeze. “I'm not untying you. Breathe.” 

Eddie does. Sucks in long, measured gulps of air through his nose just like Steve taught him. Feels how his chest strains against his bindings, releases the air through his mouth. Forces his muscles to go loose and pliant. Steve hums in approval, wrapping a firm hand around his ankle to pull it closer towards himself. 

“We're going to start here,” he explains, running his fingers over the smooth skin of Eddie’s leg. He made him shave it, to make sure there'd be no hairs in the way. “Let you ease into it. Make sure it isn't too hot, alright?” 

Eddie bites his bottom lip to keep in the reply sitting on the tip of his tongue. How he doesn't wanna be eased into anything. How he doesn't want to be treated like he's this precious, delicate thing. How he wants, needs, craves the pain, because it’s the only thing apart from Steve’s touch that will make him forget about himself for a while.

“Alright.” 

Steve smiles, and the grip of his hand around Eddie’s ankle tightens.

“Here we go then,” he says and lets the candle tip. 

Eddie hears the molten wax hit his skin more than he feels it. Then the heat registers, and for all that he’s been anticipating the moment, he finds himself crying out in pain and surprise. It’s sudden and intense - like his skin is melting away and all of his nerve ends are being set on fire. His leg jolts, the motion running through his entire body like a shockwave, but Steve shifts his grip from his ankle to his upper thigh, holding him down so he won’t tip over the chair and hurt himself. 

“Whoa, okay,” he breathes, and even though his body language projects nothing but calm and control, Eddie can hear the undercurrent of doubt in his voice. “Color? Should we-” 

“No! Green! So fucking green, please, I need- … I’ll hold still, I’ll be good, promise. Just please don’t stop.” 

It's strange, Eddie thinks. Five minutes ago, he would've been mortified at the way his voice comes out. A garbled plea, wet with tears and cracking with despair. Now, he couldn't care less. 

Because now that the initial shock has faded and the wax is cooling on his skin, he immediately finds himself craving more. 

He wants this.

Wants that sizzling pleasure-pain sensation. Wants the hot, liquid wax to seep into his cracks and fill them up, wants the pain and the heat to burn away all that is ugly and disgusting and wrong about him. Wants to be left raw and shivering and clean in the aftermath of it. 

Maybe that other, better, cleaner version of himself would find the courage to tell Steve that he wants so much more than this. Maybe that new Eddie wouldn’t be as much of a weakling or as much of a coward. Maybe he would be someone deserving of Steve’s love. 

Steve reties his ankle while he waits for more of the wax to melt, every motion careful and slow, making sure every knot is firm and secure without sitting too tight. Then, finally, he picks the candle back up and begins to work his way upwards. 

Eddie keeps his eyes on his mirror image, watching his own skin flush, his own lips quiver, his own cock twitch as Steve washes every part of his body clean with the hot, molten liquid. His shins, his outer thighs, his lower belly. He whines and wiggles in his bindings, trying to relieve some of the tension that's coiling behind his navel, taut like a rubberband ready to snap. Urging Steve to give him more. He wants the candle closer, wants to feel the fire lick at his skin, wants to feel that beautiful heat on the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs, but there’s nothing he can do. He’s tied and motionless and completely at Steve’s mercy, and forced to take whatever Steve deems fit to give him. He hates it. 

He loves it. 

He never wants it to stop. 

He must’ve spaced out again, because the next thing he knows is that Steve is no longer on his knees in front of him but behind him once again, picking up another dripping candle from the desk. 

“Doing so well, baby,” he whispers, flipping Eddie's braid over his shoulder to expose his neck, covered in goosebumps in spite of the heat eating away at his skin, the fire licking at his insides. If he hears the choked sound that tears itself from Eddie’s lips at the pet name, he ignores it. “Can you take one more?”

“Yes,” Eddie sobs, hips bucking in the chair, bound hands twitching with the need to touch, leaking cock bobbing against his own stomach, desperate for release. “Yes, please, anything.”

The look on the face of Steve’s mirror image is pure awe. 

“Good boy,” he whispers, and tilts the candle. Eddie feels the hot liquid pour down on his bare neck, feels it run down his back and shoulders, sees how his own face goes lax with pain and pleasure. Sees how Steve leans in to kiss the nape of his neck, lips soft and warm against the still burning trail of wax.

Eddie lets out a low, nasal whimper as his climax hits him, long ropes of white mixing with the cooling wax on his belly and thighs. It’s violent and humiliating and so, so gratifying, the room disappearing behind a curtain of white starbursts as his entire being is reduced to that hot, pulsing pleasure. And then Steve moans against his skin, teeth grazing the spot he just kissed, and Eddie swears he comes for a second time in as many minutes.

When the world slowly swims back into focus, Steve is in front of him again, undoing the ropes so that he can pull him out of the chair and into his lap. Eddie goes willingly, too spent and exhausted to even feel angry with himself, melting into Steve’s touch and allowing him to rub some feeling back into his tingling arms and shoulders. The cooling wax goes soft under his touch once more, mingling with the traces of Eddie’s relief.

“Ew,” he slurs into Steve’s neck, head too heavy to move. “Look this mess.” 

“I like it,” Steve hums, twisting his head so that he can press his face into Eddie’s hair. His lips tickle Eddie’s temple in a not-quite-kiss, and Eddie’s limp cock twitches between. “Messy is good.” 

When Eddie manages to lift his head, those lips are very close. Close enough to feel Steve’s breath on his own lips, close enough to lean in and- 

Steve’s nails scrape at the hardening wax on his arm, and Eddie hisses in pain. 

“We should probably clean this off you,” Steve murmurs, eyes locking on the reddened and irritated skin. “Go take a shower. I'll put some lotion on you after.” 

Eddie nods wordlessly, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet and nudged in the direction of the bathroom. It's only across the hallway, but the cool gust of air that hits him when he opens the door still makes him shiver. 

“Eddie.” 

He turns. Steve has started cleaning up and blown out the candles. Their scent still lingers in the room. His eyes are still sparkling. 

“It's alright to ask for what you want, y’know?” 

Eddie gulps, hand clenching around the doorknob. Steve watches him and waits, and even without the ropes, he feels secure under his gaze. Tethered and held. 

“Join me?” 

It's not what he truly wants, Eddie thinks a few minutes later, as Steve brackets him against the tiled wall with his own, naked body and starts to slowly fuck him under the warm spray of the shower. Maybe he’ll never grow into a version of himself that’s brave enough to ask for that.

But maybe he will. 

And maybe this can be a start. 

More Steddie Bingo

[jukeboxsweethearttt]

Say You Swear

JJ Maybank x Strawberry

Synopsis:JJ can’t ever be serious even when it comes to proposing

cw:none

a/n:proofread by drunk sexy @starfxkrinc

divider by @starfxkrinc my shaylaaaaa

It started weird.

JJ woke up before her.

Already showered. Teeth brushed. Hair brushed back and damp. He smelled like her body wash and his breath wasn’t tragic.

He even had on lotion.

No yelling. No threats of neutering.

That’s when she knew something was up.

“You sick?” she asked when he came out, towel low, hair wet, smelling like fresh berries instead of regret.

“Nah,” he grinned, pecking her cheek.

“Just felt like bein’ clean for you today.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Who died?” she mumbled, sitting up more and squinting up at him suspiciously from her pillow.

“Nobody,” he shrugged, way too casual.

“What you break?”

“Nothin’.”

“Who you hit?”

“Nobody!”

“Did you cheat on me?”

“What?!”

“So you’re doing all of this without me telling you? Are you sure you’re not trying to cheat?”

He leaned down, kissed her cheek, grinning.

“Nah. Just figured you’d wanna fuck me later if I smelled like strawberries and not swamp water.”

She let it go for the moment.

But it only got weirder.

By noon, JJ was wearing real clothes. Like, real clothes. No holes. No stains. A button-down shirt she bought him two birthdays ago still with the tag on it.

His hair was brushed. His nails were clipped.

“Where we goin’? Your parole hearing?”

JJ just laughed and said,“Trust me, you’ll like it.”

By 3PM, they were walking around a beach boardwalk, holding hands. JJ was suspiciously polite.

Opened doors. Bought her snacks. Kissed her temple every few minutes like he was a gentleman and not the same boy who once used her loofah to scrub his balls and didn’t tell her until two weeks later.

She started side eyeing him heavy.

“Why you bein’ nice?”

“I’m always nice.”

“You farted on me in your sleep last night.”

“It was romantic.”

John B and Pope tagged along for moral support and because Strawberry made JJ promise no funny business if they were going out.

But they were watching JJ like he had a bomb strapped under his shirt.

“Y’all keep lookin’ at me like I’m gonna get assassinated,” Strawberry snapped, licking ice cream.

“Just making sure JJ doesn’t pass out before he…” Pope trailed off.

“Before he what?”

“…Nothing.”

By sunset, they’re at the beach.

JJ’s got his arm around her, both of them in the sand, her legs across his lap. Her gloss is fading, her hoops are catching the pink of the sky, and she looks so stupid beautiful he’s lowkey dizzy.

She’s still side eyeing him, though.

“If you’re dying,” she says, “you better tell me now. I’m not raising no children with John B.”

“I ain’t dying.”

“You on drugs?”

“Always, but no more than usual.”

“Then what the hell is wrong with you? Are you nervous for something?” she asked, squinting at him.

“What? No. I’m chillin’.”

“You peed four times since we got here.”

“Hydrated king.”

She rolled her eyes.

And that’s when he shifts.

Heart thumping like crazy.

John B whisper-yelling “now!”

Pope mouthing don’t fuck this up.

JJ leans back and drops to one knee.

Right there in the sand, covered in salt and nerves and strawberry shampoo.

“Baby…”

“Don’t call me baby. What you doing?”

“Baby.”

“What you doing?”

He pulls out a little box. No velvet. Just a wrinkled white one with stickers on it and a ring inside that shines.

It ain’t big. But it’s real. And it’s his everything.

“You boss me around like I’m your dog. You cuss me out like I’m your toddler. You steal my hoodies, clog my sink, and threaten to break up with me if I forget your fries.”

“But I love you. I love you more than I love being an idiot. Which is crazy, ‘cause I’m really good at being an idiot.”

Her lip gloss is gone now. She’s staring. Speechless.

Pope is holding his breath. John B’s recording.

JJ swallows. Looks up at her like he’s gonna die if she says no.

“Will you marry me?”

She blinks.

Scoffs.

“Stay you swear.”

“I swear, baby.”

“Stay you swear for real.”

He smirks, eyes twinkling.

“Nah I’m just playin’.”

“BITCH.”

Pope slaps his forehead.

John B groans “JJ, NO.”

She shoves his head so hard he nearly eats sand.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! Who jokes like that?! You gon’ have me on social media looking STUPID—”

“I’M KIDDING—wait no I’m not kidding I am proposing!!”

He grabs her hand before she can throw the ring into the ocean. Grabs both her wrists, actually.

She’s wrestling him like they’re in a WWE match, and the whole time, JJ’s just yelling

“I LOVE YOU. I WANNA MARRY YOU. I WANNA DIE IN YOUR BED NEXT TO YOUR HAIR BONNET BABY PLEASE”

“You’re so fucking stupid.”

“Say yes.”

“You didn’t even put the ring on me, dumbass.”

He fumbles, shoves it on her finger.

“There.”

“It’s backwards.”

“I’ll fix it after sex.”

She stares at the ring. Then at him. Then back at the ring.

“This is real?”

“Deadass.”

“You swear.”

“On my life.”

“On your dick?”

“On my dick AND my balls.”

“Aight. Fine. Yes.”

JJ legit screams. Runs around in circles in the sand. Picks her up and almost drops her. Tries to kiss her and she bites his lip.

“You got me out here looking dumb,” she grumbles, but she’s smiling so hard her braces sparkle.

“You always look good, dummy or not,” he says, kissing her nose.

John B wipes his eyes.

Pope looks traumatized.

“Y’all are gonna be the craziest married couple in North Carolina.”

“How y’all still together is beyond me.”

“Cause I’m fine and my pussy pretty,” Strawberry said sweetly, flipping her hair.

“Cause I’m obsessed and got abandonment issues,” JJ added with a wink.

“Next time,” Pope muttered. “Use cue cards.”

“Next time,” John B said. “Make sure she don’t think it’s a bit.”

“That’s Mrs. Maybank, bitch,” Strawberry says, flipping him off with her newly ringed finger.

JJ grinned, ring catching the light.

“Nah. This the last time. Ain’t nobody marrying her but me.”

She smirked, grabbing his face between her hands.

“Damn right. Now get in the shower when we get home. You’re getting pussy tonight.”

“I already showered today!”

“So? You proposing again later? Get clean.”

[lisalamona]

𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 - VI

Chapter VI: Polyphemus

. Summary: Despite your brother's insistence, you stubbornly decided to join him and his men in the war. Now, are you prepared to face the consequences of your actions? . Pairing: Various x Fem! Reader (platonic) . Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, death, trauma, and other sensitive content. . Notes: I'm starting to upload this story here on tumblr, I am really sorry for clogging the tags.

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Masterlist

"Are you certain this creature knows where to go?" Eurylochus's voice broke through the early morning calm, laced with skepticism. Ever since you, Odysseus, and Polites returned from the lotus eaters' island with your peculiar new companion, he hadn't stopped questioning its usefulness; or throwing it distrustful glances.

"Of course it does! Look at that adorable face! how could something so adorable possibly lie?" Polites grinned, holding up the tiny bundle of fur for Eurylochus to inspect. He leaned in just enough to make eye contact with the wide-eyed creature before recoiling as though it might bite.

"I'm not saying it's lying," Eurylochus countered, taking a cautious step back. "I'm saying— how do we know it even knows where this cave is? How do we know the cave itself isn't just a myth?" His voice wavered between frustration and incredulity, clearly struggling to wrap his head around the situation.

"East!" the small creature chirped suddenly, its high pitched voice breaking the tension. With an enthusiastic wave of its paw, it pointed in a direction that everyone—even the ship's youngest sailor—knew wasn't east.

Eurylochus's exasperation peaked as he glanced between the cheerful creature and the opposite horizon, where the first rays of sunlight crept into the sky. "For the last time, that is east!" he barked, gesturing toward the rising sun. Yet, no matter how many times he tried to correct it, the creature seemed blissfully unaware—or entirely unbothered by—the concept of direction.

You couldn't help but stifle a laugh at the absurdity of it all. "We'll just have to trust him," you said, finally chiming in. Eurylochus turned to you, incredulous.

"Him?" he repeated, one brow arched high enough to rival the ship's sails. "You don't even know what it is, and now you're treating it like a full fledged member of the crew?"

"Well..." You hesitated, scratching the back of your neck. "I'm assuming he's a 'he.' He doesn't say much more than the same six words, and he doesn't seem to mind what we call him." You shrugged, flashing a playful grin. "Besides, who's to say he won't surprise us?"

Eurylochus muttered something under his breath—likely another grumble about the ever growing absurdity of your situation. While Polites attempted to soothe him, his voice low and conciliatory in an attempt to de escalate his growing frustration, your gaze drifted across the ship. Most of the crew remained sound asleep, their forms sprawled across hammocks or nestled against the ship's sturdy timbers. Only the night watch sailors, bleary eyed and steadfast, tended to their duties, joined by a few early risers stretching and stifling yawns.

The quiet was a welcome reprieve, a rare moment of stillness amidst the usual cacophony of voices, footsteps, and the creak of ropes once the ship came fully to life. The muted hum of the waves lapping against the hull and the gentle sway of the sea offered a soothing rhythm, a stark contrast to the chaos that inevitably followed when every crewmember was awake and moving.

Your eyes eventually settled on your brother. He was leaning on his elbows, his weight resting against the ship's railing, lost in thought. That, in itself, wasn't unusual—he often slipped into moments of quiet contemplation—but it wasn't like him to linger there silently for hours. Your brother was the type of person, much like Polites, who could stand beside you and talk your ears off about any topic under the sun.

In all your years of knowing him—which was, of course, your entire life—you could count on one hand the times you'd seen him like this: withdrawn, pensive, and unreachable. Those moments had never been his best, and while they were rare, they left an impression. You suspected there had been more such moments than you were privy to, ones he had carefully kept hidden. But now, watching him, a quiet unease settled over you. Something about this felt wrong.

Determined to bridge the gap, you decided to approach him. If he had always been there for you, it was only right that you'd be there for him too—whether or not he wanted to admit he needed someone to talk to.

"Brother," you called softly. Odysseus jumped slightly, startled, the sound of your voice breaking through the fog of his thoughts. He gave you a playful shove on the shoulder, a lighthearted reprimand for catching him off guard. A nod of his head invited you to continue. "Are you alright?"

He raised an eyebrow at your question, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. "Of course I am," he replied with a small chuckle, as though the answer was so self evident it hardly needed saying. But when your expression remained steady, unyielding in its concern, his smile faltered, just a touch. "Really. There's nothing you need to worry about, sister," he added, placing a hand on your shoulder—the same one he'd shoved moments earlier—in a gesture meant to reassure. But you weren't so easily convinced.

"You're never this quiet," you said, moving to lean against the railing beside him. Your gaze fixed on his, determined not to let the subject drop.

Odysseus sighed, realizing you wouldn't back down. He tried one last diversion. "I'm just thinking about home... Penelope... Telemachus." At the mention of his wife and son, his eyes softened, and his voice took on a wistful tenderness.

You reached out, rubbing his arm gently. You understood. You missed home, too. You missed the warmth of the morning sun on your face, the carefree squeals of your nephew when you "kidnapped" him from his father's arms, and the way Odysseus would chase after you, his voice full of mock alarm. He always feared you'd drop Telemachus—even though it had only happened once, and he'd never let you forget it. Penelope would stand to the side, laughing at the sight, her smile as radiant as the day. You even missed the simple rustling of leaves in the trees when the wind danced through them.

Despite your shared longing, you couldn't shake the feeling that something else weighed on him. "That isn't the only reason, is it?" you asked gently.

He stayed silent, his gaze slipping away from yours. The pause was telling, and you knew he'd finally given up trying to distract you.

"Was it something Athena said? On the island?"

"...Yes." His gaze dropped to the ocean, its rhythmic rise and fall mirroring the unease he tried to suppress. He was embarrassed, not because of the warning itself but because he didn't want you to think he was taking something so "insignificant" too seriously. Yet he knew that if he didn't tell you, you'd find out anyway. It was a childish fear, really—he trusted you to respect his boundaries if he asked. But still...

"What did she tell you?" you pressed, your voice gentle but insistent.

He drew in a steadying breath, summoning the courage to speak. "She gave me a warning," he admitted at last.

"A warning?" Your eyes narrowed, suspicion sparking in your gaze. "What did you do?"

Odysseus raised his hands defensively, as though fending off an accusation. "Nothing! She just—she doesn't want me falling behind, that's all."

"Falling behind?" you echoed, tilting your head. "What does that even mean?"

"It means," he said with a weary sigh, "that I started to lose focus on what's important and need to get back on track."

"Is that why you're so pensive? You're trying to figure out how to make it up to her?"

"You could say that," he replied, his tone laced with resignation. But then, as if flipping a switch, he draped an arm around your shoulders in a comforting side hug and gave you a soft smile. "Enough about me and my dilemmas. How are you feeling?"

A small giggle escaped your lips as he gently swayed you both from side to side—a silly gesture he knew would lift your spirits, if only for a moment. "I'm better. The little guy definitely helped," you said, gesturing toward your peculiar companion.

Odysseus followed your gaze toward Polites and Eurylochus, still locked in their animated debate over the lotus eater. He squinted, his expression skeptical. "Its beady eyes disturb me."

You couldn't help but laugh at his dry remark. The two of you continued talking, your conversation weaving between lighthearted banter and thoughtful musings. Eventually, Polites and Eurylochus joined in, their debate unresolved but their spirits lively.

By the time the ship docked on a pristine beach, a massive cave loomed not far from the shore. You exchanged a knowing glance with Odysseus. It seemed the little creature was right after all. You made a mental note to rub it in Eurylochus's face later.

──────👁️──────

Odysseus decided that only a handful of his men—including you, Eurylochus, and Polites—would accompany him into the cave to gather as much food as possible. The rest of the crew would remain by the ships, just in case.

With the small lotus eater perched on your shoulder and your brother by your side, you began the trek toward the cave's dark, yawning mouth.

As you drew closer, the low, muffled bleating of sheep reached your ears, growing louder with every step. Their white, fluffy coats stood out even in the dim light filtering through the cave's entrance.

Once you were close enough, your brother nocked an arrow, the motion smooth and practiced, and loosed it toward one of the sheep. The creature fell with a soft thud. "Over here!" he called, waving to the rest of the group, who weren't far behind.

When you finally entered the cave, its sheer size was overwhelming. The cavernous space seemed endless, its ceiling so high that three ships stacked atop one another wouldn't come close to reaching it. The air inside was cool and damp, the chill brushing against your skin.

The little lotus eater on your shoulder nuzzled closer, seeking comfort in your neck, your hair, and the folds of your clothing. You couldn't tell if it was the cold or fear that made it cling to you so tightly.

The smell of damp earth and mildew was strong, reinforced by the soft, rhythmic sound of water droplets falling from the ceiling and splashing into shallow puddles. You tried to step carefully, avoiding the slick patches as best you could.

With the help of a few torches lit by the men, the cave's contents came into view. Piles of sheep milled about, their coats almost glowing in the flickering light. Surrounding them were heaps of fruits and vegetables stacked neatly, as though someone—or something—had carefully collected them.

You couldn't help but wonder why the lotus eaters hadn't taken advantage of such an abundant supply of food. Perhaps they were afraid of the dark? The thought lingered in your mind as you took in the strange and bountiful scene before you.

"Look at all this food! And all these sheep!" Polites exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief. "I can't believe this cave is just sitting here, waiting for us."

Eurylocus nodded, a grin spreading across his face. "I've got to hand it to you three—this is quite the haul. There's enough here to feed the entire fleet for weeks."

You opened your mouth to respond, ready to suggest that perhaps someone owed an apology to the small creature on your shoulder. But before you could get the words out, your brother spoke up.

"It's almost too perfect," Odysseus said, his tone thoughtful as his gaze swept across the cavern. "Why would the lotus eaters ignore all of this? It doesn't make sense."

The question lingered in all your minds—why would the lotus eaters abandon such a treasure trove? Perhaps it was your instincts trying to rationalize the unease gnawing at the back of your thoughts, searching for an excuse to believe this wasn't a trap.

"Who are you?"

The silence was shattered by a voice that seemed to come from the very stone itself. It was loud, deep, and inhuman, reverberating through the walls of the cavern like the growl of an ancient beast. The sound sent a chill down your spine, each echo amplifying the sheer terror it carried.

You couldn't pinpoint its source—its resonance made it seem as if it came from everywhere at once—but logic pointed to the one place the torchlight couldn't reach: the heart of the cave, cloaked in impenetrable darkness.

The fear of the unknown churned within you, gripping your chest with icy fingers. Whatever lay in the shadows, it was waiting—and now it knew you were there.

For a few agonizing seconds that felt like an eternity, no one moved. No one even dared to breathe. All eyes turned to your captain, silently pleading for guidance, for a decision, for anything to break the oppressive weight of the moment.

Odysseus, ever quick to act under pressure, stepped forward with an idea. Was it the wisest plan? Perhaps not. But in that moment, it felt like the only option.

"Hello there," he called out, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. "We're just travelers."

He paused, waiting for a response, but none came. The silence hung heavy, the echoes of his words swallowed by the cavern's endless depths.

"...We come in peace," he added, his tone firm yet placating, as if trying to soothe whatever unseen force had addressed you.

"You killed my sheep."

The looming voice responded, ignoring Odysseus's words entirely—perhaps not even registering them. This time, the voice was louder, its menacing tone reverberating through the cavern like a physical force. Worse yet, it was closer.

From the shadows emerged a creature unlike anything you had ever seen. It towered over you, several feet tall—though not quite high enough to touch the cavern's ceiling, it was massive enough to crush you effortlessly under its foot.

As it drew nearer, it moved on all fours, though you were certain it could stand upright if it wished. It seemed to slink closer deliberately, a calculated effort to intimidate, or perhaps to take you all in more easily.

And then there was its eye. A single, blood-red orb fixed directly on you, unblinking, unwavering. It bore into you with such intensity that it left you rooted in place, unable to think or react. Fear coursed through your veins like ice, rendering you powerless to process what was happening.

You had entered the home of a cyclops.

Now, at last, you understood why the lotus eaters wouldn't dare set foot in this cave.

"My favorite sheep," it growled, its voice dripping with fury.

"What gives you the right to cause such harm?" the cyclops thundered, its voice echoing off the cavern walls like the rumble of a distant storm. "Don't you know that the pain you sow is the pain you rеap?"

The massive creature crept closer, its hulking form casting shadows that danced wildly in the flickering torchlight. Its mouth, a grotesque vertical slit reminiscent of a gaping Venus flytrap, opened and closed with a sickening precision as it spoke. Each word dripped with malice, its jagged teeth gleaming in the dim light.

It snarled, its single, blood-red eye glaring at you with a hatred so fierce it made your stomach churn. "You came into my home, took what was mine, and thought you'd leave unscathed?"

The cyclops advanced again, its sheer size making the ground tremble with every step. "Your blood will stain this ground. Your lives are now mine to do with as I please."

Its gaze swept over the group, finally settling back on you. "Before I'm done, you will learn that it's not so fun to take"

As it loomed ever closer, the air seemed to grow colder, heavier, as if the very cave was conspiring to seal your fate. The creature's foul breath wafted toward you, a rancid mix of decay and rot, making your stomach churn even more violently. Every instinct screamed at you to run, but fear held you rooted in place. "A trade, you see? I'll take from you like you took from me"

Odysseus, fully grasping the gravity of the situation, racked his mind for a solution, searching desperately for the right words to defuse the growing danger. Finally, he stepped forward, placing himself squarely in the cyclops's line of sight, determined to draw its attention away from the rest of you.

"There's been a misunderstanding," he began, his voice calm but firm. "We didn't come here to steal. We were simply looking for something to eat and didn't realize these sheep and fruits belonged to anyone."

The cyclops's single, blood-red eye shifted, locking onto your brother with an unsettling intensity. It seemed to focus entirely on him now, though the tension in the air thickened as the creature processed his words.

It didn't look pleased—especially at Odysseus's casual reference to its sheep as mere food. But then again, it was hard to discern any emotion from its massive, inhuman face.

"But now I see we've caused some damage," Odysseus said, his tone steady, though his eyes darted subtly as he formulated his plan. "I'd like to propose a deal."

Slowly, he reached behind his back, keeping his movements deliberate and out of the cyclops's direct sight. From your vantage point, you caught a glimpse of him slipping a small, familiar handful of seeds into his canteen that he had saved from when you visited the previous island.

He raised the canteen for the cyclops to see, tilting it just enough to swirl the contents, allowing the seeds to mix thoroughly with the liquid inside. The cyclops leaned its massive head to the side, its single eye narrowing as it inspected the unfamiliar object.

"If you let us leave unharmed," Odysseus continued, his voice calm and persuasive, "you can have the world's best tasting wine."

"Wine?" The cyclops's pupil dilated, and its voice softened, a hint of excitement creeping into its tone. You guessed it was something the creature had never tried before—or perhaps had only tasted on rare occasions.

"The best there is!" Odysseus declared, his voice steady and persuasive. "Just one sip, and you'll understand. A wine so fresh, so rich in flavor, it'll make you never crave human flesh again."

The cyclops leaned forward, resting one massive hand on the ground. At first, Odysseus assumed it was waiting for the canteen, but as the creature extended its hand palm-up, it became clear it wanted him to step onto it.

Odysseus hesitated, his legs wavering slightly as he complied. You instinctively moved forward, ready to pull him back, but Eurylochus stopped you with a firm grip. "Trust him," he murmured, his voice low but certain.

As the cyclops lifted Odysseus into the air, standing fully upright, the scene became even more surreal. The creature's massive, blood-red eye stared directly into your brother's, its breath hot and heavy. Despite the obvious danger, Odysseus's voice remained as steady as he could manage.

"Then we shall be on our way—no blood spilled, no harm done. A simple trade: a gift from you, and a gift from me."

The cyclops opened its gaping mouth expectantly. The entire crew held their breath, the air in the cave thick with tension. Odysseus, understanding the unspoken request, carefully opened the canteen with a soft pop and poured its contents into the cyclops's mouth.

The cavern filled with the sound of the creature gulping down the wine, the noise echoing eerily off the walls. The cyclops sighed in delight, its massive frame visibly relaxing as it gently placed Odysseus back on the ground—gently, for something so enormous.

"I'd like to thank you, stranger," it rumbled. "What's your name?"

Odysseus, believing he had defused the situation, gave a small bow. "My name is Nobody."

"Nobody," the cyclops repeated, its voice slow and deliberate, resonating with a deep, unsettling undertone. "For your gift, I have one to reply."

Odysseus smiled faintly. "I'm glad we see eye to eye."

"Yes," the cyclops growled, its tone darkening in an instant, "because you shall be the final one to die."

The blood drained from Odysseus's face, the weight of the cyclops's words hitting him like a punch to the gut.

"What?" he whispered, his tone trembling, his earlier confidence shattered.

The cyclops raised itself higher, towering to its full height, its massive arms lifting above its head as it prepared to slam them down with devastating force.

"WATCH OUT!" Odysseus shouted, panic and realization sinking deep into his chest. He gestured wildly for everyone to scatter, his voice echoing through the cavern as the beast brought its hands crashing down.

[ga-lily-o]

⚹ Reader is gn ⚹

Tags/Warnings: Pre-relationship // Friends to lovers // They’re both so perceptive and stupid // Make-outs (very small part) // lots of tension // suggestive language // not explicit // mentions of religious imagery (Symbolic; Eve and the apple) but they’re for the plot // like… two (2) swears // uhhhh Idk what else 😭

Summary: In the best worst decision ever, you offer to braid Eve’s hair— not long after you did her makeup, no less. You’re sure you want to die because friends shouldn’t be wanting friends this bad. Doesn’t seem like Eve cares about titles anymore though, with the way she’s staring at you now.

(Author’s note at the bottom)

You’re doing Eve���s hair this time— an excuse, really, to be able to run your fingers over the fine soft silk of it and watch the red shine in the sunlight. In the privacy of her room, surrounded by her, your fingers itch to ghost her collar, your lips are aching to plant themselves on her nape. Instead you’re threading them together with a shaking breath, mumbling under it as you twist her hair into a braid, leaving out two strands to frame her face where she’s staring at you in the mirror like she wants to devour you whole.

And you would let her, god you would let her, but your fingers are shaking in uncertainty and there’s an insecurity shaking your bones and clogging your throat. You’d ask her to love you, if you weren’t scared shitless to, like how you’re scared shitless by the thought of her catching your eyes in the mirror and knowing immediately how down bad you are.

What are you even afraid of? What’s holding you back? Some part of your brain presses itself against your restraint like someone edging you to dive off a cliff. Whispering conspiratorially in your ear: “Don’t hold back.”

But you can’t dive in. You’re holding onto the ledge for dear life, too terrified to step either way, ahead or behind—

“Ow,” Eve says softly, and your breath stutters as your hand loosens around a strand of her hair. “Careful— what are you even doing back there?”

You’re horrified, embarrassed, and utterly exposed. Less like a cornered deer and more like one caught in stoplights. Swallowing, you focus back on her hair, sheepish as you respond.

“Sorry,” you mutter, stumbling over the word before it comes out. “Your hair’s stubborn like you.”

An excuse, like this whole charade, but she looks at you in the mirror through half lidded eyes and you regret glancing up to meet electric greens.

“Right,” she says, like the shadows of her expression aren’t making your breath leave your lungs in a wheeze. “You sure you don’t just suck at this?”

You scoff, half offended, half flustered and breathless with a burning want in your gut. Her hair is so soft in your hands, and you feel something coil in your blood when you have to pull the strands across the skin between your fingers. Like lightning bolts striking copper, like being shocked back to life.

“Maybe you just suck at holding still.”

Eve’s eyes still on you until you look up again, and you’re barely able to fight the way your knees go weak at the way she tilts her head and smirks at you in the glass of it.

“Right,” she says, completely insincere.

———

Eve’s watching you like the audience member at a solo stage performance, and you don’t know if she’s enjoying the way you’re floundering or not. It’s enough to make you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, the skin of it marred by your own habits.

When you look back up to Eve again in the mirror, her eyes are laser focused on your face, and it makes you stutter and clear your throat.

“Your— uh, hair, is done,” you tell her, hands settling slowly onto her shoulders, fingertips burning where your indexes slide onto her collarbones themselves. Something lighting up in your soul, feeling the way the skin there is soft as it looks and even warmer than you’d thought. And her Adam’s apple bobs, and she swallows, hard.

Her hand comes up to settle over yours, your fingers weaving at the knuckles like everything you do represents the distance between you both. Like you’re eternally going to be chasing each other around with a gap between you; a line drawn in the sand neither of you remember making.

But Eve is braver than you, you think, because she pushes her fingers snug into the spaces between yours, and you almost want to feel embarrassed about the way your breath audibly wisps away from you.

Suddenly she’s not just looking at you through the safety of the glass; suddenly she’s toeing the line you’d both drawn in the sand, eyes boring into yours in a way that makes your tongue tie and your heart twist.

Her hand splits from yours just for a second, long enough for you to miss the warmth of it like it’s the only tether to earth you have, but not for too long. Because she’s spinning in her chair to face you, hands meeting yours where they’re hanging stupidly in the air where she left them, and you wish she hadn’t smiled at you like that meant something to her, because you’re already having a hard time breathing.

“You keep biting your lips like that and they’re gonna be rough,” she warns you, but the words pass through that private smile of hers and every breath feels like wildfire in your lungs.

“Why’s it matter?” you ask her, quiet as you purse them, tongue darting out to wet the parts that feel horribly dry. Ignoring the way her eyes follow the peek of it; the way her head tilts and the hair you’d left out the braid curling over her shoulder.

“It’s gonna feel real weird when you’re making out with someone,” she scoffs, like she’s saying it sincerely and sarcastically at once. You want her to eat your lungs for it. “Like rubbing your lips on velcro.”

“And you’d know what that feels like?” You joke back, managing to scrounge together some bite in your bark, even as her grin turns smug and dopey.

“I’d know if you let me kiss you.” She says, the words quiet like the volume itself could deter the way it shattered the air. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish suffocating, your throat dry and blood pounding in your ears. She barrels on, “For practice, too, seeing as you’ve never made out with anyone.”

The way she’s saying it sounds casual, but her hands are shaking as they gently squeeze yours, and somehow it doesn’t sound like she just wants to practice. Somehow, it makes you feel like two cowards toeing the line.

But then her smile softens, voice dropping into the low quiet that it does when she gets you in the late nights, exhausted and intimate like nothing else matters but you two together, “We don’t have to, really, I was just—“

“I want to,” you cut in, blinking like it’s the first time you’ve done it when her eyes widen just a smidge, “Or— yeah, I want…to.”

Then there’s that smile slowly pulling in again, her lips curling into a soft smirk that has your breath shallow and blood running in your ears. “Ok.”

Her hands slide from yours to your hips, fingers trembling as she slides them up to your waist, dipping under the hem of your shirt.

“D’you wanna get on my lap?” She asks gently, looking up at you like she’s stepped onto the stage to worship you. Like you’ve gone from a performance to an idol; like she’d kiss every inch of you if you asked. You’re straddling her lap before you can even begin to realise how much your blood is boiling.

———

There’s something about the way kissing Eve is like dunking your head in water to see how long you can last; with the way you don’t want to pull up, even as your lungs start to burn and your body begs for you to breathe. Her hands splay over your sides, under your shirt, palms warm and flat against your skin and fingers digging into your sides, under your arms. Tongue tasting you like you’re her first communion. Like she’s been starving for all her life. Living up to her namesake, with you being her apple of temptation.

From here, her lipgloss tastes less like dragonfruit and mint and more like heaven born sin. Horrible in the way you can’t help but keep wanting and wanting. Even if it might damn you to death the way you can’t breathe.

But still, you both have to pull away, and it’s a painful thing with the want coiling like a snake in your gut, taut and boiling. She’s looking at you like you damned her; like you saved her from it too, as her hands slide up and down your sides— just once— and make you shiver.

“Yeah,” she hums, like her breath’s not shaking either and her lips aren’t red and ruined; smiling like she’s won, “velcro.”

And you’re drowning in your want, swallowing your spit and tasting her in it as her hand comes up to cup your face. Her thumb runs over your bottom lip, your entire body begging you to ask her to let you drown in her waters until your lungs give out.

But you don’t beg when you open your aching mouth. “Fuck off.”

And she grins at you for it.

A/N: I wrote this immediately after work, like otw home and at home, and then made my banners. Passing out as I write this I’ll publish it when I wake 😭 like the first part, I wrote this with the intent of wlw/nblw but whatever floats your boat sailor

Ok this second part I’m not as sleepy writing it but yeah, this entire like… sequel of sorts was in fact directly inspired by a conversation @sobbingscripter and I had and I was like “Wait… I could write this” after she said something and voila! so this is dedicated to her 🙂‍↕️

Truly, the wonders of getting my shift taken and knowing I have a day off (people will drag me into tasks and hangouts and I will have no time to myself 😞)