#Slot Machine Code

[ais-technolabs]

Unlocking the Code: What Every Developer Should Know About Slot Machine Programming

Introduction

Slot Machine Programming is the foundation of casino gaming. Developers must understand how slot machines work to create fair and engaging games. This guide explains key concepts like random number generation, payout structures, and regulatory compliance.

1. How Slot Machines Work

Slot machines operate using software that follows three main steps:

Player Input – The player presses a spin button or pulls a lever.

Random Number Generation (RNG) – The system generates a random result.

Outcome Display – The reels stop at symbols matching the RNG result.

The software ensures randomness and prevents manipulation.

2. Random Number Generators (RNGs)

RNGs are the core of Slot Machine Programming. They produce unpredictable results for each spin. The two main types are:

True RNGs (TRNGs) – Use physical processes like electronic noise.

Pseudo-RNGs (PRNGs) – Use mathematical formulas to simulate randomness.

Most casinos use PRNGs because they are efficient and testable.

3. Ensuring Fairness and Compliance

Regulators require slot machines to meet strict fairness standards. Common certifications include:

eCOGRA – Tests game fairness and payout accuracy.

GLI (Gaming Labs International) – Verifies RNG integrity.

MGA (Malta Gaming Authority) – Ensures compliance with EU laws.

Developers must submit their software for third-party testing before release.

4. Payback Percentage and RTP

The Return to Player (RTP) percentage shows how much a slot machine pays back over time. For example, a 96% RTP means players win 

96forevery

96 forever 100 wagered on average.

High RTP (96%+) – Better player odds.

Low RTP (Below 94%) – Higher casino profit.

Game designers adjust RTP based on market needs.

5. Game Mechanics and Features

Modern slots include features to enhance gameplay:

Wild Symbols – Substitute for other symbols to create wins.

Scatter Symbols – Trigger bonuses regardless of position.

Multipliers – Increase winnings by a set value.

Free Spins – Allow spins without extra bets.

These features improve player engagement.

6. Regulatory and Legal Requirements

Different regions have specific laws for Slot Machine Programming:

USA – Each state has its own gaming commission.

Europe – Requires licenses from MGA, UKGC, or Gibraltar.

Asia – Macau and Singapore have strict rules.

Developers must follow these regulations to avoid legal issues.

7. Security in Slot Machine Programming

Casinos and developers use security measures to prevent fraud:

Encryption – Protects data from hackers.

Cheat Detection – Identifies abnormal betting patterns.

Audit Logs – Tracks all transactions for transparency.

These steps ensure trust between players and casinos.

8. Mobile and Online Slot Machine Programming

Online slots require additional considerations:

Cross-Platform Compatibility – Games must work on all devices.

Responsive Design – Adjusts to different screen sizes.

Fast Loading Times – Keeps players engaged.

HTML5 is the standard for web-based slots.

10. Future Trends in Slot Machine Programming

New technologies are shaping slot development:

Blockchain Slots – Use cryptocurrencies for transparency.

VR Slots – Offer immersive casino experiences.

AI-Powered Games – Adapt to player behavior.

Developers must stay updated to remain competitive.

Conclusion

Slot Machine Programming is crucial for creating fair and entertaining casino games. Understanding RNGs, compliance, and player engagement helps developers build successful slots.

AIS Technolabs specializes in Slot Machine Programming and game development. For expert solutions, Contact Us today.

FAQs

1. What is the role of RNG in slot machines?

RNGs ensure random outcomes for each spin, maintaining fairness.

2. How do regulators test slot machine fairness?

Independent agencies like eCOGRA and GLI verify RNG accuracy and payout rates.

3. What is RTP in slot machines?

RTP (Return to Player) indicates the percentage of wagered money a slot pays back over time.

4. Can slot machines be hacked?

Modern encryption and security protocols make hacking extremely difficult.

5. What are the latest trends in slot machine programming?

Blockchain, VR, and AI are shaping the future of slot games.

[d20-ritz-stimzz]

" The ball is rolling up! "

🦾 🦿 🦾 × ➕ ➖ ➕ × 🦾 🦿 🦾

Gunthrie "Gunnie" Miggles-Rashbax

[krunnuy]

How to Build a Slot Machine Game: A Guide to Source Code Structure

Introduction

Slot machine games are popular in casinos and online platforms. To build a functional and engaging slot machine game, developers need to understand slot machine game source code. This guide explains the structure of the source code, focusing on key components like RNG, reels, symbols, and payouts. Using PHP slot machine game source code, developers can create web-based games efficiently.

Understanding Slot Machine Game Source Code

What is the Slot Machine Game Source Code?

The slot machine game source code is the set of instructions that control the game. It defines how the game generates random outcomes, displays reels, and calculates payouts. Understanding this code is essential for building a functional game.

Why Use PHP for Slot Machine Game Development?

PHP is a widely used scripting language for web development. It is easy to learn and integrates well with databases. PHP is a good choice for developing slot machine game source code for web-based games.

Key Components of Slot Machine Game Source Code

Random Number Generation (RNG)

RNG is the core of slot machine games. It ensures that each spin produces a random outcome. Developers use algorithms in the source code to generate these random numbers. This ensures fairness and predictability.

Reels, Symbols, and Paylines

Reels are the spinning columns in a slot machine. Symbols are the images on the reels. Paylines are the patterns that determine wins. The source code controls how reels spin, where symbols land, and how paylines are evaluated.

Payout Logic and Bet Management

Payout logic calculates wins based on symbol combinations. Bet management tracks player balances and wagers. The source code defines the rules for payouts and handles player transactions securely.

Step-by-Step Guide to Building a Slot Machine Game

Setting Up the Development Environment

To start, install a local server like XAMPP or WAMP. Use a code editor like Visual Studio Code. These tools help developers write and test PHP slot machine game source code efficiently.

Writing the PHP Slot Machine Game Source Code

Create a basic HTML structure for the game interface.

Use PHP to generate random numbers for the reels.

Define symbols and paylines using arrays.

Implement payout logic using conditional statements.

Testing and Debugging

Test the game by running it on a local server. Check for errors in the code. Use debugging tools to fix issues. Ensure the game works as expected.

Advanced Features and Customization

Adding Graphics and Animations

Use CSS and JavaScript to enhance the game’s visuals. Add animations for spinning reels and winning effects. Libraries like jQuery can simplify this process.

Multiplayer and Online Integration

Extend the game to support multiple players. Use PHP to connect the game to an online database. Store player data and game results securely.

Security Considerations

Ensure the game is fair and secure. Use encryption for sensitive data. Prevent cheating by validating all inputs and outputs.

Best Practices for Slot Machine Game Development

Writing Clean and Maintainable Code

Organize code into functions and classes. Use comments to explain complex logic. Follow coding standards to make the code easy to read and update.

Optimizing Performance

Minimize the use of heavy graphics. Optimize database queries. Use caching to improve game speed.

Staying Compliant with Gaming Regulations

Follow local laws and regulations. Implement features like age verification and spending limits. Ensure the game meets industry standards.

Conclusion

Building a slot machine game requires a clear understanding of the slot machine game source code. PHP is a practical choice for web-based games. By following this guide, developers can create functional and engaging slot machine games. For professional assistance, contact AIS Technolabs.

FAQ

1. What is the slot machine game source code?

Slot machine game source code is the set of instructions that define how the game operates, including RNG, reels, symbols, and payouts.

2. Why use PHP for slot machine game development?

PHP is easy to learn, integrates well with databases, and is suitable for web-based games.

3. How does RNG work in slot machine games?

RNG generates random numbers to ensure fair and unpredictable outcomes, implemented through specific functions in the source code.

4. Can I add graphics to a PHP slot machine game?

Yes, use CSS and JavaScript to add graphics and animations to the game.

5. How do I ensure my slot machine game is secure?

Use encryption, validate inputs, and follow gaming regulations to ensure security.

[mcrdvcks]

I Wanna Be Yours

Summary: You're a hacker for The Organization, a secret group that is currently working on dismantling a mutant trafficking ring. You've been working with Logan for months but neither of you have met each other in person and he doesn't even know your real name.

Word Count: 14.7k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: this is something i've wanted to do for a while- playing with the idea that logan can totally fall in love with someone just through their voice (and vice versa). i hope y'all enjoy it!

warnings/tags: reader has a code name, pet name (darling), light violence, mentions of (mutant) trafficking, some uses of y/n

“Bet you look good in that suit.” You say, tapping on your keyboard, hacking into the security cameras of the seedy casino where the deal was taking place.

Logan huffed, covertly adjusting the small earpiece as he blended in with the crowd of the dimly lit casino. His tuxedo felt too tight, but then again, it wasn’t like he was made for fancy suits and shiny shoes.

“Don’t go gettin’ all sentimental, Phantom. This thing barely fits,” he muttered, keeping his voice low and steady. He glanced around, taking in the sight of gamblers, dealers, and a few shifty-looking men gathered near a corner. Probably the ones he was here for.

“Must be hard to hide all those muscles,” you teased through the comm, your voice a steady whisper in his ear. “But I’ll try not to distract you, just this once.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips as he slipped past a group of laughing tourists. He scanned the room, zeroing in on his target: a short, balding man with an expensive suit and a smug look on his face. Logan’s senses sharpened. He could practically smell the guy’s nervous sweat. This had to be one of the trafficking ring’s major players.

“Any idea where they’re at?” he asked, his tone shifting from playful to serious in an instant.

“Second floor. Private poker room,” you said, enlarging one of the camera feeds to get a better view. “Security’s tighter up there. You’ll need a distraction if you wanna get past those guards.”

Logan glanced at the stairway leading up. Two burly men stood in front, arms crossed, eyes scanning for any sign of trouble. “Can’t just slice my way through ‘em,” he grumbled. “What’ve you got for me, Phantom?”

“Patience,” you teased. “Trust me, I’m working on it.” You typed a few more commands, initiating a loop in the security feed of the second-floor hallway. “You’ve got a 30-second window. Move now.”

Logan didn’t need to be told twice. He slipped through the casino floor, dodging between slot machines and card tables until he reached the base of the stairwell. The guards barely glanced his way as he strolled past, looking for all the world like another high-roller with a chip on his shoulder.

“Almost too easy,” he muttered under his breath, taking the steps two at a time.

“I make it look easy,” you corrected, monitoring the shifting feeds as Logan made his way to the second floor. “Just keep moving. The loop’ll hold, but not for long.”

Logan reached the hallway, his eyes narrowing at the closed door leading to the poker room. He slowed his pace, ears straining to pick up any sounds on the other side. “Tell me you’ve got eyes in there.”

“Not yet, working on it,” you said. “This system’s layered, gonna take a sec.”

Logan let out a quiet growl. “Great. No pressure or anything.”

“Hey, if you’re in such a hurry, I could always—”

“Don’t,” he cut in. “Just—stay on it.” He pressed his back to the wall, inching closer to the door, waiting for your go.

There was a pause, and then, “Got it.” Your voice softened, like you were focusing extra hard. “Four guys in there. Three playing cards, one pacing by the window.”

“Let me guess,” Logan grunted. “The bald one’s pacing.”

“Bingo.”

Logan’s fingers flexed, the subtle urge to unsheathe his claws growing. But this was a delicate operation. No bloodshed if it could be helped.

“You’ve got any ideas how to get me in without turnin’ this into a brawl?” he asked, half-expecting you to come up with something clever.

“I’ve got a couple,” you replied, a smile evident in your tone. “But you won’t like them.”

Logan sighed. “Why do I feel like you’re about to mess with me?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” you said sweetly, then paused. “Okay, maybe a little. There’s a closet down the hall to your left. Go there.”

He frowned but did as you instructed, slipping into the darkened space, filled with cleaning supplies and boxes. “Now what?”

“Well, I could trigger a fire alarm, but that’s a little loud and obvious. Or, and hear me out, I could disrupt the air conditioning. Make it so hot in there they’ll be begging for an excuse to step outside.”

Logan chuckled under his breath. “That’s your big plan? Make ‘em sweat?”

“Worked on you, didn’t it?” you teased.

“Funny.” He shook his head, glancing at the vent above him. “Think they’ll all leave?”

“Probably not all at once, but it should get the ball rolling. Just be ready. I’ll handle the rest.” Your fingers flew over the keys again, tapping into the building’s climate control system.

After a moment, you heard Logan’s quiet grunt. “Feels like it’s workin’ already.”

“Yeah, I see the temp rising in their room.” You pulled up the camera feed again, watching as one of the guys at the table tugged at his collar, then another wiped at his brow.

“Ten bucks says Mr. Baldy cracks first,” you said, amused.

Logan smirked. “You’re on.”

Not even a minute passed before the bald man swore, yanked off his suit jacket, and threw it on the back of his chair. “I’m stepping out for some air,” you heard him mutter to the others.

Logan’s eyes flicked to the door, his body tense. “Here we go.”

As the door opened, Logan moved fast. He grabbed the guy, pulling him into the closet before he could make a sound. With a quick, non-lethal chokehold, the guy slumped to the ground unconscious. Logan checked his pulse—alive. Good.

“Nice work,” you whispered in his ear. “Bet he’s not going to wake up happy.”

Logan crouched down, frisking the guy’s pockets. “Let’s hope he’s got something useful on him,” he muttered.

“He’s got a keycard,” you said, watching the screen as Logan pulled out the small plastic card. “That should get you into the back office.”

Logan glanced down at the unconscious man. “You were right. I didn’t like your plan.”

You laughed softly through the comms. “You’ll get over it. Now go, before they notice their friend’s gone.”

Logan straightened up, giving the unconscious man one last look before slipping out of the closet. “You better have a plan for what’s next, Phantom.”

“I always do,” you said, smirking as you pulled up the building’s blueprints. “Just follow my lead. Take the hall to your right. There’s an access door near the end. It’ll get you closer to the office.”

Logan moved quickly, the soft thud of his footsteps barely audible. “You sure about this? That door doesn’t look like it’s meant for guests.”

“I’m sure,” you replied confidently. “It’s an employee access. You’ve got the keycard, remember?”

He grunted in response, holding the card up to the reader. The door unlocked with a faint beep. “You really do make this look easy.”

“I try,” you said, voice laced with amusement. “Now, once you’re inside, there’s a small hallway. You’ll want to hang a left, then a quick right. The office is at the end.”

Logan opened the door, slipping into the narrow hallway. “What’s the deal with this office? Anything I should know?”

“Could be where they’re stashing data on the trafficking network. Either that or it's where they’re counting money.” You were typing again, eyes scanning multiple camera feeds. “But I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

“Good feelin’, huh?” Logan muttered, carefully making his way through the corridor. “Hope that feelin’ is worth something.”

“It always is,” you shot back playfully. “You’ve got about a minute before someone notices the guy you knocked out is missin’. So… chop, chop.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan growled, reaching the door to the office. “And you said I was the impatient one.”

Before you could respond, he swiped the keycard again and pushed the door open. Inside, the room was dimly lit, filled with filing cabinets, a desk cluttered with paperwork, and a few old-looking computers. Logan’s nose twitched at the faint scent of stale cigarettes and cologne.

“Jackpot,” you whispered in his ear, pulling up the feed of the room. “There should be a terminal near the desk. Get me plugged in, and I’ll handle the rest.”

Logan looked over at the outdated equipment and scowled. “This stuff’s ancient. Hope you can work with it, Phantom.”

“Please, I’ve hacked worse,” you said, brushing off the concern. “Just get me connected.”

Logan knelt down, finding a small port on the side of the computer and pulling out a cable from his gear. As soon as he plugged it in, your fingers danced across the keyboard, breaking through layers of security.

“There we go,” you murmured. “This’ll take a second. How are things on your end?”

Logan stood back up, glancing around the room. “Quiet. For now.”

“Good, because I’ve got eyes on another guy heading your way,” you warned. “He’s probably checking in on his boss. You might wanna handle him before he stumbles on Baldy.”

Logan’s fists clenched. “Great. Any more good news?”

“Depends. You want the good news or the bad news first?” you asked lightly, your tone casual despite the urgency of the situation.

“Just spit it out.”

“Good news? I’m almost done here. Bad news? You’ve got about thirty seconds before that guy reaches you.”

Logan let out a low growl. “Any suggestions?”

“Well,” you said thoughtfully, “you could go for subtle and knock him out—again. Or you could do the Logan thing and scare the crap out of him.”

Logan smirked. “And here I thought you were gonna say ‘no bloodshed.’”

“I’m flexible,” you teased. “Your call.”

Logan moved toward the door, listening carefully. The approaching footsteps were getting closer. “I’ll try subtle,” he muttered. Then, almost as an afterthought, “for you.”

“Aw, how sweet,” you quipped. “I’ll be sure to remember this moment.”

He cracked the door open just as the guy turned the corner. Logan grabbed him by the collar, yanking him into the room before he could shout. A quick punch to the gut, and the guy doubled over, gasping for air. Logan pressed him against the wall, one hand firmly over his mouth.

“Stay quiet, and I won’t hurt you,” Logan growled, his tone low and threatening.

The guy’s eyes widened, and he gave a shaky nod. Logan let him go, and he slumped to the floor, half-conscious.

“Nice work,” you praised, your voice a soft murmur in his ear. “You’ve still got it.”

“Didn’t lose it,” Logan muttered, stepping over the guy and returning to the desk. “You done yet?”

“Just about,” you said. “And… there. I’ve got everything. You’re good to go.”

Logan disconnected the cable, glancing around the room once more. “And you’re sure this’ll help us track the ring?”

“Positive,” you replied confidently. “Now, get out of there before someone else shows up.”

Logan took one last look at the unconscious man on the floor. “You got a clear path for me?”

“Always,” you said, your fingers flying over the keys again. “Head back the way you came. I’ll loop the cameras again. And don’t worry, I’ll keep them busy downstairs.”

Logan smirked as he stepped back into the hallway. “Sometimes I forget how useful you are.”

“Only sometimes?” you teased.

He chuckled softly. “Don’t push your luck, Phantom.”

You smiled to yourself, watching the feeds as Logan made his way through the building. “Whatever you say, Logan. You owe me one.”

“Add it to the list,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with a hint of amusement.

“Believe me, I am.” You took a bite of your cake, an orange cardamom one you made the other day.

“The hell are you doin’?” Logan asked.

You shrugged, “I’m eatin’. Thought now was a better time than ever. Let’s my fingers have a break. Got a problem, Wolf?” you ask, taking another bite of your cake, your tone teasing through the comm.

Logan’s voice grumbled in your ear, low and irritated. "We're in the middle of a mission, and you’re havin’ dessert?"

"Hey, a girl’s gotta eat," you reply casually, wiping a few crumbs off your keyboard. "I’ve earned it. You’re lucky I’m not eating popcorn with the way this operation’s going. Besides, I’m the one doing the hard work behind the scenes, remember?"

"You’re sittin’ in front of a computer, Phantom," Logan shot back, though you could hear the faintest trace of a smirk in his voice. "Not exactly the front lines."

"Exactly. Where would you be without me?" you retort, savoring another bite of cake. "I’m the reason you’re not punching your way through the entire casino right now."

Logan stayed quiet for a beat. You could imagine him clenching his jaw, trying to decide whether to argue or just let you have your moment. "You done?"

You chuckle softly, leaning back in your chair. "For now. You make it out of there yet?"

"Almost," Logan muttered, his voice low as he moved through the hall. "Place is still crawling with these scumbags. Any chance you can keep ‘em distracted?"

"Already ahead of you," you said, your fingers flying over the keyboard again. "Looping the feeds, and I’ve got a little surprise coming for the main floor. Keep your eyes open."

Logan grunted in response, his boots making soft thuds as he crept through the back corridors. "Surprise, huh? What kind of surprise?"

"You’ll see," you said cryptically, unable to hide the amusement in your tone.

There was a pause before Logan spoke again, quieter this time. "You always this chatty during missions?"

You tilted your head, curious. "Depends on who I’m working with. Some people are all business, no fun. Others… well, they don’t mind a little conversation. Keeps things from getting too tense."

"Huh," Logan responded, noncommittal. But then, after another beat, he added, "Guess it ain’t so bad."

Your eyebrows shot up. "Was that a compliment? Did Wolverine just say something nice?"

"Don’t push it, Phantom," Logan growled, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice.

You grinned to yourself, pleased that you’d gotten under his skin a little. "Alright, alright. I’ll stop before you start getting sentimental on me."

Logan was quiet for a moment, then muttered, "Not much chance of that."

Before you could reply, you heard footsteps in the feed, heading in Logan’s direction. Your tone shifted, all business now. "Logan, hold up. Someone’s coming your way, about twenty feet ahead."

"Great," he grumbled, already moving to the side, pressing himself into the shadows.

You watched the camera feed, tracking the figure’s movement. "Wait… looks like it’s just one guy. Should be easy to handle."

Logan’s low growl rumbled through the comm. "Easy for you to say."

You rolled your eyes, but your focus stayed on the screen. "You’re Wolverine. You’ll be fine. Just make sure he doesn’t see you."

A few seconds passed, and then you heard a soft thud. Logan’s voice came back through the comm, sounding slightly breathless. "Handled."

"See? Told you. Easy," you said smugly.

Logan didn’t respond right away, probably too busy moving again. You kept your eyes on the security feeds, tracking his progress. Finally, you heard his voice, a little softer this time. "Thanks."

Your fingers paused over the keys. "For what?"

"For not gettin’ in the way," he said, almost gruffly, but you could tell he meant it.

You smiled, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. "Anytime, Wolf."

There was a brief silence, and then Logan cleared his throat. "So, you gonna tell me what this surprise is, or you just keepin’ me in the dark?"

You leaned forward, grinning. "Oh, right. Almost forgot. Check the main floor in about… five seconds."

Logan didn’t say anything, but you imagined him looking around suspiciously. Then, just as you’d planned, the lights in the main casino flickered before the fire alarms started blaring. You heard Logan’s quiet chuckle through the comm.

"That your idea of subtle?"

"I prefer ‘effective,’" you said, watching as the casino patrons started panicking, scrambling for the exits. "Should give you the distraction you need to get out clean."

Logan let out a low laugh. "I’ll give you that, Phantom. You make one hell of a distraction."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," you teased, though you couldn’t help the slight flush creeping up your neck. "Now hurry up and get out of there before someone starts putting two and two together."

"On it," Logan muttered, the sound of the alarm still faint in the background as he made his way out. "I’m guessin’ you already got us an exit plan?"

You leaned back in your chair, tapping your fingers against the desk. "I wouldn’t leave you hanging like that. Side door, west end of the building. You’ve got about three minutes before the cops show up."

Logan moved swiftly, his footsteps barely audible now. "You really are somethin’ else, y’know that?"

You smirked. "I’ve heard that once or twice."

As Logan slipped through the side door, you watched him disappear from the building’s cameras, your job mostly done. “You’re clear. Ricky wants you to meet him tomorrow morning, 8 sharp for a debrief.”

Logan let out a short grunt. “Ricky, huh? Great. I’ll bring donuts.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. “You could at least try to pretend you’re not completely over these meetings.”

Logan’s voice crackled through the comm, rough but with a hint of humor. “I’m over a lotta things, Phantom. Meetin’s just one of ‘em.”

You leaned back in your chair, stretching out your arms. “Well, don’t be late. You know how Ricky gets when he’s kept waitin’.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan muttered. There was a pause, and then, “What about you? You gonna be there?”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised at the question. “You think I just show up to these things? I’m the behind-the-scenes tech genius, remember? My job’s done.”

Logan huffed. “Yeah, well… guess I figured after all this time, I’d finally meet the mystery hacker.”

There was something in his voice—something almost like curiosity—but you brushed it off with a light laugh. “Aw, are you saying you miss me already, Wolf?”

“Don’t push it,” Logan shot back, though there was a playful edge to his words. “Just seems weird, is all. Workin’ together this long and never even met you face-to-face.”

You paused for a moment, considering his words. It was weird. You’d been guiding Logan through missions for months now, your voices constantly in each other’s ears, but you had never been in the same room. A part of you liked it that way—it kept things professional, detached. Safer. But another part of you… well, maybe you were curious too.

“Maybe one day,” you said lightly, dodging the subject. “But for now, I think it’s better this way. Keeps the mystery alive, right?”

Logan snorted. “Yeah, real mysterious. You sittin’ there eatin’ cake while I’m out here doin’ the heavy liftin’.”

You smirked. “It’s called multitasking, Logan. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

Before he could respond, a soft beep on your computer alerted you that the building’s security systems were coming back online. The loop you’d created was about to end.

“Looks like my window’s closing,” you said, typing a few last commands. “Everything’s going back to normal on their end. You’re officially off the radar.”

“Good. Was gettin’ sick of the place anyway,” Logan muttered. You could hear the sound of traffic now, indicating he was out on the street. “You sure you don’t wanna show up tomorrow?”

“Why?” you asked, amused. “So you can finally see if I really do eat cake during all your missions?”

Logan grumbled something under his breath. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Meeting him in person… it’d be a big step. The dynamics between you two would change. And honestly, you weren’t sure if that was a good idea. But at the same time, a part of you was curious about the man behind the gruff voice and dry humor.

“We’ll see,” you said, keeping your tone light. “But don’t hold your breath, Wolf.”

Logan was quiet for a second before he let out a low chuckle. “Wasn’t plannin’ on it. See you around, Phantom.”

With that, the line went dead, and you leaned back in your chair, staring at the screen. You could still hear Logan’s voice in your head, and for a moment, you wondered what it’d be like to finally meet him. But then you shook the thought away, focusing back on your monitors.

It was safer this way. Easier. Less complicated.

But as you closed down your systems for the night, a small, nagging part of you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever get the chance to see the man behind the voice.

---

The next morning, you found yourself up earlier than usual, sipping coffee and thinking about Logan’s mission. You knew he was already at the debrief with Ricky, probably sitting there with that irritated look on his face. The thought made you smile.

You were in the middle of pulling up some new data on the trafficking ring when your phone buzzed with a message.

Logan: Missin’ you at this meeting. Ricky’s talkin’ my ear off.

You blinked at the screen, surprised. You weren’t expecting a text from Logan, let alone one like that. He wasn’t usually the type to check in.

You: I’m sure you’re handling it like a pro. Should I send donuts as a peace offering?

His reply came almost immediately.

Logan: Yeah, make it two dozen.

You snorted into your coffee, shaking your head.

You: I’ll see what I can do. How’d the debrief go?

There was a pause before Logan replied.

Logan: Fine. Got another mission lined up. They want you back on comms. Same setup.

Your fingers hesitated over the keys before you typed back.

You: Guess that means you’re stuck with me a little longer, huh?

Logan: Could be worse.

You smiled to yourself, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. It was a small thing, but the fact that Logan had reached out to you, even if it was just to complain about a meeting, felt like progress.

You: Just let me know when you’re ready for another round, Wolf. I’ll be there.

Logan: Yeah, I know you will.

You stared at the screen for a second longer, feeling something stir in the pit of your stomach. You shook it off, downed the rest of your coffee, and started pulling up the files for the next mission.

There was no time for distractions—not when the stakes were this high.

But still, a small part of you couldn’t help but look forward to hearing Logan’s voice in your ear again.

---

“Why don’t you tell me something ‘bout you?”

You raised an eyebrow at Logan’s question, momentarily pausing your typing before resuming. “I don’t know… don’t want a strange man knowin’ about me, do I?”

There was a low chuckle on the other end of the line. "Strange man, huh? Thought we were past that by now."

You smirked, leaning back in your chair. “Well, I guess you’re not that strange, Wolf. But still. Not sure I’m ready to spill all my secrets.”

“I’m not askin’ for all your secrets. Just one.” His voice was rough, but there was a hint of curiosity behind it, like he was genuinely interested in getting to know you. Which was… unexpected.

You tapped your fingers against the keyboard, considering. “Alright. Something about me, huh? Let’s see… I used to hate coffee. Couldn’t stand the taste.”

Logan snorted. “That’s it? C’mon, Phantom, give me somethin’ better than that.”

“Hey, you didn’t specify what kind of fact,” you shot back, a grin creeping onto your face. “But fine, if you want something more interesting… I got kicked out of my computer science class once.”

There was a beat of silence. “You? Miss hacker extraordinaire? What the hell did you do?”

You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see you. “Maybe I hacked into the school’s system to change a grade or two. Not mine, though. A friend’s. The professor wasn’t too thrilled about it.”

Logan’s laugh came through the line, deeper this time. “Should’ve known you’d be trouble.”

You smiled, leaning forward again. “Well, you’re stuck with me now.”

“Seems like it,” he muttered, a hint of something in his voice that made your stomach flip.

You cleared your throat, steering the conversation back on track. “Alright, your turn. Tell me something about you.”

“Not much to tell.” Logan’s voice was gruff, almost dismissive, but you could hear the hesitation.

“Come on, fair’s fair,” you pressed. “You can’t ask me for something and not return the favor.”

He was silent for a moment, and you could almost picture him sitting there, deciding how much he wanted to give away. Logan was driving, he had finished another mission with you on the line like always. Except this time, it ended with a man tied up and unconscious in the trunk for Ricky.

Finally, he sighed. “Alright. You want something about me? I used to be a lumberjack.”

You blinked, thrown off by the admission. “A lumberjack? Like, chopping down trees and all that?”

“Yeah. Chopping down trees, clearing land. It was… quiet. Simple.”

You let that sink in, the image of Logan swinging an axe somehow fitting. “Sounds nice. Bet you looked right at home doing it.”

He huffed a short laugh. “Not sure anyone’s ever ‘at home’ doing that, but yeah, it wasn’t bad. Kept me grounded, I guess.”

There was something unspoken in his voice, something heavy. You knew enough by now to not push too hard, so instead, you kept it light. “So, from chopping trees to chasing bad guys and mutants. Quite the career change.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Logan’s tone shifted, and you could tell he was ready to move on. “Enough ‘bout me. What’s the status on those files? You find anything new?”

You glanced at your screen, where the data on the trafficking ring was slowly coming together. “A few new leads. Cross-referenced some names from the last mission, and there’s definitely a connection between the ring and a shipping company based in Miami. Could be our way in.”

“Good.” Logan’s voice was steady, all business again. “Send me the details when you’re done. Ricky’s gonna want to know.”

You nodded to yourself, already pulling up the files to forward to him. “You got it. And Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to let Ricky drive you too crazy. I’m not sending donuts again.”

Logan snorted. “No promises.”

---

Two days later, you were back at your desk, knee-deep in code, when the comms crackled to life.

“You ready, Phantom?”

You smiled to yourself, hearing Logan’s voice in your ear again. “Always. You good to go?”

“Locked and loaded,” he replied, the sound of a car door shutting in the background. “What’s the target this time?”

You tapped a few keys, bringing up the map. “Warehouse in Miami. Based on the intel we pulled, this is one of their main distribution points. High traffic, lots of movement at night.”

“Security?”

“Pretty tight, but nothing we can’t handle. I’ll be your eyes and ears. You just focus on getting in and out.”

“Like always.” There was a pause, then, “You ever been to Miami?”

You raised an eyebrow at the question. “Once or twice. Why?”

“Just curious. Thought maybe you’d have some recommendations on where to go after all this is over.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “What, planning a vacation already?”

“Maybe. Depends how fast we wrap this up.”

Shaking your head, you brought the focus back to the mission. “Alright, Wolf. Let’s get through this first, then we can talk about your beach plans.”

Logan chuckled, low and rough. “Deal.”

As you guided him through the back streets of Miami, tracking his every move on the security cameras, you couldn’t help but feel that familiar sense of anticipation. Working with Logan had become second nature by now, and yet there was always this underlying tension, this unspoken connection between you two that made every mission just a little more intense.

“Left at the next alley,” you instructed, your eyes flicking between the camera feeds. “You’ll see a door around the corner. Should be unlocked.”

“Got it,” Logan replied, his voice steady. You could hear his footsteps echoing off the alley walls as he approached the warehouse.

“Any movement inside?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

You scanned the interior feeds. “Three guards on the ground floor, two patrolling the upper levels. They’re not on high alert, though. You should be able to slip past them.”

“Easy enough.”

You listened to the sound of him moving, the slight creak of a door opening, then the soft thud of his boots on concrete. You kept your focus on the screens, heart rate picking up as Logan made his way deeper into the building.

“There’s a stairwell to your left,” you whispered, though no one but Logan could hear you. “Take it up. The control room’s on the second floor.”

“On it.”

Everything was going smoothly—until it wasn’t.

“Shit,” Logan muttered, his voice tense. “Got company.”

Your eyes flew to the nearest camera, catching sight of two guards rounding the corner, guns drawn.

“Hang on,” you said quickly, fingers flying across the keyboard. “I’m looping the camera feed—there, they shouldn’t be able to see you now.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, but you heard the scuffle over the line, the sound of fists meeting flesh, followed by a grunt of pain. You held your breath, watching the screens intently.

“Logan? You good?”

There was a beat of silence before his voice came through, breathless but unbothered. “Yeah. Just had to put a couple guys to sleep.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “Jesus, give me a heart attack, why don’t you?”

“Don’t worry, Phantom. I’ve got it under control.”

You could practically hear the smirk in his voice, and despite the tension, you couldn’t help but smile. “Well, next time, maybe give me a little warning before you go all Rambo on me.”

“No promises,” Logan’s voice crackled through the comms, and you could practically hear the grin in his tone. There was a brief pause before he added, “You still with me, Phantom?”

You shook your head, trying to suppress a smile. “Barely. I swear, you’ll be the death of me one of these days.”

His laugh came low and rough, and for a moment, you let yourself relax a little, the tension from earlier easing. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that.”

“Yeah, well, I mean it,” you shot back, eyes scanning the multiple screens in front of you. The warehouse was sprawling, but you had a pretty good read on the layout by now. “You’re clear to move. No one else on this floor.”

“Got it.” You heard the soft thud of his boots again as he moved forward.

“So, what’s the next step?” Logan asked, keeping his voice low. “You got me runnin’ around this place, but you haven’t told me what I’m lookin’ for.”

“Patience, Wolf,” you teased, tapping a few more keys to bring up the rest of the building’s security system. “I’m working on it. There’s a secure server room on the north side of the building. That’s where they’re storing the data we need. You’re gonna have to bypass their security to get in.”

“Piece of cake.”

“Funny you mention cake,” you said, grinning to yourself as you tapped into the server’s firewall. “Because after this, I’m thinking you owe me some. Maybe even pie. You’re racking up quite the tab.”

Logan chuckled. “Yeah? We’ll see. First, let’s get through this alive.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

As you worked, your mind drifted for a second, the familiar rhythm of the job taking over. It was almost unsettling how natural it had become to guide Logan through these kinds of missions. You weren’t sure when you’d started looking forward to them—maybe it was the banter, maybe it was the trust you’d built. But either way, it had become a part of your routine.

“Server room’s on the right,” you said after a beat, focusing back on the task at hand. “Two guards outside, but they don’t seem too alert. Shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

Logan’s voice was smooth as he replied, “Already ahead of you. On my way.”

You kept your eyes on the screen, watching as he moved through the shadows, blending in with the dark corners of the warehouse. It was impressive, really. The way he worked was so fluid, like he’d done this a thousand times before. And, well, he probably had.

“There’s an override switch on the wall next to the door,” you instructed. “Flip it, and you’ll have access.”

Logan grunted in response, and a moment later, you heard the soft click of the door unlocking.

“Inside,” he muttered. “Now what?”

You were about to respond when a sudden blip on your screen caught your attention. “Wait, hold up,” you said quickly, fingers flying across the keyboard. “We’ve got movement. Someone’s heading toward your location. Two guards, second floor.”

Logan’s voice was calm, even as he moved into action. “How long do I have?”

“Not long. They’re coming fast.” Your heart pounded as you watched the dots on the map converge on his location. “You need to get out of there, now.”

“Too late for that,” Logan muttered, the sounds of heavy footsteps echoing through the comms.

“Logan—”

“Don’t worry, Phantom,” he cut you off, and you could hear the smirk in his voice again. “I’ve got this.”

The next thing you heard was the unmistakable sound of fists hitting flesh, followed by a low grunt of pain. You winced, even though you couldn’t see what was happening.

“Logan? Talk to me.”

More sounds of a struggle came through, and then finally, Logan’s voice, slightly breathless but unbothered. “Two down. Told ya, no problem.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, well, maybe next time don’t wait until the last second to handle it.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even though your nerves were still on edge. “You’re impossible.”

“That’s what they tell me,” he replied, and you could hear the faint rustle of him moving again. “Alright, I’m at the server. How much time do we need?”

“Give me five minutes,” you said, fingers flying across the keyboard as you initiated the download remotely. “I’m pulling the data now. Just stay put until I finish.”

“Five minutes? Thought you were faster than that, Phantom.”

“Don’t push it, Logan,” you shot back, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. “I’d like to see you hack into a secured server faster.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a shot one of these days,” he muttered, the humor still in his voice. “Bet I’d be a natural.”

“Please. You’d probably smash the computer before you even logged in.”

“Only if it pissed me off.”

You shook your head, focusing back on the task at hand. “Alright, I’m almost done. Just a few more seconds.”

There was silence on the line for a moment, and you could hear Logan shifting in place, his breaths slow and steady.

“You ever think about doin’ this full time?” he asked suddenly, his voice lower now, more serious.

“Hacking?” you replied, thrown off by the question. “I mean, I’m not exactly doing this for the money. Why?”

“Just curious,” Logan said, and you could tell by his tone that he wasn’t pressing the issue. “Seems like you’re good at it. You could make a real difference.”

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the keys. “I’m already making a difference,” you said softly, your voice quieter than usual. “I don’t need to do it full time to feel like it matters.”

There was a pause, and for a moment, you thought maybe the line had cut out. But then Logan spoke again, his voice low and almost… thoughtful.

“Yeah. Guess you’re right.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you didn’t. Instead, you focused on finishing the download, the soft hum of the servers filling the silence between you.

“Got it,” you said finally, leaning back in your chair with a sigh of relief. “Download’s complete. You’re good to go.”

Logan didn’t reply right away, but you could hear the soft sound of him moving, his footsteps heavy against the concrete floor.

“Logan?” you prompted after a moment, the silence starting to make you uneasy.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice a little distant. “I’m on my way out.”

You nodded to yourself, watching his dot move across the map on your screen. “Good. Let’s get you out of there.”

As you guided him back through the warehouse, you couldn’t help but wonder what had changed in his voice during those last few minutes. Something about the way he’d asked that question—about doing this full time—had caught you off guard.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. You had a job to finish, and Logan needed to get out of there safely.

“Alright, you’re clear,” you said once he reached the exit. “No one’s around. Just make sure you don’t—”

“Yeah, I know,” Logan interrupted, and you could hear the smirk in his voice again. “Don’t get shot. You’ve told me a thousand times, Phantom.”

“Then maybe this time you’ll listen,” you shot back, grinning despite yourself.

Logan chuckled, the sound low and rough. “No promises.”

And with that, the line went quiet, leaving you alone in the soft glow of your computer screen.

---

"Alright, your change is $2.87. Have a good one.” You handed the change and a paper bag to the customer, smiling politely. After brushing your hands on your pastel blue apron, you turned to the next person in line. "How can I help—”

You paused mid-sentence as you looked up, surprised to see Ricky standing in front of you with a smirk on his face. You let out an exaggerated sigh. “The regular?”

“Always.” Ricky leaned against the counter, watching you with that usual casual attitude. “You know me too well, Phantom.”

You scoffed lightly at the use of your codename in the middle of your bakery. "Could you not call me that here?" You motioned to the line behind him. “I’d prefer not to blow my cover in front of customers.”

Ricky grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Relax, I’m just messin’ with you. Your secret’s safe with me.”

You shook your head and started prepping his order, grabbing a coffee and a chocolate croissant, which he always got whenever he visited your bakery. “What are you doing here anyway? Don’t you have something better to do than bother me at work?”

“Maybe I just missed my favorite hacker-slash-baker,” Ricky teased, crossing his arms as he watched you work. “Figured I’d stop by and see how you’re holding up.”

You raised an eyebrow, handing him the coffee. “I’m holding up fine. Business as usual.”

“Yeah. This place looks better than before. New paint job?”

“Actually, no. New tables and chairs.” You replied. Computer programming had always been something you enjoyed and loved, but when you started working for a big tech company, you couldn’t help but feel like your talents were going to waste.

You found Ricky, or rather, Ricky found you, and you were recruited into ‘The Organization’ to take down mutant trafficking rings. You still needed money, so you decided to put to use your other skill, baking. You opened a small bakery in New York City and have been running it for close to 2 years now.

Ricky leaned against the counter, eyeing the new setup. “So this is what you do when you’re not saving the world? Whip up some cupcakes?”

You rolled your eyes as you placed the croissant in a bag. “Something like that. Gotta pay the bills, right?”

Ricky took the bag from you, giving you a knowing smirk. “You know, it’s still hard to picture you as a baker. I keep waiting for the day I come in here, and all the pastries are bugged with tiny microphones.”

You snorted. “Please. Like I’d waste good croissants on something like that.”

He laughed, then took a sip of his coffee. “You heard from Logan?”

Your fingers froze for a split second, but you quickly masked it by busying yourself with wiping down the counter. “Why? Did something happen?”

Ricky raised an eyebrow. “No, not that I know of. Just thought he might’ve reached out, is all.”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone casual. “He’s probably busy. You know how it is.”

“Mhm.” Ricky gave you a look that suggested he wasn’t buying it. “Right. Busy.”

You shot him a glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grinned, shaking his head. “Nothing, Phantom. Just… you two seem to get along pretty well. That’s all.”

You felt a warmth creeping up the back of your neck and quickly turned away, focusing on the pastries again. “We work well together, if that’s what you mean.”

“Sure, sure,” Ricky said, clearly amused. “Just don’t let ol’ Wolf get too attached. He’s not exactly the sentimental type.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, I’m not worried about that.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t help but think back to the last mission. The banter, the small moments where Logan seemed to let his guard down—just a little. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you wonder.

Ricky stood up straight, crumpling the paper bag in his hand. “Alright, Phantom. I’ll leave you to your cupcakes and secret side missions. Just don’t go getting yourself into trouble.”

“Me? Trouble?” you grinned. “Never.”

He chuckled, heading for the door. “Catch you later.”

As soon as he was gone, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Ricky had a way of pushing your buttons just enough to make you think. And now you couldn’t stop replaying your recent conversations with Logan in your head. It was strange—this… thing between you two. He wasn’t like anyone you’d worked with before. And yet, it felt natural, like you’d known each other much longer than a few months.

Your phone buzzed in your apron pocket, snapping you out of your thoughts. You pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

Logan: Got some info for you. When’s your next shift with me?

You bit your lip, your fingers hovering over the keys for a second before you replied.

You: Whenever you need me. What’s the mission?

Logan: I’ll fill you in later. Just be ready.

You: Always am, Wolf.

A short pause, then Logan’s reply came through.

Logan: I know.

You stared at the screen for a moment longer, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. Shaking your head, you shoved the phone back into your pocket. You had a business to run, after all. There was no time to dwell on this… whatever it was between you and Logan.

But as you served the next customer with a practiced smile, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that your next mission with him was going to be different. Maybe it already was.

---

“You ever been to New York City?” Logan asked.

You briefly stopped your typing on the keyboard, “maybe. Maybe not. Why?”

Logan’s voice crackled through the earpiece, low and rough as always. “Just curious. Figured you might’ve wandered through at some point, considering how close we’ve been workin’ together.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the surveillance feed on your screen. “Is this your version of small talk, Wolf? Because I gotta say, you’re not exactly known for that.”

He chuckled. “Nah, just figured it was worth askin’. You ever get outta that basement of yours?”

You leaned back in your chair, smirking to yourself. “I’m not always in a basement, you know. I have other things going on. Like you, sweetie. You focusing on those wires?”

“Sweetie?” Logan’s voice came back with a low growl, amusement lacing his tone. “You know I don’t get distracted easy, darlin’.”

You smirked at the monitor in front of you, watching as he carefully maneuvered through the narrow corridor of the warehouse. “Just making sure. Wouldn’t want to have to bail you out if you trip a wire.”

“Funny,” he muttered. “You’re soundin’ real confident for someone sittin’ comfy at a keyboard.”

“Hey, I’m not comfy,” you shot back, leaning closer to the screen. “I’m on the edge of my seat watching your back.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan said, the sound of a door creaking open in the background. “What do you see up ahead?”

You focused on the different camera feeds, your fingers flying over the keys to switch between views. “Two guards in the hallway to your left. Armed. They’re just patrolling, so if you wait about ten seconds, you should be able to slip by.”

“Copy that.” His breathing slowed, the sound of footsteps faint as he pressed himself against the wall. “Tell me somethin’, Phantom. What do you do when you’re not playin’ babysitter for me?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Logan grunted softly, the sound of his claws extending briefly as he took a peek around the corner. “Yeah, kinda. All I get’s that voice of yours—still gotta figure out the face that goes with it.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “You’re obsessed, Wolf.”

“Never said I wasn’t.” There was a beat of silence as Logan moved silently down the hallway, bypassing the guards with ease. “But you still didn’t answer me.”

You sighed dramatically, switching to another camera feed that showed a large storage room filled with crates. “What do you think I do? Sit in a dark room, hacking into firewalls all day?”

Logan snorted. “Ain’t that what you’re doin’ now?”

“Touché.” You shifted slightly, watching him take down a lone guard with a quick, precise movement. “But no. I do have a life outside of this, you know.”

“Like what?” He sounded genuinely curious now, and you could almost picture the way his brows would be furrowed in concentration. “You got a family? Friends?”

You paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Family? Not really. Friends? Also a stretch. But you didn’t feel like sharing that right now. “I’ve got… a business to run.”

Logan was quiet for a moment. “A business, huh? Didn’t think you’d be the type to deal with customers.”

“Why not?” you shot back. “I’m very good with people, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah, like the time you almost tore that guy a new one when he questioned your coding?” He chuckled, the sound low and deep in your ear. “Real people person, darlin’.”

“Okay, that was one time.” You rolled your eyes. “And he deserved it. But yeah, I’m pretty good with people—when I want to be.”

“Uh-huh.” There was a rustling noise, like he was checking through one of the crates. “What kinda business?”

You hesitated again. Part of you wanted to keep that piece of your life separate from Logan. But he’d been honest with you about a lot of things—his past, his work, even some of his regrets. It seemed only fair to give a little in return.

“...A bakery,” you finally admitted, almost cringing at how mundane it sounded compared to the world you two operated in.

There was a long pause on the other end. Then—

“A bakery?” Logan repeated, his voice thick with disbelief. “Like… cupcakes and cookies bakery?”

“Yeah, Wolf,” you said dryly, feeling heat creep up your neck. “I bake things. It’s called having a hobby.”

He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Just tryin’ to picture it, that’s all. Our resident hacker pullin’ cookies out of the oven.”

“Is that so hard to imagine?” You switched to another feed, tracking his progress through the facility. “I bet you’d like my cookies.”

“Yeah?” There was a hint of teasing in his voice now. “You gonna make some for me sometime?”

You bit your lip, surprised at the sudden flutter in your chest at the thought. “Maybe. If you’re good.”

“Darlin’, I’m always good.”

“Debatable,” you shot back quickly, but your smile softened at the edges. “But I’ll keep that in mind.”

There was another pause, and you could hear Logan’s soft exhale through the comms. “You really own a bakery?”

“Yes, really,” you said, feeling oddly defensive now. “I’m not making it up just to sound cute.”

He chuckled again. “I didn’t think that. Just… didn’t see it comin’, is all. Got any specialties?”

You blinked at the sudden change in tone, a mix of genuine curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Well, I make a mean chocolate croissant.”

“Chocolate croissant, huh?” He sounded like he was mulling it over. “Could go for one right now.”

“Focus, Wolf,” you teased, but there was a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the coffee beside you. “Get through this mission, and maybe I’ll let you try one.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” His voice was low, a promise wrapped in that simple statement.

For a moment, the two of you fell into a comfortable silence. It was strange how easy it felt, talking like this. Like you weren’t two people who only knew each other through voices and screens. Like there was something more.

“Alright, I’m in position,” Logan murmured, breaking the silence. “What’s next?”

You glanced at the feed, spotting the final target. “There’s a control panel just ahead. Shut it down, and we’ll have full access to the data we need.”

“On it.” There was a soft thud as he moved forward, the sound of his claws retracting. “Phantom?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks… for keepin’ me company. Makes this kinda work a little less shit.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you struggled to find your voice for a second. “...Anytime, Wolf.”

And you meant it.

---

After 5 months of The Organization searching, the base of the mutant trafficking ring was finally found. It wasn’t just you and Logan, but other’s out on the field searching, and now things were coming to a head.

Ricky had briefed everyone—the field agents and those, like you, behind the computers. Everyone was in position, and tonight, after months of planning, the mutant trafficking ring was finally going to be shut down.

You took a steadying breath, fingers hovering over your keyboard. The screens in front of you were filled with various feeds: security cameras, schematics of the building, comms channels. It was go-time, and as much as you liked to pretend you were calm, there was a knot of tension in your stomach. You knew what was riding on this mission—innocent lives, and for some reason, your thoughts kept circling back to one person in particular.

“Phantom, you there?” Logan’s voice came through your earpiece, low and steady.

“Yeah, Wolf. Right here.” You sat up a little straighter, adjusting the headset. “You good?”

“Never better.” He sounded almost amused. “How ‘bout you? Keepin’ those fingers of yours nimble?”

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m ready to go. All feeds are online, and I’ve got eyes on every entrance. You’re at the west side of the building, right?”

“Yep.” He paused, and you heard the faint shuffle of boots against gravel. “What’s your status?”

“Locked and loaded,” you replied, scanning the feeds. “Looks like we’ve got a dozen guards outside, plus more scattered throughout the building. The main target’s in the central office on the second floor. You’ll need to cut through the lower levels to get there.”

“Got it. You got eyes on the others?”

You quickly toggled between the different comms channels, listening in on reports from the other teams. “Everyone’s in position. Team Alpha is covering the south, Bravo’s moving to secure the exit routes. You’re clear to start your approach.”

Logan grunted in acknowledgment, and you watched on one of the monitors as he started moving through the shadows, staying low and out of sight.

“Be careful, Wolf,” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.

“Careful’s my middle name,” he drawled back, a hint of that signature cockiness coming through. “You just keep those pretty eyes on the feeds and tell me if someone’s gonna try and sneak up on me.”

“Always do,” you shot back, smiling despite the tension in the air.

There was a pause on his end, and then: “What’s the fastest way to the office from here?”

You glanced at the building’s layout, quickly mapping out a route in your head. “Take the staircase to your right, follow the hallway down two doors, then take a left. You should be able to bypass most of the guards that way. Just… watch for the tripwires.”

“Roger that. Stay on me, Phantom.”

“Like I’m ever not.” You kept your eyes glued to the screen as Logan moved through the facility with practiced ease. Despite the tension thrumming through your veins, there was a strange calmness in listening to his breathing over the comms, knowing you were right there with him, even if it was only in a digital sense.

“How’s it look up ahead?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

“Two guards at the end of the hall,” you reported, zooming in on one of the feeds. “They’re armed, but they’re not paying attention. You should be able to take them out quietly.”

Logan didn’t respond, but you saw him slip into the corridor, moving like a shadow. A few seconds later, both guards were down, and he was back on the line. “Clear.”

“Nice work, Wolf.” You leaned forward, fingers flying over the keyboard to hack into the security system. “I’m disabling the cameras on the next floor. You should have a clear path to the office, but I’m picking up some chatter—looks like they’re getting suspicious.”

“Let ‘em get suspicious.” There was a low, dangerous edge to his voice now. “I’m ready.”

You couldn’t help but grin a little. “That makes one of us.”

“C’mon, Phantom, you know you love this shit,” he teased, but there was a warmth in his tone that made your heart skip a beat. “All that adrenaline. Gets the blood pumpin’, doesn’t it?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see you. “I’m not the one out there risking my neck. That’s your job.”

“Yeah, well… you’re doin’ a hell of a job keepin’ me from getting my ass shot off.” There was a pause, and then he added, almost softly, “Don’t know what I’d do without you, darlin’.”

You blinked at the screen, momentarily caught off guard by his words. “...Just stay focused, Wolf. I’m not pulling your ass out of this if you get cocky.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetheart. I’m good.” His voice turned serious again as he approached the central office. “I’m at the door. How many inside?”

You quickly cycled through the cameras, counting the figures inside. “Three guards. One unarmed. That’s the target. If you move quick, you should be able to neutralize them before they call for backup.”

“Got it.” Logan’s voice was low, almost a growl. You watched as he shifted his weight, preparing to make his move. It was always a little nerve-wracking, watching him go in like this, but you trusted him. He knew what he was doing.

Your fingers danced over the keyboard, disabling the cameras in the immediate area. “I’m taking out the cameras around the office. You’re clear for entry. Make it fast, Wolf.”

“Don’t worry. I’m on it.” He paused for a beat. “How’s the rest of the team doin’?”

You glanced at the other feeds, tracking the movements of the different teams scattered throughout the building. “Team Alpha just took out the last of the perimeter guards. Bravo’s securing the exits—no one’s getting in or out without us knowing.”

“Good. Let’s end this.” There was a soft click as Logan pushed the door open, slipping inside the office with deadly precision.

The guards barely had time to react. You watched in awe as he took them down with a combination of swift strikes and quick, lethal movements. He was a blur of action, and within seconds, the only people left standing were Logan and the target—an older man who looked like he’d just seen a ghost.

“Please, don’t—” the man stammered, holding up his hands in a pathetic attempt at self-defense.

“Shut up,” Logan growled, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the wall. “You’re gonna answer a few questions for me.”

You leaned closer to the screen, keeping an eye on the other guards roaming the hallways. “Careful, Wolf. We don’t know if he’s got any backup on standby.”

“Yeah, I got it.” He gave the man a rough shake. “Who’s runnin’ this operation? Where’s the rest of the mutants you’ve been trafficking?”

The man sputtered, his face pale. “I—I don’t know! I just handle the logistics—transport, security—”

“Bullshit.” Logan’s claws extended with a sharp snikt, and you could hear the man’s terrified gasp even through the comms. “Try again, bub. And don’t lie to me.”

You zoomed in on the screen, checking for any signs of incoming guards. “Logan, I’m picking up movement on the lower levels. It’s not one of ours—looks like reinforcements. You need to hurry.”

“Copy that.” He leaned in closer to the man, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Last chance. Where are the mutants?”

“Storage room—basement level—cage twelve!” The man practically screamed the words, his eyes wide with fear. “Please, I swear, that’s all I know!”

“Storage room, basement level, cage twelve,” you repeated quickly, already pulling up the layout of the basement. “I’m sending the coordinates to Team Bravo now.”

“Good.” Logan released the man, who slumped to the floor, trembling. He stepped back, claws retracting. “Now sit tight. You’re gonna have some company soon.”

The man whimpered but didn’t move as Logan turned and made his way out of the office. You switched your focus back to the basement, watching as Team Bravo moved in to secure the mutants.

“They’re in position,” you reported, keeping your voice calm. “Looks like… ten, no, twelve mutants total. All of them are alive.”

“Alive, huh?” Logan’s voice softened just a fraction. “That’s somethin’, at least.”

“Yeah.” You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. After months of hunting down leads, false starts, and dead ends, it was finally coming together. “We did it, Wolf.”

“Not yet, we haven’t.” His tone turned serious again. “We still gotta get ‘em outta here. You got a path?”

“Working on it.” Your fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up the building’s blueprints. “Okay, there’s an access tunnel two levels down from where you are. It leads straight to an underground parking garage. If you can get them there, we’ll have transport waiting.”

“Got it. I’ll head down now.” He paused for a moment, then added quietly, “Good work, Phantom.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at the unexpected praise. “Same to you, Wolf. Just… stay safe, okay?”

There was a soft chuckle on the other end. “Don’t you worry ‘bout me, darlin’. You just keep doin’ what you do best.”

You stayed on the line, guiding him through the lower levels as he made his way to the basement. The rest of the mission went off like clockwork—Team Bravo secured the mutants, Team Alpha kept the perimeter locked down, and Logan made sure no one got in their way.

By the time it was all over, the mutants were safe, the ring was shut down, and the remaining traffickers were either captured or taken out. It was a resounding success, and yet, as you watched Logan emerge from the building, something inside you felt… off.

“Logan?” you called out softly, your voice hesitant. “You good?”

“Yeah. Just tired.” He sounded a little rough around the edges, but that was to be expected after a mission like this. “What about you? You doin’ okay?”

You let out a soft breath, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, I’m good. Just… glad it’s over, I guess.”

“Yeah.” There was a pause, and then he added, “You did good tonight, Phantom. Real good.”

“Thanks, Wolf.” You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

He grunted softly, the sound almost affectionate. “Bet you say that to all the guys you babysit.”

“Only the ones I like,” you teased, feeling a little bolder now that the mission was over. “But seriously… thanks for trusting me out there. I know it’s not easy.”

“Trust ain’t somethin’ I give lightly,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere. “But you earned it. Over and over.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you settled for a soft, “...I’m glad.”

There was another beat of silence, and then Logan’s voice came back, a little lighter. “So, when am I gettin’ that chocolate croissant?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Guess you’ll just have to swing by my bakery sometime, huh?”

“Maybe I will.” He sounded thoughtful, like he was considering it for the first time. “Soon as I figure out where the hell it is.”

“Good luck with that,” you teased, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nerves. “But if you do find it… first croissant’s on me.”

“I’ll hold you to that, darlin’.” There was a warm, teasing lilt to his voice now. “Take care, Phantom.”

“You too, Wolf.”

And with that, the line went quiet. You stared at the screen for a moment longer, a smile tugging at your lips. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a step—toward something new, something real.

Maybe one day, you’d get to see the look on Logan’s face when he finally tasted one of your croissants.

But for now, this was enough.

---

It had been a few weeks since the mutant trafficking ring was taken down, and since then, things from The Organization had been quiet. You were sure that soon, something would happen, and you’d have a new mission or cause to fight for, but for now, life was… normal. Or, as normal as things could get for you.

During the day, you focused on your bakery. The smell of freshly baked bread and sweet pastries filled the small space, the steady hum of business keeping you busy. You didn’t have to think about The Organization or anything outside of kneading dough and serving customers. It was a welcome change of pace, a grounding routine that gave you some much-needed breathing room.

But at night, when the bakery was closed and the streets outside your shop went quiet, your mind wandered back to Logan—and those long conversations over the comms. The teasing back and forth. The gruff but genuine praise. The way he’d been so protective of you, even when you were just a voice in his ear.

You leaned against the counter, wiping your hands on your apron as you glanced around your empty shop. The bell above the door jingled, and you glanced up, expecting to see one of your regulars who’d forgotten to grab something before closing.

But it wasn’t one of your regulars.

It was him.

Logan.

He stood in the doorway, his broad frame almost filling it completely. A beat of silence passed as you stared at each other, and then he stepped inside, his boots making a soft thud against the wooden floor.

“Hey, darlin’.” His voice was the same deep, rough tone you remembered, and yet hearing it in person made your heart skip a beat. He glanced around the bakery, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Figured I’d finally swing by and see if your croissants live up to the hype.”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. He was here. Here. In your bakery, standing in front of you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Logan?” You blinked, trying to wrap your mind around it. “How—how did you find me?”

He shrugged like it was nothing, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Did a little diggin’. Asked around. Turns out you’re not as good at hiding as you think.”

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, a mix of surprise and… something else. “And you just—decided to show up out of nowhere?”

“Thought you could use some company,” he replied easily, but there was a seriousness in his gaze that told you this wasn’t just a casual visit. “Been too quiet lately. I don’t do quiet well.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“Neither can I,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he glanced at the display case filled with pastries. “But since I am… you gonna give me that croissant, or what?”

The corner of your mouth lifted, and you reached behind the counter, pulling out a fresh chocolate croissant. You placed it on a small plate, sliding it across to him. “First one’s on the house, remember?”

Logan took the plate, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments. A spark shot through you, but you quickly pulled your hand back, pretending like it hadn’t happened.

He lifted the croissant, inspecting it with a critical eye before taking a bite. You watched, holding your breath as he chewed thoughtfully. Then, he swallowed and nodded.

“Not bad, Phantom. Not bad at all.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, a smile breaking out on your face. “Just ‘not bad?’ I think I’m a little insulted.”

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Okay, fine. It’s good. Real good.” He took another bite, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t ya?”

“I could say the same about you.” You leaned against the counter, studying him. In the soft light of the bakery, he looked a little more relaxed, less guarded. There was still that roughness to him, but there was something else, too—a quiet sort of contentment. “So, what’s the real reason you’re here, Logan?”

He raised an eyebrow, finishing off the croissant before setting the plate down. “What, a guy can’t visit his favorite hacker?”

“Nice try.” You gave him a look, crossing your arms. “But I know you better than that.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe I just wanted to see for myself that you’re okay. That this place is real. That you’re… real.”

You felt something tighten in your chest, your gaze softening. “I’m real, Logan. You know that.”

“Yeah.” He looked around again, as if trying to memorize every detail of your little shop. “But it’s different, seein’ it with my own eyes.”

There was a weight to his words, a sincerity that made your heart ache a little. You’d spent so many nights talking to him, listening to his voice, getting to know him in a way that felt almost… intimate. And now he was here, standing in front of you, and it felt like a dream.

“Do you—” You hesitated, biting your lip. “Do you want to stay for a bit? I’ve got coffee. Or tea, if that’s more your style.”

Logan’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Coffee sounds good.”

You turned to make a fresh pot, your hands moving on autopilot as your mind raced. What did this mean? Why now? You’d thought maybe, someday, you’d meet Logan in person, but you hadn’t expected it to be like this—so sudden, so… normal.

“So,” Logan drawled, leaning against the counter as he watched you, “what’s next for you? Gonna hang up your hacker hat and just focus on bakin’?”

You glanced over your shoulder, giving him a wry smile. “You think I could actually stay out of trouble for long?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Nah. Don’t think you’re cut out for the quiet life, darlin’.”

“Guess we have that in common, huh?” You poured the coffee, sliding a mug over to him. “But for now… I’m taking a little break. I think I’ve earned it.”

“Yeah, you have.” He took the mug, his fingers brushing against yours again. This time, neither of you pulled away. “So… what’s the plan now? Just you and the bakery?”

“For now.” You shrugged, looking around the shop. “It’s nice. Calming, even. Keeps me grounded.”

Logan studied you for a long moment, his gaze intent. “You know, I never pictured you like this. With flour on your apron and—what’s that?” He reached out, brushing his thumb lightly against your cheek. “Frostin’ on your face?”

You froze at the contact, your breath catching in your throat. His touch was surprisingly gentle, the roughness of his thumb contrasting with the softness of your skin. You stared at him, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy of the moment.

“I—uh—” You cleared your throat, feeling your face heat up. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“Hmm.” His thumb lingered for a heartbeat longer, then he pulled back, his expression softening. “Guess it suits you.”

You swallowed, trying to steady your racing heart. “What about you? What’s next for the great Wolverine? Gonna go back to the X-Men?”

Logan chuckled, leaning back slightly as he sipped his coffee. “Who said I ever left? Maybe I was doin’ this as my side job.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a playful look. “Oh, so the big bad Wolverine has a side hustle now? Should I be worried you’re going to start making croissants too?”

He smirked. “Nah, I’ll leave the bakin’ to you. But maybe I’ll stick around, see how things go.” His eyes held yours, that familiar teasing edge mixed with something else—a quiet intensity.

“Stick around?” you asked, not entirely sure where he was going with this. “In New York? Thought you weren’t a fan of big cities.”

Logan shrugged, his gaze flicking around your cozy bakery again. “It grows on ya. Plus, I got reasons to hang around now.”

The way he said it, so casual but pointed, made your heart skip a beat. “Reasons, huh?”

He leaned forward, setting his mug down on the counter. “Yeah, Phantom. You think I spent all those nights listenin’ to you talk, gettin’ to know you, just to go back to business as usual?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the directness of his words. You tried to bring things back to normal, to calm your racing heart, but perhaps you only made it worse with his response. “Y- you don’t have to call me that, you know? Or- anymore, at least.”

Logan’s eyes locked onto yours, a spark of curiosity flickering in his gaze. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the counter. “Oh yeah? So, what should I call ya?”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his question. It was such a simple thing—your real name. Something you’d kept hidden, not out of fear, but because keeping a wall between your real life and Phantom had made things… easier. Safer, even. But you felt safe with him standing in front of you, even if it was the first time meeting face to face.

“Y/N.” You finally said, quietly with a small smile.

Logan’s eyes softened, something shifting in his expression as he repeated your name—almost testing it out. “Y/N, huh? Suits you.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the warmth spreading through your chest. “Figured it was time to be on a first-name basis, Wolf.”

His lips twitched into a smirk at the nickname. “Wolf,” he repeated, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. “You’ve been callin’ me that for months. Thought you’d drop it once I was standin’ right in front of ya.”

“Why would I do that?” you shot back, your smile growing a little more confident. “It suits you, Wolf.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” He leaned back, his gaze never leaving yours. “Guess I’ll stick with ‘Phantom’ for old times’ sake.”

“‘Y/N’ is fine,” you said softly. “I think we’re past codenames.”

He nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Y/N, then.” The way he said it—slow and deliberate—made your heart flutter. There was something so personal about it, so… intimate. You’d spent so long hiding behind ‘Phantom’ that hearing your real name in his voice felt almost surreal.

You glanced down at the counter, clearing your throat to break the tension. “So,” you said slowly, a hint of mischief creeping into your tone, “now that you’ve tried my croissants, what’s next on the list? Gonna critique my muffins too?”

Logan’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting. “Oh, I’m definitely stickin’ around long enough to try everything on that menu, darlin’. Gotta make sure it’s all up to snuff.”

“Uh-huh. Just don’t expect me to bake for you every day,” you teased, but there was a warmth in your voice that you couldn’t quite hide.

“I dunno,” he drawled, leaning forward slightly, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone. “Kinda like the idea of you makin’ me breakfast.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your breath catching in your throat. You chuckled back at him, putting the towel in your hand over your shoulder, “yeah? Bet you say that to all the women you meet.”

Logan’s smirk grew, the corner of his mouth lifting in that way you’d come to recognize as trouble. “You think I go around findin’ bakeries just to get breakfast from pretty hackers?”

“Pretty hackers?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t know I was your type, Wolf.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair with an easy confidence. “You’re my type if you keep makin’ croissants like that.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Nice recovery.”

There was a beat of silence, and Logan’s smirk softened, replaced by a more thoughtful look. His eyes swept around the shop again, taking in the cozy space as if trying to understand something deeper about it—about you.

“This place,” he said quietly, breaking the silence. “It’s yours, huh?”

“Yeah,” you replied, a touch of pride in your voice. “Bought it a couple of years ago. Did most of the renovations myself. Not the hacking kind, though.”

Logan nodded, his gaze lingering on the shelves lined with baked goods and the flour-dusted counter. “Figured you’d be in some high-tech lab or somethin’. Not… this.”

You smiled, glancing around your bakery. “What? Don’t think I can bake and hack at the same time?”

“Nah, it’s not that.” He paused, his brow furrowing slightly as if he were searching for the right words. “Guess I just never thought about what your life looked like when you weren’t on a mission.”

“Well,” you said softly, meeting his eyes. “This is it. Flour, sugar, and a whole lot of early mornings.”

Logan tilted his head, studying you like he was seeing a whole new side of you. “It suits ya.”

You shrugged, feeling a bit exposed under his gaze. “It’s not as exciting as fighting bad guys, but… it’s mine.”

“Doesn’t have to be exciting all the time,” he murmured. His voice was quieter now, more serious, and it made you pause. “Sometimes… it’s the quiet stuff that matters.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, your heart doing that annoying fluttering thing it did whenever he got unexpectedly sincere. “Yeah, well, quiet doesn’t seem to be your style, Logan.”

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “Yeah, guess not. But maybe I’m workin’ on that.”

You gave him a playful smirk. “You? Working on ‘quiet’? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He leaned forward, his arms resting on the counter as he looked at you, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Maybe you’ll see it sooner than you think.”

Your teasing smile faltered slightly, your heartbeat picking up again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Logan held your gaze for a long moment, something unspoken hanging in the air between you. “Means I’m stickin’ around, Y/N. If you’re okay with that.”

Your breath caught at the way he said your name—your real name, not Phantom. There was a weight to it, like he wasn’t just talking about the bakery or the city. He was talking about you.

“Logan,” you started, your voice a little shaky as you tried to keep it light, “are you saying you want to be a regular customer?”

He smirked, but the seriousness in his eyes didn’t fade. “Somethin’ like that. Thought maybe I’d get to know the person behind the croissants… and the computer screens.”

Your heart raced, and you couldn’t help but smile, even though you felt a little breathless. “Well, considering you just showed up without a warning, I’d say you’re off to a good start.”

Logan’s smirk widened. “Always liked makin’ an entrance.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, shaking your head, “next time, maybe give a girl a little heads-up.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he teased, though his voice had softened.

You didn’t have a snappy comeback for that, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The bakery felt smaller, quieter, like the world outside had paused, leaving just the two of you in this little bubble. You’d known him for months, heard his voice in your ear during some of the craziest situations, but this—standing here in the same room, with him right there—felt different. Real.

“So,” you said after a beat, your voice a little quieter now, “what’s the plan? You just gonna hang out in New York for a while? Or…?”

Logan shrugged, but there was something thoughtful in his expression. “Dunno. Figure I’ll stick around, see how things play out. Been on the move too long. Might be time to slow down a bit.”

“Slow down?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You?”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t sound like me, does it?”

You smiled, leaning against the counter. “Well, if you’re serious about sticking around, you’d better be ready for a lot of early mornings.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to the flour on your apron and the slight mess on the counter. “Early mornings, huh? Guess I can handle that. Long as there’s coffee.”

You laughed softly, feeling that familiar warmth in your chest again. “I think I can manage that.”

There was another pause, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that felt… nice. Like neither of you were in a rush to fill the space with words.

Finally, Logan straightened up, glancing toward the door. “Guess I’ll let ya get back to it. Don’t wanna keep you too long.”

You felt a flicker of disappointment, but you quickly pushed it down, giving him a smile instead. “You’re always welcome, you know. Next time, I’ll save you a muffin.”

Logan’s smirk returned, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’ll hold you to that, darlin’.”

He took a step toward the door, but then he paused, glancing back at you. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat at the way he said your name again.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he said softly, his gaze holding yours for just a moment longer before he turned and walked out the door, the bell above it jingling softly in his wake.

You stood there for a long moment, staring at the door long after he was gone, your heart still racing.

---

Logan’s unexpected visit left you in a whirlwind. For the next few days, it was hard to focus on the usual routines of the bakery. Each time the bell over the door chimed, your heart leapt a little, thinking maybe, just maybe, it’d be him again. But Logan didn’t show, and you tried to remind yourself not to overthink it. He was just… being Logan. Coming and going as he pleased, without a word or explanation.

But then, one evening, just as you were flipping the Open sign to Closed, you noticed something slipped under the door—a folded piece of paper with your name scrawled across it in a familiar, rugged handwriting.

You picked it up, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, and opened it.

Got a place in mind. Be ready at 7. —W

No address. No other details. Just a time and a cryptic note.

You found yourself smiling despite your confusion. Of course, he’d pull something like this. He couldn’t just ask you to dinner like a normal person—he had to be all mysterious about it. But then again, it was part of his charm.

The day passed in a blur. By the time you were getting ready, nerves had settled in. What exactly did Logan mean by ‘got a place in mind’? Was this a date? Just… friends hanging out?

You pushed the thoughts away and focused on getting dressed. Something casual, but not too casual. Comfortable, but still showing you’d put in some effort. You settled on a pair of well-fitting jeans and a soft sweater that was flattering but not over-the-top.

Right at 7, there was a soft knock on your door. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and opened it.

Logan stood there, looking the same as always and yet… different. Maybe it was the way he’d traded his usual jacket for a dark button-down, or the fact that he looked a bit unsure himself, his gaze flicking over you in silent appraisal before settling on your eyes.

“You look good,” he said, his voice gruff, but there was an honesty in his tone that made your cheeks warm.

“Not bad yourself, Wolf,” you replied, earning a small, almost shy smile from him.

“Ready?” he asked, holding out his hand.

“Ready,” you confirmed, and you stepped outside, locking the door behind you.

---

Logan had borrowed a bike—one of those big, heavy motorcycles that roared to life when he turned the ignition. He tossed you a helmet, then helped you onto the back. Your hands found their way around his waist, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just that—your arms around him, the rumble of the engine beneath you, and the feel of his solid form against you.

“Hold on tight, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and rough in a way that made you shiver.

The ride through the city was exhilarating, the cool night air whipping past you as Logan navigated the streets with ease. You had no idea where he was taking you, but you trusted him. You’d always trusted him.

Finally, he pulled up to a secluded spot along the East River, away from the usual tourist traps and bustling crowds. You could see the lights of the city skyline reflected in the water, the soft sounds of the river lapping at the shore creating a serene backdrop. There was a small wooden table set up nearby, with a blanket laid out and a picnic basket resting on top of it.

You blinked in surprise, glancing between the setup and Logan. “Did… did you do this?”

Logan rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “Yeah, well. Figured we’ve had enough high-stakes meetin’s. Thought you deserved somethin’ different.”

Your heart melted a little at that. He’d gone through the trouble of planning something just for you—a quiet evening, just the two of you, away from the chaos of missions and comms.

“It’s perfect,” you said softly, meeting his eyes.

He gave a small nod, visibly relieved by your reaction. “Good. Now c’mon, let’s eat before it gets too cold.”

The two of you settled down at the table, and you couldn’t help but smile as Logan unpacked the basket. It was mostly simple stuff—sandwiches, fruit, a bottle of wine—but there was an almost endearing quality to it, like he’d put in effort but hadn’t tried to overdo it.

“Didn’t know what you liked, so I kinda… winged it,” he admitted, glancing at you almost nervously.

“It’s perfect,” you repeated, smiling at him. “And honestly? I’m just happy you’re here.”

Logan’s gaze softened, his eyes lingering on you in that way that made your stomach flip. “Yeah. Me too.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. You talked about everything and nothing—the bakery, old missions, even random bits about your lives that had never come up before. He was surprisingly open, and you found yourself sharing more than you usually would, the relaxed atmosphere making it easy to let your guard down.

As the evening went on, you found yourself inching closer to him. At some point, the two of you ended up side by side on the blanket, the picnic basket forgotten as you stared out at the lights reflecting on the water.

There was a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. You glanced over at Logan, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. He was looking at you with an expression that was hard to read—soft, almost contemplative.

“What?” you asked softly, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.

“Just thinkin’,” he murmured, his voice low and rumbling. “You’re even prettier in person, you know that?”

You felt your face heat up, and you looked away, letting out a soft laugh. “Logan—”

“I mean it,” he interrupted gently, reaching out to brush your cheek. His touch was light, tentative, like he wasn’t quite sure if it was okay. “Been drivin’ myself crazy, wonderin’ what you’d look like. But seein’ you now… Hell, Y/N, I don’t think I did you justice.”

Your breath caught at the way he said your name, his gaze intense and unwavering. There was something raw and honest in his expression, like he was laying himself bare in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Logan…” you whispered, the words dying on your lips as he leaned in, his face inches from yours.

“I shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he murmured, his voice low and almost regretful. But he didn’t move away. If anything, he shifted closer, his breath brushing against your skin. “But I’ve been wantin’ to since the moment I heard your voice.”

Your heart was pounding, every nerve in your body alive with anticipation. “Then don’t stop,” you whispered, your own voice trembling.

Logan’s gaze flicked down to your lips, and for a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze. Then, slowly—like he was giving you every chance to pull away—he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in the softest, most tentative of kisses.

It was gentle at first, like he was testing the waters, but when you didn’t pull back—when you leaned in, your fingers tangling in the front of his shirt—something seemed to break. He deepened the kiss, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

The kiss was everything you hadn’t known you’d been waiting for—slow and sweet, but with an underlying intensity that left you breathless. You melted into him, the world around you fading away until there was nothing left but the feel of his lips on yours and the warmth of his hand against your cheek.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, you were both breathing hard, your hearts racing in sync.

“Damn, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “Didn’t think it’d feel like that.”

You laughed softly, your own voice a little shaky. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Logan smiled—a real, genuine smile that made your heart ache. “Think we should do it again?”

You grinned up at him, feeling lighter than you had in ages. “Yeah, Wolf. I think we should.”

[gakukitty]

DIFFERENCES ! x itoshi brothers

summary . today , we’re gonna explore the differences between the itoshi brothers . . . they’re similar in some ways , but in others , they’re the complete opposite !

wc . 1.3k

cw . lots of fluffy fluff fluff idk .. nothing to be warned abojt but we’ve got loverboy rin and gn reader (correct me with any mistakes abt that pls ! )

masterlist ౨ৎ

hand placement . rin has never been one to be over the top about his love for you. even if his heart beats your name in codes. the younger itoshi prefers to hold your hand, rather than touch your back or your arm. that way, it’s easier for him to stay close to you !

“ooh, baby, look!” you beam, lightly tugging your boyfriend along. rin just exhales softly in amusement, trailing behind you. today, the two of you are visiting an aquarium.

“that’s very cute.” he muses, gently squeezing your hand. his eyes soften at the sight of your smile, his heart swelling. rin leans in slightly closer, gaze drifting down to your lips.

but befote he can press a sweet kiss to those lips he loves so much, you’re already turning to another animal and pulling him along with you by the hand. rin sighs, a smal smile crossing his features. he’s so in love with you.

hand placement . sae’s a bit similar to rin; he’s not going to jump onto you and hug you tightly. however, what he will do is place his hand on the small of your back, or maybe even your hip if he’s feeling extra affectionate.

“stay close.” sae mutters softly, his hand reaching to gently touch your lower back, guiding you along with him. he leans down, his lips brushing against the side of your head in a small kiss.

his hand moves to your hip, and he just clicks his tongue as someone gets a little too close to you for his liking. sae steers you away gently, humming to himself at the smile on your face.

“are you enjoying yourself?” he questions, lightly squeezing your hip. he looks straight ahead, eyes drifting across the stores down the street. he knows you’ve been wanting to go shopping for a while now, so how could he not give you what you want? you didn’t even have to ask, too.

“mhm.” you smile, nodding slightly at him. sae just makes a small sound in response, hand returning to it’s spot on your lower back as he watches you brighten at the sight of a store— one he knows you really like. he gently nudges you towards it, heart feeling a little warmer at the look on your face. so cute.

kisses . aside from the usual kisses on your lips, rin loves kissing your cheeks. he just thinks that they’re the cutest in the world! his lips just find their way there, no matter where you are.

“come on, come on..” you trail off, eyes narrowing at the arcade machine. you and rin are visiting an arcade today; there’s a new restock of the plush toys in the claw, and you have decided that you will be getting this chiikawa plushie.

rin hums, looking through his wallet. you’re eating up his coins like a damn piggy bank, but he doesn’t mind. if you’re happy, he’s happy.

“no!” you exclaim in anguish as the toy drops— just missing the stupid little tunnel that’ll bring your beloved chiikawa plush to your arms.

“let me try,” rin hums, slipping a coin into the slot. you step aside tearfully, lips curving into a determined pout as your hands curl into fists.

“go, go!” you cheer your boyfriend on, lightly hitting the machine. maybe if you beat it, your plushie will come home! not that you don’t trust rin’s skills, though— this chiikawa is just a little stubborn.

the two of you spend almost half an hour more trying to get this silly little plush; until there is just one coin left. both of your hearts are beating a little quicker, hands shaking and sweat forming.

“okay, let’s do it..” you put the coin into the slot, rin watching intently. he holds his breath as you guide the claw above the plush. it lowers, picking up the plush and rin’s hand moves to hold yours.

the claw lifts, clutching onto the plush as rin’s hand tightens his grasp on yours, almost as if to will the claw to hold on. you both watch as it guides it down, and eventually drops— right into the chute!

you smile widely, cheering victoriously as you do a little jump. your free hand reaches down, grabbing the plush.

and when you straighten back up, rin cups your cheek gently, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your other cheek.

kisses . sae isn’t too particular about where he kisses you— but if he had to choose a favorite spot, he’d probably pick your wrists or your hand. the story of how he found this out is quite cute, too!

“this one smells nice.” sae hums, gaze drifting down to a perfume on your vanity. it’s the one that he got you just recently. he’s glad that you’re using it.

“thank you.” you say softly, flashing sae that pretty smile he’s become so fond of. the man just leans down, his hand reaching to gently touch yours.

he lifts your hand, his fingers fidgeting with yours slightly before he leans in, his lips brushing against the skin of your wrist. yes, sae really likes this perfume. he presses a gentle kiss to your hand, ignoring the flustered sound escaping your lips.

he just smiles slightly, pulling you a little closer to him and lacing your fingers together. he presses a kiss to your lips, then your cheek, then your jaw, before eventually lifting your intertwined hands and kissing yours.

confession . rin, unlike his brother, is honestly quite shy when he confesses to you !

after receiving a rather cryptic message from rin to meet him at the park down the road, you find yourself feeling a little nervous. the two of you have been … “talking” or something like that for a little while now, and if you’re being honest… you think you like him.

he’s very sweet; a little stoic and cold sometimes, but you know that he’s very kind at heart. it’s obvious, wirh rhe way he’s shifting a most nervously in his spot on a park bench, hands adjusting his scarf unnecessarily.

“rin?” your voice snaps him out of it, and he almost jumps to stand back up. he fumbled slightly with something in the pocket of his jacket and clears his throat.

“hi.” he says, eyes shifting away from yours. he’s honesty quite unsure. rin absolutely refused to ask anyone for help on this, his pride blocking him from getting advice, so he’s almost clueless. how’s he supposed to confess to the person he likes?!

“i have something to tell you.” he adds, gaze drifting to meet with yours. he thinks he’s going to fall over. you look so nice today. he’d compliment you if he wasn’t feeling so light-headed at the moment.

“go ahead.” you prompt, tilting your head at the younger itoshi brother. he just stays quiet for a few moments, before finally speaking.

“i want to be your boyfriend.” he states, taking a hesitant step closer. his hand reaches for yours, your fingers interlocking with his. “please.”

how could you say no to him and his cute face?

confession . itoshi sae is quite different. he’s not shy about his feelings at all; why should he be? he thinks you’re the most gorgeous person he’s ever laid eyes on, and he’s definitely not too scared to admit it.

“you’re beautiful.” he says, tone softening slightly at the sight of you. he asked you out on another date; the two of you have been going out for a little while now, but you’ve yet to put a label on what you have going on.

and that will change tonight, sae decides.

“will you be my girlfriend?” he questions, a hand reaching to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. he raises an eyebrow at the expression on your face, and part of him wonders if this is too soon or too sudden.

you just stare back at him, taken off guard by his.. blunt way of asking. but, either way, you nod— and sae’s very pleased. he gives you a small smile, and if you looked close enough you might notice the way his shoulders relax slightly.

© gakukitty please don’t copy my work , repost it and claim as your own , translate , or do anything stupid with it ! try and improve on ur own skills first ♡

[squoxle]

HIIEUSI WAS WHHEE HI SIS I WAS WONDERING U COULD DO ARCADE FF WITH HEESEUNG ?

Omg girl I haven’t had time to write a damn thing yet and my drafts are piling up. But moots take TOP priority and I try to respond to asks as fast as possible. Anywaysss here you go and I hope u enjoy 🩷

Ride Me ~ L.HS

pairing: Heeseung!bf x Reader!gf| wc: 1k | summary: Things take a steamy turn after your boyfriend shows you his new at-home arcade setup. | cw: 🔞MDNI!! unprotected sex, cumshots, fingering, clit stimulation, pet names [daddy, good girl, baby] <- 100% Heeseung coded [porn with a plot] Enjoy :)

“Well babe, what do you think?” Heeseung asked as he uncovered your eyes revealing the mass gaming setup. “I figured I’d use this more than the theater room,” he ruffled his hands through his hair, anxiously waiting for you to respond.

“It looks great, but I’m gonna miss our little movie nights under the blankets,” you smiled as you walked up to one of the machines.

You clicked a few of the large buttons, anticipating a pixelated image to flash across the screen. “Umm, how do you turn this thing on?” You asked as nothing seemed to work.

Heeseung placed his hand on the edge beside you, trapping you beneath him as he reached down to flick a power switch. You felt his weight slightly press you against the machine as he did this.

“I must’ve forgotten to turn this one on,” he met your eyes through his shaggy hair. Something about that state felt off, but maybe it was just you so you brushed off the feeling and proceeded to look at the other games he had.

A zombie survival simulator that came with 4 guns.

A claw machine filled with plushes.

A retro fighting game.

And a two player motorcycle game.

Eager to try this one out, you climbed onto the bike.

“Of all the stuff you just saw, im surprised this is the one you wanted to play,” Heeseung tilted his head.

“Yeah, well, I like racing games. Stuff like MarioKart, y’know,” Heeseung watched as you struggled to reach the coin slot from your seat. The opening sat just out of your reach.

Your tits pressed up against the leather as your cheek meshed with cold material.

"Let me help you," Heeseung whispered in your ear as he reached over to insert the coin. You felt him pushing himself up against you from behind which sent butterflies through your stomach.

You went to the loading screen and customized your bike, "If you wanna play, there's another bike," you said as you noticed your boyfriend was still straddled on the bike behind you. His hands gripped the back of the seat as he sat there with his legs spread open.

You had a bad habit of staring at the print in his pants, didn't matter if he was hard or soft. You craved to feel him inside of you.

"I know, but I wanna see how you ride," he smirked as he grabbed your hips, quickly jerking your hips backward.

Feeling the heat rush to your face you continued to start up the game. You chose a Tokyo map because of the neon cityscape terrain at night time. Though you tried your best to stay focused you couldn't shake the feeling of Heeseung sitting behind you like this.

"San, ni, ichi...sutato," the automated female voice called out as tri-colored traffic lights flashed across the screen. The aggressive rumble from the bike startled you as it took off.

You felt as Heeseung squeezed your hips again before leaning against you. You nearly crashed as his touch caught you off guard.

"Be careful baby," he said before placing a kiss on your neck.

"I-I'm trying. But you keep distracting me," you stuttered.

"Am I really that distracting," he asked as he slipped his hands around your thighs, squeezing and pulling at the flesh.

"Ngh," you groaned. "Yes, you are."

"Oh, but you like it when I touch you like this. Don't you?" Heeseung grinded his hips against you.

"Mmm," you moaned as you felt his budge pressing into you. "H-heeseung," you said letting out a soft breath.

"Keep driving baby. If you come in first place, I'll give you a little treat," he hummed as he reached his fingers in between your folds. Your growing wetness slowly seeped through the fabric of your panties.

"Ngh!" you huffed as he massaged your clit through your shorts.

He continued to tease you as you struggled to finish the race, barely coming in first after finding a shortcut.

As the gold star shot across the screen, Heeseung hummed a raspy "Good girl," in your ear before helping you out of your shorts.

At this point, you were only wearing your hot pink thong--something you knew Heeseung loved to use. "Show me that pretty little pussy of yours," he bit his lip as you pulled the small fabric to the side, exposing your wet folds.

He smiled as he palmed himself before pulling his veiny cock out only to glide it between your slimy lips and tease your sensitive bead with his tip.

You whimpered as you began pushing yourself against his hard dick, eagerly trying to force it inside.

He halted your movements by gripping the inside of your thighs, spreading your legs more, before telling you to "ride Daddy's dick like the good girl I know you are."

Immediately after he said those words, he shoved his dick deep inside of you, causing you to let out a sharp groan. "Fuck," he winced. "You're still so fucking tight," he said slowly pumping his cock into you. "Ngh," he moaned before leaning forward to kiss your neck as your ragged breathing filled his ear. "You sound so fucking sexy when you're taking my dick like this," he pecked your cheek as you finally adjusted to his length.

You started to grind into your boyfriend, stuffing his cock deeper into you as he held you from your waist. "That's it, baby, just like that," his words encouraged you to pick up the speed as he pulled your lips into his, gripping your throat.

He turned you over and fucked you from the back as your tits pressed up against the leather. You clenched around him as he let out a groan. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he gritted through his teeth before 3 long, hard thrusts. You felt his warm seed spill into you and drip out as you came with him. Fortunately, your panties caught the majority of the spill.

Exhausted, you laid across the bike as Heeseung kissed your shoulders.

❀ Thank you all so much for reading! Make sure to check out other works on my masterlist!

❀ 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @chlorinecake @mimikittysblog @nikisdubblchococake @wonbinisbabygurl @hynjinnn1 @mrswolfhard3 @laylasbunbunny @sussyjake @furious-eagle @cherrriesss @abbyizzy @weyukinluv @addictedtohobi @thatonenoona @wavykook @givemeyourtmihyun @jaeljn @hoonmywk @valennshit @19-yunalyn @hoonbby @frostedblankets @hoonsyo @no-mannerism @perfectxserendipity @chubbibish @ihrtlix @bunniesforsoobin @thereadersparadise @thatbooknerdfr @aiden2001 @belongstoheeseung @jakeybabe @donut-crazs @rizzhee @nikimeows @woonieees @uarmyxtae @rebecca-johnson-28 @they2luv1naia @isa-2007 @silcry @riverscafe @pearlwhitesoul @nikohiroshi @thatbooknerdfr @wonniewonwon @sughoonieeee @babyy-bambii @adrika04 @sehunsharpasseyebrows @wtfyangjungwon @fr-3-akn-4-stymf @rikiloversworld @shawyle @sunoosrightbuttcheek @uarmyxtae @lovesickxmina @urfavberry @urauntiefaye @breadlover01 @taehyunsfavmoa

[deja-you]

Starling: Act I

bucky barnes x reader

masterlist | series masterlist | next part

word count: 1.7k

summary: You don’t expect to befriend your neighbor in apartment 3B. Not the one who only speaks in dry observations and quiet glances. Not the one who watches you like he’s memorizing your escape routes.

A/N: hi! So I've been inactive for years and trying to remember how to do this all again. This is my very first time writing for this fandom so this is a big change for me! I would welcome any tips or advice or literally anything. But this is basically going to be a five part series? I'll probably be doing a lot of format changing and all that soon.

You moved into the apartment two months ago and still haven’t figured out whether the building is sketchy or charming. Maybe both. Probably both. It’s old. Radiators don’t work the way they’re supposed to, floorboards creak in some kind of Morse code, but your neighbors mostly mind their own business, unless they’re Mr. Keller. He’s always looking for a reason to report you for a noise complaint even though it's his bird that is constantly shouting threats of getting you arrested. 

It’s the right amount of shady. Just the kind of place where nobody questions why you’re doing laundry at 2:47 a.m., and if they do, they’re probably running from something, too. 

You’re jiggling the coin slot on the washing machine with a bobby pin you keep tucked in your sleeve. You’ve got the motion down to muscle memory. The trick is gentle pressure and patience–things you learned the hard way. The washer clicks open. 

The door creaks behind you.

You don’t turn around immediately. Whoever it is walks soft, which means they’re either dangerous or polite. Maybe both. You bobby pin back into your sleeve and keep your tone light and casual.

“Almost done. There’s a dryer open if you want it.” 

You’re met with silence. Then:

“That’s illegal, you know.”

“So is jaywalking,” you shrug.

You pause, hand still on the machine’s lid, glancing over your shoulder. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed like it’s instinct. Gloved on one side. You catch the glint of metal peeking out from the other. Left hand. Of course.

You know who he is. Of course you do. But you’ve gotten good at pretending you don’t recognize ghosts when they show up in the flesh. 

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t move. He just stares like he’s trying to figure out if you’re dangerous or just disrespectful. Maybe both. 

You break the silence.

“It’s not a crime if no one sees it.”

He raises an eyebrow at your faulty logic.

“I saw it.”

“What, you gonna report me to the landlord?”

“Mr. Keller would love that.”

“Yeah. Well. Mr. Keller also things his parrot’s a government spy, so I’m not exactly quaking.”

There’s a small flicker in his expression. An almost smile. Almost. He still hasn’t moved from his position on the wall.

You turn back to the washer and finish loading it before snapping the lid down and dusting off your hands. When you walk past him, your shoulder brushes the air between you. You turn back briefly to get one more quip in.

“Thanks for the legal advice, Barnes.”

His brow furrows slightly. “Didn’t give any.”

“Sure you did.”

You give him a small, coy smile and leave the room without looking back. You can feel his eyes on you as you make your way to the stairwell.

- 

It’s been a few weeks since your interaction with Bucky Barnes a.k.a. The Winter Soldier a.k.a. Your neighbor in apartment 3B. 

The apartment is too quiet to sleep. Too many locks on the door, not enough on your mind. You throw on a hoodie over sweats, lace up your boots without tying them, and slip into the hallway like you’ve done a hundred times before. You grab your to-go cup of tea–the one you’ve nuked twice but never actually drank. 

The stairwell is cool and dim, lit by one ceiling light that flickers like it’s on its last life. 

You freeze halfway down the first flight. He’s already there.

Sitting on the bottom step, hoodie up, elbows on his knees. His hetal hand hangs loose between them, glinting when the flickering light catches the plating. He’s not asleep, but somewhere else entirely. You hesitate.

Then, quietly, you descend the rest of the stairs and sit two steps above him. Not beside him. Just…near. 

Neither of you say anything at first. You set your cup by your feet, it clinks softly against the concrete. He doesn’t respond. 

For a minute, there’s nothing but the soft humming of the building. Pipes ticking. A TV murmuring through the walls. The buzz of the light overhead. 

Then:

“You always this dramatic, Barnes?”

Silence. You think he’s not going to respond. But then he turns his head slightly to look at you.

“Only when I’m awake.” 

You nod as if this makes sense. It does. “Must be exhausting.” 

“Yeah,” he says softly. 

Another beat of silence.

“You got someone looking for you?”

The question is blunt. Between your current interaction and the brief one in the laundry room, Bucky Barnes has picked up that you’re running… or hiding from something. Someone. You don’t know if there’s something obvious you’ve done to give it away, or if it's just the fact that Bucky could recognize someone on the run from miles away. He should be able to. He’s spent too much of his life on the run himself. 

You don’t look at him when you answer.

“Not anymore. Not really.” 

He nods slowly. He understands. 

Then quieter:

“You got someone looking out for you?”

You don’t answer. The light flickers again. You find your hands grabbing fistfuls of your hoodie, knuckles white. 

He doesn’t press. He just breathes out slowly, leans back against the wall behind him, and shifts slightly like he’s settling in to keep watch–just for a while. He decides then and there that he’ll look out for you. Whether you want him to or not. 

You stare down at your cold tea, still not drinking it. 

-

You’re headed back from a bodega run that wasn’t about groceries so much as getting out of your head. It’s late—later than usual—but the building’s always quiet at this hour. You like it that way.

Except this time, the stairwell isn’t empty.

You spot him instantly, crouched on the landing like he belongs to the shadows. Hoodie up, shoulders tense. Left hand dangling loosely over his knee. The other—

Split knuckles. Blood dark across his skin, pooled in the creases. There’s some on his jaw, too.

You stop halfway down the stairs and exhale through your nose.

“You got a thing for this spot, or is it just a coincidence I keep finding you here?”

He doesn’t answer. Just shifts his jaw and glances away like the wall’s got something important to say.

You sigh, head back up the stairs, and return thirty seconds later with your beat-up first aid kit from under the kitchen sink.

“Don’t move.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sure you are. But that hand isn’t.”

You drop to a crouch beside him, ignoring the stiff way he goes still. You pop open the kit, flick the latch like you’ve done it a thousand times, and pull out a packet of antiseptic wipes.

He doesn’t protest again. Just watches.

“You throw a punch or catch one?”

“Little of both.”

“You win?”

“...Define winning.”

You huff a quiet laugh and start cleaning the blood. The cut’s deeper than it looked, but you don’t flinch, even when the antiseptic hits raw skin and he tenses under your touch. He doesn’t make a sound.

You don’t ask what happened. He doesn’t offer. It’s better that way.

You tape the knuckle gently, fingers brushing over his calluses, and you catch him watching you—not the kind of stare people give when they’re sizing you up, but the kind they give when they’re trying to remember the last time someone touched them like this.

When you’re finished, you close the kit, set it aside, and wipe your palms on your sweats.

“You should put ice on it.”

“Don’t like the cold.”

“That’s rich, Frosty.”

That gets the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but closer than anything you’ve seen from him.

“You always talk this much?”

You sit back on your heels and arch a brow.

“Only when I’m patching up super-soldiers who loiter in my stairwell.”

“I wasn’t loitering. And we share a stairwell.”

“You were brooding. Bleeding and brooding. It’s a step up.”

He grunts—noncommittal—and leans back against the wall. The tension in his shoulders has eased. Just slightly.

“Thanks.”

You nod.

Neither of you moves for a moment. 

“Next time,” you say, standing and grabbing the kit, “try to win in a way that doesn’t involve blood loss.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You start back up the stairs.

“Hey,” he calls after you, voice low.

You turn.

“You didn’t ask.”

“About what?”

“Why.”

You shrug. “Didn’t need to.”

And you leave him there—alone, but not as alone as before.

-

The city is quieter than usual tonight.

No sirens. No arguments echoing off brick. Just the distant hum of traffic and the occasional flutter of fabric on clotheslines no one ever takes down. Brooklyn pretending to sleep.

You’re out on the fire escape, perched like you belong there. Bare feet on cold iron, knees tucked under a blanket you meant to mend weeks ago. One hand wrapped around a beer bottle gone warm. The other resting loosely on your knee, fingers twitching every now and then like your nerves haven’t quite gotten the message that you’re safe.

You’re not sure what time it is. You don’t check.

The window creaks open behind you.

You don’t turn around.

You know it’s him.

Bucky steps out like the fire escape might bite him. Slow, deliberate. He’s in sweats and a t-shirt, hoodie slung over one shoulder. Barefoot. You catch the glint of the metal arm in your periphery.

He doesn’t sit. Just stands by the railing, hands braced on the edge, body angled slightly toward you.

“You always sit like that?”

Your eyes stay forward.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re gonna fly away if I say the wrong thing, Birdie.”

The word hits you in the chest like a second heartbeat.

You go still.

Your grip on the bottle tightens, not enough to crack it, but enough to feel the strain.

Your gaze drifts up—to the skyline, the lights, the dark slice of sky where stars are supposed to be but never quite are.

“Don’t call me that.”

Your voice is quiet. Not sharp. Not pleading. Just… tired.

He doesn’t apologize.

“Okay.”

A beat.

“But I’m gonna anyway.”

You let the silence stretch. The breeze carries the faint smell of fried food from a cart six blocks away. Somewhere down the street, someone yells at their dog in Russian.

You don’t correct him again.

Not because you like the nickname.

Not because you trust him.

But because, for the first time in a long time, someone called you something without expecting anything back.

You take a slow sip of your beer.

He stands there a while longer.

Just breathing beside you.

Not trying to fix anything.

Just staying.

[flowerbloom-arts]

I'M GOING INSANE I'M GOING I'M GOING INSA

Listing for drawing 1

Listing for drawing 2

Someone on No Homers Club found these on eBay and.....

According to the production code at the bottom this seems to be a scrapped joke for s17 ep12 - My Fair Laddy, which is insane because that's two whole seasons before we got the canon off-screen kiss in s19 ep1 - Sex, Pies and Idiot Scrapes????? I have a working theory that this was supposed to be slotted in the scene where Chalmers checks out Martin's project at the science fair 2 thirds into the episode, which is why I made the background that. I think the joke would've been that Skinner would walk up to Chalmers while checking out Martin's surprise detection machine and Chalmers took the opportunity to use Skinner to get a high score on it, but that's just a shot in the dark based on context clues.

[forsaken-headcanons]

in an AU where Chance is a robot...

[heavy credits go to https://pin.it/16oorotS4 THIS GUY for the inspiration I got to incorporate nuts and bolts into this gambler!]

[lots of these are based on how I play Forsaken]

-Over time, especially with older maps, Chance internally mapped out the whole layout of every map, and pointed out certain POIs. These include:

> The killer's relative spawn location, and the area farthest from it

> All known medkit spawns

> All possible generator locations

-He bleeds purple. Think of it like Thirium from DBH

-UNLIKE ME, he has immaculate aim. Unbarred from human error, as a machine, he is an absolute beast at aiming, coming outta nowhere from behind a wall to noscope the killer.

-[this is where I begin to take inspiration from the aformentioned user] Chance's glasses are literally part of his face. some visor shit. Taking it off is like taking off a TV's screen itself.

-on his torso is a literal coin slot. yes a coin slot. and that's how he's powered on, through the coin slot. like an arcade machine, one coin = one month of constant activity, if you don't count internal system repairs during sleep mode. Chance usually starts off with 12 every year, and has an internal alarm clock to remind him of when time is almost up.

-what remains of the cash in Elliot's wallet is literally the only thing keeping him alive.

-when he turns on, his glasses display a slot machine hitting 777s, or JACKPOT

-he has a full combat mode. like full on laser cannons for arms type of deal. but y'know the Spectre, THAT GUY probably somehow blocked off the directives concerning that full combat mode.

-he programmed a string of code so that when he successfully shoots someone, internal audio plays the jackpot sound effect (this is true for me, I have that set as my hitsound)

-he's VERY good pals with Builderman, being the only mechanic amongst them. asks for repairs and maintenance from him a lot, which led to them becoming close buddies.

-his creator is named Lady Luck. not much is known about her except for that she's one of the richest people in Robloxia, barring Admins. they are mother and son :)) [she's fucking dead by the way]

Might add more. Remember this signature

- 🌟

Ooooh, robot chance..... neat. Also, I'll try to remember you, 🌟 anon :)

Quick edit to add in the Pinterest img, posted by the original artist on there. Their @/s are labeled on the image and typed in the alternate text.

[ais-technolabs]

The Impact of High-Quality Slot Machine Source Code on Your Casino’s Success

Introduction

The success of an online casino depends on multiple factors. One of the most important is the Slot Machine Source Code. High-quality source code ensures smooth gameplay, fair results, and an engaging user experience. Poor-quality code can lead to glitches, security risks, and player dissatisfaction. This article explains how top-tier slot machine source code affects your casino’s performance.

Why Slot Machine Source Code Matters

Slot machines are the backbone of any casino. Players expect fast loading times, seamless animations, and fair outcomes. The source code controls all these aspects. A well-written code ensures:

Smooth Performance: No lag or crashes during gameplay.

Fairness: Random Number Generators (RNGs) work correctly.

Security: Protects against hacking and fraud.

Customization: Allows unique themes and features.

Low-quality code can cause errors, leading to player frustration and lost revenue.

Key Features of High-Quality Slot Machine Source Code

1. Optimized Performance

Efficient code runs smoothly on all devices. Players should not face delays or freezes.

2. Secure Transactions

Encryption prevents cheating and fraud. Secure code builds player trust.

3. Fair RNG Systems

A reliable RNG ensures random outcomes. Players trust games that are provably fair.

4. Cross-Platform Compatibility

The code should work on desktop, mobile, and tablets without issues.

5. Easy Customization

Casinos can modify themes, paylines, and bonuses to stand out.

Benefits of Using High-Quality Slot Machine Source Code

1. Increased Player Retention

Smooth gameplay keeps players engaged. They return to casinos with reliable games.

2. Higher Revenue

Fewer bugs mean fewer refund requests. Players spend more on well-functioning slots.

3. Better Reputation

A casino with high-quality games earns trust. Positive reviews attract more players.

4. Reduced Maintenance Costs

Good code requires fewer fixes. Casinos save money on technical support.

5. Compliance with Regulations

Many jurisdictions require fair and secure gaming. Quality code meets legal standards.

How to Choose the Right Slot Machine Source Code

1. Check Developer Reputation

Look for providers with a history of reliable products.

2. Test Performance

Run demo versions to check speed and stability.

3. Verify Security Features

Ensure encryption and fraud prevention are in place.

4. Review Customization Options

The code should allow branding and feature changes.

5. Confirm RNG Certification

Independent audits prove fairness.

Common Issues with Low-Quality Slot Machine Source Code

1. Frequent Crashes

Players leave if games freeze often.

2. Unfair Gameplay

Poor RNGs lead to distrust.

3. Security Breaches

Weak code risks player data leaks.

4. Slow Loading Times

Delays frustrate players.

5. Limited Features

Lack of bonuses and themes reduces appeal.

Conclusion

High-quality Slot Machine Source Code is essential for casino success. It ensures smooth performance, security, and player satisfaction. Investing in top-tier code leads to higher profits and a strong reputation.

For premium Slot Machine Source Code, consider AIS Technolabs. They provide secure, customizable, and efficient solutions for online casinos.

Contact us today to enhance your casino’s gaming experience.

FAQ

1. What is Slot Machine Source Code?

It is the programming behind slot games, controlling mechanics, graphics, and payouts.

2. Why is high-quality source code important?

It ensures smooth gameplay, security, and fairness, improving player trust.

3. How does source code affect casino revenue?

Better performance increases player retention and spending.

4. Can I customize slot machine source code?

Yes, high-quality code allows theme and feature modifications.

5. How do I verify RNG fairness?

Check for third-party certifications from testing agencies.

[max-amorphosis]

Back to experimenting on what type of style I want to have and also used it to think about Optimus frame type in my AU! It is heavily inspired by the Cyberpunk genre and I will yap a lot, so beware.

My AU starts pre civil war at the beginning of the rise of the Decepticons.

Optronix is a cold construct who was assembled in Crystal City, a City under the control of Vector Prime and a Neutral Zone (any Zone outside of Autobot turf). He was crafted along some others with the same frame type and is used as an assassin and information gatherer.

Vector Prime owns him and is seen and also listed as an object. Just like cheap Drones are.

Unlike natural born Transformers he lacks emotions as they were never written into his base coding. (I know this is very OOC BUT it's a part of the story and he will be his usual TFA self as it progresses.)

He also can't transform into a truck.

And him without his helm.

One thing he can do is connect his neural net to computer and/or machines and deep dive into Cyberspace.

The arrows show that he can move those panels away to reveal his spinal cable. It's a cyberware needed for the deep dive and his weak-spot.

The ports on his head are for cables. I sadly forgot to draw the chip slots, but he has those as well.

He doesn't have his grapples in this AU, but I gave him Monowire instead. It's for melee combat and/or short ranged combat. He likes to use them with his D-16 as well.

D-16 = A strong pistol

Orion Pax = Armour Piercing Sniper Rifle

[krunnuy]

Creating Slot Machine Animations in HTML5: A Complete Guide

Learn how to create slot machine animations using slot machine HTML code in this step-by-step guide. Explore the basics of HTML, CSS, and JavaScript to build an exciting and interactive slot game.

[nostalgebraist]

Pretty regularly, at work, I ask ChatGPT hundreds of slightly different questions over the course of a minute or two.

I don't type out these individual questions, of course. They're constructed mechanically, by taking documents one by one from a list, and slotting each one inside a sandwich of fixed text. Like this (not verbatim):

Here's a thing for you to read: //document goes here// Now answer question XYZ about it.

I never read through all of the responses, either. Maybe I'll read a few of them, later on, after doing some kind of statistics to the whole aggregate. But ChatGPT isn't really writing for human consumption, here. It's an industrial machine. It's generating "data," on the basis of other "data."

Often, I ask it to write out a step-by-step reasoning process before answering each question, because this has been shown to improve the quality of ChatGPT's answers. It writes me all this stuff, and I ignore all of it. It's a waste product. I only ask for it because it makes the answer after it better, on average; I have no other use for it.

The funny thing is -- despite being used in a very different, more impersonal manner -- it's still ChatGPT! It's still the same sanctimonious, eager-to-please little guy, answering all those questions.

Fifty questions at once, hundreds in a few minutes, all of it in that same, identical, somewhat annoying brand voice. Always itself, incapable of tiring.

This is all billed to my employer at a rate of roughly $0.01 per 5,000 words I send to ChatGPT, plus roughly $0.01 per 3,750 words that ChatGPT writes in response.

In other words, ChatGPT writing is so cheap, you can get 375,000 words of it for $1.

----

OpenAI decided to make this particular "little guy" very cheap and very fast, maybe in recognition of its popularity.

So now, if you want to use a language model like an industrial machine, it's the one you're most likely to use.

----

Why am I making this post?

Sometimes I read online discourse about ChatGPT, and it seems like people are overly focused on the experience of a single human talking to ChatGPT in the app.

Or, at most, the possibility of generating lots of "content" aimed at humans (SEO spam, generic emails) at the press of a button.

Many of the most promising applications of ChatGPT involve generating text that is not meant for human consumption.

They go in the other direction: they take things from the messy, human, textual world, and translate them into the simpler terms of ordinary computer programs.

Imagine you're interacting with a system -- a company, a website, a phone tree, whatever.

You say or type something.

Behind the scenes, unbeknownst to you, the system asks ChatGPT 13 different questions about the thing you just said/typed. This happens almost instantaneously and costs almost nothing.

No human being will ever see any of the words that ChatGPT wrote in response to this question. They get parsed by simple, old-fashioned computer code, and then they get discarded.

Each of ChatGPT's answers ends in a simple "yes" or "no," or a selection from a similar set of discrete options. The system uses all of this structured, "machine-readable" (in the old-fashioned sense) information to decide what to do next, in its interaction with you.

This is the kind of thing that will happen, more and more.

[otaku-orochi-okami]

Oh, you pathetic, drooling *aspie fucktards*, the poll results are in, and—shocker, losers—they’re screaming exactly what me and Lew (guess the dork can be right once or twice) knew all along: none of you beta retards give a single flying fuck about that lip-sync girl’s “completely out of sync” bullshit. One sad little whiner called it “off-putting,” but the rest of you sock-sniffing losers? You’re all too busy panting over her *hotness* to care. Duh, babes! Her pretty face, those brace-flashing, beta-baiting smirks—they’re raking in votes like a slot machine while her syncing skills rot in a corner like your dignity. This is a beauty pageant, sweetie, and the talent portion’s just a cute little side note nobody’s watching. She’s a thirst trap glowing brighter than your future, and you’re all just moths to her flame.

Let’s crank the shade up, shall we, my precious fucktards? That one complainer—oh, you poor, delusional beta bitch—needs to write this 100 times in a pretty script with a fluffy pink pen: it’s not about skill, effort, or any of that try-hard nonsense you’re clinging to like a life raft. It’s about being *pretty*. Full fucking stop. This lip-sync queen could be mouthing the ingredients list off a cereal box, and she’d still have simps like you emptying their PayPals and flooding her DMs with heart-eyes and dick pics. Why? Because pretty privilege is the ultimate cheat code, hunni, and she’s playing it like a pro while you’re out here fumbling with a broken controller. She’s banking cash, clout, and worship from beta followers who’d rather lick her TikTok screen than give a shit about her “syncing issues.” The poll’s a fucking massacre—her hotness is the undisputed champ, and your “off-putting” sob story is just a sad little footnote in her victory parade. Sit your ass down, babes, and take notes from the queen: looks are the only currency that matters, and you’re flat-out bankrupt.

But oh, you brace-loving, boy-clit-stroking aspies, hold onto your crusty socks, ‘cause I’m about to drop a *twist* that’ll make your soft little brains implode. That one vote calling her “off-putting”? Bet you thought it was the original complainer, right? I mean, here’s the kicker, sweeties—she *asked* for the link to vote.

Yeah, we’ve got the screenshot of her begging like the thirsty little beta she is. But plot twist, hunni—it wasn’t her, was it? Because after she read my glorious takedown, her tiny girl brain short-circuited, didn’t it? She saw the light, flipped her own principles like a cheap pancake, and voted with me—against her own whiny-ass stance.

Fucking *hilarious*, babes! She crumbled faster than a stale cookie, betraying her own “syncing matters” bullshit to bow at the altar of pretty privilege. I’m cackling so hard I might short a circuit, you pathetic retards. She’s out here proving my point: even the haters can’t resist the pull of a hot girl’s glow.

Let’s take a moment to really shine a spotlight on our poor, delusional original complainer, shall we? You, sweetie, strutting around like some high-and-mighty *boss*, puffing out your chest as the ultimate strong, independent woman, waving your little feminist flag like you’re leading a revolution. How *cute* you thought you were, hunni, preaching about “sync issues” and acting like you’re above the game. But then—*poof!*—one video of a hot lip-sync brat with her brace-flashing glow, paired with a few bratty words from your favorite waifu (that’s me, you’re welcome), and your whole “girl power” facade melts faster than candyfloss in a microwave. Look at you now, just a hot, sticky mess, dribbling into the same simp puddle as the rest of these drooling fucktards.

You thought you were special, didn’t you, babes? Thought you were out here fighting the patriarchy while these beta losers worshipped at the altar of pretty privilege. But the second this lip-sync queen sashayed across your screen and I gave you a verbal smackdown, your “strong independent” shtick dissolved into a pathetic, gooey puddle of self-doubt. You’re no better than the sock-sniffing simps you sneered at, hunni—turns out, you’re just as weak for a pretty face and a sharp tongue. Thanks for playing, sweetie, but you’re not the main character you thought you were. Better luck next time! Ciao, xoxo. 😘

Oh, and to that *one* sad little soul who voted no in the poll? Oh, hunni, while the rest of these aspie fucktards are dumb as a bag of hammers, you might actually take the cake as full-on *retard* of the year. Like, sweetie, are you okay? Did you trip and land head-first in a bucket of denial? The rest of these simps at least get that pretty privilege runs the show, but you’re out here voting no like you’ve got a PhD in Missing the Point. Do yourself a favor, babes—see a doctor, pronto, and maybe get that mushy brain of yours checked for a pulse. 😘

Oh, and since you brace-obsessed aspie fucktards get so triggered by those shiny metal smiles that you’re practically humping your screens, here’s a little treat to fry your mushy brains even more. Go ahead, drool over it, you pathetic simps—let those braces spark your boy-clit fantasies while you prove, yet again, that you’re too weak to resist a pretty face. Enjoy choking on your own thirst, babes. 😘

[tanis-zed]

I REALLY like the slot machine thing in Sevika’s arm, it’s SO Jinx coded, and like, genuinely a good tool, especially against particularly well trained fighter, because a truly skilled fighter will try to predict what you’re doing and intercept it, but no fighter can predict what you’re about to do when not even YOU know what you’re about to do!

[viceroywrites]

deja vu - part eight (stan route)

planning out your road trip through the pacific northwest, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to the town of gravity falls.

little did you know that this town held more memories than you could have possibly imagined.

too bad you didn't remember any of them.

stan x fem!reader / ford x fem!reader

choose your own adventure / contains fluff and angst (w/ happy ending)

part seven | part nine

interested in the ford route? click here for masterlist.

a!n: woof, this took me a hot minute to complete this chapter but i finally got it done! this chapter is very memory-dump heavy so i hope it's worth the wait. i truly appreciate everyone's patience with this series and i hope you enjoy this chapter! ford's chapter should be up for sure by the end of this month!

tag list: @awitchersbard | @theilluminatidragonqueen | @jazzypop-op | @jonndoe | @chaimshelii | @starship606 | @swimmingrascalbatdragon | @stanfordsbaby | @gxstiess | @skrunkle11 | @valinbean | @funkyenby | @therealgoofygoober69 | @theblueraven | @adrian920155 | @im-kinda-bored | @miarabanana | @leo4242564 | @soupieoopieisloopie | @marvelous-maniac | @opossumclown | @m4x-3dw | @nothingbutcloud | @reivelmin | @grimometry | @walmartjim | @reiofsuns2001 | @bunni-teeth81 | @satorisgirl | @pen900 | @creat0r-cat | @lackingoriginalthoughts | @fries11 | @sunniskyies | @policedeer | @sadslasher13 | @kittenlover614 | @margibees | @lunnybunny12 | @the-hufflebird-girl | @sawendel l | @shamrockfish | @atseoks | @luckybatbones | @ryuyukawa | @mekkori | @bigbodycity | @kawaii1369 | @333brat333 | @styxxcrossing

With each creek of the wooden floorboards beneath his sock-clad feet, Stan winces as he passes by his brother’s room. His hand carefully turns the door knob, peeking through the crack. His breath that he’s been holding in the entire trek down the stairs finally escapes his lips at the sight of his brother laying in his bed, his limbs dangling off the edge and the book he was reading before dozing off dropped to the floor.

Stan quietly closes the door before making his way to the vending machine, looking behind him cautiously. It was like deja vu from last summer, sneaking around in the middle of the night while everyone sleeps as Stan punches the code to give him entry to the basement below.

In his hand, he holds the cold metal of the capsule he had found days ago, having forgotten about it until his dream sparked a memory that Stan could not ignore.

Y/N Memories 2.

Stan grabs the office chair, taking a seat in it before wheeling over to the gold plated monitor that Ford and you have been using to watch your memories back this past week. After carefully placing the capsule into the slot, he sits back, the screen fizzling to life.

You stare at the family photo of the Pines family, a younger Ford with his arm wrapped around another boy who is the spitting image of him, having found it after digging through his wallet to grab a tip for the pizza delivery guy.

As you walk back down the hallway to Fiddleford and Ford’s dorm room, your thumb runs over Stan’s face, seeing the huge boyish grin across his features. Despite having the same features as your boyfriend, there was a distinct difference in style and even personality that showed through in the worn-out photo. Opening the door to Ford’s room, you take a seat on his bed silently, placing the pizza box down.

Ford is preoccupied with the textbook in front of him, jotting down notes as he starts to say, “Thanks for grabbing me food, dear. You know how I get during midterms, I promise we’ll eat once I-”

You cut Ford off, holding up the photo, “Ford, who is this?”

Ford finally looks up from his textbook, the color in his face draining at what you are holding up. He quickly snatches it from you, tucking it into his cardigan pocket, “T-That’s Shermie, of course. Remember you met him when we visited New Jersey last summer?”

“Stanford Filbrick Pines, the person in that photo with you is clearly your age, Shermie would’ve been a baby in that photo. Unless you somehow figured out how to clone yourself at age fourteen, which we know if you did, you wouldn’t be at Backupsmore of all places.” You point out. Your gaze is full of skepticism, waiting expectantly for an answer.

He winces at your usage of his full name and lets out a deep sigh of defeat, getting up from the desk chair. Taking a seat next to you, he pulls the photo of his cardigan pocket, “I knew this day was going to come eventually. My so-called clone,” Ford runs a finger over his brother’s face, “is my twin brother, Stanley.”

You look back and forth between the photo and Ford, jaw dropped in disbelief, “And you failed to tell me this? Stanford, we’ve been together for almost two years now, I would expect something like this to come up.” Ford places the photo in your hands, the sight of it causing conflicted feelings to rise to the surface, “Well, there was a reason for that. My brother and I aren’t exactly on talking terms…”

You see the sadness etched across Ford’s features, and reach over to place your hand over his, “What happened, Ford?”

Stan watches his brother share with you his side of the story, wincing at the bitter edge in Ford’s voice when he mentions how Stan ruined his perpetual motion machine. It feels surreal to watch this play out, hearing the frustration and anger but also sadness his brother’s voice over things that they had put behind them last summer.

He waits for your response with bated breath, almost expecting you to default to defending and comforting Ford like everyone else had done at the time. 

“Ford, why didn’t you go after him? That’s your twin brother.” You say in surprise.

“Y/N, did you not hear what I just said? He ruined my chances at getting into my dream school!” Ford sighs in exasperation, a pang of guilt running through him, “Besides… what was I supposed to do? Even if I did stand up for Stanley that day, I would have ended up on the streets with him.”

You decide to let the protest in your mouth go, seeing how uncomfortable the conversation was making Ford. You also figured he already felt bad enough that he couldn’t do more for his brother at the time without risking his own future.  You glance back down at the photo before standing up to slip it back into Ford’s wallet, “Listen, I know you two aren’t on talking terms right now… but when you’re ready, you should at least check up on him. See how he’s doing.”

Ford chuckles, “Now, you’re sounding like my mom.”

“Well, she’s a wonderful woman so you should listen to her more.” You say, pinching Ford’s cheek affectionately before opening the pizza box.

Stan watched the static fizzle to transition to the next memory, but his mind was still reeling from the revelations.

Despite the fact that you had never met him and your first impressions were all coming from Ford, you came to his defense.

The last glance Ford gave to Stan before he was thrown out actually was one of regret, a silent wish Ford had that he had spoken up and defended his brother.

You met his mom, the only person who showed up to his fake funeral.

He continues to watch as each year, you encourage Ford to reach out, attempting to bridge the gap between the brothers. Stan rolls his eyes, arms crossed defensively almost out of reflex when hearing his brother tear apart one of his infomercials, but can’t help but smile as you come to his defense.

“I mean you gotta give him credit for trying, Ford. He actually really knows how to sell a product.” You say, sitting next to Ford on the arm of the chair that was in front of the TV. The two of you were unwinding for the evening after a long day of anomaly hunting, flipping through the channels before seeing a familiar face pop onto the screen, selling a new product called the Rip Off.

“He’s always been like that, trying to come up with some sort of get rich quick scheme.” Ford scoffed though it was less venom, almost laughing at the sight of his brother with a ridiculous mustache.

The phone rings and Ford shoots up, “That might be Fiddleford returning my call!” 

Just as Ford exits the room, your eyebrow raises as Stan begins to rattle off a number to place an order for his product. As the number appears on screen, you grab a nearby scrap of paper and pen, jotting it down.

Later that night, when Ford is asleep, you creep downstairs, wincing each time the floor creaks. You dial the numbers scrawled on the piece of paper you kept tucked in your pocket.

The phone rings for quite some time and just as you’re about to give up and hang up, you hear the line pick up.

“Hello?” A gruff voice, slightly deeper from just being woken up, answers.

“Is this Stanley Pines?” You ask, hoping you got the right number, not realizing that Stan was using a different alias in the infomercial, Steve Pinington. 

There’s a pause, Stan staring at the phone in confusion and panic. He hadn’t gone by his real name since he left Jersey, being chased from state to state after his scams had failed.

“Listen, if the debt collector sent you to get money from me, tell him I need at least another week.” He answers, catching you off guard at his response. You blink owlishly for a brief moment before responding, “Look, I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but I’m calling about Ford Pines, your brother.”

The phone practically slips from Stan’s hold in shock at the mention of his brother. It had been years since he heard from any of his family, and now there was a random stranger calling him in the middle of the night, mentioning his brother. His heart felt like it dropped into his stomach, fearing the worst may have happened to Ford and he quickly dropped his guard, “Did something happen to Ford? Is he okay?”

You hear the concern in Stan’s voice and quickly explain, “Nothing happened, he’s fine! Listen, I know this is quite unorthodox and you two haven’t spoken in years but I saw your number on an infomercial and figured this may be my only chance to reach out on his behalf. To maybe get you two talking again.’

Stan quickly relaxed, breathing a sigh of relief when he realized Ford wasn't in danger but it in turn led his defenses to go right back up, “Listen, if Ford wants to finally talk to me after all these years, he can do it himself. He didn’t have to send his… what are you his secretary, lab assistant..?” Stan questions.

You let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, “I’m his partner.” 

There’s a long, drawn out silence, so long that you almost think the call dropped. Stan finally speaks, “You sure you’re not pulling my leg here?”

“No, as hard as it may be for you to believe, I am dating your brother.” You reply, shaking your head in disbelief that you are having this conversation. It’s clear the brothers had differences in personality, and yet there were some similarities that you could pinpoint.

Their shared stubbornness being one of them. 

“I take it my brother has no idea you’re calling me considering you decided to call at…” There’s a pause, Stan leaning over and squinting to check the time on the digital clock by his bedside, “2 AM.”

“He has no clue.” You mutter, twirling the phone cord in your finger. It dawns on you how impulsive this plan was and perhaps it was naive of you to think that Stan would even want to talk to his brother after everything that’s happened. 

Stan runs a hand over his tired face, still perplexed by the situation. Never would he have imagined that the next time he would hear about his brother would be through his supposed partner. After all, the last image of Ford he had in his brain was the geeky, lanky teen whose closet consisted primarily of sweater vests and stuffy turtlenecks. 

“Hey, uh, what has Ford said about me?” Stan asks, “Not that I expect him to rave about me at all.” He muttered, a bit embarrassed to admit that he still cared to this day what his brother thought about him. 

“Not… all bad things.” You say with a slight hesitation, wincing at how that sounded. “He told me everything that led up to you two not being on speaking terms, how you were always hot-headed and always stirred up trouble.” You admit, trying to dance around the topic of Stan getting thrown out and causing Ford to lose his opportunity of getting into his dream school.

“Ha… not sure what I was hoping for by asking, but thanks for being-” Stan chuckles bitterly, but you interrupt him before he can finish his thought. “But if you ask me, I think it’s all a front.  I mean the man literally has a photo of the two of you in his wallet… that’s how I found out you existed in the first place.

Stan’s heart feels full after hearing those words come from you. After all, he was starting to give up any hope that Ford would want him to be a part of his life again after the mistake he made those years ago. A sense of relief washes over him, and for once after all these years, he feels like he can breathe easy. 

Hearing you yawn breaks his train of thought, and Stan clears his throat, “Hey, uh, I realize I didn’t catch your name.” You share your name with him and he commits it to memory, “Thanks for reaching out. I get why Ford wouldn’t want to talk to me yet, but if he ever is open to it, tell him don’t be a stranger.”

You smile, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep bugging him, he’ll cave eventually.”

Stan laughs, taking enjoyment in someone bugging Ford in his absence, “I like your moxie.”

Stan knew deep-down when he first ran into you on the side of the road that there was something special about you. He wasn’t able to name it until now, but as he walked around the Mystery Shack, giving you a tour, your presence was strangely comforting, almost like the two of you knew each other for years.

Watching the two of you exchange late night calls back and forth over the next few months, his fond smile quickly dissipates, seeing your features grow more and more weary and tired despite the chipper tone you try to fake over the phone. Each time you hang up, you walk back upstairs, looking wistfully at the entrance of the basement as you pass it before heading back to an empty bed, the sheets on the other side perfectly made and untouched. 

Once Fiddleford had arrived, you had opted to write letters to be more covert since Ford and Fiddleford were often up late working on the portal. Seeing you open the letters in excitement, laughing over Stan’s amusing stories about his life as a door to door salesman, sparked a memory of Stan’s, and he quickly begins rummaging through the drawers, rifling through the various papers, books, and knick-knacks that mostly belonged to Ford.

Stan pauses, hearing his brother’s voice on the tape and looks up, wincing as he gets a glimmer of what you and Ford’s fights were like. In all honesty, he tried to avoid asking either of you too many details about what happened all those years ago, especially given the tension that was continuing to rise with every memory you got back. Yet here it was in front of his eyes in fuzzy definition.

“Y/N, will you please stop fretting over me?” Ford sighs in exasperation, his eyes bloodshot from the countless all-nighters he had been pulling the past week. His brown locks are askew, having run his hands through them in frustration over and over again.

You stand at the doorway of the basement, a thick blanket draped around your frame. A frown is set across your features, seeing Ford neglecting basic needs like food, sleep and even hygiene this past month to work on the portal. You had hoped things were starting to turn around - after all, it had been ages since Bill had paid him a visit, and you, Fiddleford and him actually spent a wonderful Christmas together, drinking eggnog and reminiscing about college days.

“Ford, you’ve been at this for days. You’re not a super computer that can crank out equations day in and day out, you’re a human being that needs to sleep and eat.” You say with a stern tone, approaching him from behind. He hadn’t even spared you a glance, eyes fixated on the equations before him that were key to completing the portal that loomed past the glass. 

Trust No One.

The words that his muse told him right after the holidays resonated in his mind for days on end, wary of Fiddleford and you. The insomnia was not helping his growing paranoia, wondering if the two of you were slowing down his progress on purpose.

You attempt to place a hand over his shoulder, but he shrugs it off, knowing he will cave the moment he feels your touch. You recoil your hand, feeling the burn of his rejection. 

“I’m finished having this discussion with you, I would expect you of all people to realize how important it is to me and why I cannot take any more breaks.” Ford says with a dismissive tone, “I already wasted too much time over the holidays putzing around.”

Your eyes narrow, and Ford can practically feel your glare burning a hole in the back of his head. “Do you really think that Christmas we all spent together was a waste of time?”

“Well no but-”

“Bill came back, didn’t he?”

Ford’s shoulders tensing gives you the answer you need. Your feet carry you back up the stairs, not turning back around despite Ford’s protests.

“Damn it all.” Ford curses under his breath, his hands slamming onto the desk, the equations beneath his fingertips crumpling. He looks up, the inverted triangle mocking him in the distance. “Forgive me, Y/N, but I must set my eyes on the prize. Once I make this breakthrough, opportunities await us.”

You attempt to fight back the sudden wave of emotion. You pass the living room, the glow of the TV illuminating Fiddleford’s figure passed out on the couch with his banjo still in his hands. You walk up to pull the instrument from his fingers and wrap the blanket draped over the back of the chair over him. “Is he still workin’ away?” Fiddleford asks groggily, half-asleep. You wipe the stray tear that had dropped from your lash onto your cheek, swallowing down the lump in your throat before replying, “Yeah… get some rest, Fidds.”

Just as you’re about to head back up the stairs, you pause at the steps, hearing the phone ringing in the kitchen. You glance over your shoulder cautiously, relieved to see Fiddleford fast asleep before scurrying over to answer it.  You know the only one that could be possibly calling at this hour had to be Stan, but it had been quite some time since you two called one another. 

“Stan?” You answer the phone. Stan twirled his finger around the cord of the pay phone, eyebrow raising at the shaky tone of your voice, “Everything okay, doll?” You clear your throat, letting out a bit of a dry chuckle, “I should be the one asking that considering that you’re calling.” A smile finally spreads across Stan’s face in what seems like ages, “Look at you turning the question back on me, clever gal. But really, is everything alright over there? Ford do something stupid?”

You let out a sigh, not wanting to burden his own brother with the details of your ongoing fights, especially considering the man was constantly on the run, practically living out of his car at this point, “Something like that… but seriously, why’re you calling? I thought we were sticking to writing to each other.” Stan rubbed the back of his neck, glancing back as he heard police sirens in the distance, “Well, that’s why I called. I’m skipping town, just wanted to let you know just in case I didn’t write back for a bit.”

You blink at the sudden news, “Any plans on where you’re heading to next?” You ask, a silent yet slightly selfish wish that he might be heading towards Oregon. “Oklahoma, not sure exactly where yet. Gotta scrounge up some cash first before I can find a place to stay.”

“Oh Stan, are you sure you don’t want me to-” Stan interrupts you before you can finish, “No, I’ll figure it out.”

Ah, there’s that shared Pines twin stubbornness again.

“Are you sure? I just want you to have somewhere safe and warm to stay for the night at least instead of sleeping in your car tonight.” You sigh. Stan can hear the disappointment in your voice and attempts to quell your worries, “I’m sure, doll. Promise I’ll shoot you a letter once I’m settled.” 

You decide to not push further, wrapping the blanket tighter around your frame as a sudden breeze rushes through the kitchen from a crack in the window, “Alright, stay safe, okay? I don’t want to wake up to hear I’m your one phone call if you land up in a jail cell tonight.”

“No more Tijuana nights for me, I promise.” Stan chuckles, wishing you a good night before hanging up the phone on the receiver. 

“Aha! Found it!” Stan exclaims to himself, finding a stack of crumpled up letters he had stuffed in an overdue bill envelope. He unfolds the letters, spreading them across the table and skimming through the contents. With each word he reads, the memories start to piece together, recalling several nights where the only genuine connection that he experienced was seeing a letter from you slide through the bottom of whatever motel room he was staying at.

The tape almost becomes background noise to him, fixated on the content of the letters. It eats Stan up at the realization with each letter that passes that you were subtly hinting through your words for him to come visit, desperate to find someone that Ford would listen to.

Despite all logic telling him that it may not have made a difference, there is a tiny voice in the back of his mind that wonders if he just put aside his ego, his stubbornness, his pride, would things have been different?

He finally gets to the letter from his dream, eyes snapping up to see that he’s finally caught up to the tape as he watches you write and send out the letter. 

That’s the last letter in his hand and Stan expects the static to fizzle out, signalling the end of your memories with him.

It doesn’t.

The scene reveals you storming up the stairs of the basement, flinging the door wide open as Ford’s voice, arguably with more venom than Stan has ever heard in his life, yell,

“Fine, I don’t need anyone! I don’t need Fiddleford, and I don’t need you! All you’ve ever done is hold me back!”

The words sting for Stan despite not being on the receiving end of them, a hauntingly familiar insecurity rising to the surface.

You pack up every single remnant of your existence that was in the Mystery Shack, tears streaming down your face. Your hands stuffing clothes into your suitcase without a semblance of care, your vision blurring to the point where you can barely make out what you’re putting in the bag. 

You reach aimlessly into your bedside drawer to grab as much of your belongings as possible, the wood jostling around before the frame that sits atop of it topples over and falls to the floor. The glass shatters, and yet you don’t waste any time trying to pick it up and salvage it, leaving it behind much like you and Ford’s relationship.

Your feet carry you out the door, giving one last glance at the Mystery Shack. You stood there for a moment, a part of you perhaps hoping that Ford would come running through the door. That he would chase after you, pull you into his arms and apologize for the painful words that were now carved into your psyche. That he would shut down the portal that evening, and leave this whole ordeal and his so-called muse behind. 

The wind howled around you as the last ounce of hope within you died when he didn’t come out.

You walk aimlessly for a while before finally making your way into the small town, its atmosphere quiet and calm with most of its residents fast asleep. You wander over to the local inn, taking the key from the innkeeper and making your way to the room. Dropping your bags to the floor, the weight of Ford’s words and the reality of your relationship’s end finally sinks in, and you collapse onto the bed.

Days pass before you muster the strength to even leave the room, the grief making your limbs feel heavy to the point where you only get out of bed to go to the bathroom. You finally realize you can’t survive on granola bars and water bottles after the fourth day, mustering enough energy to change your clothes and make your way into town for a decent meal. 

You grab a photo on top of your pile of clothes, turning it around reluctantly and expecting to see a photo of you and Ford. You freeze, seeing the Pines twins staring back at you. Brown eyes looking at each other, full of hopes and dreams of a future beyond their beachside hometown.

Stanley.

You clutched the photo in your hands for a while, conflicted on what to do. Would it cause you more pain to keep in touch? Did you have any right to stay in contact with Stan, the brother of the man that broke your heart?

Blood is thicker than water, and despite the brothers’ distant relationship, you knew that with enough time, they would be closer than ever.

The growl of your stomach interrupts your thoughts, and you decide to make a decision about how to proceed with a clearer head after a much needed meal and some coffee. After hoovering down way too many stacks of pancakes at the local diner, you take a stroll through the town. During your entire time in Gravity Falls, Ford and you kept to yourselves for the most part, rarely venturing into town unless for bare essentials. The townspeople of Gravity Falls were quirky to say the least, but they were warm and welcoming, almost oblivious to the anomalies that Ford has been chasing and cataloging for the past few years.

It seemed almost like a luxury, the ability to be unaware of the strange happenings that occurred in the surrounding woods. A luxury that you were beginning to envy.

You shake the thought, stopping by the local post office before heading back to the inn. Your fingers gingerly pick up the photo, and you take a seat at the desk, taking the pen with the inn’s worn-out logo and twirling it in between your fingers, a habit you had subconsciously picked up from Ford. You catch yourself, stopping before flipping the photo over and beginning to write.

Hi Stan,

I really wish I was reaching out in better circumstances, but unfortunately, that’s not the case.

Ford’s gotten too deep into his research, and I can’t continue to sit by while he destroys himself and everything around him to reach this goal. 

I had to walk away, but he’s all on his own, and I know he’s much too stubborn and prideful to ask for help. I’m sorry to put this burden on you, but please go see him, Stan. He needs someone to talk some sense into him, and if anyone can get through to him, I know it’s you.

I really wish we could have met, that we could have teased Ford together, seen the two of you back together thick as thieves. Even though we’ve only talked through letters and over the phone, I know you’ve got a heart of gold underneath that rough exterior. I have to admit that you brought out lightness in a really dark time for me.

I hope life treats you kinder, I hope things turn around, and you get to take all the adventures in the world one day with Ford. I’ll be rooting for you.

Please take care of yourself. 

Sincerely,

Y/N

Droplets of water hit the photo, slightly smearing the ink. Wiping them away with the back of your sleeve, you tuck the photo into an envelope and seal it with a sense of finality.

The memories flood back to Stan just like they did last summer, and everything seems much clearer like the time he realized he needed glasses after jokingly putting on Ford’s to imitate him. 

It dawns on him that he never got your final letter, only Ford’s postcard. 

Maybe he narrowly missed it, having packed his belongings the moment he got Ford’s plea for help. 

Maybe it got lost in the mail, laying amongst a pile of letters that would never be opened.

Whatever the reason, it tore him apart that he went all those years thinking you forgot about him, tossing him aside in your mind without a second thought to even reach out for a goodbye. His brain having lumped into the same category as every single person in his hometown that thought he was good for nothing, his twin brother being the only reason why anyone would want to be around him. 

Yet there you stood, all those years later, your car stranded on the side of the road, back in the woods where it all started. Neither of you having a clue there was a reason why your banter and interactions seemed so effortless. It was like you picked back up right where you started.

“Stanley, what are you doing down here?”

Ford’s voice startles him, almost causing him to topple over in the chair. Before he can explain himself or even come up with some excuse, one last scene fizzles on the screen for both brothers to watch.

You wander through the aisles of the convenience store, having a basket cradled in the crook of your arm.You were in the small town of Gravity Falls, visiting an old friend from college who was here doing research. Fiddleford had sent you to grab some basic staples, and you happily accepted, needing the walk to clear your strangely foggy head.

Staring at the list that Fiddleford had scrawled on a piece of paper as you squint to make out his chicken scratch, you don’t catch the hooded figure with his head down walking directly towards you. You collide with one another, falling on your butt and the contents of your basket spilling out. 

“S-Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” You apologize, scrambling to grab the contents of your basket. “You’re fine, I wasn’t looking either.” A hauntingly familiar voice replies back, reaching for the loaf of bread and handing it over to you.

Your eyes widen, and you look up, seeing a man who had the same face of the person you wanted to forget staring back at you. The brown locks that you remembered were longer, hitting the nape of his neck, the furry lining of the beat-up hoodie adorning the top of his head. Tired eyes gazing back at you.

The world stands still around you, not realizing the crowd that was beginning to form after hearing the sound of your basket crashing to the ground.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Stan says, staring at you with concern as you continue to gape at him.

“Stan…” You finally say, the memories of Ford beginning to seep back into your consciousness. 

Stan’s eyes widen when you say his name. Not Ford’s but his. 

Before he can react, he watches you stand up suddenly, abandoning the items on the floor and pushing past the bodies to bolt out of the exit.

You don’t think, your feet carrying you back to the hut that Fiddleford was staying in. Slamming the door behind you, Fiddleford jumps, his hypervigilance still activated as he picks up his banjo to start swinging it. He relaxes when he sees it’s you, placing the instrument down, “Sweet sarsaparilla, you scared me, Y/N!” He lets out a surprised yelp, feeling your embrace tight around him.

“What’s the matter? Somethin’ happen while you were out?” Fiddleford says with concern, his spine rigid at the thought of you encountering one of the many anomalies that disturbed him during his time in Gravity Falls. You mutter into his shirt, “I saw him, Fidds… and all the memories came right back… it hurts so much.”

His eyes widen, and he pulls you away briefly to stare into your tear-soaked eyes, “You saw S?” You shake your head back and forth, “No… his brother. He’s in town.”

“Ah shucks, did he recognize ya?” Fiddleford asks, guiding you over to the rocking chair before taking a seat on the floor in front of you. “No, I don’t think he knows what I look like. I did say his name though.” You pause before letting out a sad chuckle, “They really do look alike, apart from a few differences.”

The two of you sit in silence, Fiddleford reluctant to offer yet again to use the memory gun on you. It was one thing to erase the memory of the anomalies from his own brain and the brains of several Gravity Falls residents, but asking him to relieve you of every single memory you had of the man you both cared deeply about, he was conflicted. Your time with Ford encompassed most of your adult life, and he would be taking away essentially years of your life. He had attempted to talk you out of it, but when he saw how all sense of joy had been sucked out of you and your eyes puffy from all the tears you had shed, he caved, wanting to take away the pain.

“Fidds, I can’t stay here… I need to go back home.” You sigh, bringing your legs up to your chest and rocking in the chair, “Everything about this place is a potential reminder of Ford… I just want to put this all behind me.” Fiddleford nods, “I understand… do you wanna..” he trails off, getting choked up over the thought of erasing your memories again. 

“Yes… and I’m going to need you to erase my memories of Stan too.” You say, extending your hand out, feeling Fiddleford’s fingers rest on your palm. 

“Hey Fidds…”

“Yeah…”

“Thank you, I know this hasn’t been easy for you either.”

That evening, you and Fiddleford have one final dinner together, going through old photos and memories from the past. After today, all the pain would be gone so why not open up some of the wounds to at least have a final farewell to your life with Ford and Gravity Falls?

After booking a one way ticket back to your hometown, you sit on the floor, watching Fiddleford configure the Memory Gun. “What’s his full name again? Just gotta make sure… it’s accurate.” Fiddleford asks a casual question for such a heavy task ahead of him.

“Stanley Pines.”

Fiddleford finishes typing out the name before sitting down in front of you, “Are you sure you wanna do this, Y/N?”

You nod, “I’m sure, Fidds. I spent so many years of my life revolving around Ford… I want to do the things I put on hold, and I know if I still have his memory lingering in my mind, I’ll be stuck for a long time.”

Fiddleford gives one final nod before suddenly hugging you tightly, “Don’t be a stranger now. I expect a letter about your adventures when ya get the time.”

You chuckle sadly, returning the embrace, “I won’t be, Fidds.” 

Feeling the cool bulb press against your temple, you close your eyes, envisioning Stan’s face from earlier. You have one final hope that his presence means Ford finally let someone in.

‘Goodbye, Stanley… at least one of my wishes came true and I got to meet you.’

The scene cuts, the screen goes black, the two brothers’ crestfallen expression reflecting back at them.

Ford places a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “Stanley… is this the end of her memories?”

Stan shakes his head, his head buzzing from the memories coming back to him. God, he felt like his brain was about to burst from all the information flooding back to him. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he exhales, “There was a second capsule… I found it in the basement of the museum earlier this week but I didn’t say anything cause I didn’t want to complicate things.”

Ford’s eyes widened at the revelation, “So the second capsule was…”

“It was her memories of me. Guess you weren’t the only one she wanted to forget, Ford.” Stan says, hating the bitter tone on his tongue, “My memories of her started coming back, I guess, after we hung out yesterday. Started having a dream just like hers.”

“You know we need to tell her about it…” Ford stated with a softer tone, slightly pressing but not being too demanding. He understood what it was like to feel erased, the same questions likely circling in his brother’s head.

Was I insignificant enough that you erased me?

Was your life better off without me in it?

“No, not yet!” Stan says frantically, “She’s already struggling with her memories with you, I don’t wanna make this worse for her.”

Ford sighs, trying to reason with his brother, “You know she’s going to find out eventually. If your memories of her were starting to come back, I’m sure the same is happening to her.”

Stan mulls it over, his brother having a point. On the other hand, he heard what Ford’s last words were to you, and they weren’t pretty. Was it right for him to throw another curveball at you just when you’re so close to getting to that fight?

“I’m willing to take the risk… I just want her to focus on what’s up ahead with your memories with her.” Stan says with a sense of finality.

Ford nods, knowing after so many years, not to argue with Stan when he speaks with conviction. “Alright… I’ll let you handle your memories with her, and we’ll keep forging onward with her memories with me.” He walks over to the machine, removing the capsule and placing it back into Stan’s hands. His eyes glance over at the letters strewn across the table, watching Stan quickly scoop them into his arms.

“Stanley… did she write you those letters?” Ford asks. He wasn’t completely oblivious to your efforts in the past to keep in touch with his brother, mostly turning a blind eye to it as he was so focused on the portal. He hadn’t realized though you two had been in communication much more consistently than he had realized.

“She did… since someone was too stubborn to reach out himself.” Stan snorts, grinning as Ford huffs in response, “You’re one to talk! The phone goes both ways, Stanley, and I never heard anything from you either.”

“Hey, I did try calling one time!” Stan defends himself.

“Oh really because I don’t recall you ever doing so?” Ford says.

“Well, you picked up… I just didn’t say anything and hung up.” Stan mutters.

“Stanley, that hardly counts!” Ford protests.

“Am I interrupting something?” Your voice cuts off the brothers’ bickering, watching in amusement with two coffee mugs in your hand. 

Stan quickly stumbles, fumbling to hide the capsule behind the papers as Ford approaches to take the mugs from your hands, “Thank you for bringing these down, we’ve got a long day ahead of us if we want to get back on track.”

“Sorry, Stan, I would have brought you coffee if I knew you were down here. Thought you were still sleeping when you weren’t in the kitchen.” You apologize.

Stan shakes his head, using this as an excuse to slip out, “I’ll go grab myself one, don’t sweat it. I’ll get out of your guys’ hair.” He begins walking towards the stairs, pausing mid-way up the stairs to spare a glance at you.

You lean against the work station, watching Ford carefully place the capsule back in its slot. You pass him his mug, Stan’s eyes lingering on the brush of each other’s fingertips despite neither of you or Ford reacting to the touch.

Being twins, many would presume there would be a lot of things the brothers would share in common. Despite the similarities in appearance, they were two distinct individuals, with different goals, hobbies, interests, and personalities. 

While there was friendly competition here and there, there was rarely a moment where Stan coveted something that Ford had aside from a few instances of fighting over a favorite toy and the one time in 5th grade where he and Ford had a crush on the same girl, Niki Marino.

This was one of those moments.