#i finally got around to the last thing for chapter prep

[solelifauna]

Yandere Batfam & Neglected Reader Prt. 2

Okay, so I didn't realize how much building I was gonna do around (Y/n's) social life so this chapter is honestly about knowing (y/n). Anyways, the next chapter will be from the batfam's pov and focus more on the yandere bits! Hope you enjoy this chapter tho!

Tag List!: @sitepathos @ferakillia @uknowimdumb @shycreatorreview @niggrrooo @dhanyasri @cantfindmelol @space1crow @earth-to-mee @rosecentury @yuyuzi-ling @simpingfor-wakasa @bat1212 @sheepintherain @person-from-daaaa-voidddd @resident-cryptid @cupids-pretty-boy @danni1323

The change started slowly on a normal evening, an evening like every other. It was a football season game day, the big match between the Gotham City High Bats and the Gotham Prep Knights. For the rich prep kids, this was nothing more than another game, but for your school, this game was everything. This would help your school get the recognition and funding it deserves, and allow some students to be scouted and rewarded for their talent.

Not only that, but Gotham Prep always, every season goes to state, beating out all the other public schools in the city. They haven’t lost a game since the early 80s so there was a lot riding on this game. 

Your role, funnily enough, was representing the school as one of the Gotham City High school cheerleaders. Turns out that the gymnastics classes you took before were actually useful for purposes other than trying to impress Dick. You surprisingly took to cheerleading like a fish to water, liking the competitiveness and sense of belonging that came from joining the team. 

Anyways, you, the cheer team, and the football team were on a bus headed towards the bigger, better Gotham Prep football field. The bus was loud with music and schoolmates hyping each other up for the big game. Ethan, a friend of yours on the football team was nervously shaking his leg and squeezing his helmet so hard you thought it would crack.

Both you and your friend Arya noticed.

“Ethan, the game hasn’t even started yet and I already see a crack forming on your helmet.” You said jokingly, a gentle arm on his shoulder.

He startled, “Jesus Christ (Y/n) warn a guy next time.” Ethan spoke, offering a nervous smile.

“You need to stop freaking out bro. When you do, it freaks out the others on the team.” Arya gently said.

“I know, I know but— but there’s just a lot riding on this game. For a lot of us, this is our only way to get out of Gotham, and if we screw up the finals, we’ll be stuck here forever.” Ethan said solemnly, looking around at all his teammates.

“Well then good thing you guys aren’t gonna lose. Y’all have spent two years training to make this comeback, to make sure that Gotham City High finally gets this win. I promise you’ve worked harder than those assholes at Gotham Prep, so just go out there and put your training to use. Don’t let your nerves get to you, you have no reason to.” You calmly said.

“Yeah—yeah, we have trained harder, haven't we? Yeah, you’re right! We've just gotta go out there and play like we've practiced.” Ethan exclaimed, as if suddenly realizing why he should have confidence in himself and his team.

“Exactly!” Arya said, matching his enthusiasm and hitting Ethan playfully on the shoulder. 

The rest of the bus ride to the stadium was louder than ever, the coach and other teammates taking turns to hype up the more nervous members, to get them confident for the field. Everything was about normal once everyone made it to the stadium. The band was set up, and people were flooding the bleachers. It wasn’t until the last ten minutes before the game when normalcy died.

“Hey (Y/n), isn’t that your family?” A girl, Maya, says.

Lo’ and behold, Bruce Wayne and his entire gaggle of children were sitting on the home side of the bleachers, sporting Gotham Prep t-shirts. 

“What—oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. What the hell are they doing here, they don’t even like football like that!?” You shout in frustration.

It was then when you remembered a conversation Dick, Bruce, and Damian had at the dinner table. Something about how it would help Damian out if he started going to school events and games, getting him acclimated to what being a normal teenager was like. That was all fine and dandy, but you didn't think the entire damn family was going to show up. Oh, the gossip columns are gonna have a field day with this. You could already imagine the headlines, “Bruce Wayne openly isolates daughter (Y/n) Wayne” or even, “The Wayne Family once again publicly shows dislike for daughter (Y/n) Wayne.”

You rolled your eyes at the thought, you had bigger things to worry about right now.

“Are you good (Y/n)?” Arya questions softly. 

She was one of the only people who you spoke your sorrows to, one of the only people who actually knows of just how lonely you were. Of course everyone knew that Bruce Wayne and his family didn't really like you very much– thank you Vicky vale– but nobody but Arya and Ethan really understood the crux of your situation. 

“Yeah, I'm all good bro, don't worry about it. Just focus on the game.” You said dismissively. It didn't bother you anymore, sure it hurt a little bit, but this was expected.

“Alright, its time to shake hands with the other team, everyone line up!” the football Coach, Coach Daniels, all but yelled.

You sighed, moving to the front of the line for the cheerleaders; you were team captain after all. Both the football teams and cheerleaders made their way to the center of the field where they met. You looked back at the rest of your team, you all knew that this was going to be an unpleasant interaction, it always was. The Gotham Prep cheer captain walked up to you, disdain and poorly concealed disgust on her face. You all quickly shook hands, trying to get this exhausting ordeal done and over with, but of course the other captain had to open her mouth.

“You lower end city girls sure have your own sense of style.” Darla, which was basically code for calling you and your team sluts. Wow, how original.

“You should see what’s underneath the jacket.” You replied, giving her a sharp smile.

She floundered, clearly expecting her insult to rile you and your team up. 

“Ugh, as expected of Bruce Wayne’s biggest embarrassment. You sad Daddy doesn't like you? Or maybe she’s just glad she gets to mooch off of him before he ends up disowning her.” Another girl pipes up, drawing mind grating giggles from the rest of their team. You recognized her, she was the daughter of some hot-shot CEO.

You just tiredly look back at your team, a few of them getting angry on your behalf while others looked to you in concern. 

“What, not going to say anything?” The other captain haughtily questioned. 

“I mean, what exactly is the response you’re expecting? Yeah, Bruce Wayne doesn't like me, but at least I didn't have to buy my way into the cheer team or have my daddy pay to make sure I wasn't held back.” You stated boredly.

She was silent in shock, right before the anger came bursting through.

“You whore! I’m going to fuck you up, take you to court and sue you!” She shrieked.

“You’re going to sue me? You mean sue Bruce Wayne?” You snorted, “Like that’ll ever happen. And bitch, you couldn’t fight if your life depended on it, so next time you threaten me remember–I can and will beat the ever-loving shit outta you.”

That must have sparked some fear in her because she just turned around and led her team back to their side of the field. You’re sure others noticed your altercation, obviously having no idea what was being said, but it was clear to both sides of the field that nothing good was said. You’re ready to turn back to your side when you accidentally make eye contact with Tim. The cold, calculating look in his eyes has you shifting in discomfort, you quickly look away as the cheer team and football players head back to their respective sides.

The players took their place onto the field while your team got into formation.

“Aright guys, this’s the big one! Give it all you got, just like we practiced!” You yelled.

Just like that, the whistle blew signaling that the game started. 

By the time you reach half time, Gotham Prep is fifteen points ahead of Gotham High. Your school does its low budget halftime performance which pales in comparison to the extravagant Gotham Prep performance. Your side of the stadium grows louder, louder in support of the football team. Before you know it, the boys are lining up for the second half of the game. Thankfully, Gotham High shoots up in points, the score now becoming 34 to 29. The issue is, the game is starting to come to an end with only two minutes on the clock. The crowd is loud, but everyone knows it'll be damn near impossible for Gotham High to win now. The only way to win would be to score a touch-down, which would bring Gotham High to 35 points.

It isn't until the 36 second mark when Ethan sees an opening and makes a run for it with the ball. The crowd is booming, your own voice adding to the mix of cheers and shouts. 

“Come on Ethan! Come on!” You yell, voice undoubtedly hoarse.

There's 5 seconds on the clock when Ethan dives over an opposing player and rolls into the other team's touchdown zone. The score board changes, the numbers now showcasing 34 to 35. Gotham City High with 35. Everyone goes crazy. You and Arya are holding each other jumping up and down. Holy shit, yall won! The football team was celebrating on the field, as they’re announced as the winners, a big trophy being handed into Ethan and his team's hands. And by tradition, you, Arya and the coach go grab the large gatorade barrel and proceed to soak the football team with it. There are yelps and laughs but everyone knows what it means, it means “you’ve won”. You and Arya run up to Ethan launching into him, uncaring of the gatorade now soaking your uniforms. 

It was a good day, a happy day. Everyone started loading up into the buses, starving for the victory dinner at Taco Bell. You honestly, truly forget that the Bats were even here. Shit hits the fan however, when you're in the middle of messing up a chalupa and Bruce Wayne and the rest of his brood walk in, making awkward eye contact with you. You promptly proceed to choke, Arya hitting your back to get you to stop. You do, but holy shit was that embarrassing. Also, what in the ever-loving fuck were they doing here!? 

Before you could voice your utter disbelief, another familiar face barrels into your table. Oh great.

“Hey ladies, how’d you like the game? Betcha I looked good on the field.” The voice of Adrien, a freshman player on the team, made itself known. 

He even made it a point to flex his arm muscles, hoping to impress you and Arya. You both just looked at each other before bursting out laughing. This poor freshman has been trying to get with y'all all year, despite you and Arya being sophomores. His god-awful attempts at flirting were absolutely adorable and downright hilarious. 

“Guys please don't laugh, I promise I have better pick up lines.” he begs, his demeanor that of a kicked puppy.

“I'm sorry man, you're just too adorable, we can't take you seriously.” Arya says amused.

“Why don't you go talk to one of the freshman cheerleaders? I'm sure I heard Hiba and Darla talking about how good you did on the field.” You pipped in.

“No way! Are you serious!? Oh-uh, gotta blast ladies! See ‘ya around!” Adrien stutters, excitedly scrambling off to go find the girls you mentioned.

You and Arya broke off again into a fit of laughter.

“Were you guys teasing Adrien again?” Comes a lighthearted scold from Ethan.

“Not anymore than usual. Plus, I think we finally got him to pursue girls in his own grade.” You responded, a smug smile on your face.

Ethan just chuckled before sitting down with you and Arya. You all talked and laughed some more, your mood only being slightly soured by the Wayne family’s presence at the table across from yours. You did your best to avoid their not-so-casual glances in your direction. Why they were here is a can of worms you had to marinate on later. But for now, you'd just enjoy the rest of your night.

It didn't take long before everyone started getting ready to leave. Some students had their parents come pick them up, probably to go celebrate the school's victory with their families, whilst everyone else was getting ready to load back up into the buses and head to the school where parents would be waiting for their kids. You, however, would be biking back to the manor on your own. Sure both Arya’s and Ethan’s parents had offered you a ride, but you had declined. There was no need for them to go out of their way for you, especially when they should be spending their time celebrating with their children. You’d honestly just ruin the mood with your shitty circumstances.

So as you threw away the last of your trash and started walking to leave the restaurant, you were not expecting to be stopped, let alone stopped by Bruce Wayne. You froze, not knowing what to do. What did he want?

“(Y/n),” He started, voice lacking any tell-tale emotions, “no need to get on the bus, you’ll be riding home with us.”

You noticed immediately how he didn't really give you a choice, just an order meant to be followed. You swallowed nervously, you did not, under any circumstances want to be in a car with any of them.

“There's no need for that Bruce, I–um actually left my bike back at the school and I can't just leave it there so…yeah. I’ll–I'll see you back at the manor.” You said nervously. You weren't used to talking to him and to be quite frank he scared you.

Bruce of course took note of the fact you had not called him “dad” or “father” and had called home, “the manor” instead. This is when Dick decided to chime in.

“What, you're not going to bike all the way back home, are you?” Dick jested sarcastically.

“Uh, yeah? It's how I get back home everyday.” You mention abashed. Did they seriously not even know how you got home? Whatever, you’re too tired for this.

Bruce and Dick glance at each other, their shared look holding a meaning you couldn't understand.

“Well, it doesn't matter. You’ll just ride home with us from now on.” Dick stated, faux cheer in his voice. 

“Wha–what? Hold up, I can’t just leave without my bike! It’s gonna get stolen or–”

“We’ll get a new one, now stop fussin' and get a move on,” Jason grumbles, cutting you off.

You just sigh in defeat. Why the hell are they doing this? Why now? In the end, your questions don't matter as you get marched over to the waiting Rolce Royce Limo. That was when Arya and Ethan noticed you walking away from the bus, not even noticing the Waynes in their hurry to catch up to you.

“Hey (Y/n), why are ‘ya–oh.” Arya yells out before going silent after noticing the intimidating figure of Bruce Wayne and the even more intimidating figure of Jason Todd.

“Oh, hey guys. So–uh, I actually have a ride back to the manor now so I'm all good.” You say awkwardly.

“That's–that's great! But, what about your bike bro?” Ethan questions worriedly, the awkward and almost tense energy affecting him.

“I'm just going to pray and hope that it's still there when I come back for it tomorrow.”You answer tiredly.

“Damn, well, get home safe and get some sleep. We’ll see you soon girl.” Arya says, hugging you.

You hug her back.

“You too guys, get home safe. And Ethan, good job on the field bro, we’re all super proud of you.” You voice, a small smile on your face while you give him a hug.

“Thanks (Y/n), couldn't have done it without y’all hyping me up.” He says.

“Alright, alright no more sappy, corny lines. Now get on the bus before Coach Daniels pops another blood vessel.” You joke.

“Shit, I didn't even realize that was him yelling! Ethan, we gotta go! See ya (Y/n).” Arya exclaims, practically dragging Ethan to the bus with her.

You wave at them, your smile slowly disappearing as you realize you're about to have the worst fifteen minutes of your life on this car ride. The staring you were trying to ignore when talking to your friends was more prevalent now, making you anxious as you entered the car, squirming and fiddling uncomfortably in your seat as everyone else piled in.

You internally sighed as you heard the door shut and the car engine start. Perhaps it’d be better if you drank acid and died instead, but alas, it was too late for any of that. 

You’d just do your best to stay quiet and avoid the eyes boring into your very being.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ make you mine

chapter summary: With finals over, summer break starts. But of course, there are a few surprises along the way.

word count: 14.7k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: helllloooo! so this is the 'main' alternate timeline, basically just meaning the timeline that exists because logan changed the past. or in other words, the timeline where logan wakes up after stopping mystique from killing trask

i still have quite a few stories to tell about logan and reader, like how they got married, found laura, had gabby, etc. most of this series is just fluff, sometimes with some angst, but the only problems that arise don't involve any violence.

anyways, think of this as taking place sometime after who are we to fight the alchemy? (pt. 1 and 2)!

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, summer break, mention of damp hair and hair being tied back, x-men mission, light violence, slight angst, soft!logan

series masterlist - chapter 2

Logan was like a bear—a giant, warm, cuddly bear. Though if you told him that you were sure he’d deny, deny, deny.

You let out a sleepy grunt, groggily reaching over to slap your alarm clock into silence. As the shrill beeping stopped, you became acutely aware of the warm, heavy weight wrapped securely around you. Logan’s arm was draped over your waist, holding you firmly in place against his chest. His even breaths fanned across the back of your neck, and the slight scruff of his beard grazed your skin as he shifted, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Logan,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep as you squirmed in his grasp.

A low, disgruntled growl rumbled from his chest. “Mm-mm. Nope,” he mumbled against your shoulder, his voice rough and muffled. “Five more minutes.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, even as your cheeks warmed at the sound of his voice so close to your ear. “I have to get up,” you protested softly, trying to wriggle free. His arm tightened instinctively, making escape a futile endeavor.

“Don’t see why,” he muttered, still half-asleep. “You’re comfy right here.”

You rolled your eyes, your lips twitching into a smile despite yourself. “I have class to prep for, Logan. You know, that thing where I teach physics to a bunch of mutant teenagers?”

He grunted in response, clearly unimpressed by your logic. “Teenagers’ll survive without you for one morning,” he drawled, his lips brushing against the crook of your neck in a way that made your breath hitch. “I’m not lettin’ you go.”

You turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of his face—eyes still closed, hair sticking up in every direction, and a faint smirk playing on his lips. The sight was almost enough to make you cave, but you managed to keep your resolve. Barely.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, even as your hand instinctively reached up to comb through his unruly hair. His grin widened at the affectionate gesture, and he cracked one eye open, peering at you with a sleepy, satisfied expression. “But today is the last day of classes, and I have to give them their final.”

Logan let out an exaggerated groan, burying his face against the curve of your neck. “You’re tellin’ me a bunch of kids and their tests are more important than me?” His voice was muffled, the low rumble of it sending a pleasant warmth through you.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I don’t make the schedule, Logan. Believe me, if I could skip it, I would.”

“You’re not skippin’ it,” he grumbled, though his lips brushed lightly against your skin. “But don’t think I won’t complain about it the whole time you’re gone.”

“You? Complain? Shocking.” Your playful tone earned you a half-hearted growl as Logan rolled onto his back, pulling you with him. You landed on his chest, his arms securely around you. His fingers traced idle patterns along your back, his gaze fixed on you now with a mix of affection and amusement.

“You’re gonna spend the rest of the day buried in grading,” he said, arching a brow. “And I won’t see you for days. Don’t think I didn’t notice what happened after midterms.”

Your face warmed at the memory of being holed up in your office, surrounded by papers, but you tilted your chin stubbornly. “I have to grade, Logan. How else will they know whether they pass?”

“Sounds like a them problem,” he countered smoothly, his smirk deepening.

“Logan.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. He always had a way of making you feel light, even when you were stressed. “You could help me grade, you know. I’ll even teach you how to curve a test.”

His laugh was deep and genuine, rumbling through his chest beneath you. “Pretty sure that’d end with me givin’ everyone a pass just so I could get you back quicker.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he silenced you with a kiss. It was soft and unhurried, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head as he tilted his own. By the time he pulled back, your thoughts had scattered, and he looked thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Fine,” you muttered, still breathless. “But I’m locking my office door when I’m grading.”

His grin widened. “Good. I’ll just pick the lock.”

“Logan!”

He chuckled, flipping you gently onto your back and leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead. “Alright, darlin’. Go teach your kids or whatever. But I’m holding you to dinner tonight. No papers allowed.”

You smiled up at him, your hand brushing lightly against his jawline. “Deal.”

Logan lingered a moment longer, his eyes tracing your face as though memorizing every detail. Then, with a sigh, he pushed himself up, reluctantly letting you go. “Go on, then, before I change my mind and keep you here.”

You bit back a laugh, slipping out of bed and grabbing your glasses from the nightstand. As you moved to get ready, you could feel his eyes on you, his presence a steady warmth in the background.

---

“Why are you in my office?” Jean asked, walking into the room where you sat on the couch in the corner.

“Close the door, Jean!” You whisper-yelled. Jean raised an eyebrow but complied as you spoke again, “Logan’s clingy, he says that since classes are over for the summer I should be ‘spending time with him’ even though I told him I still have the finals to grade.”

Jean closed the door, her curiosity evident as she leaned against it, arms crossed. “You’re hiding in my office to avoid Logan?”

You sighed, setting aside the stack of papers you were grading on Jean’s coffee table. “It’s not like I’m avoiding him forever. I just need a few hours to finish these finals without him finding me and pulling me into another impromptu cuddle session.”

Jean smirked, clearly entertained. “He’s got a point, though. Classes are over. Most people would kill to have their boyfriend be that invested in spending time with them.”

You rolled your eyes, even as a smile tugged at your lips. “I know. And it’s sweet, really. But he doesn’t understand that I can’t just wave a wand and make the grades magically appear. These finals aren’t going to grade themselves.”

Jean quirked a brow. “And you thought my office was the safest place to hide?”

“Well, yeah.” You gestured around. “Logan wouldn’t think to look for me here. Plus, I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“I don’t mind,” Jean replied, amused. “But you know he’s going to find you eventually. He has an uncanny ability to know exactly where you are.”

You slumped back against the couch, groaning softly. “Don’t remind me. It’s like he has a sixth sense or something.”

Jean chuckled, walking over and plopping into the chair across from you. “It’s called being ridiculously in love with you. That man’s not exactly subtle.”

The words made your face heat up, but you tried to brush it off. “Yeah, well, ridiculously in love or not, he needs to let me work for a bit. I’ll make it up to him later.”

Jean’s smirk turned mischievous. “Oh, I’m sure you will. Candlelit dinner? Maybe a movie night?”

“Jean!” you hissed, your cheeks burning as you tried to shush her. “Don’t you start too.”

She held up her hands, mock-innocent. “I’m just saying, it’s adorable how smitten he is. Honestly, I think it’s good for you. You’re not usually the type to take much downtime.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, the door creaked open just enough for Logan’s unmistakable voice to drift in.

“Jean, you seen—”

Logan froze in the doorway, his brows lifting slightly when he saw you sitting there. His gaze flicked to Jean, who was already biting back a grin, and then back to you.

“Found you,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he was trying not to smirk.

You sank further into the couch, your face heating under his knowing stare. “I was… grading,” you said lamely, gesturing to the papers in front of you.

Logan stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him. His eyes stayed on you, warm and amused. “In Jean’s office?”

“It was a strategic decision,” Jean quipped before you could answer, her tone dripping with mock seriousness.

Logan ignored her, his attention fixed solely on you. He crossed the room, crouching down in front of you so you were at eye level. His hand came to rest lightly on your knee, the warmth of his touch grounding you despite your embarrassment.

“You could’ve just told me you needed time to work, darlin’,” he said softly, his voice carrying no trace of irritation—just quiet understanding.

“I did,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. “You didn’t exactly listen.”

His lips quirked, and he leaned in slightly, his forehead nearly brushing yours. “Maybe ‘cause I’m selfish and like havin’ you around too much.”

Your resolve wavered as you finally looked at him, his eyes impossibly soft. Jean, sensing she was no longer needed, stood and slipped out of the room without a word, leaving the two of you alone.

“Logan,” you sighed, your voice quieter now. “I just… I really need to finish these finals. I promise, as soon as I’m done, I’m all yours.”

Logan studied you for a moment, then nodded, his hand squeezing your knee lightly. “Alright,” he said, standing up. “But I’m takin’ you to dinner tonight. Non-negotiable.”

You smiled, the weight of his gaze melting some of your earlier frustration. “Deal.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before straightening. “I’ll leave you to it, then. But don’t think I’m not gonna check in later.”

You rolled your eyes, but your grin lingered as he turned and left the room, his presence somehow leaving it warmer than before.

---

Theresa stood by you on her tiptoes, eagerly watching as you carefully sliced her apple. She hummed happily, her curly red hair bouncing with every small fidget of excitement. You smiled softly at her, taking your time to arrange the slices neatly on the plate. The summer sun streamed through the kitchen window, making the air feel lighter now that the semester was officially over.

You were dressed comfortably for the warm day, the floral sundress swaying slightly as you shifted your weight. Logan had gone off to check on something outside earlier, so the mansion was unusually quiet.

Logan passed the kitchen door without sparing it a glance, only to stop mid-step and double back. His figure filled the doorway as he leaned casually against the frame, his arms crossed, eyes locking onto you immediately.

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and something softer. His gaze flickered over you briefly, but it was the kind of look that left you feeling as though he’d memorized every detail in a single second. His brows raised slightly, and the corners of his mouth pulled into the faintest hint of a smile.

You glanced up at him mid-slice, caught completely unaware. “What?” you asked, confused by the way his stare lingered.

Theresa, oblivious to the subtle tension, tugged lightly on your wrist. “Is it ready yet, Y/N? Can I have it now?”

“Almost,” you murmured, distracted as you finished the last cut. You placed the slices neatly onto the plate, handing it to her with a small smile. “Here you go, Tessie. Go eat at the table, alright?”

“Thanks!” she chirped before skipping off, her plate held triumphantly in both hands.

The kitchen was quiet again, save for the soft hum of the fridge. You turned back to find Logan still standing there, his smirk more pronounced now.

“What is it?” you asked, feeling a little self-conscious under his scrutiny.

“Nothin’,” he said, pushing off the doorframe to step closer. His voice was casual, but his eyes betrayed the warmth he was holding back. “Just… you look nice.”

Your cheeks heated immediately, and you glanced away, focusing on tidying up the cutting board. “It’s just a dress,” you mumbled.

“First time I’ve seen you wear one,” he replied, his voice quieter now as he leaned against the counter beside you. His knuckles brushed lightly against yours, and the gesture, as small as it was, sent your pulse skittering.

“I usually don’t,” you admitted, avoiding his gaze. “It’s not really practical, you know. With teaching, and the lab, and—”

“Practical or not, I like it,” he interrupted, his tone genuine. “Suits you.”

You risked a glance up at him, your eyes meeting his. He wasn’t smirking anymore. Instead, his expression was unguarded, softer than you were used to seeing. That look—the one where he seemed to see you and only you—made your heart twist in your chest.

“Thanks,” you said softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Logan reached out, his fingers brushing the side of your arm lightly. “No need to hide when you’re wearin’ something nice, darlin’,” he murmured. “Don’t need to hide, period.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” you argued weakly, your voice betraying you with its timid edge.

He huffed a quiet laugh, his thumb grazing your forearm. “Sure you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t!” you protested, though your voice lacked conviction. His touch was making your thoughts spiral into incoherence.

“Okay, okay,” he said, his grin returning. “But you’ll wear it again sometime, yeah?”

You bit your lip, nodding slightly before looking away again. “Maybe.”

“Good,” he replied, his voice low and warm. “Because you’re stuck with me the rest of the day, anyway.”

“Logan,” you started, your shyness creeping back. “I—”

“No excuses,” he said firmly but without any harshness. “You’re done grading. It’s summer break. No runnin’ off to Jean’s office this time.”

Your face heated at the memory of that little escapade. “You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he said, his grin widening. “Now c’mon. Let’s go for a walk or somethin’. You’ve been cooped up too long.”

He offered you his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, you took it. His grip was strong and steady, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t sure you’d ever stop craving.

As the two of you walked out into the summer sun, you couldn’t help but glance down at your dress, a small, shy smile tugging at your lips. Maybe dresses weren’t so impractical after all.

---

The kids’ laughter echoed over the beach, blending with the rhythmic crash of the waves against the shore. A soft breeze ruffled the umbrella shading you and Jean as you sat in matching beach chairs. The air smelled faintly of salt and sunscreen, the summer sun bright but not unbearable.

You had been staring at the same page of Maisie Dobbs for what had to be ten minutes, the words nothing more than a blur. Jean, seated beside you with her own book, glanced at you over the rim of Evidence of Things Unseen. Her lips twitched as she noticed the way your gaze had drifted—away from your book, away from the umbrella’s shade, and unmistakably toward the figure near the shoreline.

Logan stood knee-deep in the water, his jeans rolled up and his shirt conspicuously absent. He hadn’t bothered to wear anything particularly ‘beachy,’ but it didn’t seem to matter. The sun kissed his skin, highlighting the lines of muscle across his chest and arms, and his usual gruff expression softened as he helped some of the kids with their sandcastle defenses. His low chuckle carried faintly on the wind as he spoke to Bobby, who was excitedly gesturing at a moat that, from your vantage point, looked like it was doomed to fail against the incoming tide.

Jean smirked, closing her book deliberately. “You know, for someone with a PhD, you’re doing a terrible job pretending to read.”

Your head snapped back to your book, the sudden motion almost dislodging your glasses. “I’m reading!”

Jean arched an unimpressed brow, her tone teasing. “Oh? What’s happening in the book?”

You scrambled, trying to recall the last thing you’d actually processed. “Uh... Maisie just—she was, um—”

Jean’s laughter was soft but pointed. “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “You know, it’s not like he’s never been shirtless before. You do live in the same mansion.”

Your cheeks burned, and you pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose as if that would help hide your embarrassment. “It’s different,” you muttered, keeping your gaze firmly planted on your book now.

Jean grinned. “Different how?”

You hesitated, unwilling to put into words what felt so obvious. How the sight of him here, carefree and laughing with the kids, hit differently than the times you’d seen him shirtless before—training in the Danger Room, patching himself up after a mission, or even just wandering the halls in the early hours of the morning. Here, on this beach, Logan seemed... lighter.

“It just is,” you said finally, your voice quiet but insistent.

Jean shook her head, her grin widening. “You’re hopeless. But hey, at least now you’re not the only one distracted.”

Before you could process her words, a shadow fell over you. You glanced up to find Logan standing there, shirt slung over his shoulder and a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

Your face flushed so hot you were sure it rivaled the sun. “I—I wasn’t—”

Jean, ever the opportunist, cut in before you could flounder any further. “She was definitely enjoying it.”

You shot her a mortified glare, but she just winked, clearly pleased with herself. Logan chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest as he crouched beside your chair. His hand came to rest lightly on the armrest, his proximity making your heart race.

“I thought I’d find you buried in a book,” he murmured, his tone teasing but warm. “Didn’t realize you’d be out here gettin’ a tan instead.”

“I’m not—” You floundered again, words failing you under the weight of his gaze.

“She’s been staring at you for the last ten minutes,” Jean added helpfully, earning her a sharp, wordless plea from you.

Logan’s smirk deepened, his attention unwavering as he tilted his head slightly. “That right?”

You wanted the earth to swallow you whole, but instead, you mustered up a weak protest. “Jean’s exaggerating.”

“I’m really not,” Jean chimed in.

“Alright, that’s enough outta you,” Logan said, though his amusement was evident.

Jean chuckled, standing and stretching dramatically. “I’ll leave you two to... whatever this is.” She shot you one last mischievous look before strolling off toward Scott, who was supervising the soccer game.

Once she was gone, Logan shifted, leaning closer. His fingers brushed lightly against your wrist where your hand rested on the book, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered, darlin’,” he said, his voice a low murmur.

“I wasn’t flustered,” you lied, your gaze dropping to the book again.

“Uh-huh,” he drawled, unconvinced. His thumb traced an idle circle on your wrist. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You finally risked a glance up at him, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath hitch. There was no teasing smirk now, just a quiet warmth that left you feeling as if the rest of the beach had faded away.

“Logan,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?” he prompted, his tone gentler now.

You hesitated, then shook your head, a small, shy smile tugging at your lips. “Never mind.”

He huffed a soft laugh, leaning in just enough to press a kiss to your forehead. “C’mon,” he said as he straightened, offering you his hand. “Let’s go walk by the water. You’ve been sittin’ here too long.”

You glanced at his hand, then back at him, your shyness warring with the warmth spreading through your chest. Finally, you slipped your hand into his, letting him pull you to your feet.

As the two of you strolled toward the shoreline, the kids’ laughter filling the air around you, you couldn’t help but think that Jean had been right. Distracted or not, Logan was a sight worth lingering on.

---

“You have got to get better at working with a team,” Ororo said.

Scott nodded in agreement, “you can’t just go off on your own and do whatever you want just because you can.”

They entered the viewing deck as Logan playfully scoffed, “I can work on a team. Just depends who I am working with. Isn’t that right, darlin’?”

You continued to look at the screens around you, letting out a noncommittal hum. “Yeah, sure.”

Logan chuckled under his breath, his tone dripping with amusement. “See? Told ya.” He leaned casually against the console, arms crossed as he glanced at you.

Scott pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “That’s not exactly what I’d call an endorsement.”

“Maybe not by your standards, Slim, but I’ll take what I can get,” Logan shot back with a lopsided grin.

Ororo let out a long-suffering sigh. “Logan, this isn’t a joke. You can’t keep running off and doing your own thing in the field. It puts everyone at risk.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “I get the job done.” His eyes flicked to you again, a faint spark of amusement lingering there. “Besides, I work just fine with the right people.”

Ororo didn’t dignify that with a response, her gaze narrowing. “You’re impossible.”

Scott gestured toward the holographic screens. “What’s the scores?” he asked, clearly trying to redirect the conversation to something productive.

You adjusted your glasses, your fingers moving across the controls as you pulled up the relevant data. “The team as a whole got an 84.75%,” you said, glancing at the screen and making a few adjustments to bring up individual scores. “Individually… well, it’s a mixed bag.”

Logan smirked, leaning closer. “Let me guess. I carried the team.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Logan, you were the reason we lost points in the first place.”

“Details, details,” Logan said with a shrug. He glanced at you. “What’d I get, sweetheart?”

You tapped a few keys, pulling up his stats. “Well… I mean individual scores don’t really matter much do they? It’s all about—”

Jean chuckled and crossed her arms, interrupting you, “oh, I know what that means. You’re stalling.”

Your cheeks warmed as you adjusted your glasses, fumbling slightly with the console. “I’m not stalling. I’m just—being thorough.”

Logan tilted his head, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s hear it. I know I aced it.”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Logan, you left your assigned post twice and ignored team strategy. I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”

Jean chimed in with a smirk. “Not to mention, you destroyed half the simulated building—after the objective was completed.”

Logan’s grin didn’t falter. He leaned closer to you, his voice low and teasing. “They just don’t appreciate my style, do they?”

You bit back a small smile, keeping your gaze fixed on the screen. “Okay, fine. You got… a 62.”

Scott made an incredulous noise, crossing his arms. “See? That’s exactly what we’re talking about.”

Logan shrugged, completely unfazed. “Still passed. A win’s a win.”

“It’s barely passing,” Scott countered, clearly losing patience. “And that’s only because of your combat performance. Your teamwork score was—what? Ten points?”

“Seventeen,” you corrected, your tone soft but pointed. “Which isn’t… great.”

Ororo pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly exasperated. “Logan, the whole point of these exercises is to improve coordination and teamwork, not just show off.”

“Hey, if they want me to play nice, they should stop slowing me down,” Logan replied, his casual tone earning a groan from Scott.

“Logan,” you said, trying to balance your shy nature with the need to contribute. “I think what they’re saying is… you’re great on your own, but in a real mission, working together is—kind of important.”

His gaze softened as he looked at you, the teasing edge fading slightly. “Noted, sweetheart. I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Jean exchanged a quick glance with Ororo, who simply shook her head. “We’ll see,” Ororo muttered, clearly skeptical.

Scott stepped forward, pointing to the screen. “And what about the rest of the team?”

You quickly pulled up the individual stats for everyone else, rattling off the scores. “Jean’s at 90, Ororo’s 92, and Scott—you’ve got a 95.”

Logan gave a low whistle, mock-impressed. “Look at you, Slim. Setting the curve.”

“Someone has to,” Scott replied dryly, but his tone lacked its usual sharpness. He turned back to you. “Good work, Y/N. At least someone here knows how to focus.”

Jean grinned. “She’s always focused. Unlike some people,” she said pointedly, glancing at Logan.

Logan smirked, unbothered as he straightened up. “Guess I’ll just have to make up for it next time.”

Scott opened his mouth to argue, but Ororo cut him off. “Let’s just take the feedback and move on. We’ll schedule another session next week.”

As the group began to disperse, Logan lingered by your side, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re too nice to me, sweetheart.”

You hesitated, the faintest smile tugging at your lips. “Someone has to be.”

Logan smirked at your response, but before he could say anything else, he slid an arm around your shoulders, his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he guided you toward the exit. “C’mon, darlin’. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

You stiffened slightly, your hand coming up to his chest as you gently pushed him away. “Logan—seriously?”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “What? Afraid someone’s gonna think we’re cozy or somethin’?”

“No,” you said firmly, stepping out of his reach. “I’m afraid of the fact that you’re sweaty and gross. I’m not getting anywhere near you until you shower.”

Logan laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that earned a chuckle from Jean and a loud groan from Scott. “Sweetheart, I’ve been through worse. Little sweat never killed anyone.”

“Maybe not,” you said, adjusting your glasses and flashing a rare smirk. “But it’s definitely killed my willingness to put up with you right now.”

Jean leaned casually against the doorway, her arms crossed as she watched the exchange. “She’s got a point, Logan. You’re a walking hazard zone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan muttered, waving a dismissive hand. He threw one last glance at you before heading toward the door. “Fine. I’ll clean up. But don’t think this is over, sweetheart.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied dryly, turning back to the console to shut everything down.

---

The next week, as you were setting up the console for the simulation, Scott and Kitty came walking down the viewing deck hallway. “Come on,” Scott said, “you’re joining us this time. Kitty’ll take care of this.”

You raised your head from the screens and looked over at Scott, tilting your head. “You sure? I’m not exactly much help in the field.”

Scott crossed his arms, giving you a look that said he wasn’t buying your self-doubt. “You’re more capable than you think, Y/N. And we’re not giving you a choice this time. Kitty’s handling the tech, so suit up.”

You hesitated, glancing at Kitty, who gave you a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” she said, sliding into the chair you vacated. “Besides, it’ll be good for you. Logan’s always saying you need to get out of the lab more.”

“Does he now?” you murmured, adjusting your glasses. A small, nervous smile tugged at your lips as you looked back at Scott. “Okay, but only if you promise not to get annoyed if I mess up.”

Scott’s expression softened, and he nodded. “You won’t mess up. Just stick to the plan, and you’ll be fine.”

As the three of you headed down the hallway toward the locker rooms, Logan was leaning casually against the wall just outside, his arms crossed. His signature smirk appeared the second he saw you. “What’s this? Slim finally letting you outta your cage?”

You rolled your eyes, already feeling a little self-conscious. “It’s not like that, Logan.”

“Sure it’s not,” he drawled, falling into step beside you. “Guess this means I’ll have to keep an extra close eye on you, darlin’. Wouldn’t want you gettin’ hurt.”

“Or distracting anyone else,” Scott muttered under his breath.

Logan shot him a look, but you quickly intervened, your tone light but firm. “I’ll be fine. You don’t have to babysit me.”

Logan chuckled. “You say that now, but wait till the action starts.” He gave you a wink before heading off toward the men’s locker room.

Scott let out a long-suffering sigh. “Just… try not to encourage him.”

“I didn’t say anything!” you protested, your cheeks flushing.

“Yeah, but you smiled,” Scott replied, shaking his head as he disappeared into the locker room.

---

In the simulation room, the team gathered near the starting point. The scenario was a hostage rescue in a collapsing skyscraper, and Scott was already running through the plan with his usual precision. “Ororo and Jean will handle structural stabilization while Logan and I take point on the hostiles. Y/N, you’ll be with Logan.”

Logan’s smirk widened. “Figures. Slim knows who the real MVP is.”

Scott ignored him, turning his attention to you. “Your job is to focus on time manipulation to give us an edge. Slow things down where necessary, especially if Logan decides to... improvise.”

Jean coughed lightly, barely disguising a laugh. “You mean when Logan improvises.”

“Whatever works,” Logan said with a shrug. He glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. “You ready for this, sweetheart?”

You nodded, though the nerves were clear in your posture. “Yeah. I think so.”

Logan leaned in just enough to lower his voice. “Hey. You’ve got this. Just stick with me.”

You managed a small smile, adjusting your gloves. “Thanks.”

---

As the simulation began, chaos erupted almost immediately. Logan, true to form, charged ahead with reckless abandon, his claws slicing through holographic enemies like they were nothing. You stayed close, using your powers to slow time in bursts, giving him an edge whenever he veered too far from the plan.

“Logan, stick to your quadrant!” Scott’s voice barked over the comms.

“I’m stickin’ to it!” Logan shot back, even as he lunged into an adjacent zone. “Just takin’ the scenic route.”

“Scenic route?” you muttered, struggling to keep up with him. “You’re all over the place!”

Logan flashed you a grin over his shoulder. “That’s why you’re here, sweetheart. Keepin’ me in check.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but a part of you felt a flicker of pride. Despite his chaotic style, he trusted you to have his back.

As the simulation progressed, you found yourself falling into a rhythm with him. Whenever he rushed headfirst into a dangerous situation, you instinctively slowed time to give him the upper hand. He, in turn, would glance back to make sure you were safe, his protective instincts as sharp as his claws.

When the final wave of enemies fell and the simulation ended, Scott called the team to regroup. “Not bad,” he said, though his tone suggested he had plenty of notes. “We’ll review the footage and—”

“Hold up,” Logan interrupted, glancing at you. “How’d she do?”

Scott blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Y/N? She did well. Kept up with you, which is more than I can say for most people.”

Logan’s smirk returned. “Told ya she’s got it.”

You adjusted your glasses, your cheeks warming as Jean gave you an approving smile. “She definitely held her own. Maybe we should bring her along more often.”

Scott nodded reluctantly. “We’ll see. For now, let’s debrief.”

As the group started toward the viewing deck, Logan slowed his pace to walk beside you. He bumped your shoulder lightly, a rare softness in his tone. “Proud of you, darlin’. Told ya you’d do great.”

You glanced at him, a small smile breaking through your shyness. “Thanks. But I think we both know you’re the reason Scott’s hair is going to turn gray early.”

Logan laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Worth it.”

---

You let out a quiet groan in your sleep, twisting the thin sheet that barely covered you. The summer heat was relentless, and your room, like most of the older parts of the mansion, didn’t have air conditioning. Adding to your discomfort was Logan, who radiated heat like a furnace. Despite the oppressive warmth, his arm was slung lazily around your waist, anchoring you close.

Shifting slightly, you tried to peel yourself away without waking him, but his grip tightened instinctively. “Where d’you think you’re goin’, sweetheart?” Logan’s voice was rough with sleep, his words barely above a murmur.

“It’s too hot,” you whispered back, your voice tinged with a mix of fondness and exasperation. “You’re like a space heater.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, his breath warm against your neck. “Can’t help it. Comes with the claws and all.”

“You mean being insufferable comes with the claws?” you teased softly, attempting to squirm out from under his arm again.

He growled playfully, pulling you closer instead. “Watch it, darlin’. You’re startin’ to sound a lot like Slim.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “I mean it, Logan. I’m going to melt.”

Logan loosened his hold slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. His hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction, and the faintest hint of a smirk played on his lips. “Guess I’ll have to cool you off, then.”

“Don’t even—” you started, but before you could finish, Logan leaned down and kissed you. The kiss was slow, deliberate, and entirely unfair in its ability to make you forget the heat. When he finally pulled back, his grin was infuriatingly smug.

“Still too hot?” he asked, his tone dripping with amusement.

You huffed, pushing his chest lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyway,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His hand lingered, his thumb tracing the edge of your cheekbone.

Your cheeks warmed, though you blamed it on the heat. “I guess I do.”

Logan chuckled, the sound low and genuine, before he flopped back onto his pillow. “Go back to sleep, darlin’. I’ll try not to roast you alive.”

“Gee, thanks,” you muttered, though there was no real bite to your words. Settling back against him despite the heat, you allowed yourself to relax, his steady presence oddly comforting.

As you drifted off, Logan pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Night, sweetheart.”

---

You could bake and cook, but apparently, your skills weren’t exactly pro level. You huffed as you pulled out the pan of macaron shells, all of which were deflated, cracked, or just… sad. The vision of glossy, perfectly round macarons you'd had in your head? Nowhere to be found.

Logan, who had been lounging at the kitchen table flipping through a newspaper, looked up as you groaned in frustration. “What’s the problem, sweetheart?”

You held up the tray of macaron disasters like a defeated warrior displaying a broken weapon. “This is the problem. They’re supposed to be pretty and fluffy, not—whatever this is.” You gestured to the cracked, flat mess.

He squinted at them, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I don’t see the problem. They’re just cookies, right? Still edible.”

“They’re macarons, not cookies. They’re supposed to be delicate, with perfect little feet and smooth tops. This is a disaster,” you said dramatically, setting the tray down with a sigh.

Logan snorted, setting the newspaper aside. “Darlin’, you’re makin’ a big fuss over somethin’ that’s just gonna get eaten. I mean, they look fine to me.”

You gave him an incredulous look. “Fine? They look like they’ve been through a war.”

“Then they’ve got character,” he said, standing and walking over to you. He plucked one off the tray and popped it into his mouth before you could stop him.

“Logan!” you protested. “They’re not ready yet, and they probably taste—”

He raised a hand to silence you, chewing thoughtfully. “Huh. Not bad,” he said with a shrug. “Tastes like sugar.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, though you couldn’t help the slight twitch of a smile on your lips. “That’s because it’s basically just sugar and almond flour. But they’re not supposed to just taste good; they’re supposed to look good too.”

Logan leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you fuss over the tray. “Seems like a waste of energy, worryin’ about somethin’ like that. Long as they taste good, who cares?”

“You don’t understand,” you said, shaking your head. “This was supposed to be impressive! Like, ‘look, everyone, I can make professional-grade macarons!’ impressive. Not, ‘here, enjoy these sad, sugary pancakes.’”

He laughed at that, the sound low and warm, and you glared at him halfheartedly. “I’m glad my baking failure amuses you.”

"Y/N, I’m serious. They’re fine. Hell, I bet they taste better than anything anyone else around here could make.”

Logan’s hands found your waist, and before you could protest, he effortlessly lifted you onto the counter. A surprised yelp escaped your lips as you steadied yourself, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders.

“Logan!” You glared at him, though your annoyance was quickly melting under the warmth of his amused grin.

“What?” he asked innocently, leaning one hand on the counter next to you while his other stayed resting lightly on your knee. “Figured this was a good place for a pep talk. Y’know, eye level and all that.”

You shook your head, exasperated but unable to hold back a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he said with a small shrug, his smirk softening as he looked at you. “But you’re sittin’ here beatin’ yourself up over somethin’ stupid when you’ve got no reason to.”

“They’re not stupid, Logan. They’re macarons,” you insisted, crossing your arms in mock defiance.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, as he stepped closer. “Y/N, you’re sweatin’ the small stuff. You could burn dinner, and everyone’d still eat it without complainin’—myself included. But these? They’re fine. And you wanna know why?”

“Why?” you asked warily, narrowing your eyes at him.

“’Cause you made ’em,” Logan said simply, his voice quieter now. “You put in the work, and that means somethin’. Might not be perfect, but hell, nothin’ ever is.”

The sincerity in his tone made your cheeks flush. You tried to look away, but his hand was already reaching up to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“You’re too nice to me,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Not nice,” he said with a smirk. “Just honest.”

Before you could come up with a witty response, Logan leaned in, his lips brushing yours softly. His kiss was unhurried, filled with the same steady warmth that he always seemed to carry. You melted into it, forgetting for a moment about the tray of failed macarons still sitting on the counter.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Still feelin’ like a failure?”

You bit your lip, trying not to smile. “Maybe a little.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Guess I’ll just have to keep convincin’ you.”

“Logan,” you started, but he didn’t give you a chance to finish. In one swift motion, he scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder.

A startled laugh bubbled out of you as you smacked his back lightly. “Logan! Put me down!”

“Not a chance, darlin’,” he said, his tone filled with teasing amusement as he strode toward the door. “You need some fresh air. Maybe if I walk you around a bit, you’ll quit stressin’ over those sugar pancakes.”

“They’re macarons!” you corrected, your laughter echoing through the hallway as he carried you out of the kitchen.

“Whatever they are, they’re fine,” Logan said firmly, his hand resting against the back of your thigh to steady you. “And you’re gonna see that—after I get you outta this mansion for a bit.”

You let out a resigned sigh, though the smile on your face betrayed any attempt at irritation. “Fine. But you’re carrying me back if I don’t feel better.”

“Deal,” he replied, his grin widening as he turned the corner, earning a few amused glances from passing students.

As you hung over his shoulder, your heart felt lighter. Maybe your macarons weren’t perfect, but with Logan by your side, it hardly seemed to matter.

---

You walked out of the bathroom, towel-drying your damp hair as you adjusted the straps of your light blue silk nightgown. It was new—something you had picked up during a recent mall trip with Jean and some of the kids. You weren’t entirely sure what had possessed you to buy it, but Jean had insisted it was ‘perfect’ for summer, and you figured she was probably right. Now, as the smooth fabric clung lightly to your skin, you found yourself feeling just a little self-conscious.

Logan was sprawled on the bed, one leg hanging off the edge, his back propped against the headboard. A notebook was in his hand, and his brow furrowed slightly in concentration as he sketched something on the page. His expression was uncharacteristically relaxed, a rare sight that made your heart clench.

He looked up as you stepped into the room, his gaze lingering for a beat longer than usual. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and warm. His eyes flicked over you briefly, and though he didn’t comment, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Hey,” you replied softly, padding over to the bed and sitting on the edge near him. You glanced curiously at the notebook in his hand. “What are you working on?”

Logan tilted the book slightly, as if debating whether to show you. “Nothin’ much. Just passin’ the time.”

Your curiosity deepened as you caught a glimpse of pencil strokes and shading. “Can I see?” you asked, tilting your head.

He hesitated for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, sure.” He shifted to sit up straighter, his arm brushing yours as he handed you the notebook. “Don’t laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?” you asked, smiling softly as you took the notebook. Logan adjusted his position, his hands resting lightly on your waist as he guided you onto his lap, the warmth of him seeping through the thin fabric of your nightgown. Your back pressed against his chest as you settled in, the notebook resting on your knees.

The first drawing you saw took your breath away. It was a detailed sketch of the mansion’s garden, the shading capturing the way the sunlight filtered through the trees. The perspective was flawless, each flower and blade of grass rendered with care. “Logan, this is amazing,” you murmured, your fingers lightly tracing the edges of the page.

He huffed a quiet laugh against your shoulder. “Didn’t peg me for an artist, huh?”

“I didn’t know you could draw like this,” you admitted, flipping to the next page. This one was a portrait—a student from the mansion, laughing mid-conversation. It was so vivid you almost expected the image to move.

Logan’s hands tightened slightly on your waist as you turned the pages, each one revealing another sketch: Ororo standing by the lake, Jean mid-training, even Scott adjusting his visor. And then you stopped. The next drawing was of you.

It wasn’t posed or polished like the others. It was you caught in an unguarded moment, sitting cross-legged on the mansion steps with a book in your lap. Your hair was loosely tied back, and your glasses perched on the bridge of your nose as you absentmindedly twirled a pen in your fingers. Logan had captured every detail, right down to the faint curve of your lips.

You blinked, unsure what to say, the heat rushing to your cheeks. “You—this is me.”

“Yeah,” Logan said simply, his voice quieter now. “Figured you’d catch on.”

You turned to glance at him, your breath hitching at the way his eyes softened as they met yours. “It’s… beautiful,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan smirked, but there was something tender in his expression. “Guess I got the subject right, then.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned back to the sketch, feeling his chin rest lightly on your shoulder. As you flipped through the remaining pages, you caught more glimpses of yourself—small moments you didn’t even realize he’d noticed. Sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, laughing at something off-camera, standing by the window as the morning light spilled in. Each one was intimate, raw, and filled with a kind of reverence that left you speechless.

As you paused on another drawing, the strap of your nightgown slipped down your shoulder. Logan’s hand moved almost instinctively, his fingers brushing your skin as he gently slid the strap back into place. The touch was so casual, so natural, that it barely registered—but the warmth lingered.

“Didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Logan said softly, his voice low against your ear.

“You didn’t,” you replied, though your cheeks betrayed you. “I just didn’t realize you… paid attention like this.”

“’Course I do,” he said, his tone gruff but sincere. “You’re worth payin’ attention to, darlin’.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and you leaned back against him, letting the quiet reassurance of his presence wash over you. “Thank you,” you said softly, your fingers brushing the edge of the notebook. “For this. For… seeing me.”

Logan pressed a kiss to your temple, his stubble grazing your skin. “Always.”

---

The room hummed with quiet tension as the group gathered in the briefing room. Scott stood at the head of the table, his sharp, no-nonsense demeanor firmly in place as he laid out the mission details. Jean sat beside him, her fingers laced neatly in her lap, while Ororo leaned back in her chair with an air of calm focus. Bobby and Kitty exchanged a few quiet words, their confidence steady despite the high stakes.

Logan sat beside you, his hand resting casually on your thigh under the table. To the others, it probably looked like a typical display of Logan's relaxed attitude—or as relaxed as he ever got. To you, it was anything but casual. His fingers were warm and slightly calloused, a steady presence that grounded you as Scott’s voice went on about tactical points and contingency plans.

“We’re infiltrating a research facility,” Scott said, gesturing to the holographic map projected above the table. “The main goal is retrieving this.” He tapped a button, and the image shifted to a glowing USB drive. “It’s encrypted with data on mutant experiments. We need it to understand what they’re planning. The defenses will be heavy, and we’ll have limited time.”

Scott turned his gaze toward you, and your stomach flipped. “You’ll be in charge of getting the drive. The rest of us will keep the guards distracted. Once you have it, get to the Blackbird as quickly as possible. No detours, no delays. Understood?”

You nodded, twirling the pen in your hand as you absorbed the weight of your task. “Understood.”

Logan shifted beside you. Though he hadn’t said anything yet, you could feel the tension rolling off him. His thumb absentmindedly brushed over the fabric of your pants, a barely-there motion that sent shivers up your spine.

“Good,” Scott continued. “Logan, Jean, Ororo, and I will handle the main group of guards. Bobby and Kitty, you’re with us on crowd control. Everyone stick to the plan.”

As the meeting wrapped up, Logan finally spoke. “You sure she’s going in alone?” His voice was gruff, his eyes fixed on Scott. The unspoken I don’t like this hung heavy in the air.

“She can handle it,” Scott replied without missing a beat. “We wouldn’t assign her this role if she couldn’t.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, his hand squeezed your thigh gently before he pulled it away, as if reminding you that he was there, even if he didn’t agree with the plan.

---

The mission started smoothly. The team split up as planned, with Logan, Scott, Jean, Ororo, Bobby, and Kitty engaging the guards near the facility’s entrance. Meanwhile, you slipped into the building, your footsteps light as you navigated the sterile hallways.

The hum of fluorescent lights and the faint beeping of machinery filled the space. You kept your breathing steady, relying on your time manipulation to slow your perception of movement, giving yourself more control and awareness. It was a skill you’d honed over time, though it still required focus. You reached the central lab and quickly spotted the USB drive Scott had shown during the briefing. It was locked inside a glass case.

“Piece of cake,” you whispered to yourself, pulling out a small device. The gadget made quick work of the lock, and with a soft hiss, the case opened. You grabbed the drive, tucking it securely into the pouch on your belt.

As you turned to leave, you heard footsteps approaching from the hall. Instinctively, you reached out with your powers, halting time in the immediate area. The world around you froze: the footsteps, the hum of lights, even the faint sway of papers on a desk. Moving quickly, you exited the lab, retracing your steps until you reached a side door leading to the facility's exterior. Only then did you release your hold on time, letting it snap back into motion as if nothing had happened.

You broke into a run, heading for the Blackbird as planned. The others would be close behind once they finished with the guards. The night air was cool against your skin as you darted across the open space between the facility and the jet.

---

Logan stood amidst the chaos at the entrance. His claws slashed through another guard as Scott barked orders to hold the line. Jean and Ororo flanked him, their powers keeping waves of reinforcements at bay. It was going fine. Almost too fine.

Until Logan heard voices over the comms—the crackling radio chatter of guards somewhere outside the perimeter, and then the faint sound of footsteps heading toward the Blackbird.

His chest tightened. He didn’t think. He just moved.

"Logan, where the hell are you going?" Scott shouted over the din.

“Something’s off,” Logan growled, already bolting from the fight.

“We’re not done here!” Scott’s voice crackled in Logan’s earpiece, but Logan ripped it out, tossing it aside. He wasn’t going to lose you. Not again.

---

You’d just reached the Blackbird, your hand resting on the ramp control, when Logan appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. His breath came in harsh pants, and his eyes darted around, scanning the tree line for threats.

“Logan?” you asked, your brow furrowing as you lowered your hand. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be with the team.”

“They were handling it fine,” he said gruffly, his claws still out as he moved to stand in front of you like a shield. "Heard movement. Thought maybe they were gunnin' for you."

You stared at him, your confusion giving way to frustration. “You thought—Logan, I’m fine. The plan worked. I got the drive. I was already here.”

He turned to face you fully, his jaw tight and his eyes burning with a mix of anger and fear. “You think I’m just gonna sit back while you’re out here alone? Anything could’ve happened!”

“I can handle myself,” you shot back, your voice sharp but steady. “That’s why Scott trusted me with this part of the mission. You should’ve stayed with the team.”

Logan took a step closer, his presence overwhelming as always. “You don’t get it,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Every damn time... I lose you. Every time. And I can’t—” He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair, the claws retracting with a soft snikt.

Your frustration faltered, replaced by confusion. “What do you mean, ‘every time’? Logan, what are you talking about?”

He looked at you, something raw and vulnerable in his eyes. “I’ve lost you before, Y/N. More times than I can count. Doesn’t matter if it’s this life or another—I lose you. Always. And I can’t go through that again.”

You blinked, your mind reeling. His words didn’t make sense. “Logan—”

The sound of the others approaching cut you off. The rest of the team appeared, battered but victorious, and the moment between you and Logan was shattered. He stepped back, his usual mask sliding into place as he moved to help Scott secure the ramp.

But you couldn’t shake his words. You couldn’t shake the look in his eyes.

---

The flight back to the mansion was quiet and, thankfully, short. As Ororo and Scott expertly landed the jet, Bobby and Kitty were the first off, eager to escape the tension that hung in the air. They exchanged a few hushed words and hurried down the ramp, their footsteps echoing into the still night.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and stood, adjusting your glasses and stretching your legs. Logan was already up, his movements deliberate as he waited for the others to disembark. Jean followed Scott down the ramp, her hand brushing lightly against his arm as they spoke in low voices. Ororo trailed behind them, her gaze calm but perceptive, always attuned to the undercurrents of emotion in the group.

Scott stopped at the base of the ramp, his expression tight as he turned back toward Logan. “We need to talk,” he said, his voice clipped.

Logan leaned casually against one of the seats, his arms crossed. “Sure,” he replied, his tone dismissive. “Later.”

Scott’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he motioned for Jean and Ororo to follow him, and the three disappeared into the mansion, leaving you and Logan alone on the Blackbird.

You stayed near your seat, unsure whether to move or wait. Logan’s gaze flicked toward you, his expression softening as he stepped closer. His hand reached out, fingers brushing your wrist before he wrapped them around it gently.

“C’mere,” he said, his voice low but firm.

You allowed him to lead you to the far corner of the jet, away from the open ramp. Once there, he released your wrist but didn’t step back, his proximity sending a rush of warmth through you.

“What was that back there?” you asked, your voice steady despite the lingering tension. “Why did you leave the team to come after me? I was fine, Logan.”

He didn’t answer right away. His hands rested on his hips, his head bowing slightly as if searching for the right words. Finally, he looked up, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his tone gruff. “This ain’t just about the mission. It’s about you. I can’t just sit around and hope for the best when you’re out there, Y/N. Not after—” He stopped himself, his jaw clenching as he dragged a hand through his hair.

“Not after what?” you pressed, stepping closer. “Logan, what are you not telling me?”

He hesitated, his eyes scanning your face as if weighing whether to pull you into his truth. Finally, with a quiet sigh, he took a step back and leaned against the wall of the jet, his arms crossing over his chest.

“I’ve lost you before,” he admitted, his voice quieter now but no less raw. “Not just once. Over and over. Five times, to be exact.”

You frowned, confusion swirling in your mind. “Lost me? What are you talking about? I’ve only known you for—”

Logan’s gaze didn’t waver. “Not in this life. In others. You don’t remember, but I do.” He paused, his hands gripping the edge of the wall as if steadying himself. “Every time, I meet you. Every time, we get close. And every damn time, I lose you. To sickness, accidents, war... something always takes you from me.”

You blinked, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. “That doesn’t make sense. Logan, I don’t—”

“I know it sounds crazy,” he interrupted, his voice rising slightly before softening again. “But it’s the truth. The second I met you here, I knew. I’ve known you in ways I can’t explain. And now that I’ve got you in this life, I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you.”

Your heart ached at the raw emotion in his voice, but it also raced with doubt and confusion. Logan’s words stirred something deep within you—a sense of recognition that you couldn’t explain, like catching the edge of a forgotten dream. But as much as your emotions pulled you toward him, your rational mind resisted.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “Logan, I’m not saying you’re lying, but you’re telling me you’ve known me in other lifetimes? That’s not… possible.”

“It’s the truth, darlin’,” Logan said softly, his voice steady despite the weight of his admission. He leaned back against the wall, his posture deceptively relaxed while his eyes never left yours. “You can twist the logic all you want, but I know what I’ve lived through. And I know you.”

You shook your head, your mind racing to reconcile his certainty with everything you understood about the universe. “I’m a scientist, Logan. Time, space, the way life and death work… it doesn’t leave room for things like this.” You paused, searching for the words. “I mean, even if something like reincarnation were possible, how would you remember? How would you—” You stopped yourself, a lump forming in your throat as you thought of the weight he carried in his words. “Why would you remember and not me?”

Logan sighed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t have all the answers. Hell, I don’t even know why my memories are so damn broken, but I know this much: every time I see you, it’s like some part of me snaps into place. Doesn’t matter how the rest of my life’s a blur—you’re the one thing that sticks. You always do.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. The sincerity in his tone, the desperation in his eyes—it was undeniable. And yet, your logical mind clung to disbelief.

“What do you remember?” you asked after a long pause, your voice quieter now. “About me? About… us?”

Logan’s jaw worked for a moment as he considered your question. “Everything,” he said finally. “The way you laugh, the way you think too much and then laugh about that. The way you’ve always got your nose in a book or a project that’s way over my head. And the way you look at me—like you see something good in me even when I don’t.”

Your breath hitched, and you pushed your glasses up your nose as you looked away, your cheeks burning. “That’s just how I am,” you mumbled, trying to deflect the heat of his gaze.

“Maybe,” Logan said, his voice softer now, almost tender. “But it’s always you, sweetheart. Doesn’t matter if you’re shy like now or bold like before. You’re still you.”

You hesitated, your mind a storm of contradictions. “If what you’re saying is true,” you said carefully, “then why don’t I remember? Why would I just… forget all of that?”

“I don’t know,” Logan admitted, stepping closer to you. He didn’t touch you this time, but his presence was steady and grounding, like the weight of his hand had been earlier. “But does it matter? You’re here now. And so am I.”

You didn’t know what to say. The logical part of you screamed to question him further, to demand proof or push back against the impossibility of his claims. But another part of you—the part that had always felt an unspoken connection to him, the part that trusted him without question—wanted to believe.

Before you could respond, a distant voice called out from the mansion grounds, cutting through the stillness. Logan’s eyes flicked toward the open ramp of the Blackbird, his jaw tightening briefly before his gaze returned to you.

“We’ll talk more later,” he said, his voice low and resolute. “I’m not lettin’ this go, Y/N. Not this time.”

You swallowed hard, nodding despite the turmoil inside you. Logan lingered a moment longer, his eyes searching yours as if memorizing every detail, before he turned and headed toward the ramp.

You stood there, rooted in place, your thoughts tangled and chaotic. If what Logan said was true, it changed everything. But even if it wasn’t, the weight of his words—and the look in his eyes—told you one thing: Logan wasn’t going to let you slip away. Not now, not ever.

---

That night, you found yourself lingering outside Jean and Scott’s room, hesitant but resolute. You raised a hand to knock, but paused, second-guessing. Before you could lose your nerve, you rapped softly on the door. It opened after a moment, Scott standing there with a questioning look. Behind him, Jean was tidying up near the dresser, her head tilting curiously at the sight of you.

“Hey, Y/N,” Scott said, his tone polite but guarded after the mission. “Everything okay?”

You glanced past him at Jean, then shifted back to Scott. “I was wondering if I could talk to Jean alone for a minute,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Scott’s brow furrowed, but he stepped back with a small nod. “Sure.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’ll be in the common room,” he told Jean, his tone softening before he passed you a quick glance and exited the room.

Jean came over, her posture open and inviting as she gestured for you to come in. “What’s going on?” she asked, closing the door behind you.

You hesitated for a beat before finding your words. “I just… I needed to talk to someone. About Logan.”

Jean’s eyebrows lifted, her expression curious but understanding. She moved to sit on the edge of the bed, gesturing for you to take the chair by the desk. “Alright,” she said, her voice calm. “What’s on your mind?”

You sat down, folding your hands tightly in your lap. “He told me something today. Something… huge. And I don’t know what to do with it.”

Jean’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Is it about the mission?”

You shook your head quickly. “No. It’s… personal.” You hesitated, chewing on your lip before continuing. “He said he’s known me before. In other lives.”

Jean blinked, her posture stiffening slightly. “Other lives?”

“Yeah.” You let out a shaky breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “He said we’ve met before—five times. That every time, we…” You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. “Every time, I die. And he remembers everything.”

Jean was quiet for a long moment, her eyes searching your face as she processed what you’d said. “And you don’t… remember any of this?” she asked gently.

“No,” you admitted, your voice cracking slightly. “And I don’t even know if it’s true. But the way he said it, Jean—it wasn’t just some story. It felt real. He believes it.”

Jean nodded slowly, her expression contemplative. “Logan’s been through a lot. And his memories—or the gaps in them—are complicated.” She tilted her head. “Did he say why he remembers you specifically?”

You hesitated, recalling his words on the jet. “He said… I’m the only thing that sticks. That everything else is a blur, but not me.”

Jean’s expression softened, and she leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. “Y/N, I don’t know if I can explain why Logan feels this way. But I do know he doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. If he told you this, it’s because he believes it with everything he has.”

“That’s what scares me,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because what if he’s right? What if there’s this… this whole part of me that I don’t even know exists?”

Jean reached out, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “Maybe there is. Or maybe this is just Logan’s way of processing his feelings for you. Either way, it doesn’t change who you are right now. You’re Y/N. The person we know, the person Logan clearly…” She trailed off, smiling faintly. “Clearly cares about.”

You looked down, your cheeks burning. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

Jean squeezed your arm gently. “I get that. But you don’t have to figure it all out tonight. Just take it one step at a time.”

You nodded, grateful for her steady presence. “Thanks, Jean. I needed this.”

“Anytime,” she said warmly. “And if you need someone to talk to again, I’m here.”

---

Meanwhile, in the common room, Logan sat slouched on the couch, a glass of whiskey resting on the table in front of him. His gaze was fixed on the darkened fireplace, his thoughts far away. He barely registered the sound of the door opening until Charles wheeled into the room.

“You look troubled,” Charles observed, his voice calm but perceptive as always.

Logan didn’t turn, his jaw tightening. “Not in the mood for a lecture, Chuck.”

“I wasn’t planning to give you one,” Charles said, stopping his chair beside the couch. “But I can tell something’s weighing on you.”

Logan huffed out a breath, finally glancing at him. “You ever feel like you’re living the same nightmare on repeat?”

Charles regarded him thoughtfully. “I’ve certainly seen my share of patterns in life. But I suspect you’re referring to something far more personal.”

Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s Y/N,” he said finally. “She doesn’t know it, but… I’ve met her before. Five times, in different lives.”

Charles tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “And you remember all of this?”

“Every damn detail,” Logan muttered, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I can’t explain it, but it’s like she’s the one thing I can’t forget. Even after Weapon X, when they wiped everything else—she stuck.”

Charles was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. “And you told her this?”

Logan nodded, his jaw clenching. “She thinks I’m nuts. Can’t say I blame her.”

“Perhaps not,” Charles said gently. “But if what you’re saying is true, then Y/N’s presence in your life may have a purpose beyond what either of you understand.”

Logan let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, if it’s got a purpose, it sure as hell ain’t been kind. Every time I get close to her, I lose her. And I can’t do it again, Charles. I won’t.”

Charles placed a hand on Logan’s arm, his touch steady and grounding. “Whatever the truth may be, you have an opportunity now. She’s here, Logan. Focus on that. Focus on this moment.”

Logan exhaled deeply, his shoulders slumping. “Easier said than done.”

Charles smiled faintly. “Perhaps. But you’re not alone in this.”

Logan nodded reluctantly, his gaze returning to the fireless hearth. Despite the weight of his memories and fears, one thought remained constant: he wasn’t letting you go. Not this time.

---

The days after Logan's confession were a strange blend of tension and normalcy. One evening, as the mansion settled into its usual calm, you found yourself wandering outside. The garden was quiet, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. You wrapped your arms around yourself, the crisp air biting at your skin as you walked aimlessly, your thoughts tangled.

You were startled when Logan's deep voice broke through the quiet. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

You turned to find him leaning against a tree, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He was dressed in his usual leather jacket, the faint scent of smoke and pine lingering in the air around him.

“I needed some air,” you said softly.

Logan pushed off the tree, closing the distance between you in a few long strides. “Yeah, well, you know how it gets around here. Safer not to wander too far.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean safer from the squirrels? Or the mutant squirrels?”

That earned you the faintest twitch of a smile. “Both.”

The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You looked up at the sky, the stars scattered like glitter across the inky blackness. Logan stood beside you, his gaze fixed on you instead of the view.

Finally, you broke the quiet. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t know if I believe in reincarnation or destiny or any of that,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But… I believe you. I can’t explain why, but I do.”

Logan’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though his expression remained guarded. “You don’t have to believe it. Hell, half the time I wish it wasn’t true.”

You turned to face him fully, searching his face. “Why?”

His gaze flicked away, his mouth pressing into a hard line. “Because it’s a curse, Y/N. Every time I get you back, the universe rips you away. I can’t go through it again. I won’t.”

You stepped closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “Logan… I’m here now. Whatever happened before, it’s not happening now. I’m alive. I’m me.”

His eyes met yours, a storm of emotions swirling in them—fear, longing, and something deeper, raw and unspoken. “You say that now, but it doesn’t change what’s coming. You don’t know what it’s like to watch someone you—” He cut himself off, his voice breaking.

You reached out, your hand brushing his arm. “Then tell me. Help me understand.”

Logan stared at you for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Then, without warning, he closed the space between you, his hands gently but firmly gripping your shoulders. His voice was low, almost desperate. “You’re the only thing that’s ever felt real to me. Everything else gets taken, erased, twisted—but you… You’re the one thing they can’t touch. And I don’t know how to protect you without losing you.”

Your heart ached at his words, the weight of his pain pressing down on you. You covered his hands with yours, grounding him. “Then stop trying to protect me from something that hasn’t happened. Stop living in the past or the future and just… be here with me.”

His grip loosened slightly, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Y/N…”

You shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “We’ll figure it out together. Okay?”

Logan exhaled a shaky breath, his forehead lowering to rest against yours. “Okay.”

The two of you stood there, the world around you fading into the background. For the first time in a long while, Logan allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, this time could be different.

---

He sat on the edge of the bed, the small jewelry box in his hand open as he looked at the ring he’s had for almost two centuries.

The door to Logan’s room creaked open as you stepped inside, balancing two plates in your hands. The smell of freshly baked lemon scones lingered in the air, and a small smile played on your lips as you made your way over to him.

“Breakfast in bed isn’t your usual thing,” Logan teased, his tone warm as his eyes followed you across the room.

You shrugged, setting the plates down on the bedside table. “First time for everything, right? Besides, I wanted to try making these.”

Logan arched a brow, feigning suspicion. “Scones, huh? What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” you said with a small laugh, sitting down on the bed beside him. “Just a lot of flour, butter, and a very questionable amount of zesting.” His lips twitched, but you caught the way his hand subtly slid into his jacket pocket. You raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, leaning over to snag a scone off one of the plates. “These smell good.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicion flickering in your expression, but decided to let it go—for now. “They’re lemon scones. First time making them. I figured I’d test them out on you.”

“Guinea pig, huh?” Logan bit into the scone, chewing thoughtfully. After a moment, he nodded. “Not bad. A little tart, but good.”

Your shoulders relaxed, relief washing over you. “Tart? I thought I added enough sugar…”

“It’s fine, darlin’. I like it.” He smirked, breaking off another piece. “Guess this means I’m stuck with being your taste tester now.”

You grinned, picking up your own scone. “You’ve survived worse.”

Logan chuckled, his laughter low and rumbling, as the two of you ate in comfortable silence. The summer sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. It was a quiet moment, one that felt oddly normal amidst the chaos of life at the mansion.

As you set your plate back on the table, you caught Logan watching you. His gaze was steady, but there was something behind it—an intensity that made your cheeks heat.

“What?” you asked softly, brushing a crumb off your lip.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head with a small smile. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

Logan leaned back, his arm draping across the headboard as he studied you. “How you’re the best part of this place.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. “Logan…”

“I mean it.” His voice was quieter now, more serious. “This place, the people—it’s good, but you? You make it feel like home.”

Your face warmed, and you looked down, suddenly shy. “You’re just saying that because I made you scones.”

He reached over, his hand gently tipping your chin up so your eyes met his. “Nah. It’s not the scones.”

The moment lingered, heavy with unspoken words. Logan’s thumb brushed your jaw before he pulled back, clearing his throat. “So, what’s the plan for the rest of the day?”

You blinked, still recovering from the softness of his touch. “Um… I don’t know. I was thinking about working on a project, but…” You hesitated. “It’s summer break. I guess I could take a day off.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a grin. “A whole day off? Guess miracles do happen.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a pillow and lightly swatting him with it. “Don’t push your luck.”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and for a moment, you forgot about the world outside this room. It was just you and Logan, caught in a bubble of warmth and quiet understanding.

But as he reached into his pocket to absently fiddle with the small box, his expression turned thoughtful again. Logan didn’t know how to bring it up—or if he should. All he knew was that someday soon, he’d have to decide. Not if, but when.

---

Your goggles sat on top of your head, the red indent from the frame pressing into your skin as you scribbled furiously in your notebook. Equations sprawled across the pages in a chaotic but purposeful mess. The lab was quiet except for the soft hum of machinery and the faint scratch of your pen against the paper. You were so focused on your work that you didn’t hear Logan come in.

You jumped slightly when you felt his arms wrap around you from behind, his hands resting lightly on your waist. His voice rumbled close to your ear. “You’ve been holed up in here for hours, darlin’.”

“Logan!” you exclaimed, a blush rising to your cheeks. “You scared me.”

His lips curved into a grin against your neck as he pressed a soft kiss to your skin. “Didn’t mean to. What’s got you so wrapped up you didn’t even hear me?”

You relaxed against him, your hands stilling over your notebook. “I’m working on this project—trying to calculate temporal fluctuations in the presence of quantum anomalies. Basically, seeing how external variables could impact time distortion…”

Logan hummed, his lips grazing the side of your neck as he spoke. “Sounds complicated.”

“It’s not that complicated,” you said, your voice picking up with excitement as you began to explain. “The idea is that time manipulation isn’t linear—it’s like... imagine a fabric, but instead of pulling it straight, you twist and fold it. That’s where the anomalies come from. If I can track the changes in—” You cut off with a startled laugh as he kissed the sensitive spot below your ear. “Logan!”

“Keep talkin’,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. His arms tightened slightly, swaying the two of you gently side to side. “I’m listenin’.”

Your blush deepened, but you continued, trying to keep your thoughts straight despite the warmth of his lips trailing along your neck. “If I can track the changes in the energy fields… I might be able to stabilize them. Or at least predict when an event could disrupt—Logan!”

He turned you around, his hands still resting on your hips as he gave you a lopsided grin. “You’ve got no idea how good you look in a lab coat, do you?”

Your mouth opened, then closed as you searched for a response. “It’s… just a lab coat.”

Logan chuckled, his hands sliding to rest on the small of your back. “Not the way you wear it, sweetheart.”

You pushed lightly against his chest, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your attempt at indignation. “Are you just here to distract me?”

“Maybe.” His grin softened into something more tender as his eyes held yours. “Or maybe I wanted to see my girl.”

Your breath hitched slightly at the way he said it, so casual but so full of affection. “Well, I’m flattered,” you teased, your voice quieter now. “Even if you’re trying to derail my research.”

Logan leaned down, his forehead brushing yours as his hand came up to cup your cheek. “You’re always workin’ so hard. Someone’s gotta remind you to take a break.”

You softened, your arms looping loosely around his neck. “Is that your job now?”

“Damn right it is,” he murmured before closing the small gap between you and capturing your lips in a kiss. It was slow and deliberate, and when he pulled back just enough to whisper against your lips, you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Still wearin’ that cherry lip gloss, huh?”

Your laugh was breathless. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“Hard not to,” he admitted, kissing you again, this time deeper, as if he were memorizing the taste. When he pulled back, his thumb brushed over your cheek. “Guess it’s my new favorite.”

Your head tilted slightly, curiosity flickering across your face. “What was your old favorite?”

Logan chuckled, his arms tightening around you as he started to sway the two of you again. “Haven’t had one ‘til now.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning into him as the tension from your work melted away. Logan always had a way of grounding you, reminding you that life didn’t have to be so complicated all the time. For now, you let yourself forget about time anomalies and equations, losing yourself in the warmth of his embrace and the way his lips brushed against yours again, soft and unhurried.

---

Usually, you were a light sleeper. The smallest sound—a creak in the floorboards, the subtle hum of the air conditioner kicking on—would have you stirring. But ever since you and Logan started sleeping in the same bed, whether it was his room or yours, you were out like a light the moment your head hit the pillow. It was as if some part of you instinctively knew you were safe, tucked against his warmth, lulled by the steady rhythm of his breathing.

It gave Logan a chance to test something he'd been thinking about for weeks.

The small velvet box sat on the nightstand on his side of the bed, just out of your line of sight. He had stared at it countless nights, his mind torn between the weight of what it meant and the comfort it brought him. That ring had traveled with him through lifetimes, through hell and back. It was the only constant in his pocket, a piece of the past he hadn’t been able to let go of.

And now, there you were again, lying beside him, so close he could hear your soft, even breaths. The moonlight streaming through the window glinted off your glasses, which sat folded on the bedside table. You looked peaceful, serene. He hated to disturb you, but the thought wouldn’t leave him alone.

He reached over slowly, careful not to jostle the bed, and picked up the box. His fingers hesitated on the lid. This wasn’t a proposal. Not yet. It was just... curiosity.

The lid opened with a soft click, revealing the simple yet elegant band. It had been forged in a different era, but it felt timeless, like you. He carefully pulled the ring out and turned it over in his hand, the faintest smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he looked at you.

“Still sleepin’ like a rock,” he murmured under his breath. “Guess that’s new.”

You shifted slightly, your hand sliding out from under the pillow. Logan froze, waiting. When you didn’t stir again, he carefully took your hand, marveling at how delicate it felt in his rough, calloused one.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, a pang of something bittersweet pulling at him. He slipped the ring onto your finger, holding his breath as it slid snugly into place.

It fit.

Logan’s chest tightened. It wasn’t just the way the ring looked—though it looked like it had been made for you, shining faintly in the moonlight. It was what it meant. A promise he hadn’t been able to keep five times before.

He lingered for a moment, his thumb brushing over your hand before he carefully slipped the ring off again and placed it back in the box. Closing it, he set it back on the nightstand and leaned down, pressing a featherlight kiss to your temple.

“Soon,” he whispered, his voice rough and low.

You stirred, your eyes fluttering open just enough to catch his face close to yours. "Logan?" you murmured sleepily.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You hummed in contentment, your eyes closing again as you snuggled closer. “Mmm... okay.”

Logan wrapped an arm around you, pulling you against him. For now, he could wait. There was no rush. He just needed to take it one day at a time.

---

The cool summer breeze ruffled your hair as you leaned back against Logan’s shoulder, his arm wrapped loosely around your waist. The two of you were perched on the roof of the mansion, a favorite spot for quiet nights away from the chaos of the team. Above, the stars blinked faintly against the dark canvas of the night sky.

You closed Cloud Atlas with a soft thump and set it aside. Logan glanced over from where he was sketching in his notebook.

“Ya done with it?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Yeah,” you replied, stretching your legs out in front of you. “It was... alright. Kind of disjointed but interesting.”

Logan chuckled, a sound that sent warmth straight to your chest. “Figures. You and your ‘I have to finish every book I start’ thing, darlin’.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. “It’s called commitment, Logan.”

“Uh-huh.” He smirked, setting his notebook down. “Speaking of commitment...” He leaned over, reaching into the small bag he’d brought up to the roof.

You raised an eyebrow as he pulled out a book wrapped in brown paper. “What’s that?”

“Somethin’ you’ve been wantin’,” he said, handing it to you.

Curiosity sparked, you unwrapped it carefully, your eyes lighting up when the title was revealed: The Fabric of the Cosmos: Space, Time, and the Texture of Reality.

“Logan!” you gasped, running your fingers over the cover. “I’ve been looking for this everywhere! How did you—?”

“Course I remembered,” he interrupted smoothly, a smug grin tugging at his lips. “Wouldn’t forget somethin’ that makes you light up like that.”

Your cheeks warmed as you ducked your head, shy but unable to hide your smile. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, leaning back and draping an arm over your shoulders. “Go on, crack it open. Figured you’d wanna start it tonight.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Settling against him, you flipped open the book and dove into the first chapter, the world around you fading as the words pulled you in. Logan stayed silent beside you, watching with an easy contentment as you lost yourself in the pages.

Two chapters in, you stopped mid-sentence, frowning slightly as something unexpected caught your eye. Pressed between the pages was a small, folded piece of paper. You glanced at Logan, who looked pointedly at the sky, pretending not to notice.

“What’s this?” you asked, unfolding it carefully.

“No idea,” he replied, his voice too casual.

You raised an eyebrow at him before returning your attention to the note. As you unfolded it, a glint of metal fell onto your lap. Your breath hitched. There, nestled against the fabric of your jeans, was a ring.

It was simple yet beautiful, timeless in design, with a delicate band that caught the starlight. For a moment, all you could do was stare, your mind reeling.

“Logan...” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

He shifted beside you, his movements slow and deliberate. When you turned to look at him, his expression was uncharacteristically soft, the usual gruffness in his features replaced by something vulnerable.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice rough but steady. “This ring... it’s been with me for longer than I care to admit. Carried it through lifetimes, through every damn thing life’s thrown at me. And every time, it’s led me back to you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as he reached out, gently taking the ring from your lap.

“I’ve lost you too many times,” he continued, his thumb brushing over the band. “But this time... this time, I’m not lettin’ go. I don’t care what happens, how crazy things get, I want this to stick.”

He reached for your hand, his calloused fingers warm against yours. “So what d’ya say, darlin’? You up for makin’ this official?”

Tears blurred your vision as you nodded, your voice catching in your throat. “Logan... yes. Yes, of course.”

A grin broke across his face, rare and genuine, as he slid the ring onto your finger. It fit perfectly.

Without thinking, you launched yourself into his arms, burying your face in his chest as he held you close. His embrace was solid and unwavering, grounding you even as your emotions threatened to overwhelm.

“Didn’t think I’d ever get here,” he murmured against your hair.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest. “Me neither,” you admitted, your smile wobbly but radiant. “But I’m glad we did.”

He kissed you then, slow and deliberate, as if sealing a promise. The stars above seemed brighter somehow, the night air warmer. For the first time in a long while, everything felt right.

As the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against yours. “Guess I don’t need that ring burnin’ a hole in my pocket anymore,” he teased.

You laughed softly, wiping at your eyes. “Guess not.”

i could've dragged out them not being engaged, but i couldn't help myself. anyways, if you can't already tell, most of this alternate timeline is going to be just fluff so i hope y'all are ready for it!

(also, in my head they've been dating for a year so it's currently 2004, a year-ish after x2. i'll add the years at the end notes just for people who like it, because i need the dates just because that's who i am)

[internetdaddy98]

The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 2

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[Series Masterlist]

Content Warning: Age gap; reader in her 30’s;mass shooting; death; blood; gunshot injuries; angst; grief; medical procedures; I have 0 medical knowledge 🥹; PTSD; panic attack; if I've missed any warnings, please let me know.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Robby stood in the Pedes room surrounded by covered gurneys for what seemed like hours. 

Trying hard to hold it together, preparing himself to face what was outside those doors. Too much had happened today, like a never-ending bad day. He remembers her words then and the way her eyes looked at him, no silent judgment but understanding and kind. He slipped the star of David back under his scrub top, tucked it close to his chest, and finally stepped back into the hallway.

He’s deciding whether to head towards Abbott or make his way back to Jake in hopes he hears him out and forgive him for not saving Leah but he decides they need space, knowing he might break down again while looking into Jake’s eyes.

He walks towards the hub, hoping to find Dana so he can tell her to head home. The Emergency Department is scattered, drying blood stains on the tiled floor that were being wiped away, hoping to erase what had happened today. They had been through the worst, but it seemed to be slowing down and stabilizing at a slow rate.

“Robby!” Abbott’s voice cut through the hum.

Robby glanced up. Jack looked exhausted, with dark stains on the cuff of his scrubs, but there was a tight glimmer of relief in his expression.

“I’ve been trying to find you, brother,” he said as he approached.

—------------------------------------------------------------

Giving himself a brief moment of solitude, Robby had slipped into the restroom. He washed his face in the nearby sink. The water was cold, grounding. He blinked at his reflection in the mirror— shadows under his eyes, grief written in every line of his face. The prayer had come out without thinking, like a last-ditch effort to hold onto something solid in a world that had just cracked open beneath him.

He didn’t even think he believed in God anymore, not really. But tonight, he found himself whispering those words again. 

“All I  see is that you have done your best tonight, and although it feels like a losing battle, you’re still here”

Still here.

That phrase hit him harder than he’d like to admit.

He had taken her hand because it was the only thing anchoring him to the moment. Her grip was steady, not too tight, just enough to remind him: You’re not alone. Not tonight.

And then, just like that, she was gone. —------------------------------------------------------------

Stepping out of the restroom, nurses buzzed by, gurneys were wheeled past, and the cleaning had started to erase the night that had been.

He could overhear Ellis talking with someone at the nurses’ station, she had her hair messily tied back, her back to him when he approached.

"We need to prep to open back up to the public,” you told Ellis as you looked around. 

“Dr. Robby!” Ellis spotted him as he walked towards you. “I want to introduce you to one of our new fellows— she has been on her feet since the first victim came through.”

You turned to look at him. You were holding a cup of yellow bracelets and smiling.

“Dr. Y/N Williams,” Ellis said with a small smile. “This is Dr. Michael Robinavitch.”

“Act-” Robby had started to explain when you cut him off, extending your hand to him. “It’s nice to finally meet you Dr. Robinavitch” his eyes met yours as he reached for your hand. “Dr. Robby,” he said while shaking your hand. Ellis, thankfully oblivious or too tired to dig, just sighed. “You two will probably be working together soon on day shift. Y/N’s got a good head on her shoulders. Picks things up fast.”

“Noted,” he said, his gaze flickering back to you.

—------------------------------------------------------------

“Dawn, how are you doing? Do you need anything?,” you asked your patient as you looked at her vitals. 

“I’m better. Kind of hungry, though,” she said jokingly. 

“Well, we can discontinue your IV and give you a sandwich so your sugar doesn’t tank, and then you can go home” “What about me? Can I go home?” you turned to look at the patient in the gurney next to Dawn.

“Since you OD’d, we need to keep you here for a couple of more hours, make sure you don’t need any more Narcan”, you explained to him patiently. “Can I at least get another blanket? It’s so cold in here.”

“Of course” 

Robby watched as you interacted with the patients. He approached you from behind, tapping your shoulder to catch your attention. You turned around and smiled. “Dr. Williams, do you have a minute?” he asked while signaling to the hallway away from the patients. 

You nodded and put your index finger up as if to wait while you turned back around to face the patients one last time. “I’ll get one of the nurses to bring the sandwich and blanket for you guys”, you smiled, and then started following Robby. As you walked down the hall, you waited for him to speak.

“I just wanted to say thank you for earlier when I was, um..” he started not being able to find the right words. “You mean your brief moment of silent reflection?” you offered quietly with a smile nodding. “Yeah, how did you know it was the Shema? Robby asked curiously while looking at you, “My uncle is Jewish, so I grew up hearing it when I went to morning service with them” You finished explaining while looking down.

“Well, thank you. Really,” he exhaled. 

“You really don’t have to thank me”, you looked up, shaking your head with a small smile “I’m just glad I was able to help” there was a flicker of recognition in your voice as you patted his shoulder. You cleared your throat “I really do need to grab that sandwich for my patient, but I’ll see you around” You walked away back towards him as you headed back to your patients. —------------------------------------------------------------ Once Robby was heading out, finally done with the hellish shift, he saw her again.

She was standing by the nurses’ station, updating a chart by one of the computers, her stethoscope half-tucked into her pocket. She looked different now—focused, composed. 

The last thing he saw before he went past the sliding doors was her smile headed in his direction.

[wlntrsldler]

poisoned mercury | end up here

a/n: i'm going FERALLLLLLL over this chapter. enjoy poisoned mercury's debut album hehe.

iv. end up here by 5sos

series masterlist | previous | next

“your band name doesn’t even make any sense,” you argued, eyes narrowing at the boy in front of you. 

luke crashed your secret spot, again, and refused to let you smoke in silence until you gave him a detailed explanation of how your day went. he knew you didn’t smoke every day, only on days that were particularly hard. he noticed that your bad days always had something to do with your dad, but it didn’t feel like the right moment to bring that up. 

anyway, you got fed up with his badgering and that stupid smirk on his face because he knew you were about to crack, and decided that if he was going to act like a toddler, you would too. hence, why you were now bringing up his band name. 

luke took offense to that because he thought the band name was cool. he was the one to suggest it. he crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to let his hurt show on his face, “what do you mean? poisoned mercury is a sick name.” 

“mercury is already poisonous. your band name is like redundant or some shit.” 

“then why did so many people in history ingest it?” luke asked, recalling the one thing he remembered from his high school history class before he dropped out. he took a drag from his cigarette, turning his body a bit so the wind didn’t blow the smoke directly in your face. 

“they fucking died, castellan,” you replied, deadpan. 

“oh,” he blinked, staring off, “i didn’t know that.” 

you rolled your eyes, a habit that you’ve picked up whenever you were with him and sat back down on the bench. luke joined you, silent as he thought about what you just said. he really needed to stop zoning out during lessons, but since he was already out of high school, he guessed it didn’t matter anymore. 

as much as you hate to admit it, luke castellan was growing on you. sure, he got on your nerves like nobody else– the boy just doesn’t quit– but, he wasn’t half as bad as you originally thought. not that you’d ever tell him that though. 

when you got back to the cabin last week after helping with concert prep, the cabin was spotless. there were no empty red bull cans in sight, the table tops were free of crumbs, floor vacuumed and mopped, and there was even a candle burning on the counter. you approached your bedroom door to find a post-it on the handle. luke’s messy writing was smudged around the corners, but you could still make out what it said. 

“five star, 

i snitched on the boys and my mom will have a stern talk with them about their cleanliness. can’t promise that people will stop talking about me, but i can promise you won’t have to live in the dojo casa house mojo or whatever it was. 

ps i’m using the spot tomorrow, just thought i should let you know. maybe we can set up a calendar for reservations. 

luke :)” 

the cabin hasn’t been as messy since. whatever may castellan told the boys worked like a charm. there was still the occasional trash, but nothing crazy. it smelled better in the cabin too, still like a boy, but it smelled like expensive cologne more than anything. cedarwood and pine. 

and thankfully, the luke castellan hype train was starting to run out of steam, with many people finally realizing that he was also just a human being and the surprising revelation that luke castellan was not entertaining anyone during his time at camp helped with it as well. you still heard whispers about him here and there, but you were glad the topic of conversation was beginning to switch to something else. 

you and luke walked to the gym and back home every morning together. he and the boys sat with you and clarisse during meals. they tagged along for music lessons and spoke to the kids, which they really appreciated. they helped the older campers with writing music, luke particularly. you’d been around a few musicians in your life and many of them only kissed ass when your dad was around, but poisoned mercury was different. they were passionate about their music. that was clear.

after a conversation with clarisse, where she managed to convince you that not all musicians are like your ex, you began to let loose a little bit. you hung out with the boys more, partly as an excuse so clarisse could hang out with chris without causing too much suspicion, and found that you actually enjoyed their company. and luke castellan? well, he wasn’t half bad. that doesn’t mean he got off easy though. 

you took a hit of your vape, facing him, “are you done interrogating me?” 

“for now, yeah,” he smiled as you shook your head. “are you coming to the concert tonight?” 

“well, i did help organize it.” 

“a simple yes would’ve sufficed, five star,” luke teased, relighting his cigarette. it was burning unevenly and luke was never one to waste his cigarettes. “you gonna watch us play?” 

“don’t have a choice. dad wants me there the whole time.” 

“you can act a little excited,” luke ran a hand through his curls, “we are pretty good, you know.” 

“i know,” you hummed. the sun was beginning to set and there was a slight breeze in the air. goosebumps formed on your skin, the t-shirt and denim shorts you wore didn’t offer much comfort. you shivered, “i have listened to your music.” 

“are you cold?” 

your teeth chattered, but you shook your head, “i’m fine.” 

luke took off his hoodie, tossing it in your direction, “take it.” 

“no,” you tossed it back to him, “told you i’m good.”

always so stubborn, luke thought.  

“if you catch a cold, that’s not on me,” he placed the hoodie on the bench between the two of you. “which songs have you listened to?” 

“kilby girl, of course. it played on the radio so much when you guys first dropped it,” you said, remembering the days where you and your hometown friends would blast it in the car. it reminded you of high school, reckless decisions, life-long memories, and the thrill of knowing you were going to be playing the sport you’d worked so hard to excel in at a d1 level in the fall. you looked at him, sincerity in your eyes, “i really like family line. it might be my favorite.” 

luke’s eyebrows shot up. not many people talked about family line. it was probably their least streamed song. they never performed the song on tour because it was difficult for luke to sing it. it was a personal song to him. it was inspired by his relationship with his father, or lack thereof. 

when poisoned mercury first got signed to olympus records, luke sent a message to his dad on facebook. luke hadn’t tried to contact him since he was ten, not since his father returned his letter to him unopened, no response but a “return to sender” stamp plastered over the envelope. but after the small congratulatory party his mom set up for the band after they signed, luke felt like a little kid again, a kid who wanted to share the great news with his dad, so he found his dad on facebook, made an account, and sent him a message. 

he didn’t get a reply, which was expected, but it felt good for a second to pretend that he had a father to tell his good news to. luke thought he didn’t care about whether or not his dad was proud of him, but when his message went from “sent” to “read” a few days later, he was brought back to those moments in his life when he cried and wondered why he wasn’t enough to make his dad stay. he wrote family line in one sitting, on his bed in his bedroom in connecticut, looking at the little league medals on his wall that seemed to mock him. 

he originally didn’t want it on the album because he felt like it didn’t fit the vibe of the rest of the songs and that it was too real, too vulnerable for a debut album, but then he played it for his mom and she loved it. she cried when she first heard it and luke knew that even if people didn’t like the song, he was going to put it out for his mom. 

“huh,” he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, “wasn’t expecting that one. thought you’d be more of a crash my car type of girl.” 

“i like that too,” you shrugged, “but family line. that song. i don’t think i have the words to describe it.” 

“thanks, five star,” luke looked down at his feet, taking a puff from his dying cigarette. “that’s my mom’s favorite, too.” 

“did you write it?” 

luke nodded, looking to face you. there was a new expression on your face, one that you’d never used with him before. it was a mix of disbelief and awe. he tried not to get offended that you didn’t think he could write something like family line, but he couldn’t blame you. he didn’t really portray the type of person who would be able to be that raw and vulnerable on a song. “me and trav write the lyrics for our songs, mostly. chris and connor help too, but the bulk of the lyrics are me.” 

“you need to stop doing that.”

he cocked his head to the side, crushing the cigarette butt on the hardware of the bench, “doing what?” 

“surprising me,” you shook your head, “i don’t like it.” 

“i don’t know what to tell you,” he chuckled, leaning back on the bench. he looked out into the lake, watching the sun disappear behind the mountains, “i have layers. you just gotta give me a chance.” 

“how do you do it?” you sat criss cross on the bench, leaning against the arm rest. “how do you write like that?” 

you’d always been curious about music, even if you weren’t good at it. your dad was never one to answer your questions, especially because you were interested in lyrics more than anything, and that wasn’t his forte. 

luke mimicked your actions, “i dunno. personal experience, i guess?”

you frowned, thinking about the lyrics of family line. luke never talked about his dad, but spoke highly of his mom. was family line based on his own life? if it was, his dad was an asshole. 

you relented to the cold, grabbing the hoodie that he left in between the two of you. you ignored the triumphant smile on his face when you draped the sweater over your bare legs, shielding them from the wind chills. 

he continued, “sometimes things happen to me that get me worked up and i have to write a song about it. sometimes, it’s based on my imagination. it depends.”

you wanted to ask him about his dad, but you didn’t know if he considered you guys friends yet. it’s not like you made it easy for him anyway. you could deal with the banters and annoyance, but you didn’t want to push him to talk about something he wasn’t ready to. you could be a dick, but you weren’t cruel. 

you changed the subject, “okay, let’s play a game.” 

“21 questions?” luke bit his bottom lip, trying not to laugh. he waggled his eyebrows, dodging your arm that reached out to smack him. 

“you’re gross,” you gagged, knowing the implications of the game, “no, i’m gonna ask about the songs on your album and you tell me if it’s real life or from your imagination.” 

“alright, go for it five star,” he beamed, propping his elbows on his crossed knees. he loved talking about music with anyone. he could go on and on for hours. 

“18.” 

“real,” luke snorted, remembering the first time travis pitched the idea for the song to the band, “but not my experience. it was trav. he met this girl at one of our gigs in new york, right after we got signed, and he was obsessed. she was a freshman at nyu and she kept telling him he was too young for her, even though she was just less than a year older. trav was hooked.” 

you could picture it. it was definitely something travis would do. “okay, another one of my favorites. only angel?” 

“not real,” luke shook his head, a slight blush creeping up on his face. “if you tell anyone, five star, i will vehemently deny it, but i had a crush on jade west from victorious and i wrote it about her.” 

there was something about jade west that made luke like a love-sick puppy. ignoring the fact that she was hot, her attitude was something that luke was attracted to. she had a tough exterior and acted like she didn’t care about people, but she had her moments where she was soft and kind to the people she cared about the most. luke liked that. the idea that someone could be sensitive but only to the people they deemed worthy. 

he’d spent so much of his life trying to be worthy, in whatever way the stage of his life defined it, and he craved it– a pat on the back, an approval, a confirmation that he was worthy of it. 

you threw your head back laughing, surprised by his ridiculous confession. the sound of your laughter rang across the woods, making luke smile. your voice echoed throughout the trees and he his senses were surrounded by you. it hit luke like a truck. 

he sucked in a breath, taking out his phone. he jolted from his seat for more than one reason. “shit, five star. we gotta go.” 

you took out your phone too, checking the time. your eyes widened as you got up from your seat. you threw his hoodie over to him, “fuck, we’re late.” 

the two of you raced out of the woods, arriving to the concert venue with flushed faces and rapid breaths. you could feel clarisse’s knowing eyes on you as you got ready for the concert. you tried your best to ignore it. you were going to deal with that later. 

–

“and for the final event, i know you guys are looking forward to this one,” your dad laughed into the mic. the sun was long gone and there were disco lights illuminating the stage. a smoke machine was on either corner, making it difficult to see the bottom half of the stage. you and clarisse stood in the front row, listening to the deafening cheers of the campers. “ladies and gents, welcome poisoned mercury!” 

the screams got louder which you didn’t even know was possible. travis entered the stage first, sticking his tongue out as he expertly twirled his drumsticks around his fingers. connor came in next, smiling and waving at the crowd as he plugged his guitar into the amp. chris walked in with his bass strapped around his neck, eyes immediately finding clarisse and sending her a shy smile. you nudged her teasingly, enjoying the way she blushed under the lights. 

then luke castellan walked in. he ditched his hoodie and t-shirt and walked in with a white tank top on, messing with the curls on his head. he tugged on the silver necklace around his neck as his eyes scanned the crowd. he threw a wink to the group of the older girls in the back, turning to travis to let out a laugh at their reaction. the lights on the boys were blinding and a thin layer of sweat already began to form on their skin despite the bite to the air. 

luke took center stage, picking up his guitar. he leaned over directly in front of you, fingers pretending to mess with the wires connecting his guitar to the speakers, “hey, five star.” 

he straightened his back before you could reply. clarisse’s eyes darted between you and the boy, now nudging you like you did to her earlier. you rolled your eyes, smiling at the rest of the boys as luke began talking on the mic. 

“what’s up, camp half blood?” luke screamed into the mic. the crowd roared. “we’re poisoned mercury and we are so happy to be with you guys here this summer. before we close out this awesome concert, i wanna introduce our lovely band.” 

“on drums, we have the one and only, travis stoll!” luke turned around to applaud travis as he did a little drum solo, head banging as he hit the drums. he turned to connor, “on lead guitar, we have the amazing connor stoll!” 

connor strummed his guitar, leaning over on the left side to soak in the applause of the crowd. the girls beside you swooned as he unleashed one of his award-winning smiles. 

luke faced chris, “and on bass, we have my very best friend in the entire world, my 4lifer, chris rodriguez!” clarisse cheered loudly for chris as he played a tune on his bass, mouthing, “love you, brother,” to luke as he played. the crowd quited for a second as luke addressed them again, “and my name is luke castellan. we’re poisoned mercury!” 

you turned around to look at the crowd. the size of the crowd tripled when the boys got on stage. everyone had a smile on their face, excited to hear them play. 

“the song we’ll be singing for you guys today is from our debut album,” luke adjusted his mic on the stand. he got closer to it, lips touching the metal, “this is only angel.” 

you couldn’t help but let out a laugh at their song choice. this was not the song they were supposed to sing. they’d been rehearsing kilby girl for the past week. luke saw your reaction, laughing along with you. 

the instrumentals began and you nearly missed the beat drop because of the cheers from the crowd. as the song progressed, the boys were one with the music. you watched luke sing, working the crowd like a pro. his skin glistened under the spotlight, beads of sweat tricking down the side of his face. he approached chris when the chorus started, dragging his mic stand with him. he swung his guitar around so it rested on his back as he sang the lyrics. his curls were sticking to his forehead, eyebrows raised in glee as he performed. 

you couldn’t take your eyes off the lead singer, not even when the rest of the band had their own solos in the song. your eyes were glued on luke; how his adam’s apple was on full display as he threw his head back, getting lost in the music, how his arms flexed as he wrapped the mic cord around his fist, how his thin tank top stuck to his body and how it raised when he lifted his arm up to bring the mic closer to his lips. you saw the outline of his abdomen and his v-line. 

but what really got you was his face. he looked at peace on stage, a wide smile on his face, full lips pink and glossy as he licked them in between verses. he looked incredible up there, like that was where he belonged. he was born to be on stage like this. 

“fuck,” you mumbled, applauding at the end of their song. luke’s eyes found yours as he sang the last bit of the song, smiling at you. you hoped clarisse couldn’t hear you talk to yourself. you looked down at your feet, tugging nervously on the collar of your shirt, “i get it now.”

[lonely-ey3s]

With All My Love : Chapter 14 | want to take care of you

Pairings: joel miller x f!reader (no outbreak)

Word count:

Chapter Summary: While you host Thanksgiving for a few family and close friends you start to connect everything you’ve been experiencing together leading you to one possible conclusion, you’re pregnant.

Chapter warnings: mentions of vomiting (possibly morning sickness? 🫣), FLUFF, joel being an absolute lover, soft!joel, mentions of pregnancy, anxiety, use of Spanish but with translations, use of y/n.

a/n: this is just a small but very lovey and gentle chapter. i wanted it to highlight how far and grateful reader is for the last year and to help show how big this upcoming change will be to not only Joel and her life, but so many others in their village. but ya'll predicted it -- so it shall be written!

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics 

Main Masterlist

Once you all got home, everything started to go back to normal. Sarah went back to school, and Joel went back to work. For the last few nights, he had been home a little later than usual due to things being done wrong while he was gone.

You woke up most mornings with an upset stomach or headache but you still had yet to come to the possibility that something else might be happening other than what you were telling yourself was no more than a stomach bug or exhaustion. 

—

Thanksgiving was today, and you decided you wanted to host it for a couple of friends and family including Frank, Bill, Elena, Maria, Tommy, and Rose. It wouldn’t be a huge group but it would be a challenge that you needed to keep yourself busy while things had gone back to normal. 

Getting up this morning was rough, after Joel left early to wrap up a last-minute contract to be home to help— you were hunched over the toilet for a good half hour vomiting. You finally got yourself under control and able to get ready. What should have hit you like a frying pan across the face for the past 2 weeks didn’t even graze you until today. 

It wasn’t until you were in the kitchen prepping the turkey to go in the oven when Sarah came down and asked you a question that something finally clicked. 

“Hey Mom, I’m out of tampons, do you have a couple I could have until we make it to the store?” she asked you as you were stuffing the turkey with herbs and butter.

You looked up and smiled, “Yeah, go ahead and take what you need under the bathroom sink on the right side. There’s pads and tampons, help yourself, I’ve got plenty.” 

You went to go back to your task when you stopped your hands and thought, ‘Wait, I have plenty. How do I have plenty? Shit, when’s the last time…’ you couldn’t remember having a period the last month, maybe two. How could you not catch this? ‘Fuck, am I pregnant? I can’t be, I have the implant…’ you thought, but then you connected all the dots, missing cycle, morning sickness, fatigue lately, headaches, mood swings. ‘Fuck…’ 

You looked around the kitchen at all you needed to get done and shook your head, this couldn’t wait. Not today. You needed to know if this was happening and not sit and stew all day on the possibility. 

You hurried and finished prepping the turkey then looked at the clock, you had 6 hours til everyone got here which meant you needed to put this turkey in within the next hour. 

You put it in the fridge and then wash your hands. 

Your mind was racing, adrenaline was pumping through your body at the slight possibility this was happening. 

You gathered your things and shouted up the stairs as you hurriedly put your shoes on holding onto the rail, “Sarah, tell Dad I need to run to the store quick! I uh… I forgot something! I’m taking the truck!” you said before grabbing the keys out of the dish and rushing out of the house. 

Joel was in the shower when you left and less than 15 minutes later he came out dressed nicely for dinner and called out, “Hey hon, how can I help?” as he started walking down the hallway, expecting you to be downstairs. 

Sarah was decorating the kitchen and dining area with some fall decor, she looked up to see her dad walking down the stairs, “She had to run to the store, said she forgot something.” 

Joel nodded and then came over and helped her decorate. After all, without knowing what to do, they knew better than to assume and mess something up— so instead they’d just do what they do best, decorate. 

Meanwhile, when you got to the supermarket you found yourself in the aisle with rows of pregnancy tests. Early detection, fast response, and triple check, all looked the same but had different purposes. You had no idea how pregnant you could be, did you need early detection? You panicked and grabbed each type, putting them in your basket. 

You looked around and then went down the baby aisle, just to look. You smiled at all the cute outfits on display, the tiny shoes, pacifiers, bibs, and toys. Could this really be happening? Could this be your reality soon? 

You knew that both of you wanted kids, especially soon, but was this too soon? What about the wedding? A million questions and what-if scenarios swarmed your mind then all of a sudden stopped. 

You smiled seeing a bib with a turkey and it had written, ‘Custest turkey at the table’ on it. You thought for a moment then put it in the basket, if it was meant to be, it was meant to be. You would figure it out. Joel would be over the moon and the wedding would happen sooner or later. However, the important part was finding out first. But once you knew, you’d tell Joel about your news with that cute bib sometime today. 

You were turning around the corner and walking towards the checkout when you realized you needed something to make an excuse as to why you went. You went into the bakery and grabbed a bag of rolls and then went to the checkout line. 

“3 boxes, huh? Let me guess, you’re freaking out a little…” the woman said checking your items out. 

You chuckled and nodded, “Just a little bit.” you kept your eyes on the checkout counter, avoiding eye contact.

“And the rolls?” she questioned. 

You looked up and turned a little flushed, “Left on a whim, said I forgot something, need to keep up with the story...?” you nervously rubbed the back of your neck, looking back down shyly.

She chuckled softly, “Well, this bib is adorable.” she held it up, “I hope you get to use it next Thanksgiving…” She smiled at you softly. 

You looked up and her and smiled softly, tearing up just a little, now feeling with a that, a bit more of excitment, “Me too…” 

You paid for your items and she was nice enough to put the bib and tests in one bag and the rolls in another, “Put the first bag in your purse, then drop the rolls off in the kitchen, he won’t suspect a thing. After— tell ‘em you need to pee, that way he won’t follow you when you rush to the bathroom.” she winked and softly giggled.

You nodded and laughed softly, “Got it. Will do.” you took the bags, “Thank you… and I hope you have a good holiday with your family.” you smiled before walking away. 

—

You drove home and did exactly as she said. Dropped it off on the counter like it was some grenade with how fast you ran upstairs away from the area.

Luckily Joel and Sarah were so distracted with decorating that they didn’t see or question you darting upstairs with a cup in your hand. 

You got up to the bathroom and locked the door, immediately tearing into the tests and laying them all out on the counter. Meticulously reading through the directions on the box.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and took a deep breath, this was happening. You were going to find out if you were actually pregnant and your lives were truly going to change— for the better. You smiled and then nodded, “One thing at a time…”

You started by peeing in the cup and then dipped each test in, putting the lid over the test strip and then turning each upside down on the counter.

One cup and 8 sticks later, you set a timer for 5 minutes. 

You sat on the floor against the door and watched the counter anxiously like you were willing the time to go by faster. 

Your heart was pounding, you felt a slight buzzing throughout your body and your palms were clammy. You felt like you could either throw up or run a mile, it was the strangest feeling.

You looked at the clock and only 3 minutes had gone by, you sighed and stood up, starting to pace back and forth, biting a cuticle that was already hanging on by a thread. After a moment you heard a knock on the door, followed by the knob jiggling, making you jump. 

“Baby? You ok in there?” Joel questioned, sounding slightly concerned. 

“Yeah! Can you take the turkey out of the fridge? I uh, I’ll be down in a few minutes…” you said softly, trying to hide the nerves in your voice but there was a small shake in it. 

He noticed and was about to say something but stopped. He decided he would ask you more about it when he could see your face, gauge if you were truly ok, “Yeah, of course, anything else?” he said through the door. 

“No, that’s it for now. Thank you sweetheart.” your phone buzzed, notifying you it was time. 

You heard him walk out of the bedroom and then his heavy footsteps down the stairs, you took a deep breath and then came up to the counter and looked at all of the tests as they laid in front of you. 

“Ok, it’s just a test. If it shows yes, that’s amazing. If not, then that’s ok too. It’ll be ok either way.” you whispered to yourself, picking up the first test, holding it in your hands, and taking a few more deep breaths. 

You whispered a few more times that it’d be ok before you turned it around in your grasp and looked down. You looked at the strips solid horizontal line and your heart instantly fell— negative. 

You didn’t notice at first but a few tears fell down your cheeks. This wasn’t supposed to be something sad, but it was. Deep down you were excited this might be happening.

You looked down at the rest of the tests and thought they’d all show the same thing, how disappointing that would be to see— 8 ‘no-baby-in-your-womb’ tests. 

However, something pushed you to grab one more with shaky hands and turn it over onto the counter, only for it to reveal— positive. 

You paused and a small chuckle left your lips, “Wait what!?” you whispered to yourself, picking up the test, pulling it up to read it closer like it didn’t simply say: “Pregnant” digitally on it— there was nothing complicated about its result. 

You held both tests in your hand, one negative and one positive. Which was correct? Was it a false positive or a correct negative? 

You looked down at the other 6 and quickly flipped them over, not caring anymore to do them one at a time— needing some confirmation on which test was right. 

Pregnant  Positive  +Pregnant  +  Pregnant 4-5 weeks  Pregnant 

You stood and looked at them all, and began giggling, tears falling happily down your cheeks.

You put your hand over your mouth in disbelief and smiled widely, “Holy shit, I’m pregnant…” you said softly to yourself out loud, staring at all of the tests in front of you. 

You took a moment and just stood there reading them all, one by one, smiling with tears falling down your cheeks, your hand moving down to touch your stomach softly.

A few moments went by before you heard Sarah call up the stairs, “Do you need us to put in the turkey!?” 

You snapped out of the little bubble you were peacefully in and chuckled, opening the bathroom door, and shouting back, “Yes, please! I’ll be down in a second!” 

You quickly gathered all the tests and put them in the grocery bag with the bib. 

You then looked around the room frantically and quickly put the bag inside your nightstand then wiped your tears quickly before smiling as you started down the stairs. 

Joel was putting the turkey in the oven when you came down, “Thanks for putting that in, cowboy!” you said cheerfully as you walked over to the timer and set it for four and a half hours then set a timer on your phone for when you needed to baste it. 

Lucky with the holiday your cheerfulness wasn’t misplaced, so when he stood and looked over at you, closing the oven door– Joel just smiled as he came over, touching the small of your back, looking down at you, “What’s next, mi amor?” 

You turned and smiled happily, before touching his cheek, softly stroking it with your thumb, “Oh, there’s so much ahead for us…” you leaned up and kissed him softly and deeply once before pulling back and humming before he could ask anything and said “But stuffing is next for now!” you started gathering ingredients, leaving him standing there somewhat confused but happy and smiling nonetheless. 

—

A few hours later everyone started to arrive.

They each brought something like wine, pie, or their own Thanksgiving dish they wanted to share. 

The house was filled with light music from the kitchen and laughter from the living room as the men watched the annual football game.

Maria, Elena, Sarah, and you all set the table, getting dishes out of the oven promptly. Maria looked at everything laid out beautifully on the table and then looked over at you as you were checking the internal temperature of the turkey, “Shall I round everyone up?” she started to walk over to you. 

You nodded and smiled, “Perfect, 165 degrees!” you looked up at her, “Yes, let’s get everyone rounded up…” you said as you picked up the turkey in the oven pan and set it on the stovetop. 

While Maria rounded up all of the men, you transferred the turkey to a nice presenting platter. 

Joel came up and touched your back softly, “This all looks amazing, mi vida.” he smiled at you, “I can take that for you, put it on the table?” he leaned over and kissed your temple softly. 

You nodded and smiled up at him, “Yes, please.” you wiped your hands on a towel and then watched as he carried the bird over to the table for everyone to ooh and ahh at. 

You came and sat down at the table next to Joel and Elena. You smiled at her and touched her hand softly, “Gracias por toda tu ayuda mamá” (Thank you for all of your help mama)

She leaned over and gently kissed your cheek, “Te amo…”

You then looked around at all the people around you, all your loved ones that in the last year have become such an important and integral part of your life. 

Frank had become one of your closest friends next to Maria. He was someone who from the first time meeting him has always made you feel welcomed and important. 

Bill although cold around the edges would occasionally call to ask how you were after the fireworks incident as he felt horrible about it. He had also grown warm and welcoming to you in his own way, never letting you know he had a soft spot for you, but you knew. 

Rose had become not only like a grandmother figure to you, but a trusted and valued friend. She was a regular around your home now as you’d invite her over for dinner at least once a week. When you got home from deployment, she was a rock for you— always allowing you to come over. She knew it was purely because you didn’t want to be alone; but she never let you feel silly or shameful for it. You knew when this baby came she would be a huge part in helping you when Joel wasn’t around or anyone else, you knew Rose would be there for you in a heartbeat. 

Elena had become your mom in more ways than you knew how to understand at times. She was supportive, loving and always knew the right thing to say or do. You knew this baby would have this woman wrapped around her finger in no time. You knew she’d also unconditionally love it and you for giving it to her and her family. She continually made you feel welcomed to the Miller family, and you always knew that with her, you’d be loved like a daughter. 

Sarah had become your pride and joy. You knew from the moment you met her, becoming an important part of her life if things were to work out with Joel was that much more important. However, not only have you become an important part of her life— she thinks of you as her mom, and you think of her as your own. Knowing she’d now be a big sister and have a sibling to grow up with, you couldn’t think of a better way to thank her for what she’s brought to your heart. 

Tommy was now like a brother to you. He was protective and kind, and ever since you started going to therapy, you would go with him and Maria to group as well. The three of you bonded in a way that you couldn’t quite put into words. You all just knew enough of what you went through back there to be a supportive shoulder if needed. You owed so much to him and were excited to be joining a family with him as your brother in law.

Maria was not only your best friend and soul sister— she was the foundation and reason for all of this. Without her, and her joy for trying new things, you would have never met Joel. Those letters are the reason for your family, for the life you have; and now for this baby. She would never know or understand the meaning of this, the significance of pretty much giving you a family and renewal in life.

Finally, you found yourself looking at Joel, he was laughing at something Frank had said next to him. His smile was bright and warm, laugh was deep and cheerful as it came from deep within. He would sometimes put his hands over his chest when he laughed too hard and that was what he was doing, experiencing pure joy. He was everything to you. You had never known the feeling of utter love and devotion, but with him, it’s never left. You’d move heaven and earth to ensure his happiness. You knew with him, you were respected, loved, and adored with every fiber of his being. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t looking made your heart soar to the ends of the universe— made you feel an intense fire within, one that since the day you met him has been burning brightly. 

He was going to be an amazing husband, and you knew that he would be an even better father. You couldn’t wait to tell him about what you were bursting at the seams with joy for these last few hours.

He stood and took his glass, softly knocking his knife against it to get everyone’s attention, “Thank you all for coming. I know we are all very hungry and all of this food looks divine, however, I’d like to do one of our traditions— I just wanted to quickly go around the table and say one thing that we are thankful for if that’s alright with everyone…” he looked around at everyone, and they all nodded, smiling. 

“I’ll start.” Maria cleared her throat. Joel sat down and put his hand on yours that was resting on the table, “I’m thankful for everyone in this room, who I’ve been blessed to get to know this past year. Umm, I am also thankful for this beautiful weather we have today.” she smiled softly and looked out the window at the bright orange leaves that have fallen.

Rose shyly spoke up, “I uhm… I’m thankful that I had somewhere to come this Thanksgiving. So– thank you to our lovely hosts for the invite, I’m very grateful to have you in my life…” She smiled towards you and Joel. 

You both smiled back and nodded to acknowledge her sweet words.

“I’m thankful for the holiday season we have approaching. I’m excited to show Maria and Y/N all of our traditions…” Sarah said beaming as she looked around the room, “I’m also very excited about Dad and Mom’s wedding coming up next year.” she smiled at you and Joel. 

Joel smiled and looked at you, you looked at him and smiled softly as he brought your hand to his lips and gently kissed it. 

Elena smiled, clapping once, “¡Lo apoyo!” (I second that!) She then softly chuckled and looked around the table, “I’m grateful for all of you, who have shown my two boys the definition of love, family, and friendship. I can’t begin to explain how that makes my heart… como… completo.” 

Everyone smiled at her and then Bill cleared his throat, “I uh… I’m grateful for the friendship and community you have given Frank and me throughout the years.” he said gruffly but with a small smile on his lips. 

Frank then cheerfully started, “I’m grateful for whoever brought that apple pie on the counter because that crumble on the top looks sinful!” he joked. 

Everyone chuckled and you shyly raised your hand before softly saying, “There’s another one in the outside fridge if you’d like to take it home with you…” you offered. 

Frank gasped, “You don’t have to tell me twice!” 

You chuckled and nodded, letting him know it was his. 

He chuckled for a moment then looked at Bill, “Well in all seriousness, I’m grateful for my Bill, and for all of you. I’m excited for this next year– so much happening for all of us...” he looked at Bill and Bill nodded, “Which brings me to something we’d like to share with all of you…” Frank looked at everyone, “Bill and I have been going through some adoption classes the last few months, and we have just been informed that in the spring we will be adopting a baby girl from Africa…” he tearfully said, smiling happily. 

Everyone around the table shared claps, excited gasps, and comments like ‘Are you kidding me?!’, ‘How did you not tell us?’, and ‘Congratulations!’ to the two, excitement and joy filling the room. 

Joel beamed with nothing but joy for them, touching Frank’s shoulder as he sat next to him, congratulating him and offering help if they ever needed it. 

Everyone started to quiet down as Tommy softly used his glass to get everyone’s attention, “I’m not sure how I’ll be able to follow that, but I’ll sure try. I uh…” he swallowed like he was nervous and turned to look at Maria who was smiling softly at him, unknowing of what he was about to do, “I’m grateful every day that I’m alive and to the universe for putting this woman right here in my life.” he gently took her hand and smiled, “I can’t express how much she’s been a rock and light for me. I’m blessed to be apart of your life.” he took in a breath then looked at her with tears in his eyes, “Maria, I’ve been stupid as I haven’t asked this sooner, so…” he stood from his chair, only for him to move it back a little then get down on one knee next to her seat. 

You gasped and then quickly pulled out your phone to record and take whatever photos you could for her, tearfully smiling. 

“Maria Sophia Atkinson… will you do me the greatest honor… will you marry me?” he pulled a ring box out of his pocket and held it up to her with shaky hands. 

She put her hand over her mouth and tears fell as she chuckled, “Tommy Miller, you are kidding me?!” she smiled and leaped out of her chair into his arms, almost tackling him, “Yes! Yes, of course!” she softly sobbed as she hugged him. 

You gave them a moment then held the camera up still but started to get everyone to cheer so you loudly cheered, “Woo! Congratulations!” you giggled softly from behind the phone. 

Elena rushed over and hugged the both of them, softly crying, she had no idea.

Joel stood and clapped before he made it over and hugged his brother and Maria, kissing her cheek softly and welcoming her to the family. 

You followed and did the same, letting her know you got it all on your phone for her, which she tearfully laughed and thanked you for. 

Once everyone had their time to congratulate the two, the group settled down you cleared your throat softly, “Well I feel very thankful to be a part of all that lovely news, Frank and Bill getting a baby, and Tommy and Maria are now engaged!” you smiled brightly and looked around the table, taking Joel’s hand once again, “But something that I’m thankful for as cliche as it may sound is all of you.” you looked at Joel and then Sarah, “But I think there are two people at this table that outrank everyone else by just a tad, and to them, I will forever and infinitely be grateful to you both for the impact, love, and patience you’ve given me in this last year.” you teared up a little and chuckled softly, wiping your eyes then looked around the table once more before happily saying, “I am very excited for all the things coming our way this next year big and small, and couldn’t be more thankful it’ll be with all of you.”  

Joel leaned over and kissed your cheek softly then your hand before he looked around the table, “Well that leaves me.” he chuckled, “Well, I’d like to start by saying how thankful I am for my health, and the ability it gives me to provide and take care of my beautiful daughter and fiance.” he gave a soft smile to you and Sarah, “I uh… I hope ya’ll don’t mind if I share somethin’ real quick but, Sarah and I have not really had a Thanksgivin’ like this in quite some time.” he looked over at her and she softly nodded at her dad, smiling softly, “The last few Thanksgivin’ dinners have been take out or a buffet…” he sadly chuckled as he looked down shamefully and looked then looked back at Sarah who just smiled and shrugged. 

“But— I remember last year, there was a moment where somethin’ felt like it was missin’ from our lives. I felt an emptiness as we sat in this home with Tommy and my mom, but not this year. It’s been filled this year. It’s sittin’ right next to me– she’s sittin’ right next to me.” he looked over at you and brought your hand to his lips again, softly kissing it, “I knew the second you were in my arms at that airport, you were what was missing from our lives— and today, that feelin’ has been completely filled up by your presence. I love you, I’m so grateful for you and thankful for the love and care you’ve given me, mi vida…” he smiled at you and you gently cupped his cheek, then leaned in and kissed him softly. 

You pulled back and whispered “I love you…” against his lips before pecking his lips once more and turning to the group, “Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Let’s eat!” you giggled and everyone chuckled and nodded, grabbing their plates, digging in. 

You turned back to Joel and looked at him as he took your plate to dish you up first to make sure you got a taste of what you’d been working so hard to prepare the last two days. 

Everyone enjoyed the meal and had a lovely time catching up with each other, telling stories of Thanksgiving's past, as well as talking about future events like your wedding. 

Joel and you decided to have a spring wedding so the date was set to be April 3rd and had even found a beautiful venue to host it at. 

Maria mentioned that you’d need to go wedding dress shopping soon then as that was less than 6 months away. You agreed and said that maybe you guys could go in a week or two and start to look but you’d let her and Frank know when you set a date.

After dinner, most everyone gathered in the living room to watch the rest Thanksgiving football game that was on. You and Maria stayed in the kitchen and started to put extra food in takeaway containers for guests as well as start doing the mountain of dishes you had now from all the baking dishes. 

You were on washing duty while Maria portioned everything out when she asked, “Hey so I’ve been having some stomach issues lately and Joel mentioned that while you guys were away in Oregon you had some as well, have you gotten that checked out yet? Was it a virus or something?” 

You looked up at her and shrugged, trying not to give anything away, but smiling softly, “I uhm, yeah I was sick a few times, but it was nothing serious.” you cleared your throat and looked down to concentrate on scrubbing the pan to hide the ridiculous smile you had across your face, “What symptoms are you having?”

Maria kept her back to you as she continued, “Oh just can’t eat anything really without feelin’ sick, and in the mornings the last couple of days I’ve been sick. I have an appointment scheduled with a GP this week to take a look and make sure everything is good but it’s just weird, you know?” 

“How so?” you questioned. 

“Well, it’s just… someone mentioned it sounded like I was pregnant but I can’t be… I have an implant, you know, like you.” 

You smiled and chuckled, then bit the inside of your cheek, “No form of birth control is 100% effective… trust me.” you put a dish on the drying rack, “When was your last period?” you questioned. 

“I mean it’s been two months but I never have a normal cycle— I’ve gone 4 months without one in the past, not pregnant.” she looked back at you. 

You shrugged, “It wouldn’t hurt to take a test…” you started to clean off another dish, “At least rule it out, you know?” you looked up and smiled warmly. 

She nodded and sighed softly, “What if I am though? Tommy just proposed… how do you think he’d handle the news of having a kid? He’d freak…” she said nervously. 

“If I know Tommy… and if he’s anything like Joel…he’d freak because he’d be so over the moon with happiness, Maria. He’d be so overjoyed…” you said softly, going back to your dish. 

“But it’d be before we got married… my parents would kill me!” she chuckled. 

You shrugged and simply said, “Then elope… then after the baby is born have a ceremony. But it’s your and Tommy’s decision, you can get married before or after, doesn’t affect anything...” you put the dish on the rack and started scrubbing, “But we don’t even know if you’re pregnant, so let’s not run to any conclusions.” you suggested. 

She took a deep breath and nodded, “You’re right, we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.” she turned back around and smiled to herself, “A baby would be lovely though… can you imagine how cute it’d be?” she softly giggled. 

You smiled to yourself and then for a moment put a hand on your stomach, and rubbed it with your thumb, “The cutest…” 

After you and Maria finished up in the kitchen you served everyone pie in the living room on paper plates— you refused to wash another dish.

You handed Joel a slice of your apple crisp pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top from behind the couch, he smiled up at you, “Come ‘ere…” he gently pulled on your chin, leaning backward. You kissed him upside down, smiling and lightly touching his cheek before pulling back, “Enjoy your pie, cowboy…” 

“Come sit with me…” he said in a small daze. 

You giggled softly, “There’s no room, we’ve got a full house…” You pecked his nose. 

He grinned, “You could sit on my lap…” and said lowly, reaching back to kiss you slowly, sliding his tongue between your lips. 

You hummed softly and kissed him a few more times before pulling back and blushing, “As much as I’d love to do that, that’s not a family-friendly position, is it now?” 

He chuckled and lightly ran his thumb over your chin, “Where can I be with you then? Eat our pie together…” he lovingly looked at you. 

You smiled and lightly ran your fingers through his hair, “Wanna come sit with me at the table?” as you said that, and then half of the group yelled and cheered as their team scored a touchdown. You giggled and kissed his nose, “Take a break from the craziness?” 

He nodded and then stood up, immediately coming around the couch with his plate in his hand, “A few moments alone with you?” he grinned and took your hand, “My love, that’s always going to be a ‘yes’ answer and the day it isn’t– shoot me out of my misery.” he teased. 

You giggled and walked with him to the kitchen where your pie sat on the table. 

You both sat down and Joel took a bite, softly groaning, “Shit honey, do we have to give the other pie to Bill and Frank?” he took another bite, “This is fuckin’ delicious!” he looked up at you. 

You chuckled and took a bite yourself, “I have two out there, one for them and I assumed you’d like it, so one for us.” you winked and smiled at him.

He groaned and put his hand on yours that was sitting on the table, “God, you’re a good woman.” he said with his mouth full. 

You giggled and took another bite, “And you are a kiss ass…” you teased. 

He chuckled and shrugged then hummed, “Mmm, only for you, my love!” he winked and smiled softly at you. 

You two enjoyed your pie together, talking about the big events that had happened at dinner, and how excited you both were for those things to happen.

You briefly looked down at your stomach and were tempted to tell him right then and there as you were on the topic of Frank and Bill’s baby announcement. Joel was going on how he can’t wait to start a family, how fun it would be to raise a kid with them. You went to say something when Bill cleared his throat coming into the kitchen, announcing the game was over and that he and Frank were going to head out. 

After a couple more minutes others announced the same and within a half hour, you had an empty house. 

Sarah went to help Rose home and must have gotten stuck here so you took it as a sign.

Joel was watching some recaps of the game when you snuck upstairs and opened your nightstand, picking out a test that said ‘Pregnant’ and one that had a positive sign next to it as well.

You laid the bib on the end of the bed and the two tests next to it, trying to make it look cute then you snuck into Sarah’s room quickly and grabbed her Polaroid camera, and snapped a photo of it real quick. 

You grabbed an envelope, wrote 'I love you' on the tongue of it, wrote your address on it, addressed it to Joel then grabbed a piece of paper and wrote: 

‘My love,  I thought of no better way to tell you this than how we started-- with a letter…  Tonight at dinner you mentioned something was missing from your life last year, and this year it felt full. Perhaps it could be me doing that or maybe perhaps it's something more… <3 I love you and can’t wait for this next part of my life with you.’ 

Then put the letter and photo inside and licked it shut before quietly rushing downstairs and seeing a stack of mail someone had grabbed earlier on the counter by the garage, “Hey hun, did you get the mail earlier?” you called out before sneaking the letter in the middle of the stack and then standing by the counter, pretending to scroll on your phone. 

Joel came into the kitchen and smiled, “Yeah it's over here…” he grabbed the stack, “Anything in particular you’re needing? We’ve got a bill, water bill, lawn care advertisement, coupon for an oil change, oh wonderful, another bill and…” he paused and looked up at you, “What’s this?” 

You looked at him and innocently shrugged, trying not to smile, “What’s what?” you curiously said.

He chuckled and held up the envelope, “Did you… what are you up to…” he smiled and put the rest of the mail down on the table, and started to open the envelope, smiling widely to himself. 

You slowly started to make your way over, standing in front of him, smiling, and trying hard to not look too excited until he knew what was going on. 

He pulled out the Polaroid and letter, and you cleared your throat, “Read the letter first…” 

He looked up at you and smirked, “I thought you knew nothing about this…” he teased. 

You giggled, “Oh for Pete's sake just read the letter!” you said excitedly. 

He chuckled and unfolded the letter, looking down at it, reading it smiling.

He got to that one specific part and his face fell, face flushed, eyebrows furrowed as she read it again. For a moment your heart dropped, then he looked at you with tears in his eyes, “Baby, are you serious?” his smile returned, brighter. 

You nodded and lightly giggled, lightly bouncing on the balls of your feet, “T-the photo…” you pointed to the Polaroid, smile matching his, tears now in your eyes.  

He looked down and saw the tests, then the bib and immediately set the items on the counter next to him and pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly, softly crying happily, “You’re pregnant?” he pulled back and cupped your cheeks, you nodded as tears fell happily down your cheeks.

He didn’t waste a moment by leaning in and kissing you softly a few times before pulling away, putting his forehead against yours, “Oh my god, we’re having a baby…” he lightly began to chuckle, looking into your eyes. 

You nodded and began to chuckle with him, softly rubbing his biceps to soothe him, tears still flowing, “We’re having a baby…” 

He pulled back and kissed your forehead softly then leaned in and kissed you again, softly whispering beforehand, “Te amo mucho…” 

You kissed him a few more times before he pulled back and knelt in front of you and kissed your stomach a few times gently, “How long? Do you know how far along you are?” he looked at your stomach, nothing but utter happiness radiating off him. 

You shook your head, gently stroking his hair back, looking down at him, “One of the tests said 4-5 weeks but I’m not sure how accurate that is…” 

He looked up at you, “One of?” he lightly chuckled, “How many did you take?” he smiled as he rose to his feet and grabbed the letter and photo, looking at both one more time, smiling brightly.  

You took his hand, “Come with me…” you giggled softly and brought him upstairs. 

The moment you two entered the bedroom he shut the door to give you both some privacy and then he saw the bib and two tests laid out on the bed.

The man melted.

He came over and knelt beside the bed, looking at them, “How… when…” he looked at you, “Is this why you went to the store today? I knew we already had rolls!” he chuckled. 

You chuckled and nodded and pulled out the grocery bag of tests from your nightstand, “So, when I got there, I may have panicked, but I took 8 tests, only one came up negative but I’m pretty sure 7 positives are correct, right?” you said sitting on the bed and showing them to him, one by one. 

He held each test and nodded, “When? When did you take these?” he looked up at you, smiling. 

“As soon as I got home from the store… something was just… I needed to know.” you said smiling at him, “Are you upset you didn’t know sooner?” you got a little nervous. 

Joel shook his head and stood, coming to sit by you on the bed, “No, I mean I’m a little sad we didn’t get to share with everyone at dinner— but we can still do that, have a dinner to announce it, yeah?”

You nodded, “After everyone’s announcement, especially Tommy proposing, I didn’t want to also steal anyone’s thunder, you know?” you smiled at him, laying back against the pillows. 

He nodded and laid his head on your thigh, looking at you from below, “We need to get you scheduled for an ultrasound, yeah?” he set his hand on your stomach softly, rubbing his thumb over it. 

You nodded, “I thought we could tell Sarah after that scan, you know when we know for sure…” 

He nodded and smiled, completely in a daze as he watched your stomach, “What do you think it’ll be?” 

You sat up a little, putting another pillow behind your head to see him better, “I’m kinda hopin’ for a boy if I’m being honest…” you chuckled softly. 

He looked up at you and smiled softly, “Yeah? Why’s that?” 

You shrugged, “I don’t know… I think there’s this need for every woman to give their husband a son. Someone to carry on the name, to carry on the legacy.” you smiled and put your hand on his, “Plus a little Joel would be so very cute…” you smiled. 

He chuckled, “As long as we aren’t namin’ him, Joel Jr., I have zero problems with a son.” he looked back at your stomach, “But if I’m bein’ honest, I’d love another little girl. I feel like I’d be a better girl dad than a boy dad… I’ve got some experience with Sarah, you know?” 

You giggled at his joke and then nodded, “I can see why you might think that, but I think you’re going to be a great dad, no matter what we have.” 

He smiled up at you and kissed your stomach softly then came up to gently kiss you, “I love you, so much, and I’m going to do whatever I can to take care of you more so now that you’re carryin’ my baby…” he softly brushed your hair back from your face, “No heavy liftin’, plenty of rest, and anything else you want– I’ll make it happen.” he gently kissed you again then nudged your nose, “I want to take care of you…” he said tenderly.

You softly smiled, “So if I wake up in the middle of the night wanting… cantaloupe, you’ll get me some?” you teased. 

He nodded and pecked your lips, “I’ll get you every damn melon they have at the damn store just in case you want somethin’ else after your cantaloupe, mi vida…” he chuckled. 

You softly giggled and then touched his cheek then hummed, “What are we going to do about the wedding?”

He tilted his head, and smiled, “What about the wedding?” 

“Well, I’ll be 7… maybe 8 months pregnant…” you chuckled. 

He smiled and nodded, “Yes and…?” he chuckled, “If you’re worried about marrying me while you’re pregnant…” he kissed your lips gently, “My love… you could have a fur coat on or a raincoat, be 3 months or 9 months pregnant, I’m marryin’ you either way…” 

You chuckled and shook your head, “No, I’m not worried about that… I mean I am… but I…” you softly sighed. 

“What is it?” he touched your cheek softly, rubbing it gently with his thumb. 

“What if we eloped… and then after the baby comes we have like a renewal ceremony and party… but with the baby.” you shyly suggested. 

“Yeah?” he perked up a bit, “You’d think we could do both?” he bit his lip, moving his hand back down to rest on your stomach, “I mean, when… when would we elope? Who would we invite or would it just be like you, me, and Sarah?” 

You smiled softly, “Well… what if we did it around Christmas? Just go down to the courthouse, take Sarah, Tommy, Maria, and your mom with us, and do it.” you blushed, “We can still dress up nicely and make a fuss, but… it could just… be intimate, you know? Simple…” you looked down shyly for a moment, “I want you to be my husband when our baby is born, and for me to be your wife.” you looked up at him.

He nodded and thought for a moment looking down at your stomach then looked back up at you, “Let's do it.” he smiled warmly, “Let’s get you in for an ultrasound, and if everything is good, we’ll tell everyone the plan, and do it. If not, and those tests are god forbid, wrong– we’ll stick with the April plan.” his smile grew, “We’ll push the other ceremony out until the baby is a few months old and then we’ll do the ceremony then…” he moved down and kissed your stomach softly and looked up at you, tears filling his eyes as he was completely and utterly filled with happiness in this moment. 

You just simply nodded and agreed, softly touching his cheek, “Let’s do it.”

1 week later

Joel and you had found an OBGYN locally and scheduled an appointment for today.

Joel was taking a long lunch, however you two had the hardest time keeping this huge secret from everyone, especially Sarah. 

She was starting to pick up on small things like your morning sickness that had progressively gotten worse since taking the tests. She wasn’t naive but she also didn’t want to make any assumptions so she just assumed you had stomach bug or something. But she knew something was up, especially with how attentive Joel was with everything. 

Something looked heavy? He rushed over to grab it. You came in with groceries the other day? He insisted you sat down and let him do it for you. Normally, you would insist on doing things on your own, but you were so compliant, so easy to settle down and let him take over– to her it was out of character for you. 

She had some suspicions, but she knew that if something was wrong, you two would tell her. 

—

Just as Joel was leaving the work site Tommy came up to him, “Hey, Danny said you were takin’ a long lunch today, everythin’ ok?” he questioned. 

He nodded and smiled as he continued walking to his truck, “Yeah, just need to run a few errands, somethin’ I want to do so I’m not home too late tonight…” he lied but was good enough to throw Tommy off the trail. 

Tommy nodded and smiled softly, “Oh, alright. Sorry, didn’t mean to pry– just know you’re not one to take a long lunch if somethin’ wasn’t up.” 

Joel smiled and shrugged, “What can I say, I’m a changed man as of late…” he winked, “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” 

Tommy nodded and waved before he headed back to the center of the job site. 

You met Joel at the hospital, he came in smiling and fixing his jacket that has some raindrop on it, brushing it off. His eyes found yours and his smile instantly widened.

He bent down and kissed you gently, “Hey, how’s everythin’ been today, mi amor?” he asked as he sat down and put his arm behind you, gently rubbing your arm. 

“Good, just been feeling a bit nauseated since I ate my lunch about a half hour ago.” you softly sighed, going back to filling out the paperwork you had been given, leaning into him.

“Well, we can ask the doctor for somethin’ to help with that. We can also ask about the headaches… get some advice on how to treat them without hurtin’ you and baby…” he kissed your temple. 

You nodded and smiled, leaning into his touch as you finished up the paperwork. You went to stand and he cleared his throat softly, “I got it. Just back to the receptionist?” 

You chuckled softly, “Yes, to the receptionist…” 

He gently took the clipboard and went over to the receptionist, handing it to her. She took a look over it and then smiled up at him, “You must be Dad. I’ll let her nurse know she’s done. It’ll be a few minutes.” 

He smiled warmly at being called ‘dad’ and then walked back to sit with you.

You gently took his hand and kissed it, “Thank you for coming…” 

He turned his head to look at you, “Why wouldn’t I? Hell, I’m makin’ it to every single one of these appointments…” he teased. 

You chuckled and touched his cheek, “I know… and I want you at every appointment…” You kissed his lips softly once then pulled away and shyly looked down, “... I just know that not every woman and upcoming mom is as lucky to have a partner like you, so… thank you for bein’ one of the good ones…” you softly smiled looking back up at him. 

“I’m going to take of you and this baby with every part of me. There’s no need to thank me for bein’ the man you deserve and the father they deserve…” he kissed your forehead softly then pulled your hand up and kissed it as well. 

You nodded then sat back and leaned against him, pulling a maternity magazine into your lap and looking at all the tips and tricks while you waited. 

A nurse opened the door and softly called your name. 

You perked up and set the magazine down, “That’s me…” you smiled as you stood up and gathered your purse. 

Joel stood and took your hand, holding it as you both walked with the nurse to the room. 

The nurse looked behind her as she walked with you both, “Ok, so we are here to get your first scan and some blood work is that right?” 

You nodded and smiled as you walked behind her. 

She nodded and then opened a room, “Ok, so we are just going to have you today keep everything on, we are just going to have you sit on this lovely table to get your scan and blood taken, is that ok?” 

You nodded and began getting on the table, looking at Joel, all of a sudden getting nervous. 

The moment you lay down, he took your hand and brushed your hair back, leaning down and kissing your forehead, whispering, “I got you��” 

You swallowed and sighed softly, looking to the nurse, “Can I ask you a silly question?” 

She smiled got the ultrasound set up and looked at you, “There are no such things as silly questions here…” She nodded towards you. 

“I uhm… I took 8 tests about a week ago and 1 of them showed up negative while the rest were positive. Is there any chance this scan could show nothing?” you said, hesitantly. 

She immediately clocked how nervous this made you feel and touched your shoulder, “Oh honey, no. 7 positives completely outweigh one silly stupid negative. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re further along than what that test said, they are usually 2-3 weeks behind…” she smiled softly. 

You breathed a sigh of relief and chuckled softly, nodding, “Ok… that’s all I needed to hear.” you looked at Joel for a moment then back at her, “That one negative has been eating at me since I took it.” you scoffed and wiped your eyes as they started to tear up. 

She nodded, “Understandable. I’m sure with the hormones too, that hasn’t helped, huh?” she tsked and rubbed your shoulder, “Well mama, let’s get the doctor in here so you and Dad can see the little one… yeah?” 

You and Joel both nodded and smiled, then you said through some tears, “Yes! Yes please.”

She smiled and gathered your chart then said the doctor and she would be back in a few minutes before leaving and shutting the door. 

You looked up at Joel and he was already smiling lovingly at you. 

“When Rachelle was pregnant, did you get to go to these with her?” you asked. 

“I remember I came to one towards the end— saw Sarah’s face, but other than that she always seemed to schedule them while I was at work but would never let me know.” he said sadly, “I wanted to come, wanted to be involved and informed…” he looked around at the room, “I remember having questions for the doctor but she never would ask ‘em and it just worried me more not knowin’, you know?” 

You gently squeezed his hand to get his attention back on you, “You can be as involved as you want with our kids, in fact, if you’re not able to come to an appointment but want to, we will reschedule for a time you can.” you kissed his hand softly, “I can’t imagine anything worse than not being involved or considered in a process like this, especially when I know it means so much to you.” 

He smiled warmly and leaned in, kissing your lips softly, “I just wanna be the best I can be for you and this baby…” he said as he pulled back. 

“You already are…” you spoke softly as you reached up and touched his cheek, warmly smiling. 

There was a small knock on the door and you turned your head, “Come in…” 

The nurse and the doctor came in. She was a dainty but intimidating presence. She looked to maybe be around your age, maybe a few years older but nonetheless, she immediately felt safe and you instantly felt all the nerves melt. 

“Good afternoon! I’m Dr. Benson, it’s so lovely to meet you both. How are we doing mama?” she said warmly as she sat in the small chair and rolled over to you. 

“I’m good. Just nervous but excited…” you lightly chuckled. 

“Good, both things are very normal to be feeling.” she smiled back at you, “Tell me, how are you feeling in terms of this pregnancy, what have your symptoms been?” 

“For the last maybe 2-3 weeks I have had morning sickness most mornings. I have also felt fatigued more than usual. Um… oh, I’ve also had headaches too quite often which I don’t know are a symptom but I’m not one to get them often.” you said looking back and forth between the doctor and nurse. 

She nodded along and wrote a few things as you spoke, “Well headaches are a symptom in earlier stages, and it usually ties back to stress. I’d suggest when you do get them, cold compresses, resting, hydrating…” She looked at Joel and smiled, “Dad, you could maybe draw her a nice bath, maybe give her a massage… anything that would help relieve stress.” she then looked at you, “For the morning sickness, I’d suggest ginger ale and snacking throughout the day, that seems to help lessen it— however for some women, morning sickness is just what happens. The good news is that symptom usually goes away after the first trimester.” she smiled and held her hands in her lap.

You nodded and tried to absorb everything she was saying, “Is there anything I shouldn’t be doing that I might be?” 

She smiled warmly, “I would just say plenty of rest— naps will be your best friend through this pregnancy.” she chuckled, “When I had my son, I think I had an hour nap twice a day for the first several months before he started pushing on my spine and then I couldn’t sleep due to discomfort…” she chuckled. 

You softly chuckled with her and then looked at Joel, “Things to look forward to! Yay!” you joked. 

He chuckled and then looked at the doctor, “If that were to happen, what can I do to help avoid the lack of sleep?” he brushed your hair back and looked down at you, and smiled before looking back at the doctor. 

“There’s a few things, but we will cross that bridge if she gets to it, but she may not, so we’ll focus on what’s going on now and take care of that.” she smiled at Joel then looked at you, “Now, is this your first baby?” she started to gently roll up your shirt to expose your stomach, pulling your pants down just a tad as well. 

“Um, yes, first time. I uhm, I am a little shocked though— I have an implant, which I thought was the most effective?” you looked over at her, puzzled. 

“It’s rare, but it can happen.” she turned to you, and touched the bed softly, “Just asking, because you have a form of birth control, are you wanting… options?” she looked at you and Joel, hinting towards ending the pregnancy based on that question. 

You gasped and shook your head, “Oh god, no. I just was asking because I also wanted to know what happens now that I’m pregnant, will it hurt the baby?” 

She smiled and nodded, “Ah, I understand. Well, that’s what I’ll be checking today. In most cases where birth control like an implant is involved, the fetus can be found in the fallopian tube— which means it’s an ectopic pregnancy.” she said softly, like she was avoiding saying something that might upset you.

“Wha-What does that mean?” you looked at Joel worried and then back at her. 

“Means the baby wouldn’t make it, mi vida…” he said softly, kissing your forehead. 

“Correct, but if it’s implanted into the uterus like a good little fetus, then we have no problem and it will grow to be a healthy little baby.” she smiled softly. 

“How early can you tell? I mean, will we know if it’s ok today?” you asked, sounding nervous and slightly panicked. 

“All wonderful questions— so, yes that is something I’ll be checking, so let’s get cracking so we can take a look at your little one, shall we?” she put some gloves on and then pulled out a bottle of ultrasound gel. 

You nodded and took a breath then looked up at Joel. He smiled down at you and whispered, “It’s going to be ok…” 

“Ok so this is going to be a little cold, just a warning…” she said before squeezing some onto your belly. 

You jumped a little at the coldness and chuckled, “Shit, I thought people were always dramatic but that is cold…” 

Joel chuckled and kissed your head again then the hand he was holding. 

The nurse turned out the lights and the computer turned on. The doctor picked up the wand and smiled, “You’re going to feel a little pressure but let’s get started…” 

You nodded and turned your head to try and look at the monitor. Joel sat on a chair by you, leaning his head by yours, holding your hand to his lips, gently kissing it.

She put the wand to your abdomen and then pressed lightly, before turning to look at the monitor, moving it around a little bit, staying quiet as she looked around. 

Joel and you tried to decipher what she was seeing but couldn’t tell what was what. 

What seemed like an eternity later she gasped softly and smiled widely, “Ah, there you are…” She softly chuckled, and turned the screen so you could both see, and pointed to a little image that looked like a bean. 

“Is that…” you began to tear up and chuckled softly. 

“That’s our baby…” Joel said also tearing up, smiling brightly. 

She smiled and chuckled along with you both, “Yes, this is little Miller baby…” She moved the wand just a little and pointed, “That is the head, and then these…” She moved it again, pointing to two areas, “…are its little arms and legs.” she smiled at you both. 

“How far along is she? Do you know when she’s due?” Joel asked, tears streaming happily down his face as he kept his eyes on the image. 

She did some clicking and it looked like measuring, “By your measurements, you are about 8 weeks along.” she softly giggled, “In terms of size, it’s no bigger than a little blueberry...” she smiled, looking at you both, “Due date is July 15th…” 

You started to softly cry, “A little blueberry?” you chuckled through tears, not being able to hold it in, “So it’s ok? It’s not an ectopic pregnancy?” you looked at her, joyfully. 

“Baby is healthy, implanted into your beautiful uterus safely and I expect nothing less than a healthy and happy baby in the summer…” she said as she looked at you, smiling warmly. 

Joel smiled down at you and kissed your hand, “Sarah’s going to be so excited, a new baby brother or sister pretty much 5 days before her birthday…” he chuckled. 

You looked at him and laughed softly, “Seems you’ve got quite the knack for getting women pregnant in early October there, Miller…” 

He chuckled and leaned down to kiss you, softly and tenderly before leaning up and kissing your forehead, “I guess I do…” he joked. 

Dr. Benson continued to look at everything then smiled at you, “Let’s get you in again in 4 more weeks, make sure everything is good and progressing well, then the next appointment after that we should be able to tell what sex it is if you’d like to know…” she pulled the wand off and pulled a few pictures out of a printer below, “Congratulations, you two…” she handed you the photos of the ultrasound. 

You took them and looked at them, smiling, “Hello little blueberry…” you touched the photo with your finger. 

Joel smiled and kissed your temple. 

The nurse took your blood and told you she’d call with results in the morning. 

Joel helped you back into the truck— and you two sat in that parking lot looking at those photos together for a good 20 minutes before you both headed home, excited to tell everyone the news of your sweet little blueberry.

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[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (03)

chapter three: puzzle pieces

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; unprotected sex (this is fiction, not real life. don’t do it kids), oral sex (m. and f. receiving), fingering, cum eating, praise kink if you squint???, could’ve been edited a bit more but oh well i tried lol word count: 3.2k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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If loving you’s a crime Cuff me up, I’ll do my time for you, girl When I make you mine (when I make you mine) Didn’t come all this way just to waste your time

Over Some Wine - RINI ft. Maeta

It wouldn’t have taken that long to walk to your apartment. And normally, you would welcome the brisk night stroll with friends, basking in the chilly but pleasant air as you wander the empty streets, with nothing but the glow of everlasting youth for warmth every time the wind breezes by.

Though tonight you had opted to hail a taxi back to yours after leaving the club. You’re not an impatient person and neither is Minho, but whenever you’re around him, waiting always seems to be the hardest thing to do.

The entire time you were in the car, his hand was on your leg, the touch seemingly innocent at first, until his fingers started trailing higher and higher, until his hand was gripping your inner thigh. His knuckles brushed against your core at one point, and you had to summon every last bit of control not to jump his bones right then and there.

Once you're finally within the comfort of your own home, Minho's got you hoisted up with your legs wrapped around his waist, his lips instantly chasing yours while his hands settle on your ass, squeezing you as he carries you to your bedroom. He knows the layout of your apartment well enough that he doesn't have to break away from the kiss for more than a second to navigate the place and reach his desired destination.

It's only when he has lowered you on the bed that he stops kissing you, latching onto your neck while his clothed erection grinds against you. You choke on a breath as Minho sucks on a sweet spot, his favorite place to mark you. You love it, even though you always end up complaining to him that you have to cover it up when you go outside.

His hands knead you roughly, one still on your ass, the other having moved to your chest. You tug on his shirt, desperate and impatient, and he complies almost immediately. He finishes his work on your neck with a particular hard suck, his tongue soothing the skin before he pulls away from you just far enough to get rid of the shirt.

Minho dives in to kiss you again but you put a hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly before your lips could meet. “Take off your pants,” you demand restlessly.

“What?” he simpers, though his hands are already reaching to undo his belt. “You don’t wanna kiss some more?”

“You can kiss me while you fuck me.”

It’s easy to tell that your words affect him, judging from the way his eyes glaze over with lust and the retort that he swallows back down. While he kicks off his jeans and boxers, you work on stripping yourself bare for him. You’re both naked in record time, and then he’s gravitating toward you once again.

It’s routine at this point; Minho likes to make you come at least once or twice before he fucks you. He’s about to descend your body before you’re stopping him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Not gonna let me have a taste?” he pouts.

“Later,” you tell him. “I just need you now.”

He bites his lip like he’s contemplating it, then slots his body between your open legs, his bare cock positioned on your inner thigh. “You sure? Don’t want me to prep you first?” he asks.

“No.” Your hands slide up his neck, pulling him closer until he’s resting his forehead against yours. “Can’t wait. Want you so bad...”

You’re practically whimpering, positively dripping with need as you tell him this. It makes Minho lose his mind a little bit, makes his breath hitch. He kisses you again as his fingers slip through your folds, pleased to find that you’re already beyond wet.

The sounds that you make, muffled by his lips, go straight to his cock; the length throbs, hardens impossibly more.

He dips his fingers into your entrance regardless, burying them to the hilt, scissoring you open. You buck against his hand instantly, your pliant cunt soaking his digits as you whine - or try to, anyway. It’s good, the way he’s fucking his fingers into you, but you need more.

“Min, just fuck me...” You break the kiss to look at him with darkened eyes, full of desire. “Please.”

“Whatever you want, baby.” Then he’s pulling out, making a quick show of sucking his fingers clean, humming contentedly at your taste. The sudden emptiness that he leaves you with almost hurts, but it dissipates when he aligns himself with you, rubbing his tip against your clit a few times before he’s finally pushing in.

There’s a stretch but it’s not unpleasant. It’s delicious, how he fills you up so perfectly like he was made just for you.

That thought crosses your mind again.

My puzzle piece. My perfect fit.

You let out a drawn moan as Minho bottoms out. You can’t think straight, not when he’s this close to you, not when you can feel all of him. Not when it’s practically suffocating you, just how intimate the moment is.

You know it’s not exactly what you signed up for, or at least you still try to remind yourself that. And yet...

You two don’t use condoms anymore; you haven’t in a while. It’s a little reckless and stupid, you know that. Maybe if someone else had come to you and told you that they were forgoing protection with their close-friend-turned-friend-with-benefits, you would scold the shit out of them. But this is your situation, and people don’t tend to be very wise when it comes to their own dilemmas, do they?

Minho always pulls out, and you never forget to take your birth control. Of course, there’s always some concern, but it isn’t really on the forefront of your mind right now. There hasn’t been any scares so far.

“Okay?” he asks, brushing his lips against your cheek as he holds your waist.

You nod fervently. “More than okay. Please move.”

He chuckles at your impatience, giving your sides a tender squeeze before rearing his hips back. The drag of his cock along your walls makes you sigh, and when he plunges back into you, you almost shudder from how fucking good it feels.

“Minho...” His name falls from your lips hoarsely, brokenly. The pace he sets is fast, makes you see stars from the get-go. He would’ve preferred to play with you a bit more to ease the stretch for you, but he knows you wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t think you could handle it.

You pull him closer with your arms around his neck until your chest is pressed tightly against his. He kisses you again, slowly, sweetly, while he thrusts into you hard and fast.

You know he likes it when you’re loud for him, because of him. He’s told you that much himself. But more often than not, Minho would kiss you a lot during sex, swallowing the moans trying to escape from you.

Maybe he’s just looking out for your poor neighbors.

Or maybe he just likes kissing you that much.

“Fuck,” he groans against your lips, breaking away momentarily to let you breathe. His cock nudges your g-spot on every stroke and it feels like heaven. “You’re doing so good, baby. Always take me so well.”

You don’t know if it’s the pet name that makes your heart skip a beat or if it’s just the praise in general, but either way, it fills you with an indescribable warmth.

You clench around him, your thighs instinctively hugging his waist tighter and that’s how he knows you’re almost there. “Gonna come for me?” he asks, his hips never easing up on their brutal pace because goddamn Lee Minho and his fucking stamina. One of his hands sneaks down to meet your clit, drumming it like he’s playing the freaking guitar and it makes you want to scream.

“So close,” you cry out. He’s brought you to that edge already, and all you have to do now is... fall. “Min, I’m...”

“I’m here. I’ve got you.”

And so you do. You fall. You let yourself tip over the edge and into the sea of pleasure that awaits you. It’s stars exploding behind your eyelids, wonderfully devastating. It’s rapturous euphoria, the way Minho holds you through it all, how he peppers kisses along your jawline, how he never ceases his movements, making your high last as long as possible.

He holds out until he’s seen your orgasm through. When your bliss subsides, his hips stutter, turning more erratic.

“I’m close,” he rasps out.

You hold his face and mimic his actions just a couple minutes ago, kissing his cheek, the bridge of his nose and the cute mole on the side, then finally his lips. “Where do you want it?”

“Your mouth,” he asks gently. “Please.”

When Minho pulls out, you move toward him, settling on your hands and knees until your face is level with his bare cock. He lets out a breathless moan as you take him into your awaiting mouth, humming contentedly when you taste yourself on him. He has both hands on you, one tangled in your hair, the other stroking your cheek affectionately, all the while his hips thrust into your mouth slowly until he hits the back of your throat, only to pull back and do it again repeatedly.

You peer up at him through your lashes, and Minho just thinks you’re so fucking pretty like this, looking at him with innocent eyes, yet you’re doing downright obscene things with him, letting him do the filthiest things to you.

You place your hand on top of his own, the one that’s on your face, caressing your cheekbone. “Baby,” he whimpers brokenly as you hollow out your cheeks to try and suck him off better. His heavy length throbs on your tongue, pulsating with the need to come. He’s aware that he sounds beyond needy and desperate, but you’re just so warm and wet and a fucking goddess that it makes him short-circuit, wiping his mind clean until all he knows is you.

Nothing else, no one else but you.

It takes him only a few more sloppy thrusts before he’s calling out your name in a drawn-out moan, spilling his hot cum down your throat, coating your tastebuds with him. You bop your head along his length for a minute longer, until you’re certain that he has nothing left to give you. When you’re done, your tongue wanders from the base to the tip, lightly sucking and licking the head like a kitten, before you open your mouth to show him that you’ve been a good girl.

Minho is dazed as he stares at you, his lips parted as he tries to even out his breathing. You smile triumphantly as you watch him try to get his bearings, but after a moment, he’s still quiet. You’re about to poke his side to get him to come down from the clouds, but he’s suddenly pulling you up by your arms and kissing you hard. You let out a surprised gasp, muffled against his mouth, before you relax against him, placing your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself.

He moans when he tastes himself on your tongue, and the vibration caused by the sound makes you press your thighs together.

One of his hands gropes your bare ass before his fingers find your core again, rubbing your slit, gathering the moisture there.

“Did sucking me off make you wet again?” Minho pulls back slightly to ask, a smirk evident on his lips. You don’t say anything; you just look at him with bashful eyes. “Want me to make you come again?”

At this, you nudge his nose with yours. “Will you?” you ask coyly. “Just a quick one.”

He kisses you once more before he gently pushes you backward, motioning for you to lie on the bed as he settles with his head between your legs.

He sucks a faint mark into one of your inner thighs. “Anything for you,” he says.

His lips latch onto your awaiting clit, sucking it into his mouth gently and instantly making you sigh in pure bliss. Your fingers thread themselves in his hair, tugging on it when two of his fingers dip into your entrance without warning. The digits enter you easily, aided by your excess wetness, fucking you fast, determined to make you come again.

You feel like you’re floating.

There’s something about today. Some lines, blurred.

It doesn’t take long before you find yourself nearing the edge again. You’re still a bit sensitive from your previous orgasm after all. “Ah, shit… There…” you keen out, your greedy hands trying to push him further against your cunt, which he happily obliges. 

When you come in his mouth, your thighs shaking around his head, Minho laps it all up, taking his sweet time to lick you clean. You feel him moan against your core, and it isn’t until you start wincing from the overstimulation that he releases you.

A smug grin blooms on his lips as he crawls up the bed, lying down next to you. You take a couple of minutes to catch your breath, thoroughly enjoying the warmth that settles deep in your belly and the satisfying sensation between your legs. You cover your body with the duvet before you roll onto your side to face him.

Pillow talk isn’t your forte.

You just watch him as he watches you carefully, neither of you saying anything as the electricity in the air settles. You wait to see if he would speak, but after a moment, your eyelids start getting heavy. Exhaustion catches up with your body quicky.

“Tired?” Minho asks.

“Mhmm.”

He waits for another beat, reaches a hand out to stroke your hair softly before he gets up and goes to the bathroom. The aftercare is routine, and you cannot express how much you appreciate him for it. He returns with a damp cloth, then peels the duvet from your bottom half to clean you up. He does all of it quietly, and the silence makes you even drowsier.

When Minho is done, he pats your leg and covers you up again. He goes back to observing you and your sleepy face for another minute. You keep your eyes open as you try to maintain eye contact but it’s hard; you feel like you could pass out any second now.

Nevertheless, even in your exhausted state, you still sense the light somberness that befalls the confines of your walls. Usually, this is the part where he leaves, and you can tell that he doesn’t like the realization that he has to go now.

You see it in his face and it makes you a little sad because you know he wants to stay.

Then, it strikes you that you don’t really want him to leave either. At least not tonight.

“It’s late. You can stay the night,” you say quietly, “if you want.”

The same excuse that you used to kick him out the last time, now you’re using to get him to stay.

Minho seems surprised. “Are you okay with that?”

“I wouldn’t have brought it up if I wasn’t okay with it.”

“Oh.”

You catch the tip of his ears turning red. It’s endearing, for some reason.

He puts on his boxers from where they were abandoned on the floor earlier, but opts to remain shirtless. His movements are a bit graceless, like he doesn’t really know what to do with himself.

This is a first for the both of you. The first time he’s ever stayed over.

“Do you want me to grab you a shirt?” he asks.

You nod lazily. “Yes, please.”

Minho wanders over to your wardrobe and rummages through your t-shirt drawer. He picks one out from the bunch, holding it up for you to see. It takes a few seconds for your brain to catch up with you, but when it does, you realize that it’s not your shirt at all. It’s Minho’s, one that he left here some time ago and you were just never reminded to give it back.

“Oh,” you say. “You can wear it if you want. It’s yours anyway.”

“I think I’d rather see you wear it.”

You don’t argue because you’re tired and it’s just a shirt. You throw it on when he hands it to you along with a clean pair of underwear.

“What?” you ask when he just hovers over your bed and stares at you.

His gaze flickers from your eyes to the shirt covering your body, his lips curling upward before he tells you, “Nothing.”

After turning off the lights, Minho climbs into bed with you. You’re lying on your back and you suspect that he’s in a similar position, though you don’t turn to look at him to make sure. It’s awkward, and you don’t really know what to do about it.

A couple minutes later, he brushes his fingers against yours. “Can I?”

You don’t know what he’s asking, but you agree nonetheless. “Okay.”

There’s some shuffling from his direction, like he’s rolled over onto one side to face you in the dark. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer, until your back is flushed against his bare chest. The godforsaken thing that you call a heart starts beating wildly for a reason unbeknownst to you. It’s difficult to breathe properly when he’s holding you like this.

Like you’ve never been held before.

You think Minho feels the stiffness of your body in his arms because he starts rubbing odd patterns on your skin, up and down your sides, trying to soothe you.

It helps a bit, but then again it’s probably the sleepiness seeping in more and more too.

“Hey,” you start. “About what Hyunjin said at the party tonight.”

Minho pauses the movements of his fingers a second. “What did he say?”

“The thing he said about the girl…”

He laughs his cute laugh then, his chest vibrating with the sound. “You know the girl is you, right?”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

“It’s cute.”

“It’s not.”

“Okay,” he chuckles, patting your stomach with affection. “What about what Hyunjin said?”

You take a breath. “I don’t know. What if everyone finds out?”

“They won’t,” Minho reassures you. “They’re not the brightest bunch.”

“Be serious.”

“I am serious,” he protests, then his voice gets smaller, full of hesitation as he asks, “Even if they do find out, would it really be that bad?”

“It wouldn’t be the end of the world,” you tell him, “but I don’t know, it’s…”

Then you trail off, not really knowing what to say. It’s what? Embarrassing? Scary? What?

“Come on.” Minho presses a kiss into your hair after a moment of dead silence. Maybe he thinks that you’ve fallen asleep, or maybe he’s trying to keep you from overthinking everything. The gentle kiss would’ve made you weak in the knees if you aren’t already lying down. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk about it later.”

Your mind takes you back to what he said just now. You can’t help but think how that sentence would sound better if only he’d switched out one word for another.

My girl…

You know my girl is you, right?

It makes your heart skip a beat, then you’re snuggling further into the warmth of his embrace, where he welcomes you with no reservation.

You drift off to the sound of his breathing, dreaming about you and him.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 12.01.2024]

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER THREE: DEBUT

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SUMMARY ↳ School's in, and so is Spinnerette. Unfortunately that spidey luck doesn't seem to be letting up anytime soon. Must be a canon in every universe. Crouching off the ledge of the building, you prep yourself. “Back to the ole grind, K.” and then you fly. Leaping off the building, you feel the rush of wind call you. You flick your wrist, sending a web at the nearest building. You swing forward in a graceful arc, flipping and twirling. Each swing makes you faster and sends you higher. You grin under your mask and let out a whoop. “We are so back!” pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: hostage situations, mugging attempts, guns wc: 4.3k

You’re irrational in your worry to don the suit. You know logically the battery can last you months, but it might take months to build a nanite chamber. You don’t even want to spend months in this dimension.

Your makeshift nanite chamber is horrific at best. The cord management breaks several lab safety rules. The amalgamation of cables is tucked away in your closet. You haven’t tried to use it yet because you’re absolutely certain it might cause a city-wide power outage.

Tonight, though, you’ll finally introduce Gotham to Spinnerette.

You won’t patrol in East End, Catwoman’s got that covered. You’re not dumb enough to mess around in her territory. You plan on swinging by Crime Alley and the Narrows, two of the worst parts of Gotham. If you find any of the Bats, you’ll just use your totally awesome charm and super duper hero skills to wiggle your way out of their watch. Hopefully.

You take a deep breath, the suit breathing with you. Gotham is so different from your New York. Your home, the “City that Never Sleeps”, is true to its name. The city becomes so much more alive at night, so much more colorful. You’ve seen many New Yorks and its variants, and you’ve never seen one so… lifeless… like Gotham. In all fairness, Gotham is Gotham and not New York.

You sniff, rolling back your shoulders. “How are things looking, K?”

“My forecast predicts rain to hit in 2 hours. Temperature is 74॰, wind speeds are optimal for swinging. I have intercepted police reports nearby about a hostage situation, shall I optimize a route, [Name]?”

Crouching off the ledge of the building, you prep yourself. “Back to the ole grind, K.” and then you fly. Leaping off the building, you feel the rush of wind call you. You flick your wrist, sending a web at the nearest building. You swing forward in a graceful arc, flipping and twirling. Each swing makes you faster and sends you higher. You grin under your mask and let out a whoop.

“We are so back!”

You tuck your knees to your chest, avoiding a billboard. Below you traffic roars. You perform a dance in the sky, swinging from building to building. You feel that familiar adrenaline returning, a reminder of who you are. The weight of responsibility is momentarily forgotten, replaced by sheer freedom.

You flip one last time in the air, landing in a crouch at your destination. You look over the edge. It’s just one guy waving his gun around madly. In his grasp is a child.

“I’ll fucking shoot, I swear! Get me my money right fucking now!” He’s panicked and desperate, which means he’s trigger happy. Normally you’d defuse the situation the best you can, but now? You have the element of surprise. You’ll act quickly.

You send a web and yank the gun out of his hands, then send another web, hauling the man up to you. You web his mouth shut, fisting his shirt and making him face you. His eyes are fearful, but you can’t think of anything to say. You look over to the tense faces of the police. Among them is Jim Gordon. You know he can’t see you, but he’s looking right at you.

You huff, lowering the man. You wrap him up in your webs with familiar ease, like a real spider saving its prey for later. He yelps as he’s dropped and yanked back up, the cops pointing their guns in his direction. The kid from earlier is safe behind Commissioner Gordon, letting you know your job here is done. The only sound they hear is the thwip of your web as you swing away.

“I’d say that went well. Enough,” you blurt into the silence as you’re swinging.

“Certainly, [Name].” You’ve never been able to tell when Karen uses sarcasm, and you suspect you never will.

Over there! In there! Help!

You swerve to your right, barrelling into an alley. You crawl alongside the wall, slowing down when you hear voices.

“Please, I don’t have any money on me!” A woman cries, hands in the air. “Please, please don’t do this. I-I have a son!”

She’s face to face with the barrel of a gun. “I-I don’t give a fuck! I ain’t stupid either. I see them earrings. Cost a pretty buck, I’m sure. Just give me all ya money, and we can both go our ways.”

The gun in his hands is shaking and his voice is wavering. He’s just as nervous as the woman is.

“His name is Garrett Fields. He recently lost a custody battle for his child to his ex-wife. He spent his last dollars fighting for his daughter.”

You purse your lips. One of your least favorite realizations as you got older was how gray the world is. This guy fought for his daughter till the very end, and look where it got him. It doesn’t excuse his actions, but it does explain them.

You approach him from behind silently. You put a finger to your mask when the lady’s eyes flick over his shoulder. Claws dig into his arm as it’s wretched back and the gun is yanked out of his hands. You face the woman.

“Go.” Your voice is distorted thanks to the suit. She doesn’t need to hear anything else before she bolts out of the alley. You make sure Garrett can see it when you crush the gun in your grip. He whimpers.

“What’s up, Garrett.”

He struggles in your grip. “You with the Bats or somethin’?” He asks hysterically.

“Nah,” you wave. “Trust me, though. You’d rather deal with me.” You drop him against the concrete. You rock back and forth on your heels. “So, sorry to hear about the daughter.” You pull up a virtual interface of her face and show it to him. “She’s pretty cute.”

Garrett goes misty-eyed almost immediately. “Emma…”

You kneel in front of him. “Lemme ask you something, Gar.” Despite the mask blocking his view, Garfield shudders when he makes eye-contact.

“Have you killed or otherwise hurt anyone before this? I’ll know if you’re lying.”

There’s a tear rolling down his face. He’s got anger and sadness in his eyes. You see the fruits of Gotham’s influence weighing down on him. You’re once again reminded that some things are just out of your power. Hurt people, hurt people.

“No,” he grumbles out. He’s not lying.

“Alrighty,” you clap your hands, huffing when he flinches at the clink sound your claws make. “Listen, I know. Times are tough, you’re flat broke. That gun didn’t even have any bullets in it.” He scoffs. “There’s this cafe in East End. Owner’s feisty, but real understanding. I got somebody called [Name]  that can vouch for you. We’ll get you set up.”

Garrett scowls at you. “Fuck off. I don’t want your goddamn pity.”

You wave your hands frantically, sitting down next to him. “It’s not pity at all. Understanding. I gotta look out for my little guys. The people who get overlooked or judged too quickly.” You pat his shoulder. “You didn’t kill anybody, so I got you, man.”

Garrett stares at you in visible disbelief. “I’m sending you a couple hundred bucks directly to your bank account. Don’t worry, I stole them from rich people,” you drawl.

He can’t do anything else but chuckle. “You’re fuckin’ crazy.”

You hum. “At least I ain’t Batman. He would’ve put your ass in Arkham.”

“At least with Batman I can guarantee I’ll be alive by the end of it.”

You scoff indignantly. “I wouldn’t have killed you!”

He grunts. “Don’t mean you don’t kill in general.”

You shrug, ignoring his side-eye when you don’t deny it. Sighing, you stand up, stretching. “In return for my endless kindness–” Garrett squints in suspicion and rolls his eyes. “–I just need one simple favor.”

“Of course,” he scoffs out.

“Don’t be like that, I just need you to spread the word.”

“The word?”

“Tell people that a giant spider was around webbing up criminals.” Garrett blinks. “It’ll be funny,” is your only explanation.”

You turn and send a web away in preparation to swing away, smiling at his surprised sputter. “My actual name is Spinnerette.” Facing him one last time. “I don’t mind if you call me Spinner, though.”

Your final parting words are “It’s not the end of the world, friend. Keep looking up.”

“News of a ‘Giant Spider’ Webbing Up Criminals in Gotham! A Good Sign or Not?”

“Giant Spider Makes Home in Gotham City.”

“New Threat in Gotham – How to Stay Safe.”

Bruce Wayne rubs his face in exhaustion. Since last night, many articles have sprung up about this ‘spider’ tying up no-gooders in an actual web-like substance. He couldn’t take a sample for himself, it was far too sticky. But he received word from Gordon that he himself had had a run in with the spider.

“It was definitely human-shaped.” He had gruffed out, “The web dissolved after an hour.”

So there’s a new meta in Gotham acting as a spider. And as a vigilante. Bruce can respect delivering justice, and it doesn’t look like they’ve killed anyone. Even so, he can admit he has control issues (maybe not out loud, though), and an unknown variable puts him on edge.

For now though, Bruce has other things to focus on. “What were you saying, Barbara?”

“Somebody got a perfect score on the entrance exam for GA.”

His brows raise. “And who would that be?”

“Some kid named [Name] Stark. I knew you were gonna ask, so I looked into them. It’s kind of weird, their father’s name is Tony Stark, dude’s loaded. He’s an avid traveler, but nothing seems amiss. [Name] is living on their own in East End, working at ‘Carrie’s Cafe’ and getting sporadic payments from her father. Wonder why the hell they’d choose to live in Gotham of all places.”

His eyebrows furrow. “They’re living on their own?”

Barbara scoffs over the call. “They’re 18, don’t get any ideas. I guess they flunked a grade or something, or maybe it’s a late birthday. They just seem like strange people to me.”

Bruce hums, satisfied. “We’ll give them the scholarship, of course. I’ll address the letter personally. And we’ll give them a stipend, as well.”

“Their dad’s rich.”

“That means nothing to me.”

You chuckle mischievously at the headlines. You’ve been cracking up the whole morning about them. You’ll thank Garrett when you next see him as Spinner.

“A successful debut, if I do say so myself, [Name],” Karen pipes up in your ear. Nari meows in your lap. He’s become a faithful companion (read: cuddle partner) in exchange for food. He’s got a good mindset.

Sam’s at the cafe early for once. They give you a smile as you enter. “I was worried that big ass spider got you.”

“And why would it get me, specifically?” you ask as you put on an apron.

“I know you’re an evil freak from the way you have your coffee,” they scoff.

You stick out your tongue at them. “Nothing wrong with my death brew.” Your preferred coffee is known among the staff for its near poisonous potency. You don’t tell anyone the recipe, because you’re kind of afraid it actually is poisonous for normal people. It did it's job in keeping you awake back in the day when patrol ran late.

Carrie walks out, calling for you. She tells Sam to go handle the register, an obvious sign that she needs to talk to you alone. Sam gives you a look as they walk off. Garret Fields is waiting for you in the back.

“I’ll keep it brief so you can get back to work. He’s tryna get a job and said you can vouch for him?” Carrieis suspicion isn’t hidden. Garrent isn’t the same man from the night before. His posture curves in on itself and his eyes are tired. It’s as if he’s already resigned himself to the worst outcome.

You nod, fast. “He’s a friend. It’s a tough time right now, and he really needs a job.” Garrett’s staring at you. “I promise he’s a good egg.”

Carrie ‘uh-huhs’ but lets it go. “Good enough for me,” she pats his shoulder, hard. “I’ll go get the paperwork, then.” And she’s gone, leaving you with Garrett.

“Understanding, right?” you say, quoting yourself from last night.”

“No kidding,” Garrett huffs, before staring at you again. “Thank you. Both of you.”

You raise a brow. “No questions, you sure?”

“Something about a horse gift and a mouth,” he rumbles. “Y’all got me a job, I owe ya.”

“Don’t sweat it,” you wave him off. “Spinner’s in the helping people business, a.k.a, the hero business. They don’t do it to be owed. They’re looking out for people like us.”

“The.. little guys?”

You nod sagely. “You get it.”

He sighs, simultaneously grateful and regretful. “Thank you,” he says once more.

Garrett settles in nicely the next week. He’s got that southerness that charms people into leaving tips, and he knows how to use it.

“Say oil.”

“No.”

Sam likes him well enough, so that makes him a-okay in your books.

“Big day tomorrow, how are we feeling?” Sam asks during closing time. Tomorrow marks your first day at GA. Karen strongly suggested not patrolling on the basis of getting a good night’s sleep, and you’re more keen to follow her advice in this universe.

“What’s tomorrow?” Gar, pipes from the back.

“Our little scholar got a full ride to GA, signed by the big man himself. Ain’t that right?” Sam is getting good at imitating Gar’s accent.

Getting accepted into GA wasn't a surprise. The surprise was the nature of the letter itself.

“Dear [Name] Stark,

I am delighted to inform you that you have been accepted into Gotham Academy under the Martha and Thomas Wayne scholarship! GA looks forward to seeing you grow.

It is also with great pride that I am able to inform you myself that you have scored perfect on the entrance exam, and are the first in history to do so. You’ll be awarded with a stipend of $500 every two weeks.

I look forward to seeing you overcome challenges and become a part of our community.

Signed,

Bruce Wayne.”

You should've been paying more attention to the answers you were putting down. You had been on autopilot when taking the test, and now Bruce Wayne himself knows about you. To add more insult to injury, you're the first person ever to get a perfect score. You just hope scores aren't available for others to see. You can't imagine the type of vultures that await you if that's the case. At least you can stop stealing from gullible rich people now.

“The hell you doin’ runnin’ with folks like them?” Gar is far more subtle in showing his dislike for Gothams’ elite, but not that subtle.

“Oh, goodie. There's two of you,” you chuckle. You untie your apron. “Uh, for one, it'll look good for me. Two, it'll be easy stuff. And three,” you pause. You can't say you need access to the lab and its funds so you can create a dimensional portal so you say, “and I'm trying to find my rich future spouse.”

Sam cackles, slapping your shoulders. “I've trained you well.”

Gar raises a brow. “Easy? They got college level stuff in that school and you find that easy?”

“They do my work for me sometimes,” Sam states, ignoring Gar's incredulous look.

“Shit, kid. You’re going places.”

You cheekily smile. “I’ll be sure to put you in a nice nursing home.”

You dodge the leftover pastry he throws at you.

You take a bunch of pictures of Nari in the morning when you find him sleeping beside your head. The school uniform is your average private school get-up. You forgo the loafers in exchange for some converse instead. Something about doing your own thing.

Taking the subway reminds you of the late nights of messing around in the empty station with your friends.

“It’s crooked!

“It’s not!”

“It’s definitely crooked.”

The five of you should definitely not be here right now, but teenagers will be teenagers. You showed the gang a spot you found earlier where Miles could spray-paint to his heart's desire. Gwen insists it’s crooked, despite the picture having no defined shape. Miles’ is insisting he knows what he’s doing and Pav is taking a million selfies.

You and Hobie are leaned against a back wall, observing.

“I think I like this.”

Hobie hums, tilting his head to hear you better. “It’s not really talked about, but I know most of us–” you gesture to the trio. “–Spiders have to grow up fast, or don’t really get to grow up at all. I like giving them the chance to be kids.”

You and Hobie are a bit older than the kids. When something happens they turn to you first for answers.

“We gotta… break that generational trauma, or something.”

Hobie chuckles. “I see what you’re saying.”

When Miles is done, he shows you an image of a figure outlined multiple times, showing multiple identities.

You blink when the speakers crackle to life to announce you’ve reached your destination. It’s a short walk to the grounds of GA. Karen is playing ‘calming’ music in your ear. The school feels much more alive now that there are people chatting here and there.

Some people look at you as you walk by, but they’re mostly looking at your shoes. Hopefully the school doesn’t care enough to say something about it. It takes a little longer than it should to find the front desk, but the school is huge so you think you’re allowed some slack. Your schedule has all advanced core classes, Engineering, Ballet, Computer Programming, and Studio Art. Looks like you’ll be starting all your weekdays with Advanced English Lit from now on.

The class is empty when you walk in, and you scurry to the back immediately. You’ve always preferred to see everything happening in the classroom, even before the bite. People fill in slowly, taking up seats randomly. That familiar anxiety comes creeping back in. You tell yourself in your head that everything is fine, but the weight of your situation has been piling up on you. You can pretend everything is fine and that you’re totally okay with being stranded in another universe. You can pretend like you belong, going about your day like a normal person, but that’s all you are. A pretender.

You begin biting your nail. Somebody sits down next to you, and a quiet snap is what you hear. There’s blood crawling down your finger. You bit too much off.

A woman comes into the classroom. She’s got that look about her that says she hates her job, and you get it. Her voice comes out gnarly. “Good morning, class. I hope you’re all settling in comfortably.” You don’t need Nat’s teachings to tell that she’s lying. “My name is Ms. Varley, I’ll be your teacher for the next school year. We’re going to start with some introductions.” The class groans. Ms. Varley tuts. “None of that complaining mess. We’ll start with you.” She points at a poor unfortunate soul.

You zone out as introductions go on. Your ears are filled with snooty accents and proper tones. Most kids talk about what they’re the heir to, barf. Someone mentions how many vacation homes they have.

You stand up when it’s your turn. “[Name] Stark. I like ballet and hot pink,” you pause, thinking of what you can say that’ll make them turn their nose up at you. “I like spiders.”

Predictably, faces of disgust are sent your way. You grin and sit down. Your seat-mate stands up in turn. You’re more occupied with staring head on at the few eyes that are still on you.

“I am Damian Wayne. I am the blood-heir of Bruce Wayne and I have a keen interest in the arts.”

You do your best not to scream. Of course. Of course! You’re convinced this universe has sentience and is belly-laughing at you right now. And he sits right next to you! Why did he choose to sit next to you? There’s an empty pair of desks right over there! God forbid you can just be left alone.

Damian sits down after his brief introduction, you suspect his peers are used to it, if the knowing smiles and head shakes are anything to go by. You sigh and slump down in your seat. You risk a glance at him and will yourself not to jump when you see he is already looking at you.

You feign nonchalance and raise a brow. “Take a picture.”

“You’re not nearly enough of a sight for that.” You bark out a laugh in surprise at the quickness in his answer. Typical.

“Ouch, my feelings.”

“I know you got a perfect score on the exam.” There it is. The bomb. The reason he sat next to you. So, he’s suspicious of you? Great, awesome.

“Yeah, your daddy himself signed my letter. What, you a fan or something? I know I’m pretty awesome.” You’re not sure what you’re trying to achieve with this act, but you can’t really seem to think straight right now.

“I have my suspicions.”

“That I cheated?”

“Perhaps.”

“It’s not a good idea to monologue your evil plans. Why do you care if I did anyway? You know half of these trust fund babies wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for mommy and daddy’s money, right?”

He scoffs. “That much is obvious. And I don’t care if you cheated or not. You wouldn’t be the first.”

“So, what? You jealous that I'm so much better than you? I know, it’s hard to cope.”

His eye-roll is violent. “Wait, I know,” you interrupt when he opens his mouth. “You’re worried I’m a super secret spy working for, like, the Joker or something and that I’m endangering the lives of all the students. You’ve always had dreams of being Robin and kicking ass with Batman so this must be your chance to prove yourself.” What do they say about freudian slips? “How right am I?”

You’re certain his suspicion runs deeper than that, but hopefully your spiel gets him off your ass for a while. He won’t want your (joking) suspicions about Robin to fester and have you realize he actually is Robin, so he’ll let it die.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s one of my better qualities.”

You can feel his eyes on you for the rest of the class. You’d think Robin would be more subtle. The lab for your science class is… fine. Maybe you’re just spoiled from the Tower’s labs. You feel the same when you walk into the computer lab. You should probably start bringing your own laptop to school. The dance studio is cute, though. The teacher is faking a russian accent, but you think you’re the only person who can tell. She only teaches you how to do proper stretches, so at least it seems like she knows her stuff.

Finally, your last period comes down to art class. A chill class to end the day makes you happy. Large windows let the sun cast its rays. You take your seat in the corner. There’s various plants littered around the room, real plants. There’s even fairy lights hanging above. This is definitely going to be your favorite class.

You hum along to the song Karen plays in your ear.

“Harness your hopes on just one person…” you hum.

“Already talking to yourself, I see.”

You look over to where Damian is settling down next to you. “Can’t get enough of me?” You coo.

“On the contrary, I’m already sick of you.”

“Still suspicious of me yet, boy wonder?”

His glare would kill a lesser person. The teacher walks in with a bright and cheery attitude. She’s got that Ms. Frizzle attitude about her that makes you either love her or hate her. You love her.

She sets you all up with your own sketchbooks, high quality ones. You decorate your cover with all the colors of your friends. You draw little coffee cups and pastries in unconventional colors. Big graffiti style letters spell out random phrases. You peek at Damian and see that his notebook just has his name on it, boring.

Ms. M, as she’s allowed you all to call her, begins droning on about color theory and principles and elements and a bunch of other stuff you don’t pay attention to. You count the minutes as you watch the sun slowly set outside the window. You clack your nails together in boredom.

“Hundred bucks for me to moan out loud.”

Damian does a good job of keeping his composure, but you can see the disbelief from your words. He grits out, “Why would I ever pay you to do such a thing?”

“One might feel adventurous on occasion.” You weren’t going to moan even if he did pay you a hundred bucks, you just felt that twitch to say something to dispel the quiet.

You suck in a breath. “So…”

“I have no interest in conversing with you.”

You dramatically whine. “You’re no fun. What does a guy like you even do for fun?”

“It is as I said, I don’t–”

“–wish to converse with me, I know. So, art then? You like to draw?” You lean forward towards him.

“It does not concern you–”

“I think you’re the type of guy to like minimalist  art. You’d be the type to find something outta nothing.”

He scoffs, and you know you’ve got him. “Minimalist is the most baseless form of all. The lack of detail is abhorrent and requires no true skill. Classical is far superior, it takes a certain mastery of skill to truly imitate the renaissance–” he pauses. You grin, showing your teeth.

His huff is silenced by your giggles.

notes: i imagine readers NY looking like rottmnt's NY (it's really vibrant and lively-looking if ur too lazy to look it up)

i feel like this chapter is pretty fast paced in the beginning (god forbid i know how to write action sequences) so uh sorry bout that

you've dodged the batfamilys suspicions! for now anyway. except damian ofc. i havent read any dc comics so sorry if dami's ooc.

Nari is short for Narinder, from Cult of the Lamb :D. also, how are we feeling about Gar? when i write him i think about Joel from tlou, and i think im gonna try to channel that as hard as i can lol.

reader was humming "Harness Your Hopes" by Pavement.

bruce when he learns reader is a "teen" living by themself: it's free real estate

[ava-starrs-girlfriend]

What the Storm Blew In

Werewolf!Bob/Reader

Summary: You learn a little more about OXE, try to break some tension, and finally ask Bob a burning question.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Lena is a little paranoid (for good reason)

A/N: Ok this is. This is not as intense as the last chapter. And Bob's back!!!!!! We're nearly at the top of the roller coaster i promise just hold on tight 😎

Previous part

Next part

~~*~~

Sam's face flashed an expression as if he had forgotten you survived to hear that part. "Um..."

"Sam?" Bucky asked, facing his friend. "Who told you we had someone new here?"

"Word gets around," he shrugged. "Yanno, everyone wants to be good enough to get in to this exclusive... place."

"Well, you're *not* good enough," Bucky's low voice was laced with venom as he got closer. "So tell me. Who told you?"

Sam's eyes scanned the room, everyone staring at him, frozen, waiting for him to speak.

In the silence, barely anyone breathing, you heard that same stupid buzzing sound you'd heard a few nights ago when you were in the kitchen getting a late night ice cream snack.

You'd ignored it then, like it was just the refrigerator starting a cooling cycle, or the dishwasher prepping a self-cleaning one.

But it didnt come from the kitchen.

"Stop," you said, as Sam opened his mouth to answer.

He frowned as you passed him, and knelt beside the coffee table in front of the couch, behind him.

You moved to lie on your back and look underneath the table. There was the source.

"What's OXE?" You asked as you read the name on the tiny device with a steady red light.

"Shit," Lena muttered, which you could barely hear from underneath the wooden table.

When you were on your feet again, you stood next to Sam as Lena, Alex, Ava, and Bucky began to move, searching the room.

"I didnt think spy bugs were real," you showed Sam. "I mean, like, listening devices and stuff."

He hummed as he looked at it, trying to take it out of your hand.

"No, dude, i'm not letting you touch it."

"I can turn it off."

"Or have it- i dont know- explode?" You rolled your eyes.

"Damn, you dont trust easy, do you?" He asked, amused.

"Not people who want to first get an afternoon snack out of me, no," you answered. You shuddered as a vision, unprompted, flashed before your eyes, and you began naming places the bugs had been placed.

Alex and Lena were destroying them as they discovered them, and soon, you had a pile of them from the kitchen and living room alone on the table.

"This... is not good," Alex said, hands on his hips.

"There're more," you had sat down at this point, head in your hands with your elbows on the table. You kept getting visions, some unprompted, some saught out, and continued to list places you saw them.

Sam had begun to write the places down for you.

"We'll get them all," Bucky said. "Dont worry."

"Im not worried about that," you groaned. "I'm just annoyed. Bob doesnt know."

"We'll tell him when he gets back," Ava tried to reassure you, her hand on your shoulder.

"Does anyone know when that will be?" You looked up at her, hopeful anyone had an estimate.

She shook her head. "You'd know best."

"I cant see him," you sighed, closing your eyes again and searching for answers.

"Don't exert yourself," Ava said gently. "You've been looking for the listening devices."

"Yeah, but-"

"Really, take a break. One thing at a time."

You nodded and leaned back in the seat.

You bolted upright when you realized you'd sat in Bob's seat at the head of the table.

Alex smirked as he watched you finally realize, and then asked Lena to go with him to get the bugs from part of the list.

Bucky and Sam took another part, and you and Ava took the remaining places, near the cabins.

~*~

The pile of devices on the table was large, and Bucky had one pinched between his fingers, staring at it carefully.

None of them had the red, broadcasting light on anymore. They'd all been broken.

"Any idea how long they've been here?" Sam asked carefully, as if unsure he was allowed to ask.

"Probably since John left," Lena still spoke the man's name like it was a curse. "A year."

You just had to know why they hated him so much. "What did he do?"

Alex shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

"He was a hunter, like Lena and Alex," Ava started. "Well, not quite like them. He didnt get along with Bucky or Bob, or our oracle, Sophie. He hated me, too. But... he needed help." She looked you in the eye, her expression soft. "We all ran from something and ended up here. He was running, too."

"Shouldn't have let him stay," Lena muttered. It was childish, the hate she had for him, but you had a feeling it was justified.

"Sophie didn't know," Ava reminded her. "None of us did."

"Did you have hunters here before?" You asked, and everyone looked to Bucky.

He shrugged. "A few. Bob wanted to help them realize they shouldnt hunt people for being different. Some agreed and keep in contact with us. But most... end up chasing glory."

He didnt have to explain what "chasing glory" meant.

You nodded at him, and looked around the table again. You still didnt exactly have an answer. "What did he do that was so different?"

"No one else left *bugs* behind," Lena spat.

"Ok, beside that?"

"He tried to kill all of us," Alex said, and for once, you couldnt tell how he felt about it. His face was guarded, eyes like steel before they shifted to Lena, who's arms were crossed and eyes fixed on the pile of devices. "Bob wanted to forgive him."

"It was the only time I've ever had to overrule him," Bucky said.

And it was still a sensitive subject, a year later. He must have gotten close to completing his goal. "So... he's with this Oxe now?"

"Oxe is a group that employs hunters to capture us alive and take them back to run experiments," Sam said bluntly. "Everyone hates them, even other hunters. I've worked with a few to kick their ass. But they're always back, usually under different names. Sword, was one name. Allegedly, according to rumor, they were originally called Hydra. When they get their hands on us..." Sam's voice trailed off.

"Very few survive," Ava said quietly.

She was still, stiff, her hands folded in her lap. For someone usually so lively, the difference was stark.

Sam inahled, pulling back from the table. "Shit. Im sorry."

"You... were there?" You asked, cautiously looking over Ava's face.

She nodded, then tilted her head and frowned, looking at you. "Maybe thats why John had to manufacture those memories of me- he couldnt show you my true worst days."

That would make sense. Even though you didnt know this OXE group, everyone here did, and everyone here despised it.

"Has anyone here worked for them?"

Various strong no's echoed around the table.

"But you'll meet them soon," Sam stood. "Now that they have no signal here, they're bound to show up."

"And you're on the run again, huh?" Alex asked, and watched as Sam moved away from the table. If it was anyone else asking, you could have sworn there was a hint of disgust in his voice.

"Its not my fight," Sam shrugged, lifting his hands. "Im not *good* enough."

Bucky rolled his eyes and got up to follow his friend. "It *is* your fight, Sam," and they went outside as the last golden rays shone through the trees.

"What... what should we do?" You asked.

No one spoke up.

You couldnt imagine the repeated pain they were going through, and you thought about the past two weeks since you'd arrived. The conversations you had here, nearly all of them could have been heard by OXE. And those were just the ones you knew of, thd conversations. These devices had been here a year.

It sent a shiver up your spine.

"Ok. Well, we're not sleeping separately. Ee're not going to go anywhere without a buddy. Dont- Lena, the safest place is if we're all together. Or at least in pairs. So that's what we'll do," you stood, pushing your chair back. You looked directly at Lena, who was rolling her eyes, then at Alex. "I'm not sure if Bucky will convince Sam to stay, so Lena and Alex, stick together. I'll stay with Ava. If Sam leaves, Bucky will be with us." You gestured to yourself and Ava.

The three of them nodded.

"We'll have the radios with us, and sleep upstairs in the bedrooms up there. Theres a few rooms with two beds, right?"

Again, they nodded.

"Ok. Grab your things for tonight, we'll figure out what's next in the morning," you decided, and they got up from the table, Lena and Alex leaving toward their cabins. "Keep your radios on!" You told them.

Ava hummed as you walked toward your cabin first.

"What?"

"Bob will be proud of you," she said.

You scoffed, ignoring the heat on your cheeks. "What? Why?"

"You took charge," she said simply, and you saw the mischievous look on her face as you glanced over your shoulder, unlocking your door. "He likes that."

"Wh-" you hiccuped. "How would you know?"

She shrugged. "What kind of man doesnt enjoy that?"

"Oh, plenty, im sure," you sighed allowing her inside after you. She closed the door and you continued, "I just thought you knew from experience."

"Hmm? Oh! No, not really, i just know."

"Cryptic," you said, but let it roll off, not catching on your heartstrings.

"Did you bring anything?"

"I'm just bringing some clothes, we'll re-group with a new plan once Bob comes back, i dont think it'll be forever-"

"No, like, bedroom stuff."

You whip around, knowing how red your face got. "Excuse me?"

She just smirked at you.

"Oh my god, Ava, this is not the time."

"Why not?" She shrugged, eyes looking over you. "Tensions are high. Nice way to relax."

"Ava, I am not talking about this with you," you muttered, turning away and heading toward the bathroom for toiletries.

"So you did?" She called after you.

"Not discussing!"

~*~

Sam didn't stay that night, so Bucky joined you and Ava for the evening.

Although, he was a nocturnal guy anyway, so after staring and watching over the two of you for hours, he left and said he would make some rounds of the cabin and main area.

You didn't like anyone going off alone, but he was the most capable, you figured, so you let it be.

Plus, you knew Ava would tease you about being bossy again, and you just didnt want to deal with that.

Luckily, you were pretty sure she didnt dreamwalk.

The next day passed with tense silence. Everyone was on edge, and it was like sitting on a balancing board- no one wanted to talk about the looming, potential threat, but no one wanted distraction, either.

On the second day, you'd had enough. Bob had been gone four days now, and you wished he was here to know exactly what would get everyone out of their sullen mood. But it was you, not Bob, so you did your best.

Standing behind the couch, looking at your companions, who were all reading or scrolling on their phones, you had to suggest literally anything to change the mood.

"Ok. This is exhausting," you announced late in the morning. "Let's all do some training."

"Why would we do that? We shouldnt waste time," Lena said, scrolling on her phone.

"It can be a competition," you suggested. "Keep us sharp."

"Yes, good idea," Alex agreed, looking up from his book.

"But what if they come, and we are tired from practice fighting that we lose the real fight?"

"We'll deal with that if it happens, Lena," you threw up your hand, almost as if surrendering. "C'mon, is your phone really that much better than moving and focusing on literally anything else?"

No one answered, but Alex put down his book and got up out of the recliner. "Lets go," he told you. "We can do it, you know, at least together."

"Great!" You grinned. At least one of them agreed to face the boredom of fear head on.

It didnt take long for Bucky to show up, insisting on just watching, until you'd beaten Alex three times in a row, and then he suggested you should try and fight him, instead.

You'd only sparred with Bucky once, so even though you knew it probably wouldnt end well, you welcomed the challenge.

He attacked you the exact same way Sam had, but this time, instead of keeping you pinned on the ground, you were able to get him off of you, using your breath instead of your hands.

You'd never done that before, and sat up, impressed, when he flew backward several feet and Alex cheered.

Bucky nodded approvingly after he'd gotten up. "Ok, that was good."

"Thank you," you agreed, and beckoned him to try again.

Ava and Lena showed up a few moments later, and then everyone was into practicing. You suggested teams, and then tried different combinations of people together.

Even though it was overwhelming and annoying to be attacked by multiple people at different angles at once, you were grateful. Grateful for the practice, of course, but also the impact of knowing you were safe with these people. That they had your back, they were in your corner. They'd shown you a small corner of their world, invited you into it, and welcomed you to it.

You'd never really known how to defend yourself before, and found yourself laughing at the memory of being ready to swing your groceries at Bob as a wolf but expecting to be harmed.

You'd grown a lot tougher, though, and a lot more confident in the past weeks.

And it all felt right. This time, you really hoped no one would try to distract you again.

You didnt know why you'd ever doubted them.

As you went back inside for a lunch break, your spirits were lifted. Lena was joking with Bucky about some move she'd done, and Alex was offering to make something to eat for everyone.

Ava glanced at you before responding to Alex, and you felt proud of yourself and the group, giving some lively energy back to everyone.

You heard the glass door open and everyone's attention turned to see who was there.

"What'd I miss?" Bob asked, closing the door behind him. He was scanning the group with his eyes, but had a relaxed smile on his face, his shoulders bearing no weight of worry. And his shoulders were plenty distracting on their own, his ribs also shown off in the loose pink tank top with the sides cut out that he was wearing. You noted his bright blue shorts too, and green flip flops. It wasnt exactly summer yet. Maybe he was just running warm from being a wolf.

You felt rooted to the floor, wanting to run toward him and give him a hug, but you couldnt move.

Alex cheered. "Bob! Yes! Welcome back!"

"You only missed a little bit," Lena said, and opened the refrigerator to get a bottle of water. She offered it to Bob, but he just waved it away as he walked toward you, standing by the kitchen island.

Your heart was racing, your mind full of things to tell him and ask him. The oracle's false memories far from the top of your mind.

"You've got a little mulch in your hair," he told you, his eyes fixed on you since the moment he'd walked in. He reached up to pick it out, and you let him.

"Oh, yeah. We were just doing some sparring."

"Really? Everyone?" He scoffed, smirking and glancing around. "Why?"

Oh.

Right.

"What?" He asked, watching everyone shift back into the fear or uncertainty. He looked you in the eye, searching for an answer. "What happened?"

"Maybe you should eat something first," Bucky suggested.

Bob didn't argue, but his jaw was tense as he nodded. Just like that, a burden placed back on those really quite gorgeously muscular shoulders.

You stayed where you stood as everyone got something to eat, and followed after once you could focus on that instead of everything you wanted to say.

Dishes were placed in the sink to be washed later, as everyone gathered at the table, sitting in their places.

You'd grown used to Ava's original seat, next to Bob's, so you didnt even think as you sat there and she took your seat.

"So," Bob looked around at the family. "What happened?"

"Do you remember anything as a wolf? First of all?" You asked.

He shook his head. "Not really- not yet, anyway. Why?" He looked around again. "Did i do something?"

"We had an *invited* guest," Bucky started. "Who didnt exactly respect the rules."

"Sam's like that," Bob shrugged.

"So you do know things?" You asked confused.

"No, but that's, like, the only person Bucky's allowed to invite, especially when I'm not around," Bob explained. "What'd he do?"

Bucky had his hands together, elbows on the table. He took a breath, and then said, "He, well, attacked..." he pointed at you.

You wouldnt tell any of them even if you were about to die how if made you feel to see Bob get angry, glaring at Bucky, leaning forward and actually making a sound like a growl. You shifted as Bob lifted a hand to point at Bucky, and put your own hand gently on Bob's arm.

"It's ok, you were there. Nobody got hurt."

"Well, you got your claws in him," Bucky said. "But yeah, no one got hurt."

"I forgot about that."

Bucky shrugged. "Healing and all."

Bob sighed.

"Anyway, he joined us after dinner- i re-invited him inside-"

"Why would you do that?" Bob asked you.

"Because-"

"Wait-" he interrupted, squeezing his eyes shut as he shook his head. Opening them, he asked, "you re-invited him in? He lost his invitation?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

"He had to promise to a couple things, but, um, I just... said he could come in?"

"The house part," Ava reminded you.

"Oh, right. Yeah," you smiled to yourself briefly before explaining. "Ava says the, um, house's magic recognizes me?" You frowned and looked around the table. "Couldnt any of you have done the same?"

Lena shook her head, and Alex shrugged.

"I couldnt have, because I'm dead and also only here on invitation, but no," Bucky said. "Bob's the master of the house, he's the only one able to allow any undead inside any of the property."

"Then- oh, so that's why... the authority... oh."

A moment of slightly awkward silence passed, then Bob broke it.

"Ok, Sam was here and hasnt heard the end of what he did, but why were you sparring?"

As Lena explained that part, you were sure you were going to watch Bob transform back into a wolf right in front of you in anger.

But instead, he was more calm than before. He listened all the way through Lena's recap, and leaned back when she finished.

"So Oxe are coming, then," he said.

"Probably," Alex nodded.

He brushed his lip with his fingers, thoughtfully looking at each person at the table.

"Ok."

You jerked your head back slightly, shocked. "Ok? Isnt this group, like, awful?" You glanced at Ava, who was just as confused as you.

"They have dozens of the best hunters under their employ, Bob," Lena leaned forward, squinting at him for a moment. "We would be outnumbered."

"It could just be John."

"As if they'd only send John," Lena rolled her eyes.

Bob tilted his head, watching her.

"They're not that stupid. And even John is a threat. They wont just send him. They've been listening to us for a *year*," Lena's voice strained as she reminded him how long the devices were present. "A year, Bob. All over the place. You didnt see how many. They were everywhere. We have no secrets they do not already have catalogued."

He nodded thoughtfully.

She groaned. The world flickered as she spoke- "You dont get it. That- that stupid wolf brain of yours could never understand the depth of this. You never understood anything." Your vision flickers again.

You stand before you could think, before she could open her mouth. "Let's take a break," you said. "Before anyone says something they regret."

"What- what did I say?" Lena asked, staring at you, voice quiet.

"Something you would regret," you answered. You rubbed your forehead and stepped away from the table. "I'm- I, at the very least, am going to take a break."

"You should tell him about the oracle thing," Ava said as you walked away.

"What orac- hey, wait, what oracle thing?" Bob followed you go the door, and you lifted a thumbs up to Ava so she could see it above your head.

Bob came in close behind you, slipping past you as you opened the door, his hand ghosting over your arm.

"What oracle thing?" He asked, standing in front of you, searching your eyes. "When? What did you see?"

You couldnt look him in the eye, remembering what you'd seen.

"What?"

"I dont want to talk about it."

"Ava said you should."

"Ava isnt the boss of me," you glanced up at him, and moved past him, leaning on the guardrail of the walkway. "You missed a lot," you said quietly.

"Catch me up," his voice was gentle.

"I want to know something first," you turned to him.

He nodded, eager. "Ask away."

"Did your note you left me mean the same thing it meant when you left them for Lena?"

~~*~~

Taglist: (let me know if you want to be added or removed!) @foreverchangingmind @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @imthatone-annoyingfriend @mandoalorian @melancholiast-clair @qardasngan @imaginecrushes

[immortalbumblebee]

Chapter 21: The Metallic Taste of Blood

Don't mind this 7k word chapter I wrote instead of studying for finals...I'm on that grind, it's fine.

Major warning for violence and minor character death!!!

Masterlist

The sounds of clattering dishes and sizzling oil blend with the rhythmic hum of tinkering metal as Jericho and your mother work in sync behind the counter of the restaurant. The air is filled with the scents of fried fish and garlic, the chaos of the kitchen, yet your focus is solely on the disassembled Glock in front of you.

As she finished handing out the last of the change to a customer, your mother–never one to let a moment of stillness slip by–pulls a cigarette from behind her ear. She watches you for a moment, and then, with a casual flick of her wrist, lights it using the flip-top from her apron. The soft hiss of the flame catches your attention, but your hands never stop their movements as the pieces in front of you move and twist, seemingly on their own accord. Wordlessly, she offers another cigarette from the same pocket, which you take with a quiet nod.

Once she’s got hers lit, you float the lighter toward you with a flick of your fingers, lighting your own without taking your eyes off the intricate mechanics of the gun.

“Now, Poppet,” she begins, the cigarette dangling from her lips as she exhales, “tell me again what exactly it is y’doin’ to that wee bit o’ gun there?”

You shift the barrel components in your hands, splitting them apart to inspect each piece in turn. “Just some upgrades, ma’am,” you say, your voice steady, almost distracted. “Makin’ sure they work right. Improving accuracy, lowering the kickback... pretty routine stuff.”

She shrugs her shoulders dismissively, the gesture familiar, as if she’s seen it all before. “Y’ kids an’ yer toys,” she mutters, taking another drag from the cigarette. She turns back to the bundle of fish waiting to be prepped, the sharp, rhythmic sound of her knife meeting the cutting board filling the air.

As she works, Jericho steps around her, his movements smooth and deliberate, and sets your order in front of you. His face is stern, but there’s a small, approving nod in his eyes as you acknowledge the meal with a grateful smile.

“Thanks, Jericho,” you say, your voice tinged with the slightest hint of warmth. He responds in his native language, a quick string of sounds that you don’t fully understand but appreciate nonetheless. He gestures to your mother briefly, speaking quickly, his words laced with a touch of urgency.

She nods without looking up, distracted by her task, but the acknowledgment is there. Jericho turns and disappears into the back, his boots tapping softly against the floor, leaving you alone with your meal, your mother, and the disassembled Glock.

The quiet settles in, broken only by the rhythmic sounds of your mother’s chopping and the occasional sizzle from the stove. You continue working on the gun, a steady hum of concentration filling your mind, when your mother’s voice cuts through the silence once again.

“Jericho’s been good to us, these past years,” she hums, the sound casual, almost thoughtful. Your eyebrow lifts in curiosity as you glance over at her. “Y’know, hirin’ me off the boat. Helpin’ me feed all y’youngins, givin’ me a half-decent pay, all things considered.”

You nod, giving a slight smile. “He’s good people.” Summoning a bolt from one of your belt pouches, you carefully replace a particularly rusted one. “But he’d be a right nunce not to hire you. Nobody seasons fish innards like you do, ma’am.”

“Yer too sweet, m’love.” You can hear the smile in her voice, and you return it, your lips curving into a grin. The steady sound of the knife against the cutting board continues, the comforting rhythm of home. But then, her tone shifts slightly, and she hums thoughtfully. “But I’m bein’ serious, y’know. This city, for all its faults… it’s been treatin’ us good, hasn’t it?”

The air around you seems to freeze for a moment. Your hands pause mid-air, and the weight of her words lingers, settling into your stomach like a heavy stone. The feeling is subtle, but it’s enough to make you raise an eyebrow and focus intently on her, suspicion creeping into your thoughts.

“I’d say so. I mean, Zaun’s our home. Our family, ain’t it?” you reply slowly, voice steady but with an undercurrent of something you can’t quite place.

Your mother makes a humming noise in response, her eyes never leaving the fish she’s working on. But something about the way she holds herself—slightly stiffer, her posture just a touch too controlled—sets your nerves on edge. You feel an offness in the pit of your stomach, an unfamiliar sense that she’s not entirely present, not entirely herself.

“Ma, what’re you going on about?” you ask, your voice sharp with the need to understand.

She pauses mid-chop, lifting her knife with a deliberate slowness. For a moment, she stares down at the fish, as if contemplating the weight of the question. Then, with a casual flick of her wrist, she waves the knife dismissively, the fish innards splattering against the counter in a small spray.

“Oh, nothing…” she trails off, her voice light, too light. “Don’t mind me, Minerva.”

You bite back the urge to roll your eyes, but the unease in your chest only grows. “Ma,” you press again, your tone firm but gentle.

She doesn’t look up this time. Her shoulders are stiff, her focus narrowing as she returns to her work. “It’s nothing, love. Don’t you be mindin’ me.”

But the tension between you lingers, heavy in the air, like the scent of fried fish that fills the room. You can feel the weight of her words, even though she tries to brush them off, and it gnaws at you. What exactly is she going on about? And why does it feel like she’s trying to hide something?

With calculated motions, you carefully set down the pieces you’ve been working on and cross your arms over your chest stubbornly, gaze locked firmly on your mother. For a moment, she seems to purposely ignore you, her focus fixed on the fish before her. But you don’t break your stare, waiting her out. When she finally looks up, her eyes avoid yours for just a moment, and then, with a heavy sigh, she places her knife down on the counter.

“I’ve been thinkin’ a lot, y’know, about our future ‘ere.” Her voice is softer now, quieter, as if the words are hard to speak. She wipes her hands on her apron, her gaze shifting to the side. “Mikael’s doin’ better with the treatment, thank the Lady, but, well,” she pauses, seeming to choose her words very carefully, “it won’ be solvin’ the problem entirely, aye? Even with Yan’s assistance, which I’m more’n grateful for! He’s only got a little while left in ‘im.”

The weight of her words hits you like a punch to the gut. You knew it—knew it, even if none of you had been able to say it aloud. Mikael’s condition had been hanging over your family like a dark cloud for so long now, but the idea of his passing, the inevitability of it, had been something you all tried not to think about. It felt easier that way—safer. But now, the truth is finally out there, hanging in the air.

You don’t respond immediately, but you can feel the heaviness of it all pressing down on you. “I only mean…” She stops, her voice trailing off as she picks her words with the care of someone who’s trying not to say too much. “when he does pass, which I hope by the Lady isn’ anytime soon! …I don’ rightly know what’ll be left for me here.”

You blink, staring at her, completely confused by what she’s saying. “What?” You can’t keep the disbelief from creeping into your voice. “Ma, I’m here! The boys! We’re your kids. What do you mean you don’t know what’s left for you here?”

“Yer adults now.” She says stubbornly, her tone firm but tired. She avoids meeting your gaze again, focusing on the fish in front of her. “Look, y’know I love all of you. But…Zaun was never my home like it became yers, let’s be real now.

“Of course it’s your home!” You protest vehemently. You’re half-aware that you’re being too loud, but you don’t find it in you to care. 

She sighs, the exasperation in her tone more evident now. “No,” she repeats, her words patient, but there's an underlying sharpness. “The sea is m’ home, Minerva. Y’know this! And it’s been…so long since I’ been there. I wasn’ built for all this…” She gestures around her, at the restaurant, at the walls of the kitchen, the strange city life that surrounds you both, “city life.”

“That life nearly got you killed!” You snap, your fist pounding down onto the counter. The force of the impact causes your half-eaten bowl of fish to rattle, the motion vibrating through the wooden table. “You’ve got a fucking bounty on your head, Ma! You know, that thing you’ve talked about nearly every day since we got here? There’s a reason we left Bilgewater in the first place!”

Her face tightens, her features softening with a mixture of fatigue and frustration. She rubs her temples as though the conversation alone is enough to wear her out. In the dim light of the kitchen, the lines around her eyes seem deeper, more pronounced. The years are catching up to her, but there’s no denying the stubborn fire in her eyes.

“It’s been a long time since then, Minerva. I doubt those ol’ geezers’d even recognize me at this point.”

You stare at her for a long moment, utterly stunned. Then, running a hand through your hair, you let out a frustrated groan. “Are you being serious right now? So, what? Dad dies and you’re just gonna… what, leave all this? Leave the house, your job, the boys, me? For what? To run away and be a pirate again? You haven’t even been on a boat in almost two decades!”

“That’s what I’m trying to say!” She extends her hands toward you, reaching for the fist you’ve left clenched on the counter. “We should go, Poppet! Y’n’ me, against the world! I’ve…I feel guilty that I’ve never shown y’ the skills o’ the trade, the family life! Y’ve done well for yerself ‘ere, it’s true! But…” She pauses, squeezing your hand gently, her voice softening as if trying to coax you into understanding. “Wouldn’ it be better to be livin’ a life o’ fresh, ocean air? With the waves, the smell o’ the docks, the joy o’ an ‘onest days’ work where y’ don’t gotta be dealin’ with all this…police brutality n’ revolution nonsense?”

You blink at her, stunned and momentarily speechless. “’Nonsense’?” The word feels like a slap to your face. “Ma, this is my life! Our life! We can’t just… turn away from all this!” You pause, taking a deep breath to steady yourself, before wrenching your hand away from hers. The movement is sharp, almost angry. “At least I can’t.”

She watches you, her face unreadable for a long moment, but you can see the glassiness of early tears in her eyes. The silence between you is heavy, thick with everything unspoken, everything you’re both too afraid to say out loud. You can feel your pulse hammering in your ears, the tension so thick that it’s hard to breathe. 

Just as you think your mother is about to deliver another retort to you, the two of you are abruptly interrupted by a booming voice and a thick arm wrapping around your shoulders.

“There’s my two favourite ladies! How’re you doing, Ma?” Vander exclaimed, giving you a tight sqeeze. You’re still so boiled in the bubbling anger in your chest that you just allow yourself to be pulled into the embrace, but don’t return it.

You’re still seething, your chest tight with the boiling anger, but you let yourself be pulled into the embrace. You don’t return it, though—your arms stay stiff at your sides, and your teeth clench behind your lips. The warmth of his hug does little to ease the fire crackling in your veins.

Your mother, however, quickly wipes at her eyes, and in an instant, her face shifts—like flipping a switch. A smile stretches across her face, fake and practiced, her gaze diverted from yours to Vander. She does it so easily that it stings. The ease with which she hides the truth from you, the ease with which she’s been hiding her true feelings from you all these years, twists something deep inside. It makes your anger flare up again.

“Vander, my boy! There r’are! What brings y’round this level?” She puts on the warmth, her voice smooth as silk, as if the conversation you just had didn’t exist.

Vander chuckles and gives your shoulders another squeeze, leaning down to press his head atop yours. His warmth is comforting in the early-spring chill of the market. But you’re too far gone in your own thoughts to appreciate it. Your eyes remain fixed on your mother, a silent accusation burning through you.

“Just picking up our girl here! We’ve got a rally tonight before the fights.” His voice is light, easy, but he seems to sense the undercurrent of tension in the air, the thickening silence between you and your mother. His brows furrow slightly. “Am I…interrupting something?”

Your mother waves him off with practiced nonchalance, picking up her knife and going back to the fish without so much as a flinch. “Not at all! Are y’ hungry, I can whip somethin’ up for y’, real nice n’ warm.” 

Her words don’t land. Not on you. As if on cue, your hands start to move, each motion sharp and precise as you gather the disassembled parts of the Glock, your fingers almost trembling with frustration. The pieces snap together with a hurried clink, far from the careful assembly you know it needs. The gun is a mess, but at this moment, you don’t care. It’ll hold, for now. But everything inside you wants to lash out, to scream, to make her understand.

“We’re fine, ma’am.” The bite in your tone surprises even you, and your words hang in the air between you and Vander, charged with a new weight. “We’re running late as-is.”

Your mother’s eyes flash briefly, but she hides it quickly behind a forced smile. “It’ll only take a minute!” She motions toward the kitchen, her voice sweet, insistent. “I can—” 

“I said we’re fine!” You don’t give her a chance to finish. Your words are sharp, harsh, cutting through the air between you. Vander stiffens against you at the outburst, but you don’t care. You slam the work-in-progress into your satchel and toss it over your shoulder, the leather strap digging into your skin as you turn on your heel and storm off.

You don’t wait for Vander to follow you. The crowd of the upper-level market parts around you like water, but all you can focus on is the churning anger in your chest. You feel the burn of your magic, restless, coiling beneath your skin like an electric charge. Everything around you—every scrap of metal, every bolt and piece of machinery—vibrates, responding to the pulse in your veins. You want to tear it all down, to unleash the fury that’s bubbling just under the surface. But you know better.

Vander catches up to you quickly, his steps sure and calm beside your hurried pace. He doesn’t ask anything at first. But you can feel his eyes on you, steady and patient, as always. You don’t look at him, too lost in your own storm of thoughts, but his presence is grounding.

“…You want to catch me up on what that was about?” His voice is quiet, gentle, almost coaxing.

You shake your head, the frustration too raw. The words are there, ready to spill out, but you know they’d come out all wrong. Anything you say right now would be said in anger, and Vander doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve to be caught in the storm your mother has created inside you.

So you keep walking, your feet moving quickly, the streets of the market blurring around you as you navigate the crowd. He just walks with you, his presence a steady anchor to the chaos in your mind. You can feel his gaze on you—patient, understanding. 

"Saw Violet and Baby Powder today." Vander’s voice cuts through the anger, drawing your attention. He starts digging into his pockets, and the motion is enough to pull your focus. Yet, your jaw remains clenched, a raw tension gnawing at the edges of your control. He pulls out a small slip of paper and hands it to you. Your fingers brush against his, but it's the photo that catches you.

Violet stands proudly, grinning wide, showing off the gap where she’d just lost her first tooth. She cradles her baby sister, the fragile, blue-haired little one, in her arms. Powder looks so small, so vulnerable, but the image tells a story of love, of a bond that has already begun to form, even in the hardest of circumstances. Your heart stirs, the anger that once blazed hot within you softening in the face of this pure, unguarded moment. It’s still there—raging, simmering—but now it’s tempered with something else. Something warmer, like the way the sun feels on your skin after a long storm.

You swallow hard and look up at Vander. "How’s she doing out of the incubator?" The little blue-haired baby had been kept incubated for a few weeks now, Yan clearly explained that she was much too fragile to rely fully on her own means of survival. Vander gently took the photo back, smiling proudly back down at you.

“Doc says she’s going to be just fine.” He nods, pocketing the image. “A strong little girl, that one. A fighter, for sure.”

You let out a quiet breath. “She comes by it naturally.” You close your eyes, taking a moment to calm yourself. The anger doesn’t vanish, but in its place, there’s something steadier, something that reminds you of why you’re still here. The thought of leaving this place, leaving these people behind, knowing that you might not see the kids like Violet and Powder grow up—it’s a heavy weight. But it's a weight you bear for their future, for something better.

You open your eyes and meet Vander’s gaze. “Thank you.”

He raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in that teasing way. “For what?”

You reach for his hand, your fingers curling around his. “For always knowing what I need to hear.”

His smile softens, and without a word, he brings his other hand up to cup your face, pulling you closer. You close your eyes as his lips brush against yours, gentle, almost reverent. It’s a fleeting touch, like a whisper of a promise. His thumb caresses the side of your cheek, and in that quiet space, you intertwine your fingers, drawing him in just a little bit more. As he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, the warmth between you both as if time has stopped. You stand there for a long moment, locked in this simple intimacy, the world outside fading away.

"We should do it," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, his nose nudging yours in that familiar, affectionate gesture. "Someday, y’know, have a couple little ones running around."

Your heart stutters for a moment, and your eyebrows shoot up, barely able to contain your laughter. “You’re kidding.”

He shakes his head, that mischievous glint never leaving his eyes. “I see you with the youngin’s all the time, you’d make an excellent mother.”

The image of Violet’s bright grin and Powder’s tiny hands fills your mind, and you feel a pang in your chest—something you can’t ignore, even if you try to. But you force a sigh, covering the soft flutter of yearning that bubbles beneath your ribs. You pull away, crossing your arms, trying to act unaffected. “I don’t think this world could handle another you, Van. Our tempers combined?” You shake your head with a half-smile. “We’d doom all of Runeterra.”

Vander follows you, keeping that damnable grin plastered across his face. "C'mon, Minnie, a little ankle-biter with your looks and my strength? It’d be a gift to Zaun."

You roll your eyes, but there's a soft teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Just my looks, hm? Kind of sexist.”

Vander laughs and shakes his head, but doesn't back down. “Fine then, my looks and your brains. Now that would be a kid that’d rule over all of Runeterra.”

You chuckle, a full laugh escaping you this time, as you continue walking, his hand slipping into yours once again. You both share that easy warmth between you, a quiet understanding, despite the world that continues to rage around you.

***

The heavy creak of the bar's door echoed in the otherwise murmuring room, drawing the attention of a few scattered faces. The dim lights flickered slightly, casting long shadows over the worn wooden tables and mismatched chairs. The bar smelled of stale beer and sweat, the kind of place where the walls had witnessed more than their fair share of secrets. But tonight, it felt alive with something else—something charged.

At the back, a makeshift stage stood, with a lone microphone perched in the center. A small crowd had gathered around it, forming a circle of rapt attention, hanging on every word from the man who stood at the center of it all. His voice was a commanding presence, rich and smooth, each sentence punctuated with a charisma that had them nodding along like they were part of something bigger than themselves.

"Children of the nation of Zaun!" Silco’s voice rang out, filling the room effortlessly. He stood tall, wearing a tailored suit that had seen better days but still held the weight of authority. His eyes gleamed with conviction as he gestured toward the crowd, making his words feel like a promise. “You’ve heard us speak to you about strength, endurance, the Undercity’s ability to survive, no matter what Piltover throws at us. But as of late, I’ve begun to think of history–”

You and Vander moved over to the bar nearby, you flagging down the bartender for a couple of pints. Silco had spotted you the moment you’d come in, and welcomed you with a glint of his eye. Benzo, you recognized was chatting up Luoi in a corner. 

“You think he’s actually gonna let you speak tonight?” you whisper into Vander’s ear.

"Depends on how much whiskey he’s had," he replies with a smirk, his voice low. "But he’s got to run out of fancy words eventually.”

"…As we know from our history, from the tales passed down to us by those who raised us, this city was once a holy land," Silco continued, his voice growing deeper as he paced slowly across the stage, letting each sentence sink into the crowd. "A place of grandeur, a place decorated to the Wind Goddess…"

A sharp, jubilant ‘whoop’ rose from the crowd, a moment of genuine enthusiasm, and Silco’s lips twisted into a smile that could’ve been mistaken for warmth, if not for the coldness that lingered in his eyes. He drank it in, relishing the energy of the crowd, before pressing on. "Our ancestors stood tall in the face of turmoil because of the protection of gods…but now, as war brews over us once again, we, the people of Zaun, have become our own gods!"

“Someone's gone and given our boy a god complex,” you muttered under your breath as the bartender slid two frosty glasses of beer toward you and Vander.

Vander lifted his pint, the amber liquid swishing in the glass, and met your gaze with a sly, knowing grin. “Please, that’s been there the whole time.”

“We know that the Enforcers have gotten more bold as of late.” Silco continues, taking the microphone off its stand as he begins to slowly and confidently pace the length of the stage. “And rest assured, we’re just as mad as you are. They come into our homes, our businesses, walk along our streets like they own them. But do they?”

A resounding "No!" erupted from the crowd, raw and full of collective fury.

"Right!" Silco’s voice surged again, sharper now. He strode to the edge of the stage, his arms wide, as if pulling the crowd to him with invisible strings. "These are OUR streets, our homes! And it’s about time they’re reminded of that! For too long, we have been told that this system is just—that those rich bastards Top-side deserve their wealth because they work harder, think smarter, or simply because they were born into it. But I ask you—where is the justice in a world where a few can sit on their golden council thrones, while the rest of us are forced to fight for crumbs?”

A roar of approval followed, the room vibrating with the collective energy. It was as if the tension had snapped, and for the first time, they felt like they might actually have the power to do something about it. It was intoxicating.

“When?” A familiar voice, Sevika, growled out. “You’ve been giving these speeches for years, Silco. When, exactly, are we going to ‘remind them’?”

A murmur of agreement sounded throughout the crowd, and you weren’t surprised when Vander jumped into action, leaping onto the stage with outstretched hands. HE didn’t need a mic, his voice booming with his own power. 

“The man who needs no introduction,” Silco motioned to his brother, looking somewhat annoyed to share his limelight, but ultimately not fighting back.

“You’re right for wanting action.” Vander exclaimed. “As we speak, rest assured we’re making plans on an effective plan. Trading in weapons for every able body that’s willing to fight, strategy, rations. When we cross that bridge, and it will be soon, it’ll be a right and proper storm.” His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as the weight of his words sank in. “We’re not some forgotten backwater that they can kick around. We are not just a city. We are an army. An unstoppable force.”

Vander turned his gaze to Silco, his voice low but fierce. “And we don’t depend on some god or divine miracle to protect us. We protect ourselves. When we strike back, it won’t be a scattered, half-hearted effort. It’ll be decisive, and it will be relentless. We do it smart, we do it right, and we do it together.”

Silco’s eyes glinted with the fire of a shared purpose as he nodded, his voice rising with a raw, unstoppable conviction. “Together,” he echoed, the word carrying the weight of a promise. “Zaun’s future will not be built on the backs of the rich or the powerful. It will be built on the blood and sweat of its people—the ones who have always worked, bled, and struggled. We will not let the elites decide what we’re capable of. We will rise up, we will tear down their towers of tyranny, and we will burn their control to ash. This city belongs to us, and we will make sure the world knows it!”

His words were like a rallying cry, echoing through the room, each syllable a strike against the forces that had held them down for too long. The air seemed to crackle with energy as the two men stood together, bound by the same unyielding vision: a future built by the people, for the people. A future where their voices would no longer be silenced. In all the chaos, a certain vibration itches at the back of your skull.

The moment is cut short, however, as the door slams open, crashing against the wall behind it. Inside the doorway, Niya stands, panting and disheveled.

“They’re coming!” she yells, her voice sharp and ragged, cutting through the low hum of conversation in the bar like a knife. Heads snap toward her, a mixture of alarm and confusion painted on every face. Her wide eyes lock as she stumbles forward, desperation etched into every frantic step. “The Enforcers, Grayson, they’re—”

Her words are stolen by a deafening crack. The sound ricochets through the room like a physical blow. Her body stiffens unnaturally, arms jerking at her sides as if yanked by invisible strings. Time fractures, each second stretching into eternity as she crumples forward, the light in her eyes extinguished before she even hits the ground.

A dark, gaping hole mars the base of her skull, blood pooling around her like a grotesque halo. The crimson stain seeps into the weathered floorboards of the bar, the vivid red an accusation, a warning. 

“Niya!” Benzo’s cry tears through the paralysis gripping the room. He surges forward, but a sharp clang—the unmistakable sound of armored boots—stops him in his tracks.

The front doors burst open with a violent crash, splinters flying as black-clad Enforcers flood in, their heavy boots pounding like a drumbeat of doom. Their visors glint under the flickering light, hiding cold, merciless eyes. They fan out with mechanical precision, weapons raised, sweeping the room as if daring anyone to resist. At the front of the attack, Grayson’s clear, steely grey eyes under her helmet, partially shaded from the gas mask enveloping her face.

“For what it’s worth,” she starts, reloading her pistol. The bullet casing falls to the floor, rolling to stop when it comes into contact with the sticky liquid of Niya’s blood. “I warned her not to run.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence, a thick, suffocating stillness as if the entire world is holding its breath. Then, someone—maybe Benzo, maybe you—makes the first move. A glass shatters against an Enforcer’s helmet, and all hell breaks loose.

The bar erupts into chaos. Tables flip, chairs are hurled like missiles, and shouts mingle with the sharp, percussive bursts of gunfire. Glass shatters, scattering like jagged stars across the floor as a few desperate souls scramble for the back exit or dive headlong through shattered windows. Most, however, are too stunned—or too furious—not to fight. Hardened survivors, people who’ve clawed their way through hell a dozen times before, seize whatever they can—broken bottles, splintered chair legs, even their bare fists—and throw themselves into the fray.

A bullet zips past your ear, close enough to sting, but your instincts take over. With a flick of your wrist, the bullet reverses course, whizzing back with deadly precision. It buries itself in the knee of an advancing Enforcer, who collapses with a howl of pain. Another grabs you from behind, his armored arms locking around your torso, but you’re already moving. Your knife, sleek and sharp, leaps into your hand.

With brutal efficiency, you plunge the blade into the Enforcer’s neck, feeling the sickening give of flesh and cartilage. A wet, gurgling grunt escapes him, but you don’t falter. Your vision blurs with crimson fury as you twist the knife, savoring the grotesque squelch that confirms his demise. When you wrench the blade free, his lifeless body crumples to the floor. You glance down briefly at the spreading pool of blood, and not a single drop of sympathy stirs in your chest.

The room is a cacophony of violence, but your focus narrows to a single point. Niya.

Ducking and weaving through the chaos, you dodge swinging fists and stray gunfire, your movements instinctive and precise. You reach her body, sprawled on the floor amidst the pandemonium, and seize her in your arms. Her weight is heavier than it should be, an unbearable confirmation of what you’re already dreading.

Leaping over the bar counter with her limp form clutched to your chest, you drop to your knees, cradling her like a precious, broken thing. Her once-vivid eyes are dull, the spark gone.

“Niya, no,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the tears begin to fall. Hot, desperate, they streak down your cheeks and land on her lifeless face. “No, no, no…Niya, please!” Your hands shake as you give her a gentle shake, your body wracked with silent, choking sobs.

But there’s no response. Her skin is already cooling beneath your touch, her blood staining your hands and clothes. She’s gone.

Benzo’s voice rises above the din, a primal howl of rage and grief. He’s in the thick of it, swinging a jagged barstool leg like a berserker, his every movement raw and unrestrained. He slams it into an Enforcer’s shield, sparks flying with the impact, but the Enforcer is relentless, shoving back with force.

Your head snaps up as you spot another Enforcer leveling his firearm at Benzo, aiming to end his rampage. Panic spikes in your chest, and you start to lift your hand, ready to send the weapon flying, but someone beats you to it.

Vander.

He crashes into the Enforcer like a living battering ram, his massive fist colliding with the smaller figure’s chest. The impact is thunderous, sending the armored Enforcer hurtling into the wall with a sickening crunch. Vander roars, a sound that shakes the very walls of the bar, and turns his furious gaze to the next target.

The fight grows even more brutal. The air is thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder and blood, the clamor of battle nearly deafening. Chairs and bottles fly, fists meet flesh, and the floor becomes a slick battlefield of spilled drinks and lifeblood.

Above it all, Grayson’s voice rings out like a whip crack. “Subdue them!” she commands, her tone cold and sharp. But the Enforcers’ rigid discipline is beginning to fracture under the relentless, desperate fury of the patrons.

But this isn’t a fight. It’s an ambush.

Within moments, the chaos shifts. What was once a raw and desperate brawl begins to tilt inexorably in the Enforcers’ favor. Their numbers and training overwhelm the uncoordinated fury of the Zaunites. One by one, people are forced against the walls or slammed to the floor, their arms wrenched behind their backs as pairs of handcuffs snap shut with a metallic finality. The patrons who moments ago had been fighting tooth and nail are now subdued, their struggles met with the cold efficiency of the Enforcers' unyielding force.

Shutting Niya’s unseeing eyes, you whisper a silent apology and place her gently off to the side, as if shielding her from the violence she can no longer witness. The rage that courses through you burns hotter than the pain in your chest. With one last glance at her still form, you unholster your knife and steel yourself for what comes next.

You’re halfway over the bar counter, ready to leap back into the fray, when your eyes lock on Silco. Two Enforcers wrestle him toward the counter’s edge, his defiance barely masking the strain in his movements. One of them slams him against the counter, forcing his arms behind his back.

Without a second thought, you launch yourself into action, your body moving faster than your mind. With every ounce of strength you have, you tackle the nearest officer, sending the two of you sprawling to the floor. The Enforcer lets out a grunt of surprise as you both crash to the ground.

Your knife flashes in your hand, aimed for his neck, but the officer is quicker than you expect. He blocks your strike with a sharp upward motion of his armored forearm, the clash of steel against steel ringing in your ears. Before you can recover, he shifts his weight forward, slamming his helmeted head into your cheekbone.

Pain explodes through your skull, white-hot and dizzying. You reel back, clutching your face as the taste of blood floods your mouth. But you’re too far gone to stop, too consumed by anger and desperation. With a growl that tears from the depths of your chest, you lunge at him again, your knife slashing through the air.

He’s faster this time. Anticipating your move, the Enforcer sidesteps with practiced precision. In one fluid motion, he draws the pistol holstered at his hip and levels it at you.

The shot rings out, loud and final.

Pain tears through your shoulder like a hot blade, and your cry of agony is swallowed by the chaos around you. The force of the bullet spins you, and you crash to the floor, clutching the wound. Warm blood spills over your fingers, soaking into your jacket as your vision wavers. But the pain doesn’t stop the fire in your chest. Even as your shoulder throbs with every heartbeat, you snarl through clenched teeth and shift to push yourself back up. The Enforcer towers over you, his pistol trained on you once more, the cold barrel glinting in the dim light.

Your eyes dart back to Silco. He’s managed to wrestle an Enforcer to the ground, pinning the armored figure beneath him with a furious snarl. For a brief moment, it seems he’s gained the upper hand—until another Enforcer storms in, grabbing Silco by the collar of his finely tailored suit and yanking him off his opponent.

Silco twists and swings his dagger, the blade gleaming as it arcs through the air. But his attacker is ready, slapping the weapon from his hand with a brutal efficiency. The dagger clatters to the floor, spinning away into the chaos, leaving him defenseless.

You grit your teeth, the pounding pain in your shoulder barely registering as adrenaline courses through you. You’re already preparing to lunge toward him when another crack echoes through the room.

Pain sears through your side as a bullet grazes your thigh, tearing through the fabric of your pants and leaving a burning sting in its wake. You stagger but refuse to fall, your rage igniting into a roaring inferno.

“Bastard!” you scream, your voice raw with fury. Your hand snaps out instinctively, fingers clenching into a fist. The Enforcer who fired at you barely has time to react as his pistol crumples in his grip like a wad of paper, the metal screeching under the pressure of your will.

The distraction buys you a precious moment. You pivot toward Silco, each step a battle against the throbbing in your shoulder and side. But the same Enforcer persists, his movements fast and relentless.

“Enough,” you growl, your voice low and venomous.

Whipping around, you grab him by the helmet, forcing his head to one side and exposing the vulnerable flesh of his neck beneath the armored collar. In one fluid motion, you plunge your blade into the exposed skin, feeling it sink deep. He lets out a wet, gurgling sound as blood bubbles from his mouth, his body stumbling before crumpling to the floor.

You don’t look back.

Silco is struggling against another Enforcer now, his arms forced behind him. The metallic click of handcuffs locking into place is like another gunshot in your ears.

Pushing your battered body forward, each step feels heavier than the last, but you refuse to stop. The pain is a distant thrum beneath the fury coursing through your veins. Silco struggles against the Enforcer pinning him to the counter, his defiance radiating even as his arms are forced behind his back. The sight sends a fresh surge of adrenaline through you, drowning out the ache in your shoulder and the burn in your side.

Your eyes lock onto a dislodged metal chair leg lying amidst the chaos. Extending your hand, you summon the scrap to you, the metal twisting and contorting as it obeys your will, coiling around your knuckles like a makeshift gauntlet.

With a growl, you drive your fist into the Enforcer’s side, targeting the vulnerable spot just above his kidneys. The force sends a sharp clang reverberating through his armor, and even through the plating, the impact is enough to make him stagger back, releasing Silco.

Not letting up, you whip your dagger through the air, the blade slicing cleanly into the Enforcer’s ankle. He lets out a strangled cry, collapsing onto one knee as the pain cements him in place. But you don’t care.

With his helmet half-loosened in the scuffle, you take the opportunity to unlatch the clasp fully, yanking it off and exposing his face. Your metal-clad fist follows, slamming into his nose with a sickening crunch. Blood sprays, and the Enforcer drops like a stone, unconscious—or worse.

You wrench your dagger free, standing over his limp form, your chest heaving. You can’t bring yourself to care whether he’s alive or dead. There’s no time.

Turning back, your stomach sinks. A good half of your group is already subdued, their hands bound in cuffs as Enforcers drag them toward the exits. Panic flickers through your rage. Your eyes sweep the floor, scanning the chaos.

Where is he?

Then your eyes lock onto Vander’s fallen figure. It takes two officers to keep him pinned, and even then, they’re struggling, their boots scraping against the blood-slicked floor as he thrashes. A third Enforcer approaches, cuffs in hand, intent on locking him down.

“No!” Your cry rips from your throat as you push yourself forward, adrenaline the only thing keeping you upright.

You make it halfway there before another gunshot cracks through the air.

This one finds its mark.

White-hot agony explodes through your side as the bullet buries itself just above your hip. The force sends you sprawling, your body crumpling against your will. A strangled shriek escapes your lips as the pain sears through you, and you clutch at the wound, warm blood spilling over your hands.

Through the haze of agony, you hear the measured thud of boots approaching. You try to lift your head, but the effort is too much. A shadow looms over you, and Grayson kneels down, her expression unreadable but her voice icy calm.

“You can’t say I didn’t warn you.” She speaks with maddening composure, her tone cutting through the chaos like a blade. “There are rules for a reason, and it’s about time you all learned how to obey them.”

She tosses something onto the ground beside you. Your blood-soaked bandana. The sight of it twists something deep in your chest, but before you can respond, the edges of your vision begin to blur, dark tendrils creeping inward.

“F…uck you,” you growl through gritted teeth, your voice shaky but defiant. “Let us go! You think we can’t—Gods, fuck—break all these people out of your little HQ?”

Grayson stands, her boots clicking against the floor as she straightens. “Oh, these people won’t be going to HQ,” she says, her voice sharper now, carrying over the din so everyone left conscious can hear. “No, you’ll find they’ll be moved to Stillwater by midnight. No more warning shots.”

She pauses, her gaze sweeping over the wreckage of the bar and the battered survivors still standing. “You want war?” Her voice hardens, her authority resonating in every word. “Very well. Consider this war.”

Her words hang heavy in the air, a chilling promise that makes even the most reckless of fighters hesitate. As your vision dims and the strength drains from your body, her voice is the last thing you hear.

[pleasecallmemoth]

Sudden Desire

Chapter 4

A CM Punk x Reader Story

'I wanted him to kiss me how, with open mouth and open mouth. We keep our distance now’

Days turned into weeks of you avoiding him. You had to give him some credit, he was trying to reach out to you any way he knew how. He even got Rhea involved, which just frustrated you more. You didn't want to hear his apology for leading you on, you just wanted to be left alone. You hoped that eventually these feelings would pass, but as they say ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’. You felt furious with yourself for letting these feelings develop so strongly, constantly beating yourself up any time you felt your resolve slipping. You had just returned home from a two week work trip in Europe, and exhausted was an understatement. A sigh of relief as soon as your body hits the bed, a sense of comfort rushing through you as all your muscles finally relax. You sleep for a long time, almost a whole day, but wake up to the sun setting. 

‘well, shit’ 

You decide to lay in bed and watch your favorite comfort show for the rest of the night, well until you fall asleep again. When the sun starts to rise you wake up, finally feeling rested. You spend some time doing some self care until you decide to get dressed and go do something. You started to enjoy doing things alone, it gave you a distraction from the stress of the whole Punk situation. As you're putting on makeup there's a knock on the door. Your body tenses, hoping that it wasn't him. When you open the door all you see is a bouquet of flowers and a note. You pick them up and go inside. You felt frustrated again, but still a faint blush rose on your cheeks. You debated on throwing the flowers away, but not wanting to be wasteful you prepped a vase and set them inside. Then you focused back on the note, just staring at it from a distance. You reached out hesitantly and grabbed it. 

(Y/N),

I am deeply sorry. Please let me explain myself. 

-phil

You let out a huff and set the note down. 

‘Do I wanna know?’

You felt conflicted, but not wanting to give in so easily you threw the note in the trash. You grab your keys and head out of your apartment, locking it behind you. You do some shopping, run into some fans, and then decide to head to your favorite coffee shop. Hoping that since it was later in the day Punk wouldn't be there. When you walk in your senses are overwhelmed by the smell of coffee beans. You glance around, not seeing the familiar tattooed man. A small smile appears on your face as you order your favorite, and then head to sit in your usual spot by the window. You sip your coffee while people-watching out the window. You don't even hear the bell on the front door ring, too enamored with the stories you're making up in your head. You only lose focus when someone sits in the chair across from you. Your attention snaps from the window to the man with a grey peppered beard. Punk sat before you with a coffee in his hand. He wore a grey hoodie with matching grey sweatpants and a black beanie. His eyes bore into yours, making you fidget in your seat. 

“Oh, hey.” You say softly, no excitement in your voice. 

“Why are you avoiding me?” His eyes narrow as he speaks, like he's trying to see through the walls you put up. 

“I don't know what you're talking about.” You lie, avoiding eye contact. Punk chuckled darkly, no real amusement behind it. 

“Bullshit. Stop lying to me.”

“Do we have to do this here?” 

Punk looked around, noticing how some people were glancing your way. He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Fine, but no more avoiding me.” 

You nod, turning back to look outside, hoping it would calm your racing heart. The whole time you felt Punk's eyes on you, his gaze penetrating. You took the last sip of your coffee and set the cup down. 

“The flowers were nice.” You whisper just loud enough to know he heard it.

“I’ll always remember your favorite flowers.” Punk mutters, sending a kaleidoscope of butterflies to your stomach. 

“Why?” 

“You don't remember?"

You had arrived at Punk's door a wet, sobbing mess. Your boyfriend of 4 years had just broke your heart. Punk opened the door in a panic, seeing your state he pulled you inside, out of the rain. He wrapped a towel around you, and led you to the couch. You had ranted and raved for hours about how shitty he was, and Punk just sat there and listened. He held you when you cried, cracked jokes when you needed them, and listened to every single word you said. 

“The one thing I wanted was so simple and he couldn't even get that right.” You checked sadly. 

“What was that?”

“It seems stupid, but flowers.”

“That's not stupid.”

Your cheeks burned with blush as you recall the memory. 

“I remember.” You say softly with a small smile on your face. “I didn't think you'd remember that.”

Punk scoffs, his eyes softening.

“I remember a lot more than what you give me credit for.”

You let out a sigh, glancing around the room quickly. 

“C’mon.” You say as you stand up, signaling for him to follow you. 

Punk follows behind you as you walk back to your car that's in the secluded parking garage. You lean against the cold metal, a shiver runs up your spine at the feeling. Punk stand before you, eyeing you up and down. You both stand there in silence for awhile just looking around. 

“Well, you said you wanted to explain yourself. Go ahead.” You break the silence with a harsh edge to your voice. 

Punk lets out a sigh as he adjusts his beanie. 

“I regret that night.” Punk blurts out, looking away quickly. 

“Trust me, you made that abundantly clear.” You let out a dark sarcastic chuckle at his words. 

“I didn't mean it like that.” Punk sighs defeated. 

“Then how? Cause you told me that it was a mistake.” Anger rising up in your voice as you remembered that night. 

“At the time I thought it was, I didn't want to lose my best friend.” You shake your head in disbelief as he speaks. “but, the second you left I regreted my words. I should've never told you it was a mistake, because it wasn't.”

Your heart rate picks up, your breath hitches in your throat. You can barely hear his words over your heart pounding in your ears, but you manage to still seem calm and collected as he continues on. He takes a step closer, effectively pinning you against the car. His eyes filled with a fiery passion as they stared into yours. 

“The only mistake that I made that night was not telling you that I love you too.” Punk breathed out as he leaned closer, your breath mingling with his. His eyes search yours before glancing down at your lips.

“I love you (Y/N), I always have and I always will.” 

Before you can respond his lips are on yours. You move in synch with him, your arms wrapping around his neck as his wrap around your waist pulling you closer. The air between you felt like electricity, unspoken words communicated through your kisses. Eventually you had to pull away to catch your breath, your chest heaving as you stared into his eyes. He looked back with a smirk on his face as his hands came up to cup your face. 

“You don't know how long I've wanted to do that.” Punk said breathlessly. 

“You should of done it sooner.” You whisper, leaning into his touch. 

Punk lets out a chuckle. 

“It's kind of hard when you’re running from me.” 

“Well, I'm not running anymore.”

“Promise?” 

“Promise."

_________________________________________

[writeforfandoms]

Born for Greatness 5

Find the series masterlist 

In which Logan makes his grand entrance (and there is a lot less bloodshed than most of you seem prepped for). Some discussions are had. 

Side note: JTF2 is a Canadian special forces unit. Also, I’m thinking of writing a side chapter that is just Logan and the 141 pack. Thoughts? 

Warnings: Swearing, Logan is a jerk, Price needs a warning label, world building, shifter behavior, pack cuddles. 

Word count: 2.2k

Eventual John Price x f!reader

The plane landed back in England and you leaned back a bit, watching the pack. Soap was glued to one side of you, Gaz napping on your other side. Price was watching all three of you, something undeniably soft in his gaze. 

You hadn't forgotten about Logan, but you hadn't expected him to find you so bloody fast. 

You got to put your things down in your room, at least, before Price was knocking on your door, expression thunderous. 

"Who did you tell about this base?" He asked in a low snarl. 

"No one," you snapped, frowning. "Signed too damn many NDAs to tell anyone." 

"Then why do you have a visitor at the gate?" 

You froze. "Oh hell," you breathed. "That bastard!" You stepped around Price and took off towards the gate, barely paying attention as the pack all gathered behind you. 

Sure enough, Logan stood on the other side of the gate, smirking, all 5’6” of him in jeans and a flannel, duffel bag dropped at his side. But his hair was a little shorter than the last time you’d seen him, and his beard was nicely trimmed. 

“I told you not to come,” you growled, ignoring the gate guard and striding straight up to Logan. 

“Good to see you too, kid.” His smirk widened as he looked past you. “That them?”

You finally turned to find the pack had followed you and had settled into a loose cluster behind you. You hissed out a breath. 

“It doesn’t matter because you are going home.”

“Aw, but I came all the way out here just for you, kid.” Logan’s grin reached shit-eating proportions. 

“You are not supposed to be here,” you growled, narrowing your eyes at Logan. “And I don’t just mean because I told you not to.”

“Been here once before.” Logan shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “Seen him before, too.” He nodded to Ghost. When you turned to look, Ghost returned the nod. 

“...What?” You felt like he’d pulled a rug from under you. 

“Few years back,” Logan said, tipping his head as he looked up at the bigger shifter. “You lot needed help finding someone.”

“Right.” Ghost huffed what might have been a laugh. “Good to see you again.” 

“When was this?” You frowned a little as you looked at Logan. 

“You were down south,” he said, scratching his chin slowly. “The pack in Ohio, I think it was.” 

“And you worked together?” Price looked at Ghost to confirm. 

“Joint op with JTF2,” Ghost confirmed with a solid nod. 

Soap whistled lowly. “Now that’s not easy to get into,” he said, looking at Logan with new respect. 

“Mmhm.” Logan grinned. “Now, you gonna invite me onto base, or we gonna shoot the shit out here?” 

You hung your head with a low groan before you looked back at Price. It was his call, his territory. 

Price clenched his jaw briefly but nodded. “Be welcome on my territory.” 

“Gonna introduce me?” Logan drawled, one finger hooking through your belt loop before you could escape.

You looked up at the sky for a moment. Looked like rain. You wouldn’t mind a good soak right then. “Logan, that is Alpha Price, Ghost you apparently know, and those two are Soap and Gaz. This is Logan, the longest-running pain in my ass.” 

“Say, you wouldn’t happen to be her wolverine friend, would you?” Gaz stepped closer, eyes bright with curiosity.

“Talkin’ about me, kid?” Logan smirked, looking far too amused. 

“I hate you,” you grumbled, hunching your shoulders. “I’m gonna go find something tall to throw myself off of now.”

“Good luck, have fun.” 

You gave up, jogging ahead to catch up to Price as the other three hung back with Logan. “I swear I didn’t ask him to come here, or tell him where I even was.”

“I know,” Price murmured soothingly. One hand touched yours. “If he’s JTF2, he’s got his own resources.”

“He’s quasi-retired. Which I’m sure is why he was able to drop everything and fly out here.” You rubbed a hand over your face. You should never have called him. 

“Hey.” Price’s hand fit warm over the back of your neck. “You’re fine. Don’t stress about it.”

You sighed, some of the tension running out of your shoulders. “Yeah, alright.” You drew in a deep breath. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

Price shrugged, his thumb gently smoothing over the back of your neck. “Today’s an off day since we just got back. I’ll probably be working on paperwork, but they’re free to do whatever they want.”

“Right.” You pursed your lips. You could find places to hide on base and be out of the way. “I’ll stop bothering you, then.”

“Not bothering me.” He glanced at you, eyes dark, hand squeezing the back of your neck lightly. “Stop worrying.”

“It is literally my job to worry.” 

“Then maybe you need a day off.” He stopped outside one of the buildings, hand shifting just a little lower to squeeze again. Your eyes slid half-closed in pleasure, and his lips quirked. “You know where my office is?”

“Nope.” You blinked slowly at him.

“Ask one of them. I’ll be there all day if you need anything.” He ducked his head a little to meet your eyes for a moment before he released you and walked away. 

You blinked after him and then turned to find four shifters all watching you curiously. You warmed and flapped your hands at them. “Shoo, you hooligans. Go cause chaos somewhere else.” And you promptly fled. 

You ended up on top of the barracks (and briefly told yourself to talk to someone about this habit of going high places when in distress). The sky was still threatening rain, but so far activity on the base hadn’t ceased. 

Soft swearing made you finally look away from the view, spotting Logan climbing up onto the roof. He shot a mistrustful look at the sky before he walked over and sat next to you.

“So?”

“So what?” you asked, looking back out over the base.

“You like them.” He nudged you, just once. 

You blew out a sigh. You could try to lie, or deflect. But it wouldn’t work for long. Logan knew all your tells. “I do.” 

“So make it work.”

“It’s not that simple.” 

“It’s never that simple.” Logan snorted. “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

You glowered at him and then gave up, sighing and looking away again. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Besides, I have no idea how they feel.”

“Don’t you?” Logan looped his arm over your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “Or are you just ignoring signals?”

“Stop being so damn perceptive,” you growled. 

“Well, no snowbanks to throw you into here,” Logan rumbled. “This is my next best bet.”

You groaned. “You’re a menace.”

“And you’re stubborn, makes us even.” 

The first fat drop of rain landed right on top of your head, followed immediately by one landing on your nose. 

“Aw, fuck,” Logan grumbled. “Weather here is still shit.” 

You snorted, getting to your feet. “You live in Canada.”

“And?”

“You have snow at least half the year!”

“Snow is easy. This is just wet.” Logan motioned you to go down first, keeping a close eye on you. You got down to the ground with no issues and moved out of the way so Logan could get down too, grimacing at the pull of wet clothes. It had gone from threatening to downpour in less than a minute. 

“Did they give you a room yet?” you asked, jogging to the door to the barracks and heading inside.

“Nah, mentioned something about it.” Logan shrugged, unconcerned, following you. 

“Guess we’re going back to mine, then.” You led the way, unlocking the door and letting him in first. Not that there was much to see. 

“You don’t travel with any pictures?” He frowned a little, gaze darting around the room. 

“No. Usually I try to give my full attention to the pack I’m working with.” You pulled out a clean top and dry sweatpants. “Besides, I talk to people almost every day.”

Logan grumbled, displeased, but changed as well. His duffel bag had been left in your room, although you weren’t sure if it was a joke, an easy place to put it temporarily, or because someone had assumed something about the nature of your relationship. 

With the both of you in dry clothes, you debated what else to do now. You hadn’t exactly come equipped to entertain, after all. 

A knock on your door made you blink, but you pulled it open to see Soap and Gaz. 

“Movie day?” Gaz asked with a hopeful smile. 

“Alright,” you agreed. “You okay if he tags along? He gets bored on his own.” You jerked a thumb back over your shoulder at Logan. 

“Watch it, kid,” he grumbled without any heat. 

“Sure.” Soap grinned. “More the merrier. I’ll drag LT in later.”

You snorted softly but followed Gaz to the rec room. Soap and Gaz immediately ensconced you between them on the couch, and Logan chuckled as he settled in a chair. 

“You two are menaces,” you said without heat, letting Gaz spread a blanket over the three of you. But you forced yourself to look at them a little more closely, to actually note how they behaved and their body language. While neither of them really fussed, they both paid attention to you, and to have you squished between them like this? This was a definite sign of favor, of acceptance, only enhanced by how relaxed they both were with you. 

Almost reflexively, you wanted to pull away, to hide. To protect yourself from the inevitable hurt. But you forced yourself to pause, to breathe through it. You relaxed back into the couch, breathing slowly. 

Soap made a pleased noise and cuddled in closer to you. Touch was important to pack, and cuddle times like this, or even sleeping together in a pile, was not unusual. But it also was another sign that he wanted you here.

Maybe even for longer than just this job. 

You met Logan’s eyes across the room, knowing you were showing your internal struggle. He just smiled a little, almost the softest expression you’d ever seen on his face, and very intentionally closed his eyes. One of the biggest signs of trust from a shifter. 

You swallowed hard and relaxed between Gaz and Soap, warm and comfortable and comforted. 

Sometime after the first movie, Ghost settled in the room. In a chair, of course, away from the pile of you on the couch. Gaz freed himself enough to start texting someone rapidly, glancing at you a few times. 

“What are you planning?” you asked him quietly, eyes narrowing a little.

“Nothing,” he immediately protested. “Well. Nothing bad.” He met your gaze for a long moment before he looked back at his phone. You blinked, startled. He… Had he just…? No. No way. 

His little noise of triumph distracted you, and he hopped to his feet. 

“Back in a mo,” he said before darting out of the room. 

“You have any idea what he’s planning?” you asked Soap, taking the chance to get up and bring back water for everyone. Ghost blinked when you set his down in front of him, apparently surprised.

“Not really.” Soap grinned and took his, watching you go back for snacks. “Ye ken we can get our own, aye?”

“Oh hush. You’re always hungry.” You threw a protein bar at his head. 

“You’re not wrong about that.”

You jumped at Price’s voice behind you, in the doorway. You turned to find a very amused Price standing there, a smug-looking Gaz behind him. 

“You’re a menace,” you grumbled without heat. “Giving up on the paperwork for the day?”

“Something like that.” He glanced around the room before refocusing on you. 

You tossed Ghost a snack and chucked one at Logan too before you dropped a few more on the table in front of the couch and sat back down. Soap plastered himself to your side again, looking smug. 

“Are we finishing this movie or starting something else?” you asked, giving everyone time to settle down. 

But you were surprised when Price dropped down next to you instead of Gaz. He leaned back into the couch, big and warm, his arm draped across the back of the couch. You swallowed hard, trying to focus on the screen even as a playful bout of bantering went straight over your head. 

You hadn’t spent a lot of time with Price, and him being this close was… distracting. More than you had accounted for. Especially since he was relaxed, at ease. This close, that lovely rumbling laugh could be felt and heard. 

This was dangerous. You needed to go, needed to get out before you got in too deep–

Logan caught your eye across the room, holding your gaze. You stilled. He breathed in deliberately slowly, not looking away, almost forcing you to follow along until the urge to flee vanished. Then he blinked and looked away. 

“Alright there?” Price asked quietly, though you were well aware everyone in the room could hear him. 

“Yeah.” Your lips quirked into something close to a smile as you leaned back and just a little bit into him, already steadier. “I’m good.” 

Nobody but you noticed the smug smirk on Logan’s face.

[givethemsmut]

The Pack | Chapter Six

Characters: Dylan O’Brien, fem!reader

Pairing: Dylan O’Brien, Dylan x You

“Stiles. You can’t keep putting yourself in the middle of danger.”

“Lydia I don’t put myself in danger blindly, I do it to protect you from danger.”

Dylan inches closer to me, his lips light as a feather and devoid of any real passion. I touched his hand before I moved closer pressing my lips to his again in order to redo the kiss that was supposed to scream passion.

Our kiss deepened as I straddled his lap, letting my tongue bully his gently. He pulled away, “I don’t think Holland will do all that…”

Still straddling him I said, “Can I be jealous if she does?” Smiling big like a kid who got the exact thing he wanted for Christmas he only wrapped his around me more, keeping me his hostage.

We stayed up watching movies until my dad knocked again, “Hey. I’m gonna come in now. Cover up.”

We both laughed, when he continued, “I’m gonna head to bed. Dylan – 9 AM call in. Don’t be late. And here since you’ve already helped yourself.”

He tossed him the box of condoms and Dylan died holding in his laughter as my Dad left. His cheeks brushed up bright red and I could feel the second hand embarrassment setting in.

We fell asleep watching Netflix and avoiding having sex with my Dad across the hall. My alarm went off and Dylan was not about waking up at all. Tyler was right, he wasn’t a morning person. After he finally got up he drove like a maniac to the lot. Thankfully my Dad left way earlier than either of us so we avoided some dirty glares and a walk of shame.

Dylan was the last to arrive but he apparently didn’t go through make up or hair either. He parked his car and sat back prepping me on today, “Today is still gonna be really long even without hair and shit. 17 hours. You don’t have to stay the whole time. Here take my keys, whenever you’re ready take my car.”

He jumped out while I put his keys in my purse and he opened my door taking my hand. I asked him, “What’s the first thing you do?”

He headed straight for the craft service room filled with food and coffee. “Hungry?” I shook my head and put a bagel in a napkin and offered to make the coffee. He said, “Come on. We’ll go to my trailer then I’ll get the breakdown of today, how much time we have.”

After we got back to his trailer with his character’s name on it a PA came knocking to let him know when his scenes would be and when he was needed. He had two hours until he had rehearsal and testing then his scene would be directly after. The rest of the scenes would be smaller and less work. He told the PA he was gonna shower then he’d go to wardrobe. I looked at him like he was crazy, his trailer seemed typically not over done, but he had a shower?

He took my hand as he sipped his coffee, “Come shower with me. Keep me company, save water and shit.”

The shower was this beautiful huge glass door shower that you’d never know existed. He took off his shirt smoothly and let it drop to the floor as I followed suit.

He took off his pants so expertly it made me wonder what kind of past he had, besides his ex.

He leaned into me teasing me and not yet kissing me as he undid my bra. His fingers danced along my back, skating over my rib cage, and tugging the cups down enough to slink the bra off my arms entirely. I still got the chills and all the feels I thought would fade by now.

My bra discarded to the floor, I felt his hands around my waist pull me closer to his body, kissing my shoulder. His soft hands tickled my hips before he pushed the sides of my panties down, urging them off.

I felt tempted to touch him back so badly my idle hands palmed his hard on through the material of his boxers. Stepping out of my panties I blushed knowing he was looking at every inch of me. Lowering myself down and my eyes fixed on his towering above me letting my hands smooth over his hard member.

“Not yet. I don’t wanna cum yet…” he couldn’t catch his breath as he spoke. I was still holding mine and my lungs wanted to burst.

Taking his hand I stood up as he reached inside the door to turn on the shower on and next thing I knew his arms around me pulling me inside with him. Nothing about this shower was to wash off. We didn’t want to wash each other off in the slightest, we wanted to drown in each other.

Reaching behind him I grabbed the shampoo and squeezed his it right above his head laughing as it only made his hair even more wild.

I watched him rinse off, backing away but holding his hand, admiring every toned muscle now wet. Dylan was hard to resist even before his shirt came off and now I was even more in trouble now that it had.

It was almost as if he could hear me when he came towards me, body against mine and mine against the shower wall as our tongues touched. I lifted my leg so my knee was against his hip when he bent down enough to pick me up. Wrapping my legs around him as he held me up.

I moaned feeling his length and width fill between my legs. He moaned a quiet fuck as we both tried to catch my breathe. We both heard a knock and froze hoping they’d go away. “Dyl! It’s me, Posey! Bro you awake?”

“He’ll leave. Shhh…”

Dylan’s hips slowly moved again, fucking me again, kissing anywhere his lips could reach. Dylan heard the door open and he shouted to Posey, “Dude I’m in the shower. What’s up?”

His hips still going I pushed my lips against his shoulder to keep myself quiet.

Tyler spoke again, “I heard you were on set and I hadn’t seen you. Are you seriously still mad at me?”

Dylan sighed loudly kissing my cheek and apologizing, “I’m not mad but I’m showering my girl bro. Together. I wouldn’t deny being inside her right now.”

Posey died laughing and apologized a million times as he left. “I’m your girl now huh?”

He was done teasing, done drawing it out when his thrusts only became faster and harder. My arms around his neck he told me, “Oh you’re mine alright.”

Putting me down, he turned me around so my hands were on the shower wall and my ass was out. His knuckles brushed my soaking wet slit until he found exactly where he shoved every inch to my hilt. Pushing my ass back against me I was chasing relief.

“Fuck,” I heard it slip from his mouth as I kept pushing back onto him, “Dylan. Oh my god.” His hands got tighter on my hips, he knew I was coming by the way I pulsed around him. As I came I felt him pull out leaving this empty feeling before I felt his fist against my ass as he helped himself cum. Almost immediately, I felt the warm ropes of his orgasm splatter against my ass before he pushed me against the wall again kissing me my shoulder.

“You called me baby.”

I laughed shaking my head, “I did no such thing.”

After cleaning up Dylan dawned a robe closed up and I gave his such an odd look as he explained, “I’ve got wardrobe next. I’m over getting gonna get dressed to get naked.” I laughed again as I threw my hair in a bun before we left for wardrobe.

Tyler was on a golf cart laughing as we walked by and he shouted, “Dylan! Hey!” Dylan hugged him tight in a way everyone knew they were mentally apologizing and reconnecting.

I touched Dylan’s shoulder and whispered, “I’ll meet you on stage. You two bond.” I went to search for my dad who I knew never let the stage. “Pops. Prepping?”

He was in the chair labeled executive produce highlighting the daily script and marking notes. “Here with your new boyfriend?”

He didn’t even look up to see my reaction but sure as hell felt me swat his arm, “He’s just… a friend… I don’t know. We don’t have to date because he took my virginity.”

He threw his hands over his ears quickly and made a face of someone who witnessed an episode of fear factor that involved bugs.

I sat down next to him, examining the set and layout as I’ve picked up from my Dad. “Hey, are you guys doing a wide lens shot? This is Dylan’s scene right?”

My dad raised an eyebrow, “Why? What are you thinking?” I stood up looking at the visual elements of the set which wasn’t many and the tone was much darker then anything needing a wide shot. “Tighter shot. Straight on. Then a shift when they kiss. Side by side then a ground shot to fade.”

My dad stood up with me following me as I spoke and looked at the set design, “Well then. Direct next week. Until then I’ll let the director know I’m changing the shot.”

I sat down in the chair next to his as I watched him talking to the crew about changing the camera angles for the shot. My dad sat down again pulling his bag into his lap pulling out scripts and handing them to me. “Read these 4 and let me know which you’re gonna direct.”

I started flipping through them not really reading but browsing Dylan’s parts only without realizing it. The script the furtherest out spoke to me, Dylan’s character was in full swing and losing his mind. His support system was trying to reach him but couldn’t. There was a shower scene with another main character trying to pull him out of the depths of his mind trying to appeal to his virginity. It was dark for TV and felt very real. I read it all the way through until I felt Dylan’s hand on my shoulder scaring me.

In a low voice he spoke right into my ear, “I gotta do this scene. You okay watching some girl kiss me?”

I saw a redhead hit the stage and prepare for her marks and suddenly I got self conscious. I knew it was fake, she was probably with someone else in real life, but it was still an intimate moment.

Dylan stepped in front of my view, “It’s just acting. Don’t forget? Lines I remember to say, choreography I’ve learned. Okay?” I shook my head unsure of how I’d react or feel seeing it. We may not have been in love but our connection was very deep.

My dad leaned in, “Dylan get on mark. She’ll be okay.”

Once Dylan was going over marks with the director my dad said, “Sure you wanna watch? Most girlfriends don’t. It always starts drama between couples, insecurities, jealously.”

I told him, “No, I wanna support him. He asked me to come.” The Director said, “Quiet on set! Phones off! Actors mark, ready, take one, action!” I watched the science unfold as Dylan expressed his love and need to protect Lydia from danger before the kissing began. Lydia wrapped her arms around his neck as their lips kept touching. Dylan’s hands grasped her hips the way he did mine in the shower earlier. I saw their lips separate and their tongues touch.

Their kiss deepened and there was no cut yelled from the director but Dylan’s body fell back on the bed in the scene as Lydia’s body gently laid on top of him. They kissed with her very short dress riding up even more and Dylan’s hands having little room to wander without being on her skin. I was getting antsy in my chair watching and wondering how far this would go. Finally the director yelled cut and I shot up from my seat.

Dylan shouted, “How Long were you gonna make us do that? What the fuck.”

My dad shouted to Dylan, “You said no sex scenes. We gotta milk it. Stiles is a virgin, he’s not gonna just stop at a kiss with his dream girl.”

Dylan didn’t look too pleased, “Can we take 5?”

Director shouted back, “Take 5! Back to first marks.”

Dylan shouted once again, “Can I get some help over here?”

My dad leaned over, “He needs your sweater. Less embarrassing if it’s you.” Shouting to Dylan, “It’s coming Dyl. Hang tight.

[misssparklingpaws]

Shadow in the Flame

Chapter 3: Rooftop Ghosts

It was past 2 a.m., and the Tower was asleep.

The rooftop of the Tower was quiet, lit only by the ambient glow of the city far below and the occasional flicker of a passing drone.

Bucky stood near the ledge, hands in his jacket pockets, staring out over Manhattan like he was still waiting for something to explode. Aria joined him wordlessly, a thermos of black coffee in one hand and a thermal blanket thrown lazily over her shoulders like a cape.

“You look like a caffeinated vampire,” Bucky muttered.

“You look like a retired assassin who’s bored with peace and pretending it’s brooding.”

He smirked. “Touché.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the kind only earned by people who’ve survived more than they talk about.

“You did good today,” he said eventually. “With Reynolds, I suspect He likes you,” Bucky said, watching her from the corner of his eye.

Aria didn’t flinch. “Robert’s unstable. He likes anything that doesn’t scream when he gets anxious.”

“No,” Bucky said quietly. “He likes you. Scars and all.”

“I’m not built for that,” she said. “For softness, I steeped because is my work"

“I know. You did it because failure’s inefficient and emotions make you itchy but... no one said you had to be soft. Just human.”

She turned to him finally, eyes sharp.

“Every time I get close to someone, they vanish. My excuse of a mom, Natasha, my dad… half the planet. I’m done risking that.”

Bucky nodded. “Then don’t get close. But don’t push away the ones who already see you.”

She glanced sideways at him. “Is this your weird version of a therapy session?”

“Just making sure you’re still a person under all that Stark-grade shielding.”

Aria took a sip of her coffee, then muttered, “I cracked a smile earlier.”

“Oh no,” he deadpanned. “The end times.”

“…He’s not bad,” she said, eyes on the skyline. “Robert.”

Bucky didn’t smile, but something in his face softened.

“He looks at you like you hung the stars,” he said. “Even when you’re busy punching his self-esteem in the throat.”

She exhaled. “Still unstable. I can’t coddle that.”

“No one’s asking you to." Bucky added “So where’ve you even been hiding the last couple years?”

“Mexico,” she replied after a beat. “Cancún, exactly.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Cancún? That’s... unexpected.”

“Hidden Stark base. Buried tech, solar everything. Dad built it after Sokovia just in case.” She took a sip of coffee. “I needed to disappear somewhere warm and... connect with half my heritage.”

He blinked. “Your mom was Mexican, right.”

“Yeah. A model. I only knew her through magazines, ads, covers, interviews. Never met her sober. She never cared. I was a headline she buried and a check she never cashed.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. Just listened.

“I thought if I stayed there long enough, surrounded myself with something that came from her side, I might... I don’t know. Feel closer. Make it mean something.”

“You find it?”

She shrugged. “Not really. I found some peace. Fed a lot of stray cats. Fixed drones. Got sunburned.”

He smirked. “That’s not nothing.”

“And I had tequila,” she added, lips twitching. “A lot of tequila.”

“There it is,” Bucky muttered. “The emotional processing I was waiting for.”

“Oh, and I messed around with some athletic beach boys,” she added smirking. “Mexican, Italian, German a Brazilian to, I think so. Great cardio.”

Bucky coughed mid-laugh, then shook his head. “You really are your father’s daughter.”

Aria smirked, pleased. “Genetics are a hell of a thing.”

----

The next morning the training floor was prepped. Gravity adjusted. Drones armed. Pain imminent.

The Thunderbolts filed in, groggy and half-dressed in armor.

Yelena rubbed sleep from her eyes. “Why are we awake at six in the morning? Are we being punished?”

Aria descended the stairs like a general surveying a battlefield, dressed in a crisp tactical tight suit and holding a datapad like it was a weapon and a big thermo.

Robert nervously adjusted his collar. “She looks like she hasn’t slept since 2019.”

"She looks like an evil haunted ballerina" Ava muttered.

“Alright degenerates and rejects of X-Men" Aria snapped, voice sharp as a whip crack. “Today’s objective: sweat, pain, and shame. And if you’re lucky, survival.”

Aria took a gulp of hot lava black coffee like it was plain water

“You failed yesterday. Congratulations. Today you get the full Stark experience.”

Walker muttered something under their breath.

Aria activated the simulation.

Holograms flared up faster, sharper, meaner than before. Triple the enemies. Zero mercy.

“This scenario is called ‘Good luck, losers.’ You have twelve minutes to survive. Points are deducted for crying.”

“Wait what?” said Red Guardian.

Aria ignored him.

“Yelena, if you roll your eyes at me again, I will recalibrate your wristbands to tase you every time you breathe wrong. Ghost, you’re set to ‘solid’ today. Let’s see if your punch lands harder than your social skills.”

Ghost blinked, stunned.

“Walker. Try originality today. I’ve seen enough Cap cosplay to last me a lifetime.”

Yelena choked on a laugh.

“And Red Guardian… move like you’ve seen a salad.”

“HEY!”

“And Reynolds" she paused, turning to where Robert was standing awkwardly near the sim gate, “ you’re the most powerful person here. That means no excuses. No meltdowns. No puppy eyes and try running in a straight line this time. You’re not a firefly on espresso.”

He smiled nervously. “That’s oddly specific" then nodded, slow but steady. “Yes, ma’am.”

Aria smirked. “Good boy.”

She strolled through the chaos like a general inspecting barely-trained recruits, barking commands like second nature.

“Belova, your form is sloppier than my coding at 2 AM. Tighten up.”

“Your 2 AM code built a satellite weapon,” Yelena muttered.

“And it didn’t fall out of orbit, so clearly, I’m still right.”

Red Guardian raised a hand mid-squat. “Can I get a bathroom break?”

“Sure. Right after the simulated nuke kills your simulated family. Move.”

Finally, she stopped in front of Robert, who was sweating through his shirt and had somehow tangled himself in resistance bands.

She crossed her arms.

“Tell me, Reynolds. Is this your tactical strategy death by yoga?”

“I panicked,” he wheezed. “The bands attacked first.”

She rolled her eyes, grabbed a towel, and tossed it at him.

“Clean yourself up you are a kinda a cosmic semi god, Reynolds. Get it together before I install a babysitter app on your suit.”

“Deal,” he grinned, breathless but beaming.

Bucky, watching from above, shook his head with a low whistle.

“I asked for a trainer,” he muttered. “I got a war crime with sarcasm.”

As the team stumbled into formation, something had shifted. They were tired, bruised, insulted but moving like a unit.

Half an hour later, they were all panting on the mat. Bruised. Sweaty. Half-dead.

Aria stood over them, perfectly composed, not even winded.

“That was marginally better,” she said. “If any of you had actual jobs, I might hire you to get me coffee. Maybe.”

She turned on her heel and walked out.

Yelena dropped back onto the floor. “I love her. I hate her. I want to be her.”

Robert, dazed: “She called me a cosmic babysitting hazard and I feel weirdly motivated.”

Red Guardian wheezed. “I think I peed.”

[cheollollipop]

Fragments of Us - Chapter 5. | c.sc

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader genre: angst, fluff, smut (minors fuck off, in the nicest way possible) warning(s): just teenage angst tbh. nothing crazy. summary: two years after a messy breakup, seungcheol and yn reconnect unexpectedly. word count: 17k (?) start date: nov. 20, 2024

a/n: trying to post this has been a pain in my ass!!!!! the formatting might be off idkidkidk. anyways, here's a throwback ch. of how everyone becomes friends. even a romance that no one sees coming :)

I didn’t expect the group chat to explode when I sent the text. I thought I'd get a thumbs-up emoji, maybe a "cool" from Jeonghan.

Instead, I got this: GROUP CHAT: chaos but make it childhood trauma

Me: so uh I'm transferring to seoul high lol...

Dokyeom: WHAT?!?!

Jeonghan: I JUST WOKE UP AND YOU'RE DROPPING LORE????

Jihoon: It is 8:07... Can we not do this right now?

Me: surprise...? starting monday lol

Jeonghan: MONDAY? MONDAY AS IN TOMORROW MONDAY?!

Dokyeom: I AM SWEATING THROUGH MY PAJAMAS! I'M TOO YOUNG FOR THIS MUCH JOY

Jihoon: You're fifteen.

Dokyeom: EXACTLY!

Me: I finally convinced my parents. gave a whole speech about how I am emotionally dependent on you guys. very persuasive stuff...also may have cried a little. theatrically.

Jeonghan: That's my girl.

Dokyeom: THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!

Jeonghan: wait DO YOU GUYS REALIZE WHAT THIS MEANS?!

Dokyeom: hallway chaos? synchronized class skipping? group projects that get nothing done?! COMFORT LUNCHES???? we are gonna be unstoppable

Jeongahn: no no. bigger than that! SHE HASN'T MET SEUNGCHEOL YET

Me: uh..who?

Dokyeom: oh this is going to be good

Jeonghan: I bet he falls for her in a week

Dokyeom: bold. i say three days

Me: WHO IS SEUNGCHEOL? WHY IS HE FALLING? 

Jihoon: Please. Do not encourage them.

Jeonghan: Seungcheol is just... you'll see. tall. soft-spoken. occasional disaster.

Dokyeom: mysterious hallway menace. emotionally stable-ish. probably writes poetry in his notes app.  no. he DEFINITELY does.

Me: you guys are weird.

Jihoon: You're just now realizing this?

Jeonghan: anyway. we're doing a full seoul high crash course tomorrow. meet at the park, 1pm. bring snacks and an open mind.

Me: should I be worried?

Jihoon: Yes.

The group chat has been suspiciously quiet since last night. Which can only mean one of two things: 1. They've fallen into a group nap. 2. They're planning something.

And based on the fact that Jeonghan texted me this morning—just a selfie with two sunglasses on and the words "ready for war"—I'm guessing it's option two. When I get to the park, they're already waiting on our usual patch of grass near the busted basketball court.

Jeonghan's lying down like a man who's never known stress. He's got a cold drink in one hand and his phone in the other, probably making a playlist for "walking around and talking like we're in a coming-of-age movie."

Dokyeom sees me first and immediately jumps to his feet like I just stepped off a plane from overseas.

"THERE SHE IS!" he yells, full of golden retriever energy. "BACK FROM THE ACADEMIC VOID!"

I laugh as he jogs over and pulls me into the tightest, most dramatic hug possible. "You saw me last week."

"Yeah, but now you're a Seoul High kid. There's a difference. You've been reborn."

"Okay, calm down. I haven't even walked through the gates yet."

He holds me at arm's length. "You're glowing. It's the transfer student effect."

"Please stop," Jihoon mutters as he arrives, earbuds still in and energy already drained. "It's not even 1:05 and I'm regretting this."

Jeonghan finally sits up, brushing grass off his jeans. "Come on, Ji. It's her prep day. Our girl's about to enter the war zone that is public education with no map."

"I was at a different school for two weeks, not exiled."

"Same thing," Jeonghan shrugs. "Anyway. Welcome to Seoul High Orientation, Chaos Edition."

He stands dramatically and pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

"You made an itinerary?" I ask.

"It's color-coded."

"I'm scared."

Dokyeom leans in. "I helped. My section is the cafeteria, obviously."

"I'm going to regret this," Jihoon says again, but he follows us anyway.

Stop #1: The Front Gate:

"This is where you'll see at least four couples pretending not to be dating," Jeonghan says, pointing at a bench by the sidewalk.

"Also," Dokyeom adds, "don't walk near the bushes after fifth period. One time I saw someone get tackled by a rogue soccer ball and it never left me."

"Duly noted."

Stop #2: The Vending Machines:

"Row three. Bottom left," Dokyeom says with a hand on his heart. "That chocolate milk will change your life."

"The green tea's okay too," Jeonghan adds, "if you want to feel emotionally empty for forty-five minutes."

Jihoon throws a pack of crackers at him. "It's just tea, Han."

"It's a lifestyle, Ji."

Stop #3: The Courtyard:

"This is where we eat," Jeonghan says proudly, spreading his arms out like he's presenting a kingdom. "Under the big tree. Shade, good breeze, low teacher traffic."

I smile as I take it in. "It's cute."

"We're not," Jihoon says.

"No," I agree. "But this is."

By the time we're halfway through the tour, I've got a mental folder labeled "Seoul High Survival" and about thirty Jeonghan-led side tangents I did not ask for. But the truth is... this? This is everything I missed.

The laughing. The bickering. Jihoon pretending not to care while handing me the exact snack I love without saying a word. Jeonghan spinning wild tales of hallway drama. Dokyeom trailing behind me to make sure I don't get trampled by a roaming club rush. I feel... settled.

Like the two weird weeks at my old school were a glitch in the system, and this chaos, noise, and love is where I'm meant to be. We end the day back at the park, laying in the grass like we're thirteen again and avoiding responsibility.

"I still can't believe you're gonna be with us again," Dokyeom says, arms stretched above his head.

"Yeah," I say softly. "Me either."

There's a pause. Just long enough for Jeonghan to get ideas.

"So," he says slowly, "on a scale of 1 to 'should I get my tux ready,' how soon do we think Seungcheol's gonna fall for her?"

I groan. "Why are we back on this?"

Jihoon sighs. "We never left it."

"Who is this guy again?" I ask, squinting at them.

"He's in our lunch period," Jeonghan says. "Tall. Wears hoodies like they're armor. Brooding, soft-spoken, suspiciously poetic."

Dokyeom nods. "He's also weirdly graceful. Like, if a cat and a tree had a baby."

"What does that even mean?"

"You'll see."

"Is he nice?"

"Too nice," Jeonghan says. "It's suspicious."

"He's gonna fall for you in under a week," Dokyeom adds.

I roll onto my side and squint at the sky. "You two are insufferable."

"And yet," Jeonghan sings, "you love us."

"Regrettably."

Jihoon tosses a leaf in my face. "Can we go home now?"

"Yeah," I say, still smiling. "Let's go."

Tomorrow's going to be the first page of a brand new chapter. Same neighborhood, same chaos, new school. And maybe... a new character.

We end up at my place because, well, we always do. I don't remember when it started—sometime around elementary school when my house became the designated "safe zone" after long days of bike riding, hide-and-seek, and overly competitive UNO games. But even now, the pattern hasn't changed. They drift toward my front door like gravity pulls them here.

My mom isn't even surprised when we walk in. She waves from the couch and asks if we want tteokbokki or ramyeon for dinner.

"Both?" Dokyeom asks, hopeful.

She nods like she expected that answer, already moving to the kitchen. Legend.

We pile into the living room—bags tossed in the hallway, shoes left in a mess near the door (except Jihoon, who lines his up neatly like the responsible citizen he is). The TV's playing something none of us are paying attention to, and Jeonghan claims his usual spot on the beanbag like a throne.

"This house smells the same," he says, inhaling dramatically. "Like candles and comfort."

"Like old books and guilt," Jihoon mutters.

"Like snacks and serotonin," Dokyeom adds with a dreamy sigh, already halfway through the chips he found in the cabinet without asking.

"You're welcome," I say, flopping onto the floor with a soda in hand. We hang out like that for hours.

Jeonghan plays with the filters on my phone and takes the ugliest selfies known to man. Dokyeom puts on music and dramatically lip-syncs to every chorus like we're in a music video. Jihoon half-watches from the couch, half-judging all of us, but he doesn't move or leave—he never does. And me? I soak it all in.

The noise. The laughter. The bickering. The way Jeonghan throws popcorn at Jihoon and misses, hitting my ceiling instead. The way Dokyeom sings off-key just to make me laugh. The way Jihoon pretends to hate it, but keeps pushing the bowl of snacks closer to me whenever it gets too far. This is what I missed. Not just the chaos. The comfort. The absolute certainty that no matter how weird or awful or overwhelming tomorrow is... I'll have this. These people. 

Around 8:30, we're sprawled out on every available surface—Dokyeom upside-down on the recliner, Jeonghan draped over half the beanbag like a Victorian ghost, and Jihoon holding the remote like he's the last sane person left on Earth.

"We should go over the schedule again," Jihoon says suddenly.

Jeonghan groans. "We already did that."

"I wasn't paying attention," I admit, taking a long sip from my drink.

"See?" Jihoon gestures toward me like he's in a courtroom.

He pulls out his phone and opens the Seoul High schedule app. "You start with History. Room 2B. I'm in 2C, so we'll walk over together."

"You memorized my schedule?"

"No," he says too fast.

Jeonghan coughs, "Soft."

"I'm being helpful," Jihoon mutters.

Dokyeom sits up like he's had an epiphany. "Wait, who's walking her to lunch?"

Everyone looks at each other.

"Not it," Jihoon says immediately.

Jeonghan gasps. "How dare you."

Eventually, my mom calls us for dinner and we crowd around the table like we're still kids coming in from playing outside. Elbows bump. Someone drops chopsticks. Jeonghan steals from my bowl. Jihoon sighs. Dokyeom does his happy food dance. Everything feels stupidly perfect.

Later, when they've all gone home and I'm finally alone in my room, the silence feels louder—but not empty. There's a warmth in it. A weightless sort of joy that hums beneath the quiet.

I set out my uniform for tomorrow, check my backpack one more time and then crawl under the covers.

My alarm goes off at 6:45.

It's rude. Aggressively loud. Too chipper for this hour. I silence it with the strength of someone who briefly considers faking an illness but remembers she fought tooth and nail to transfer here. No backing out now.

I lie in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting the reality settle in: I'm starting over. Sort of. New school. New teachers. New classmates. But not totally new.

I get up and head to the bathroom. My uniform looks fine—I tried it on twice yesterday to make sure it wasn't weirdly too long or too short. I do my hair in a simple style and throw on a little lip balm before grabbing my backpack and heading downstairs. Mom's already up, making toast. She smiles when she sees me.

"Nervous?"

I shrug, slipping on my shoes. "Excited. Mostly."

She hands me a packed lunch. "You're going to be great."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Say hi to the boys for me. Especially Jihoon. He's the only one I trust not to set something on fire."

"I'll let him know he's the chosen one," I laugh, heading for the door.

We agreed to meet at the corner near Jeonghan's house—same spot we've used as our unofficial meet-up location since elementary school. I'm a few minutes early. I adjust my bag, check my phone, and take a deep breath. The air is crisp, that September kind of cool that says summer's still hanging on but barely.

"Wow," a voice says behind me. "You actually showed up on time. New year, new you?"

I turn around and roll my eyes. "Hello to you, too, Jihoon."

He's in uniform too, blazer slightly wrinkled like he didn't bother ironing it. His backpack looks like it's already carrying emotional damage.

"I had a feeling you'd say that," I grin.

"I had a feeling you'd be annoying this early in the morning," he deadpans.

"Don't worry. I'm just getting started."

Before he can respond, someone yells, "FRESHMAN PRINCESS!" from across the street.

Jeonghan.

He runs up dramatically, iced coffee in hand, sunglasses on like it's not 7:20 a.m.

"You're lucky I'm walking with you," he says, looping his arm through mine. "The hallways are a battlefield. I will protect you."

"Why do you look like you're attending a music festival?" Jihoon asks.

"It's called style, Hoonie. Look it up."

Dokyeom appears seconds later, full of sunshine as usual. "WE'RE DOING THIS, GUYS!"

"We are," I say, grinning. "Day one."

Jeonghan adjusts his sunglasses. "Let the chaos begin."

The four of us start walking—shoulders bumping, shoes dragging, backpacks swaying. It feels weirdly perfect. Like we've done this forever.

Jeonghan launches into a dramatic retelling of a cafeteria fight he witnessed last week (spoiler: it involved pudding and questionable martial arts), while Dokyeom swears someone in the second-year class is secretly famous on TikTok. Jihoon grunts at regular intervals to remind us that he's still here and still suffering.

The sidewalk, the trees, the sound of their voices bouncing off each other like background music in the best kind of teen drama.

The front gate is already swarming when we get there—students spilling onto campus in loose clusters, backpacks slung over shoulders, half-asleep conversations floating through the air. It's loud and chaotic in a way that feels alive. The moment we step through the gates, Jeonghan slings an arm across my shoulders like we're on parade.

"Fresh meat," he whispers dramatically. "Do you smell it, Jihoon?"

"Please don't talk to me."

Jeonghan completely ignores him and gestures to a group of students near the front steps. "That's where the morning gossip happens. Most of it's fake. All of it's entertaining."

Dokyeom leans in like he's narrating a documentary. "That corner near the vending machines? That's where couples break up before first period."

I squint. "Is that real?"

"Yup," Jeonghan says. "We once saw someone dump their boyfriend with a Post-it note. Iconic."

We make our way through the hallways, Jeonghan pointing out every landmark like he's a tour guide and I'm a visiting diplomat.

"Left hallway is the music room. Where dreams go to die."

"I thought you liked music class," I say.

"I do. I just hate being graded on vibes."

Jihoon groans. "I swear to God—"

"Language," Jeonghan says sweetly.

By the time the warning bell rings, I've got a decent sense of the building—where my classes are, which bathroom stalls to avoid, which stairwells are used for crying.

I make it through first period with only one awkward "Are you new here?" moment. Second period is better. By third, I manage to raise my hand without my voice shaking. And suddenly, it's lunch.

"So," Jeonghan says, linking our arms as we weave through the courtyard, "are you emotionally prepared to meet the guy we've already decided is going to fall in love with you?"

"I'm sorry?" I blink. "Back up."

"Seungcheol," he sing-songs. "Tall, quiet, mysterious. Hoodie guy. Pretty eyes. You've heard us mention him."

"I thought you were joking when you said he writes poems and sulks during gym."

"Oh, he does. But he's also a walking soft boy aesthetic, and I just know you're his exact type."

I narrow my eyes. "And what exactly is his type?"

"Dangerously witty, occasionally unhinged girls who will probably roast him for wearing the same hoodie four days in a row."

"I'm honored," I deadpan.

"Listen," Jeonghan grins. "If he doesn't fall in love by the end of lunch, I'll give you five bucks."

"That's it?"

"Emotional damage isn't cheap, YN."

We round the corner and there they are—Jihoon, sitting cross-legged on the grass like he's contemplating life, and Dokyeom, animatedly telling a story with full body gestures and a dramatic reenactment.

Jeonghan waves like he's entering a fan meet. "Boys! Look who I found lurking in the halls like a lost soul."

Jihoon groans. "God, spare me."

"Jihoon," I grin. "Still allergic to joy, I see."

"Still the human equivalent of spilled soda," he mutters, but he shifts slightly so I can sit beside him.

Dokyeom cheers. "Our girl's officially one of us again! Let the unhinged lunch sessions resume!"

"Can't wait," I laugh, sitting down and pulling out my lunch.

"So—how's Seoul High treating you so far?"

"Eh," I shrug. "Nothing chaotic so far".

"Yet," Jihoon adds.

Jeonghan suddenly sits up straighter, lips curling. "Incoming."

I glance toward where he's looking. And then I see him.

Seungcheol.

Tall, broad-shouldered, sleeves half-covering his hands, hoodie slightly oversized. He's walking toward us with the calm of someone who's used to being invisible, but the kind of invisible people still notice. And he's looking at me. Just for a second. Then he looks away.

When he sits, he doesn't say anything. He just nods at Jeonghan, gives Dokyeom a quiet greeting, and glances in Jihoon's direction like he's silently asking about my presence.

"This," Jeonghan says, all false casual, "is YN."

Seungcheol turns to me, eyes soft but unreadable. "You're the transfer?"

"That's me," I nod. "Fresh meat. Bring on the hazing."

He blinks. Slowly. "We don't really do that here."

"Shame," I say. "I had a whole dramatic speech prepared about rising from the ashes."

A pause. Then, just barely—he smiles.

Oh no.

His smile is the quiet kind. The kind you almost miss if you're not paying attention. But I see it.

Dokyeom's eyes widen ever so slightly.

Jeonghan hides a cough behind his hand.

Jihoon mutters, "Here we go."

"So," I continue, leaning back on my palms, "you're Seungcheol. I've heard things."

That gets his attention. "Like what?"

"Mostly that you wear hoodies like armor and possibly write sad poetry."

He looks stunned for half a second. Then says, "...I plead the fifth."

Jeonghan loses it.

"God, you're already corrupted," Jihoon mutters, stabbing at his lunch like it wronged him.

"Don't worry, Ji," I grin at him. "I'll leave your delicate moral compass intact."

"You broke that years ago."

"I never touched it."

"You threw it out a window."

I grin. "You're just mad I beat you in Mario Kart and the spelling bee."

Jeonghan gasps. "You did not bring up the spelling bee."

"She spelled 'acquiesce' in record time," Dokyeom says proudly.

"She whispered it," Jihoon grumbles.

"Power move," I say with a shrug.

Seungcheol is quiet—but I catch him smiling again.

Twice in one lunch. Interesting.

As we all start eating, I feel Jeonghan nudge my shoulder. When I glance over, he's grinning like a devil.

"No love at first sight," he whispers, "but I'm feeling a solid slow burn."

"Shut up and eat your rice," I whisper back.

But I'm smiling, too. And across from me, Seungcheol keeps glancing my way.

By the time I unwrap the sandwich my mom made me, the conversation has unraveled into three different threads: Dokyeom trying to convince us that aliens are real, Jeonghan attempting to set up an impromptu talent show, and Jihoon—bless him—trying to ignore all of it while chewing like it's a stress reliever. And then there's Seungcheol. Silent. Observing.

Twisting the cap of his drink back and forth between his fingers like it's giving him something to focus on. I don't know what it is exactly, but something about him makes me... curious. He's not cold, not standoffish—but there's a distance. Like he's not sure if he should be here, but he is. Like he's still deciding what kind of person he's allowed to be in front of me. Which, okay, that might be projecting. But I'm intrigued.

"So, Cheol," Jeonghan says out of nowhere, eyes sharp with barely contained mischief. "YN is a spelling bee champion. Impressive, right?"

Seungcheol looks up mid-sip. "Spelling bee?"

"It was fifth grade," I say quickly. "Jeonghan's just bitter because I beat him."

"She spelled 'rendezvous' and I panicked and said 'cow,'" he says, hand to chest. "A dark day for me."

Jihoon sighs. "You spelled 'cow' in a French vocabulary competition."

"And I spelled it perfectly."

Seungcheol blinks. "Sounds like you deserved that loss."

Oh. Oh. He speaks. Seungcheol actually laughs. Just once. Soft and a little caught off guard, like he didn't mean to. Jeonghan stares at him like he's just grown wings.

Dokyeom, not even trying to be subtle, leans over and fake-whispers, "Is this... is this the most Cheol's ever spoken to a new person?"

Seungcheol shoots him a look. "You're not helping."

"I'm not trying to."

Jeonghan leans in. "This is a safe space, Cheol. You can admit you like her."

My head snaps around. "Jeonghan!"

"What?" he says innocently. "He's clearly smiling in, like, two-minute intervals. That's basically a love confession." Seungcheol buries his face in his hand.

Dokyeom claps. "I knew it! I said three days. We're ahead of schedule."

Jihoon doesn't even look up. "You two are the reason I have stress-induced eye twitching."

"I'm honored," Jeonghan beams.

I wave my sandwich between them. "Can we maybe not make my first lunch here about whether or not I'm breaking someone's emotional armor?"

Seungcheol peeks up from behind his hand, gaze flickering to mine, half amused, half mortified.

"I don't have emotional armor," he mumbles.

"Sure," I say, giving him a playful look. "You've got hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands like they're hiding state secrets."

He blinks. Then smiles. Again. That's smile number three. We're keeping count now. Jihoon pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I can't do four years of this."

"Oh, you can," I say sweetly. "And you will."

Jeonghan claps. "God, I missed her."

"Missed?" Jihoon repeats. "She's been gone two weeks."

"Two long weeks," Dokyeom sighs dramatically.

"Thank you for acknowledging my impact," I say, wiping my hands on a napkin. "I like to think I leave a small trail of chaos wherever I go."

Seungcheol glances at me. "You do."

I raise a brow. "You say that like you have evidence."

"I've known you for thirty minutes."

"And that's enough?"

He pauses. Then nods.

I smile, leaning back on my hands. "Fair."

The bell rings not long after that, too loud, too soon.

Everyone groans, especially Dokyeom, who slumps forward like the concept of geometry is personally attacking him. As we start packing up, I catch Seungcheol glancing at me again. Just for a moment. Then he looks away like it didn't happen. Jeonghan sees it, of course. He lives for it. But, for once, he says nothing. Which somehow feels louder. As we all start heading toward the building again—Jihoon and Dokyeom walking ahead, already arguing over which staircase is faster—Jeonghan lingers behind with me.

He leans in close, voice low. "So. Thoughts?"

I raise a brow. "On what?"

"On the quiet boy who, by the way, totally laughed at your joke and voluntarily spoke to you more than six syllables."

"Maybe he's warming up to me."

"Maybe you're the sun."

I scoff. "You are so dramatic."

"And you," he says, nudging my side, "are so lying if you say you didn't like it."

I don't answer. Because I don't have to. I'm still smiling.

Back inside, the hallways feel stuffier somehow—more humid, more crowded. Someone's playing music on a Bluetooth speaker a few lockers down, and two second-years are mock-arguing about who owes whom bread from the vending machine. It's normal chaos.

I trail behind the boys as we head to our lockers. Jeonghan's retelling the story of the "spelling bee betrayal" for the third time in twenty minutes with new embellishments. Apparently, I now wore sunglasses and whispered the final word like a spy. Jihoon is visibly trying not to throttle him.

"Please," Jihoon groans, "I will pay you to shut up."

"Okay, but like... ten bucks minimum," Jeonghan says without missing a beat.

Dokyeom turns to me. "So what's your next class?"

"Math," I say, feigning dread. "Room 1C. I had a good streak going and now it ends."

"You're with me," Jihoon grunts. "Come on, let's go before the students clog the stairs."

"Your optimism is infectious."

He just rolls his eyes and starts walking, and I follow—throwing a quick wave back at Jeonghan and Dokyeom. Seungcheol's there too, halfway turned, backpack over one shoulder. Our eyes meet briefly. It's not a long look. Just one of those quick, tiny moments of recognition. But it lands. Harder than I expected.

Math Class – 10 Minutes Later - It's exactly as tragic as I feared. The teacher drones on about number sets and functions while my brain tries desperately to remember what integers even are. Jihoon passes me a spare pencil when mine breaks, muttering something about "karma for being smug."

I spend half the class doodling stars in the corner of my notebook and pretending I'm absorbing something. I catch Jihoon glancing over once to see if I'm paying attention—he doesn't say anything, but I feel the judgment.

By the time the bell rings, I've retained maybe five percent of the material and zero percent of my dignity.

"Remind me to steal your notes later," I say as we pack up.

"I won't."

"Wow. Some best friend you are."

He slams his notebook closed. "Some best friend you are. You abandoned me for two weeks and came back with main character energy."

"That's because I am the main character."

"God help us all.

I meet up with Jeonghan and Dokyeom in the stairwell before our last class of the day. Seungcheol's already there too, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. He glances up when I approach. Doesn't say anything. Just gives a small nod. I return it with a smile and nudge Jeonghan. "So how much longer are you guys pretending you're not planning something?"

He puts on his best "Who, me?" face.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Sure."

"I just think it's cute," he says, way too casually. "The quiet boy and the witty transfer. Enemies to lovers but, like, without the enemies part."

"You've been watching too many dramas."

"Only for research."

"On what?"

"Your life arc," he says, linking arms with me again. "And frankly, it's delivering."

I groan. "Please let me survive a week here before you assign me a love interest."

"No promises."

Last Period – Literature: We file into class and the teacher, Mr. Park, gives a welcoming smile and points me to a desk near the middle.

To my left: Jeonghan. Of course.

To my right? Seungcheol. Because fate is a very funny, very chaotic little thing.

We exchange a brief glance and both pretend we're not aware of the other's presence. Jeonghan's already watching us like a director behind a camera lens.

"You good?" Seungcheol asks quietly once the teacher starts talking.

His voice is soft. A little husky, like he doesn't talk much by the end of the day. I glance at him, then nod. "Yeah. Math tried to kill me, but I pulled through."

He chuckles under his breath. "Jihoon?"

"Obviously."

"I could tell. You looked like you were planning your escape."

"Still am."

Another small smile. God, he's unfair.

Class goes on, and we don't talk much after that, but he's there. He passes me a spare worksheet when mine goes missing. I hand him an extra pen when his runs out. Small things. Quiet things. Things I didn't expect to matter. But they do.

By the end of class, I don't know what we are. Not friends. Not strangers. Something in between. But as we walk out and our arms brush just barely in the hallway, I kind of want to find out. The moment the final bell rings, the hallways erupt like a prison break.

Bags zip. Lockers slam. Someone's already blasting music from their phone and another kid's yelling about losing a shoe.

I find Jeonghan, Dokyeom, and Jihoon by the usual stairwell. Jeonghan's sitting on the ledge like he owns the building. Dokyeom's halfway through a banana. Jihoon's glaring at both of them like he's aged five years since lunch.

"Everyone survive?" I ask as I approach.

"Barely," Jihoon mutters. "I had to stop Jeonghan from starting a fake fire drill."

"It was a tiny flame."

"It was a lighter," Jihoon snaps. "And you tried to pass it off as a 'science experiment.'"

"Art is subjective," Jeonghan shrugs.

Dokyeom claps me on the shoulder. "First day down. Look at you. Thriving."

"Thriving is a stretch," I say, adjusting my backpack. "But I didn't fall down the stairs, so I'll take it."

"Low bar," Jihoon says.

"High success rate," I shoot back.

We fall into our usual rhythm, feet dragging down the sidewalk toward our neighborhood. The sun's dipped lower in the sky, softening everything into gold. The street's quiet, familiar.

"I still can't believe you're actually here," Dokyeom says, smiling. "Like, physically attending our school. Eating our cafeteria food. Existing in the same hallways."

"You say that like I moved across the country and didn't just live ten minutes away."

Jeonghan loops his arms around both mine and Dokyeom's. "It felt like long-distance."

Jihoon walks a few steps ahead, muttering, "She was literally here last weekend."

"Emotionally long-distance," Jeonghan corrects.

"Unbearable," I say dramatically. "I had to spend lunch with strangers for two weeks. Strangers. Who didn't even know about Jihoon's middle school bowl cut."

Dokyeom gasps. "The legend returns."

Jihoon glares over his shoulder. "I will destroy you all."

"Anyway," Jeonghan cuts in, grinning, "now that we're whole again, I propose a welcome-home homework session."

"Which means...?" I raise an eyebrow.

"We invade your house."

"Obviously," Dokyeom grins.

I don't even bother pretending to argue.

We tumble into my house like we own it. Shoes come off, bags hit the floor, and my mom just glances up from the kitchen with a raised brow.

"Living room. No fire hazards this time."

"That was one time!" Jeonghan shouts.

"It was smoke," Dokyeom adds helpfully.

"It was scorched noodles," Jihoon mutters, heading straight to the dining table like this is a business meeting.

I head to the kitchen to grab snacks while Jeonghan and Dokyeom claim the couch like they're royalty returning to their thrones.

As I come back with chips and sodas, I catch Jeonghan elbowing Dokyeom with a smirk.

"Operation Slow-Burn is already underway," he whispers.

"Did you see how he looked at her during lunch?" Dokyeom stage-whispers back. "I thought he was gonna short-circuit."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing!" Jeonghan says brightly. "Love the snacks."

"You're terrible liars."

"We're visionaries," Jeonghan corrects. "There's a difference."

"I have literally no idea what you're talking about."

Dokyeom gives me a very unsubtle side-eye. "No thoughts about a certain quiet boy with hoodie sleeves and resting brooding face?"

I throw a chip at him. "You're reading into things."

"Sure," Jeonghan hums. "And he definitely wasn't looking at you like you hang the stars."

"I—" I pause. "He barely said five words to me."

"But he said them with feeling," Dokyeom nods, serious.

"You guys need help."

"You need to admit you're thinking about him," Jeonghan sings.

"I'm thinking about getting through math homework without setting something on fire."

Jihoon, without looking up: "You're all exhausting."

"Thank you for your support," I say.

He gestures with his pencil. "Don't drag me into your weird rom-com subplot."

"It's not a rom-com subplot," I say quickly.

"Uh-huh."

I flop down onto the carpet with a dramatic groan. "Why did I transfer again?"

"Because you missed us," Jeonghan says, already stealing a chip. "And because fate clearly wants you to fall in love with someone who wears the same hoodie every Tuesday."

"I literally just got here."

"Exactly," Dokyeom grins. "Perfect timing."

I groan again, but as I open my notebook, my brain is already replaying the exact way Seungcheol smiled at me in Lit class. Soft. Cautious. Real.

Which is so not helpful. At all.

The house is quiet now. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that only happens after the storm—that specific kind of stillness that lingers after Jeonghan has stopped singing show tunes, Dokyeom has stopped dramatically reenacting hallway drama, and Jihoon has stopped muttering about all of us being incurable idiots.

They left an hour ago, but the energy still lingers in the living room. Empty soda cans on the coffee table. An abandoned sock (Jeonghan's, probably). Jihoon's neatly stacked math notes, which he "accidentally" left behind so I'd study properly.

I clean up on autopilot, the rhythm of it soothing in that "I'm trying not to think about things" kind of way. But of course, the moment my hands aren't busy, my brain betrays me.

Seungcheol. Ugh.

I flop onto my bed, face buried in my pillow. This is ridiculous. We barely spoke. A few jokes. A soft smile. Some hoodie-based banter. That's it. Right? So why did I feel so weird when he looked at me? Not bad weird. Just... noticeable. Like something was shifting and I hadn't caught up to it yet.

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. I try to convince myself I'm just reacting to the idea Jeonghan and Dokyeom planted in my head.

But still... He was so quiet, but not in a dismissive way. Just careful. Measured. Like he didn't waste words, so when he did speak—when he asked if I was okay, or offered a pen, or actually laughed—it felt... important.

And now my best friends are trying to turn this into a slow-burn romance with plot twists and emotional development and who knows what else. I should tell them to chill. I should also tell myself to chill.

Instead, I reach for my phone. No texts from Seungcheol, obviously. Why would there be?

Just the group chat, where Jeonghan has sent a blurry picture of Jihoon looking like he's contemplating homicide and labeled it: "mood when YN and Cheol lock eyes again tomorrow."

I snort. I hate them.

I also love them.

I send a single middle finger emoji in response and toss my phone aside. Then I get up to get ready for bed.

Shower. Skincare. Pajamas.

I brush my hair out slowly, the silence in my room now soft instead of heavy. Comfortable. I line up my uniform for the next day. Repack my bag. Plug in my phone. When I crawl under the covers, I feel it again—that calm hum in my chest. A flicker of something new.

Hope? Excitement? I'm not sure. But whatever it is... it feels good. Like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Maybe Jeonghan's right. Perhaps something is happening. Maybe not. Either way... I think I'm okay with finding out.

I wake up before my alarm. Which is disgusting. And uncalled for.

I lie there for a moment, blinking at the ceiling like the main character in a coming-of-age movie. Then I remember: I go to Seoul High now. With my best friends. With a hoodie-wearing boy who may or may not be quietly unraveling every time I look at him.

Cool. Not thinking about that.

I get up, get dressed, pull my hair into something presentable, and head out with my backpack slung over one shoulder. As I step outside, I see Jihoon waiting at the corner of the street, already holding a convenience store coffee and looking like this is the 37th Monday he's endured in a row.

"You're early," I say, blinking.

"You're late," he says, even though I'm literally on time.

"Someone's cranky."

"I'm walking to school with Jeonghan and Dokyeom. Of course I'm cranky."

Right on cue, we hear them before we see them. Jeonghan's singing something dramatic and entirely off-key, and Dokyeom is beatboxing badly in support.

"They've been like this since I left the house," Jihoon mutters.

"God gives his toughest battles to his most sleep-deprived soldiers," I say solemnly.

The boys turn the corner, and Jeonghan gasps like he's seeing me for the first time in years.

"There she is! The girl who haunts our group chat dreams!"

"Hello to you too," I say, rolling my eyes.

"We were just talking about how love can bloom in the quietest corners of a lunch period," Dokyeom says, completely unprovoked.

"Not this again."

"Sweetie," Jeonghan says, linking arms with me. "We're not saying you're in love. We're just saying if this were a drama, yesterday would've been the pilot episode, and the viewers are already emotionally invested."

Jihoon groans and we start walking.

"Anyway," I say casually, "what classes do we all have today?"

"History first for me," Jeonghan says. "Gonna sleep through 70% of it."

"I've got physics," Dokyeom sighs. "Pray for me."

"History," Jihoon mutters. "You too, right?"

I nod. "Yup. And Seungcheol, I think."

There's a subtle pause. Jeonghan smirks and Dokyeom quietly gasps. Jihoon speeds up like he's trying to leave the conversation physically.

"I swear we didn't plan that," Jeonghan says.

"Again, terrible liars."

At School – Before First Period: I'm heading toward History when someone falls into step beside me.

"Morning."

I turn. It's Seungcheol. Same hoodie (black this time), hair slightly damp like he just showered, eyes a little sleepy.

"Oh. Hey," I say, surprised. "Didn't think you were an 'early to school' kind of guy."

He shrugs. "Usually not. Got a ride today."

"From who?"

"Hyung."

He doesn't elaborate.

I nod like that explains something. "You ready to sit through Mr. Ahn's metaphors of doom again?"

"No," he says. "But I brought gum."

I grin. "A man with a plan."

He glances at me, lips twitching. "Want one?"

I blink. "Seriously?"

He offers me the pack like it's no big deal. I take one. Our fingers brush. (It means nothing. I tell myself that twice.)

"Thanks," I say.

He hums in response, and we walk the rest of the way in companionable silence. Not awkward. Just quiet. Safe.

History Class – Partner Work: Mr. Ahn's in rare form today, assigning a group analysis project and giving us exactly two class periods to finish it. "Pick someone near you," he says. "Someone you won't get distracted with."

Naturally, I turn to my right and meet Seungcheol's gaze at the same time he meets mine.

There's a silent moment of agreement.

We pair up again.

"Déjà vu," I say as we pull out our notes.

"You regretting it already?"

"Too soon to tell." He chuckles.

We start reading the passage together, breaking it down. He's sharp. More insightful than he lets on. His handwriting's messier today, and he keeps clicking his pen like it's a nervous habit. He only glances at me three times while I talk.

(Okay, four.)

And every time I catch him doing it, he looks away fast, like he got caught shoplifting. I pretend not to notice.

After Class – In the Hallway: I'm gathering my things when Jeonghan and Dokyeom ambush me like I just won a prize.

"So?" Jeonghan asks.

"How was group project part two?" Dokyeom grins.

"Educational," I say dryly. "About the text. And nothing else."

"Oh please," Jeonghan says. "I saw the gum exchange. Very flirty. Very symbolic."

"He handed me a stick of gum, not his heart."

"Same thing, if you squint."

Jihoon appears out of nowhere and shoves a worksheet into Jeonghan's chest. "This is what you should be focused on."

"Oh god," Jeonghan groans. "Homework? Already? YN, distract him."

"Yeah," Jihoon says. "That's going well."

I make a face. "You guys are insufferable."

And yet, when I glance down the hallway and see Seungcheol turning the corner—

I smile.

After Literature, the day picks up speed. There's a moment between classes where I find myself alone for the first time all day—just me and a hallway full of lockers and too-loud morning announcements. Jeonghan and Dokyeom are in gym. Jihoon had to go to the music room. Seungcheol disappeared like a vapor trail the second class ended.

So, for now, it's just me. And honestly? It's kind of nice.

Third Period – Environmental Science: I slide into a seat near the middle and pull out my notebook. The room smells like pencil shavings and leftover dissection trauma. There's a poster of a polar bear on the wall that looks weirdly judgmental.

A guy drops into the seat next to me a few seconds later. Tall-ish, tousled hair, blazer unbuttoned like a walking dress code violation.

"Hey," he says, friendly. "You're new, right?"

I blink. "Wow. How'd you guess?"

"You still look like you're trying to map out the school in your head."

"I am. I'm also emotionally invested in locating the vending machine that doesn't steal my money."

He grins. "West wing. Third floor. Kinda cursed, but it spits out two sodas if you hit it just right."

I squint. "You're joking."

"Only sometimes. I'm Taeyang, by the way."

"YN."

"Cool name."

"Cool vending machine tip."

He laughs, and the teacher calls class to attention before he can say anything else. We end up as lab partners for the day. He's sharp and surprisingly funny, and he doesn't hesitate to hand me the better pencil when mine breaks again.

It's... easy. Different.

Flirty, maybe?

No. I'm reading into it. Probably.

Fourth Period – Art

Art ends up being the class where I meet two girls who immediately adopt me like I'm their new emotionally damaged project.

"Transfer?" one of them asks, a girl with pink clips in her hair and a neon green pencil case that could double as a weapon.

I nod. "Is it that obvious?"

"You're not slumped over like the rest of us," the other one says, pulling out paintbrushes. "That's how you spot the new blood."

I laugh. "I'll slump soon. Just give me time."

They introduce themselves as Jiwon and Hyejin. We get paired up for the color theory project, and within ten minutes, they've added me to their group chat, offered me half their snacks, and told me everything about the "hallway couples ranking" that apparently exists.

They're weird. I like them immediately.

Halfway through class, Hyejin leans in. "Be honest. Are you dating that tall guy from lunch yesterday?"

"Who?"

"You were sitting across from him. Hoodie. Deep voice. Intense stare. He looked like he'd murder someone if they took the last bread from the cafeteria."

"...Seungcheol?"

"YES."

Jiwon hums. "He doesn't talk to people. And he laughed when you made that ramen joke."

"You were sitting near us?"

"We're professional eavesdroppers," Hyejin says proudly.

"She made him laugh," Jiwon repeats. "That's not normal."

"I'm not dating anyone," I say quickly.

But my face is warm and they notice. Of course they do.

By the time the final bell rings, I'm exhausted—but in a good way. Like I actually survived the day without totally embarrassing myself. I head to my locker, swinging my bag over my shoulder. As I round the corner, I see Taeyang again, leaning against the wall like it's his part-time job.

"Hey," he says when he sees me. "You made it through the cursed vending machine and polar bear judgment class."

"Barely," I say, smiling.

"You walking home?"

I hesitate.

Before I can answer, someone appears just past his shoulder—hands in his pockets, hoodie up.

Seungcheol.

He doesn't say anything at first. Just nods at me.

"You coming?"

It's directed at me. Not rude. Not rushed. Just... expectant. Like he already knows what the answer is.

Taeyang raises an eyebrow but steps aside. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I say. "See you."

I fall into step beside Seungcheol as we head toward the school gate. He doesn't ask about the other guy. Doesn't say much at all. But his shoulders are a little stiffer than usual. And when he hands me a piece of gum again without looking at me? I take it. And I definitely notice the way his fingers linger an extra second this time.

"That guy," he says.

I glance at him. "Huh?"

He nods toward the building. "From earlier. Tall. Wavy hair. He was talking to you.”

Oh.

He means Taeyang.

"Right," I say slowly. "That's Taeyang."

He waits. Like maybe I'll offer more.

I do, eventually. "We had science together today. He's... chill."

"Chill," Seungcheol echoes, like it's a word he's holding up to the light.

I squint at him. "Why?"

"No reason."

There's a silence.

Not awkward. But dense.

He looks straight ahead, jaw tight in that unreadable way that makes me wonder if he's actually annoyed, or just thinking really, really hard.

"You don't like him?" I ask, half-teasing.

"I don't know him," he says. "I just—he looked familiar."

"You mean you were watching?"

He cuts me a look. "No."

I smirk. "You sound a little defensive."

"I'm not."

"You sure?"

He exhales slowly, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like "Jeonghan warned me."

I snort. "Okay. That's ominous."

He finally meets my eyes again. "He said you'd be loud. Smart. Kind of a menace."

"Accurate."

"He didn't say anything about the guy with the vending machine tips."

I blink.

And suddenly I get it.

"Oh my god," I say slowly. "Are you asking if I like him?"

His face doesn't change.

But his ears go pink.

"I'm just asking."

"Are you?"

He's quiet for a beat.

Then, without looking at me: "You seem... interested."

I raise an eyebrow. "And that matters to you?"

He freezes. Almost like that question knocked the wind out of him.

Neither of us has spoken for a few moments, but the quiet between us doesn't feel awkward—it feels... new. The kind of silence that makes your heart race a little faster because it feels full of possibilities. I shift on my feet, gripping the strap of my backpack, suddenly very aware of how close he's standing. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I notice the warmth coming off his arm. If I leaned even slightly—

I don't.

Before I can say anything, voices ring across the courtyard. Jeonghan's dramatic tone and Dokyeom's telltale laughter echo toward us, Jihoon's quieter voice not far behind. The rest of our trio. I instinctively take a step back, just a small one. Not because I'm nervous—but because I can already hear the teasing. Sure enough, Jeonghan spots us and throws his arms out like he's discovered something scandalous.

"There you are!" he cries. "Were you two having a dramatic goodbye scene? Did I miss a confession? A single tear?"

Dokyeom gasps, clutching his chest. "They were definitely about to ride off into the sunset."

"We were just talking," I say, trying for casual but not quite managing it. I tug at the strap of my backpack. "Nothing scandalous."

Seungcheol laughs softly beside me, scratching the back of his neck. He looks flustered—but in a good way. A small smile tugs at his lips, and he doesn't move away.

"Just talking, huh?" Jeonghan peers between us, pretending to analyze the situation like a detective. "Then why are both of you blushing?"

"We are not—" I start, but Dokyeom gasps again, exaggerated.

"I knew it," he declares. "Even Jihoon can see the tension."

Jihoon raises an eyebrow. "I see a group of idiots standing in the way of me going home."

That shuts them up for half a second.

Seungcheol steps forward, lightly herding us toward the sidewalk. "Come on," he says, voice warm. "Let's walk."

The teasing simmers but doesn't disappear. Jeonghan throws an arm around my shoulder while Dokyeom hums some made-up theme song behind us. Jihoon trails behind with a dramatic sigh like he's already regretting this friendship.

Eventually, the group shifts and rearranges, and I find myself walking next to Seungcheol again. We're quiet for a few minutes. Our friends are louder ahead of us, bouncing jokes and stories back and forth like it's a game.

I don't mind the quiet. In fact, it feels... easy. Comfortable.

At some point, the group starts to split off—first Jihoon, then Jeonghan and Dokyeom, with parting quips that make me roll my eyes and laugh anyway. And then it's just me and Seungcheol again, heading toward my block under the soft pink-orange glow of sunset.

We slow near my house, and I turn toward him.

"Well," I say lightly, "this is me."

He nods, hands still tucked in his pockets. "Thanks for letting me walk with you."

"Thanks for not letting me get roasted alone," I reply, smiling.

His laugh is soft. "I tried my best."

A breeze picks up, rustling the trees overhead. I tug my hoodie sleeves over my hands and glance at him.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" I ask.

"You better," he says, and the easy way he says it makes my heart skip.

I laugh. "Okay. Goodnight, Seungcheol."

He offers a wave, stepping back a little. "Goodnight, YN."

Just a quiet goodbye, a shared smile, and something lingering in the air—something that feels like the beginning of whatever this is turning into.

The next month is... a lot. In the best, most overwhelming, "how is it still only October?" kind of way.

I start to feel more settled. My locker stops rebelling against me. The cafeteria lady remembers my name (and my love for extra dumplings). I finally master the timing of the vending machines, so I don't end up behind the juniors who take ten years to choose between chips.

I make more friends, too. A few girls from chemistry. A tall kid from art class who speaks exclusively in dramatic metaphors. Taeyang, who seems weirdly dedicated to impressing me.

And I mean dedicated.

Every other day, he's got some new joke or skill to show off.

"You like magic tricks?" "Not particularly." "Too bad. Pick a card."

He's sweet. Harmless. His confidence is... kind of admirable, in a dizzying, secondhand-embarrassment way. But he's not the one I keep looking for across the hallway.

That's still Seungcheol. Or it was, anyway.

Things started off light. Banter. Subtle smiles. The kind of soft teasing that made my stomach flip. But lately... something's changed. He's still kind. Still around. But the playful touches and lingering glances? Gone. Like he flipped a switch.

One day we're laughing about Jihoon's handwriting in homeroom, and the next, he's slipping out early without a word. I can't tell if I did something wrong. If I imagined all of it. And maybe I'd spiral about it more if life didn't hit the accelerate button halfway through the month. Because that's when the transfers arrived.

Sonya. Wonwoo. Mingyu.

Sonya and I clicked instantly—like, soul-twin, "why haven't we met before?" levels of fast. She's sharp, effortlessly cool, and chaotic in all the best ways. The kind of person who could break your heart or braid your hair while texting four people at once. She's already doodled all over my notebooks and claimed the empty seat next to me in nearly every class we have together.

Wonwoo is quiet, unreadable, and low-key the reason Sonya's been wearing lip gloss every day. I caught her once staring at him during physics like he was the main plot and Newton's Laws were filler. She hasn't denied it.

And then there's Mingyu.

He's tall. Stupidly tall. With a smile so dazzling it should come with a warning label. The second he tripped over a desk in the middle of our history class and tried to play it off by finger-gunning the teacher, I felt it—just the tiniest flutter. A tiny, potentially dangerous flutter.

We started talking after class. Nothing big. Just little moments. Laughing at the same memes. Complaining about Mr. Cho's ancient projector. And maybe, just maybe, I started to enjoy seeing him walk through the door a little more than I should've.

Our friend group grows faster than I can keep track of. One minute it's just us—me, Jeonghan, DK, Jihoon, and (sometimes) Seungcheol—and the next, we've absorbed half the school.

Soonyoung (the human equivalent of a triple-shot espresso). Joshua (so nice it's suspicious). Jun and Minghao (from China, both effortlessly cool and too pretty to be real). Vernon (the calm one who quietly says the funniest thing you've ever heard). Chan, who insists we call him Dino and corrects us every single time. And Seungkwan, who could probably emcee the school assembly and a karaoke night back to back.

It's a lot. But it's also kind of magical.

There's something about walking into the courtyard and seeing all of them spread out—laughing, shouting over each other, fighting over snacks—and realizing they're my people now. This is my world. And it's getting bigger, louder, better by the day.

Still, every now and then, I catch Seungcheol watching from the sidelines. Not distant, exactly. Just... unsure. Like he's holding something back. And I don't know if it's because of me. But I miss the way we used to orbit closer. I miss the tension, the teasing. The not-so-subtle "maybe" that hung in the air between us. I don't know what's happening anymore.

Then:

It starts with a pencil.

Not in a cliché, "he lent me his and our fingers brushed" kind of way. No, it's much more embarrassing than that.

I forgot mine during a quiz. And panicked.

Mingyu noticed before I could even fake confidence. He tapped his pencil twice on his desk, then slid it toward me with a little smirk like he was waiting for me to crumble.

"You look like you were about to borrow Jihoon's soul instead," he whispered.

I stared at the pencil, then at him. "You're a lifesaver."

"No worries," he grinned. "But you owe me. Pencil tax."

"What's pencil tax?"

"I'll come up with something dramatic later."

And he did.

Later turned into a boba run after school, "to repay the pencil debt." He insisted on paying anyway, even though I argued it defeated the purpose. "Consider it interest," he said, before handing me my favorite drink—somehow, he remembered. Things like that keep happening.

He finds me at lunch, dropping into the seat across from me like he's always been there. Laughs a little too hard at my jokes. Offers to carry my books between classes. Sometimes I catch him watching me from across the room, and when I glance back, he just grins like I've proven a point he never said out loud.

Sonya teases me constantly now. Elbows me every time Mingyu says something even vaguely flirty. "You like him," she sings once, and I almost launch a shoe at her.

But she's not entirely wrong. There's a tension there. A spark. Something light and new and easy. And it's exciting. Still... it feels different. Not better, not worse. Just different.

Like Mingyu flirts to make me smile—and Seungcheol used to flirt like he couldn't help it.

And lately, Seungcheol's been quieter than ever.

I still catch him around the group. He's still himself, still warm, still steady. But he doesn't sit next to me anymore when there's space. Doesn't say much unless someone asks. There's a distance there now, soft and subtle but noticeable if you're looking. Which I am.

Especially when I see him glance between me and Mingyu and then look away, like something stings and he's pretending it doesn't.

Jeonghan notices, of course. He watches me watch Seungcheol like he's tracking subtext in a romcom and mentally rating our tension out of ten.

Meanwhile, Dokyeom's thriving on the chaos. He makes jokes. "So YN's starting a love triangle? Bold of you this early in the year." He says it with popcorn in hand like he's waiting for someone to make a dramatic confession under the bleachers.

Jihoon, as always, is unimpressed. "It's not a triangle," he mutters one afternoon. "It's a bunch of teenagers too emotionally repressed to talk to each other."

"Beautiful," Jeonghan says. "Poetic. But I'm still taking bets."

I don't say much. Because I don't know how I feel. Mingyu is warm, sweet, and charming. He makes me laugh. He makes it easy. But Seungcheol still lingers in my head—quiet and careful and frustrating in a way that makes me miss him even when we're standing in the same room.

And if I'm honest? I don't know who I want to pull me closer first. But I know I'm waiting for someone to try.

It all comes to a head on a Wednesday.

We're at the table behind the science building, the one our whole group's unofficially claimed as our own. It's shaded, slightly cracked, and only fits half of us comfortably, which means someone's always sitting on the tabletop, legs swinging over the side, or plopped on the ground with a bag as a makeshift pillow.

Today, it's a full house. Joshua's trying to teach Jun and Minghao how to play some card game with far too many rules. Dino's munching chips and yelling "no spoilers!" every time someone even hints at the ending of the movie we're watching this weekend. Seungkwan is explaining, in alarming detail, the ranking of idol survival shows based on emotional damage. It's chaos. Loud and colorful and familiar.

I'm perched on the bench beside Sonya, legs crossed under me, sipping a cold drink she made me try from the corner store. It's too sweet. I love it anyway. Mingyu flops down dramatically across from us, hair ruffled, tie loose around his neck. "Is it hot, or is it just me?"

"It's always just you," Seungkwan mutters.

"It's hot," I say, fanning myself with a worksheet. "Maybe you shouldn't sprint here from PE like the main character in a drama."

"Hey, I make it look good," Mingyu winks.

Sonya leans toward me, whispering out of the side of her mouth, "He's flirting again."

"I know."

"Do you like it?"

"I don't know."

Across the table, Seungcheol's quiet. He's sitting with his elbows on his knees, picking at the label of his water bottle. Not sulking, exactly. But not present, either. He hasn't joined in the conversation, hasn't made a snarky remark in minutes. He only glances up when I laugh at something Mingyu says.

And it's a glance like a paper cut—quick, sharp, barely there, but it stings all the same.

Later, I sit on the edge of the table with Sonya and Jun, dangling my legs while they argue about the worst cafeteria meals. Mingyu comes up behind me and taps my shoulder with the back of his hand.

"Hey, YN. I was wondering—do you wanna study for the bio quiz later? I was gonna hit the library after school."

Before I can answer, I feel eyes on me. I look up instinctively, and sure enough—across the yard, Seungcheol's looking right at us. I freeze. He doesn't. He just holds my gaze for a beat too long, then turns away like nothing happened.

"Uh, maybe," I tell Mingyu. "Let me check my notes. I'll text you."

He beams. "Cool. No pressure."

As he walks away, Sonya nudges me again. "You're torn," she whispers.

"Yeah," I breathe. "I think I am."

Because here's the thing: Mingyu makes me feel wanted. But Seungcheol makes me feel seen.

And lately, I'm starting to realize—those aren't the same thing.

That night, Jeonghan calls me.

"I'm just saying," he starts without so much as a hello, "I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."

"I don't know what you mean."

"You do."

"I really don't."

There's a pause.

Then, softer: "Do you like him?"

I don't answer. Mostly because I don't know how.

Jeonghan sighs. "YN. Look, I'm not trying to rush you. But you gotta figure it out before someone gets hurt."

He doesn't say who. He doesn't have to.

The next day, Seungcheol doesn't sit next to me in class. And I realize it's the first time in weeks he hasn't. Something's shifting. And I have no idea which way it's about to go.

By Friday, I've had enough.

Enough of the tension, the unreadable glances, the way Seungcheol pulls away just when it feels like we're getting close. It's like trying to hold smoke. One second he's warm and steady by my side—the next, he's distant, half-vanished, like I imagined the whole thing.

And I'm tired of waiting. For a look. For a sign. For a maybe. So I make a choice. It starts with a simple yes.

"Yes," I say, turning toward Mingyu in the middle of lunch, interrupting a story about the disastrous time he tried to cook instant noodles without water.

"Yes?"

"To studying," I clarify, smiling. "Today. After school. I'm free."

He grins like I just handed him front-row tickets to his own birthday party. "Really? Nice. I'll even buy you snacks. Brain fuel. My treat."

"Careful," Jeonghan chimes in, not even looking up from his phone. "She has expensive taste."

"She eats hot Cheetos and banana milk like it's a five-star combo," Jihoon deadpans.

"She's consistent," Dokyeom defends, patting my back. "I respect that."

Mingyu laughs, turning back to me. "Whatever you want. I'm just happy you said yes."

It's cute. He's cute.

And when he smiles like that—boyish, soft around the edges—I let myself feel it. The flutter in my chest. The way my cheeks warm just slightly. I let myself feel wanted.

After school, we sit across from each other at the library table closest to the window. Golden light filters through the blinds, striping his notebook and my half-eaten snack bag. He's easy to talk to. Funny. A little clumsy—he drops his pen twice and accidentally elbows his drink across the table—but he makes me laugh in the way that makes your stomach clench and your jaw ache.

We quiz each other until the sun dips low enough that the librarian flips the lights on, and even then, we don't leave right away. We just linger—talking about music, favorite ramen shops, weird childhood dreams.

I don't realize I've been smiling for most of it until Mingyu says, "I like it when you laugh."

"What?"

He shrugs sheepishly. "You laugh like you mean it. Like it takes over your whole face."

And I feel it again—that tiny flutter. Except this time, there's no guilt tethered to it.

"I laugh a lot around you," I say, quiet but honest.

He doesn't say anything. Just reaches out and flicks a crumb from my sleeve with this soft, fond expression that makes something in me shift.

Maybe I'm allowed to like this. Maybe I'm allowed to let it happen.

The following day, I walk into school and find Jeonghan already waiting at my locker like a nosy guardian angel.

"So?" he asks, eyes twinkling. "How was your little study date?"

"It wasn't a date," I say, unlocking my locker.

He gasps. "That means it went well."

I roll my eyes, but I can't help but smile. "It was... nice. Mingyu's nice."

He hums. "Seungcheol's been sulking."

I glance at him sharply. "What?"

He shrugs. "Didn't say anything, but he had That Look on his face when you left with Mingyu. You know the one."

I don't answer. Because I do know the one. And because part of me wants to look back and ask, why didn't he say anything? But I don't.

Instead, I close my locker and say, "Well, I'm done waiting."

And for the first time in weeks, I mean it.

The next few days are a whirlwind. Mingyu finds any excuse to talk to me—passing notes in class, sliding into group conversations with ease, offering me the last choco pie from his lunchbox like it's a rare gem. It's sweet. He's sweet.

After all, Seungcheol has been nothing but quiet glances and half-smiles lately. A ghost of what we almost were, if we were ever anything at all. And I'm not chasing ghosts anymore.

So when Mingyu slings his arm over my shoulders during a group project and leans in a little too close to whisper a joke in my ear—I laugh. Loudly. And I feel Seungcheol's eyes on me across the room. Burning. Brief. Then gone.

It happens again at lunch. Mingyu's sitting beside me, our knees brushing beneath the table, and he's animatedly recounting a story about him and Wonwoo getting chased by a rogue cat outside a convenience store. My head tips back in laughter just as Seungcheol sits down across from us, tray clattering a little louder than necessary.

Dokyeom clocks it immediately. His eyes dart between Seungcheol and me like he's watching a tennis match.

"So," he says loudly, drawing out the word, "how's the new dynamic duo?"

"Us?"

Mingyu flashes that dimpled grin. "We make a good team. YN's the brains, I'm the moral support."

"And the walking disaster," I tease, nudging his knee.

Seungcheol's fork pauses midair.

Jeonghan leans back in his seat, hands behind his head, wearing the smuggest grin I've ever seen. "You know, this is fascinating. Really. The romantic tension in this group is going to reach critical mass soon."

"You're not allowed to turn real life into fanfiction," Jihoon says flatly, not looking up from his lunch.

Minghao glances between all of us, brows raised. "Do I want to know?"

"No," Seungcheol mutters, stabbing a piece of kimchi like it insulted him personally.

I glance at him, heart hiccuping at the tension in his jaw. There's something different in his gaze today. Not soft. Not shy. Sharp, almost. And for the first time, I'm the one feeling watched. Later, after lunch, as I'm walking to class with Sonya and Mingyu, I hear footsteps fall into rhythm beside me. Seungcheol.

"Hey," he says, voice low. He's not looking at me, just forward.

"Hey," I echo, unsure.

A pause.

Then, suddenly: "You and Mingyu."

I glance at him. "What about us?"

"Are you...?" He trails off, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "Never mind."

I stop walking. "Cheol."

He stops too, just ahead of me. Turns around slowly. His expression is unreadable. Quiet and conflicted in that Seungcheol way I'm starting to resent a little. The silence stretches until it stings.

"You don't get to ask," I say softly. "Not if you're not going to answer anything yourself."

He swallows. Nods once. "Fair."

Then he walks away. I stay frozen for a moment, heart tight in my chest.

Behind me, Mingyu gently touches my arm. "You okay?"

I turn to him. Smile. "Yeah. Let's go."

Because maybe Seungcheol is finally feeling something. But right now, I want someone who's showing it. And Mingyu's hand brushing mine as we walk says more than Seungcheol ever has.

Over the next week, Mingyu becomes a permanent fixture at my side.

At lunch, he claims the spot next to me before anyone else can. In the hallway, his hand always hovers a little too close to mine. When we're paired for assignments, he grins like he's just won the lottery.

I don't stop him. If anything, I lean in—literally and figuratively.

"YN, are you even listening?" Mingyu nudges me during study hall.

I blink, caught mid-daydream. "Huh?"

He chuckles, tilting his head, his smile doing that devastating thing again. "I was saying if we survive this group project, I owe you bubble tea. But now I'm thinking you owe me one, for enduring your zoning out."

"I was thinking deeply about math, thank you very much."

He raises an eyebrow. "Right. Totally math. Not me."

I roll my eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, Kim." But my grin gives me away.

After school, he walks me home. Not always—but more often than not. He kicks pebbles down the sidewalk and talks about his dog, his love for horror movies, how he once tried to dye his hair blue and ended up looking like a Smurf. I laugh until my stomach hurts. And I realize—somewhere along the way—I look forward to this. To him.

He's warm, magnetic, easy in a way that makes me want to stay close. And he's not shy about how he feels, either.

"You ever gonna let me take you out?" he asks one evening, casual like it's not the question that's been hanging in the air for days.

I freeze for a heartbeat, startled. "Is that what this has been? You flirting with me to get a date?"

He chuckles. "What gave it away?"

"I don't know... the constant compliments? The boba bribes?"

"Hey," he says, feigning offense, "you never said no to the boba."

I smile. "Maybe I didn't want to."

He slows to a stop, just outside my gate, backpack slung over one shoulder. "So? You gonna let me?"

There's a beat of silence between us. Then I step forward, poking him lightly in the chest. "Only if you let me pay for the second date."

His grin is immediate. "Deal."

Across the street, someone calls his name—Wonwoo, waiting at the corner.

"I'll text you," Mingyu says as he jogs backward, that smile never leaving his face. "Don't ghost me, YN!"

"I won't!" I call, heart thudding in my chest.

And I mean it.

This feels like me choosing myself. Even if, somewhere deep down, part of me wonders what Seungcheol would've done if I hadn't said yes.

It only takes a day for the news to travel.

Okay, maybe not "news" exactly—but in the world of high school hallways and group chats that never sleep, one look at the way Mingyu slings an arm around my shoulder as we walk into school the next morning is enough to set the tone.

"So," Sonya drawls, flopping into her seat beside me in homeroom, "did I miss the memo or are we officially crushing on the tall golden retriever now?"

I open my mouth to deny it—and immediately close it again when Mingyu appears in the doorway and flashes me that sunbeam of a smile.

Sonya follows my gaze. "Aha."

We haven't labeled anything, not really. But when we sit next to each other in class, his knee taps mine like a secret. When we pass each other in the hallway, his fingers find mine for a second longer than necessary. During lunch, he doesn't even ask before dropping his tray next to mine like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You two are gross," Jeonghan declares one afternoon, after watching Mingyu wipe sauce from the corner of my mouth with his thumb.

I snort into my drink. "Says the guy who made Dokyeom recreate a proposal with a bread roll in the cafeteria last week."

"That was performance art," Dokyeom argues, dead serious.

Seungcheol, sitting across from me, says nothing. He's been quieter lately—still around, still part of the group, but the easy rhythm we were building before has shifted. I catch him watching sometimes—his gaze lingering a little too long, his laugh just a beat late. And when Mingyu leans in close to whisper something in my ear, I swear Seungcheol's whole body tenses, just for a second.

Jihoon notices too. I can tell by the way he watches Seungcheol watching me. But he doesn't say anything. Just occasionally shoots me a look across the table like he's silently asking, You good? I am. I think.

Mingyu makes it easy. He's warm and silly, and ridiculously charming in that "trip over his own feet and still land cool" kind of way. He gives me attention without making it feel like pressure. He listens when I ramble about my favorite books, offers to carry my backpack when I'm too tired, and remembers that I like exactly three ice cubes in my iced coffee—not two, not four, three.

We aren't official. But everyone knows So when Mingyu finds me by the vending machine after sixth period and grins, I already know something ridiculous is coming.

"Date idea," he says. "We recreate that scene from Titanic."

"You mean—the boat?"

"No," he says seriously. "The door. We build a raft and test whether both of us could've survived."

I stare at him. "Why are you like this?"

He just shrugs, still grinning. "If we're gonna be iconic, we might as well start now."

I laugh, and his fingers brush mine, soft and deliberate. Behind him, down the hall, I catch Seungcheol standing by his locker. Our eyes meet. And just like that, the breath in my chest wobbles. But Mingyu's hand finds mine again, and the moment passes.

At lunch the next day, Jeonghan pokes me on the side as he plops down beside me. "So... when's the wedding?"

I throw a carrot stick at his head. Dokyeom catches it mid-air and eats it like it's a treat. Jihoon rolls his eyes so hard they practically leave orbit. And across the table, Seungcheol watches me and Mingyu laugh with that unreadable expression again—like he's trying to figure out when exactly everything changed. And maybe—just maybe—he's wondering if it's too late to change it back.

Then, a note. Not a text. Not a DM. A literal folded-up scrap of notebook paper slipped under my water bottle during lunch while I'm deep in conversation with Sonya.

I blink down at it: For YN (a very important human). Do not open until after lunch. This is very serious.

I raise an eyebrow.

Across the table, Mingyu is very busy pretending he isn't watching me. He's focused on peeling the sticker off his banana like it's a bomb he's disarming.

"Did you just—" I start.

"—hmm?" he says innocently, eyes wide. "Banana?"

Sonya leans in. "Girl, open it."

I wait. I do. But the second the lunch bell rings and trays start clattering, I unfold the note. Inside, written in very questionable handwriting and at least two different pen colors:

YN,

This is going to sound cooler in my head than it probably does in real life, but go with me here:

You're one of my favorite people. You're funny and smart and terrifyingly good at making fun of me. You make school days feel like movie scenes. And I like being near you. So I was wondering— Wanna go on a date?

Like a real one. Just me. Just you. No Jeonghan hiding in a tree with binoculars (hopefully). Just us.

I can even promise I won't talk about conspiracy theories or make you taste-test my weird smoothie recipes. (Unless you want to.) Check yes or yes:

[] yes [] also yes — Mingyu

P.S. If this note flopped, pretend I dropped it by accident and never read it. I'll fake a nosebleed and run.

Mingyu is still at the trash can, very slowly and very dramatically throwing away a banana peel like he's buying himself time to pretend this isn't happening.

I stand, and he turns, eyes locking with mine, hopeful and slightly terrified. I hold up the note, shake it once in the air, then grin. "You forgot a box that says obviously."

His jaw drops, and Sonya whoops behind me. Mingyu bolts over like a golden retriever off the leash. "Wait, is that—was that a yes? That's a yes, right?"

I laugh. "Yes, Kim Mingyu. It's a yes." He fist pumps. Loudly. And then, without warning, spins me in a circle like we're in a Disney Channel hallway. We nearly knock over a trash can.

Jihoon—passing by—pauses, blinks, and just mutters, "I hate all of you," before walking off.

That night, I text him:

Where are we going?

He sends back:

Anywhere. But I hear the smoothie place by your house now has a "girlfriend discount."

Me: ...so that's what this was about.

Mingyu: Only partially. Mostly I just like you. Also I need you to tell me if my shirt options are ugly.

The Date: The smoothie shop near my house is a little too on-the-nose. Cute fairy lights strung across the windows, chalkboard specials written in curly letters, and some kind of acoustic cover of "Love Story" playing faintly over the speakers. It feels like it should be cheesy. But with Mingyu bouncing beside me in a denim jacket two sizes too big, it just feels right.

"This is totally not a first date spot," I tease as we step inside.

"Oh, no," he says seriously. "It's way better. I figured, why not take the prettiest girl I know to the ugliest-tasting smoothie bar in Seoul?"

"Wait, the smoothies are bad?"

"Terrible," he grins, eyes crinkling. "But the straws are biodegradable."

We both burst out laughing. We order something purple and suspicious-looking, and Mingyu insists on paying ("They're giving me the loyal customer in love discount," he claims). He grabs the booth in the corner, then proceeds to quiz me on my zombie apocalypse plan, my Hogwarts house, and whether I believe in aliens.

"Your ideal date involves conspiracy theories and doomsday scenarios?" I laugh.

"Only if they end with me holding your hand."

My face burns. He's grinning like a goof and not even trying to be smooth—but that's the thing. It works on me. Everything about him does.

Later, we walk to the nearby park, still sipping from those stupid smoothies and talking about everything from childhood dreams to who we'd pick as our three-person heist team (Mingyu, of course, picks himself three times). And as the sun dips low, casting pink and gold across the sky, Mingyu reaches for my hand. Not in a big, dramatic way. Just a soft brush, fingers curling slowly around mine like he's testing the waters.

I let him. And squeeze back.

The Next Day – Lunch Table Chaos: I barely sit down at our usual lunch table before Sonya blurts, "So? How was it?!"

Dokyeom nearly spills his milk. "Wait—it happened?!"

Jeonghan, of course, is already leaning across the table like an aunt at a family reunion. "Tell us everything. Did he cry? He looks like he'd cry on first dates."

"He did not cry," I laugh, stealing a bite of Sonya's lunch. "But he did try to convince me Bigfoot is a misunderstood forest gentleman."

"I stand by that," Mingyu calls out from the other side, cheeks puffed with rice.

Joshua, wide-eyed and clutching his tray, just hums. "Honestly? I kinda believe that."

"Of course you do," Jihoon mutters, stabbing at his food.

I glance around, still giggling from the whirlwind of voices—and that's when I notice. Seungcheol isn't here. The realization hits me like a wrong note in an otherwise perfect chord. His usual spot, right across from Jihoon, is empty. Untouched lunch tray. Unclaimed seat.

"Where's Cheol?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

Jihoon doesn't look up. "Said he wasn't hungry."

Jeonghan glances at me briefly, something unreadable flashing in his eyes before he shrugs. "Probably sulking about that gym class dodgeball loss." But he's lying. I can tell.

And when Sonya nudges me under the table and raises her eyebrows, I realize she knows it too.

Mingyu, bless his oblivious heart, just throws an arm over the back of my chair and starts talking about a new movie he wants us to watch together. And I nod and laugh and listen...

But in the corner of my mind, all I can think about is that empty seat—and what it might mean.

Later That Day — After School: The hallway is quieter than usual. Most students have already scattered, and I linger near the lockers, heart thudding just a little faster than normal.

I spot him down the corridor—leaning against the vending machine, hood up, staring blankly at the row of drinks like they personally offended him.

"Hey," I say softly, stepping up beside him.

Seungcheol doesn't look at me right away. He just shoves some coins into the machine and presses a button. "Hey."

I rock back on my heels. "You missed lunch."

"Yeah," he mutters. The bottle thuds into the slot below, and he bends to grab it.

I pause. "You okay?"

He twists the cap off the drink. Shrugs. "Just had stuff to do."

"Right," I nod slowly. "Important vending machine business."

That gets the faintest twitch of his lips—but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"I noticed you didn't say much today." I tilt my head, watching him. "Everything cool between us?"

He finally looks at me. His gaze is steady, a little guarded, but not cold. "You and Mingyu looked pretty happy."

The shift in my stomach is immediate. I blink. "We are," I say carefully. "But that doesn't mean I want... weirdness between us."

Seungcheol huffs out a quiet breath—half laugh, half sigh. "There's no weirdness, YN."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure," he says, offering a small smile that looks practiced. "We're good."

But I don't quite believe him. He takes a sip of his drink, and before I can say anything else, he pushes off the vending machine and gives me a gentle nod. "See you tomorrow."

And just like that, he walks off. And it hurts more than I expected.

The Rest of the Week — Group Dynamics Shift: By Tuesday, things settle... sort of.

Mingyu's still walking me to class with his ridiculous grin and carrying my backpack like it's a love declaration. Sonya has become the official president of the Mingyu and YN Defense Squad (self-appointed, naturally). Dokyeom and Jeonghan are insufferable about it, whispering behind their hands every time Mingyu so much as breathes near me.

"Should we start planning the wedding now, or...?" Jeonghan hums, scrolling on his phone.

"I call best man," Dokyeom says immediately.

"You're both banned," I deadpan.

But behind the teasing, I notice the subtle shifts.

Seungcheol still shows up—but he's quieter. Laughs when someone cracks a joke, but it doesn't stick. He doesn't sit next to me anymore. Doesn't meet my eyes as often. Even Jihoon notices.

"You know," he says one afternoon, sitting across from me as we all do homework at the café down the block, "he's not mad at you."

I look up from my notebook. "I never said he was."

"You don't have to," Jihoon says bluntly. "Just saying... he's still figuring out how to be okay."

I glance toward where Seungcheol sits at the far end of the booth, headphones in, nodding along to whatever playlist he's buried in. He looks calm. But I know him well enough now to recognize a performance when I see one.

Still, I can't bring myself to fix it. Not yet. Not when I'm still trying to figure out if I made the right choice—or if this ache in my chest is trying to tell me something I'm not ready to admit.

Thursday Evening – My Room: My curtains are drawn, the soft yellow glow from my desk lamp the only light in the room. The usual clutter—books, my hoodie draped over the chair, a pair of mismatched socks near the bed—makes it feel lived in, but tonight, it just feels... still.

I'm lying on my stomach, chin resting on my crossed arms, while Jihoon sits in the beanbag near the window. He's been here for about an hour, supposedly helping me revise for our bio quiz. But so far, we've gotten through maybe one and a half flashcards.

My head's been elsewhere. And Jihoon knows it.

"Okay," he finally says, flipping the flashcard in his hand without even looking at it. "Spit it out."

"What?"

"You've been sighing like a drama heroine for the past twenty minutes," he deadpans. "What's going on in that overactive brain of yours?"

I let out another sigh for good measure. "It's nothing."

Jihoon levels me with a look. "YN."

I groan and bury my face in my arms. "It's just... everything."

"Be more vague," he says dryly. "I dare you."

I push myself up so I'm sitting cross-legged, fiddling with the string on my sweatpants. "It's Mingyu. And Seungcheol. And me. And the universe, probably."

"That narrows it down."

I toss a pillow at him. He dodges it with a smirk and waits.

"I like Mingyu," I admit quietly. "I really do. He's funny, and sweet, and he makes everything feel easy."

Jihoon nods, not saying anything yet.

"But..." I pause. "There's always a but, isn't there?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Usually."

"It's just—Cheol." My voice dips without meaning to. "He's been pulling away, and I keep wondering if I did something wrong. If... I misread everything from the beginning."

Jihoon leans his head back against the wall, thoughtful. "You didn't misread it."

I look up, surprised. "What?"

"He likes you," Jihoon says simply. "It's obvious. Has been since the second he met you."

"Then why—?"

"Because he's Seungcheol," Jihoon shrugs. "He cares too much and doesn't always know what to do with it."

I chew on my bottom lip, heart heavy. "So now what? I'm dating Mingyu. I chose him. But... sometimes I still catch Seungcheol looking at me like—like he's still hoping."

Jihoon doesn't respond right away. He watches me for a long moment, then finally speaks.

"You don't have to have all the answers right now. But you do have to be honest—with yourself and with them. Especially with Mingyu."

That hits a little too close. I look down, twisting the cardigan sleeve I'm wearing—Seungcheol's cardigan, still folded around me like a comfort I can't let go of.

"I didn't mean for it to get this complicated," I whisper.

"Yeah, well," Jihoon mutters, grabbing a second flashcard. "It's high school. Welcome to the chaos."

I huff a quiet laugh, even as my heart tightens in my chest.

Jihoon's about to say something else when my door creaks open without warning.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything scandalous," Sonya says, poking her head in with a teasing grin. "But someone left the kettle on, and I figured you'd want tea before your existential crisis fully peaks."

"You made tea?"

"Peppermint," she says, stepping into the room and holding out a steaming mug like peace offering. "And don't worry—I added a spoon of honey, because you look like you've been dragged through three emotional monologues and a slow burn romance arc."

Jihoon snorts from his beanbag. "She's halfway through act three, yeah."

"Perfect," Sonya says, settling cross-legged beside me and handing over the mug. "Now spill. What's the verdict? Are we madly in love with Mingyu? Or is the Seungcheol situation still taking up real estate in your head?"

My cheeks burn. "You guys make it sound like I'm living in a soap opera."

"You kind of are," Sonya says, not unkindly. "With less backstabbing and more brooding hallway glances."

"She's not wrong," Jihoon murmurs.

I take a sip of tea, the warmth blooming in my chest like something close to comfort. "It's not that I don't like Mingyu," I say quietly. "I do. He's... everything, really. And I'm happy."

Sonya hums. "But?"

I stare at the rim of my mug. "But sometimes I think about Seungcheol. And not in a what if I picked him instead kind of way, just... in this quiet, sad sort of way. Like we missed something."

Sonya is quiet for a beat. "I think that's allowed," she says finally. "You're not a robot. You're allowed to feel complicated things."

Jihoon sighs like this entire conversation has emotionally aged him ten years. "You should just host a love triangle support group at this point. I'll make snacks."

Sonya grins. "I'll bring tissues."

I laugh, setting the mug on my nightstand. "You guys are the worst."

"But also the best," Sonya says, bumping her shoulder into mine. "And for what it's worth? Mingyu clearly adores you. And Seungcheol... well, let's just say the boy's been looking like a kicked puppy every time you're not around."

"That's an insult to puppies," Jihoon mutters, but he doesn't deny it.

I bury my face in my hands and groan. "This is so messy."

Sonya leans back on her palms, giving me a knowing look. "Yeah. But if anyone's going to make it through high school love geometry without combusting, it's you."

Jihoon lifts his mug in mock toast. "To surviving teenage angst."

I lift mine too. "Barely."

Sonya smiles, clinking her mug against ours. "To the chaos. And to figuring it out."

If you had told me a month ago that I'd start dating Mingyu, spend almost every lunch by his side, walk home with our hands brushing more often than not, and then break up without a single tear or fight—I would've laughed in your face.

But here we are. A month later. Still sitting across from each other at lunch. Still teasing, still bickering like always. The only difference now? There's no flutter in my chest when he smiles. No skipped heartbeat when our shoulders bump. And the same goes for him.

It didn't happen all at once. There wasn't a big moment or a dramatic shift. Just... a series of little ones.

The way our conversations started drifting toward other people. How we started hanging out with the group more than just the two of us. How I stopped overthinking my texts, and he stopped calling me babe and went back to YN without either of us flinching.

And then one night, walking home, we looked at each other and just kind of... laughed.

"This feels weird, right?" he said, tugging at his hoodie strings.

I snorted. "So weird."

He smiled at me. "I think I like you better as my chaos partner."

"Same," I said without missing a beat. "You're a terrible flirt anyway."

"Wow," he gasped, clutching his chest. "And to think I almost let you meet my dog."

"You don't even have a dog."

"I was gonna get one for the bit!"

We broke up right there on the sidewalk—if you can even call it that. No tears. No bitterness. Just two people realizing the thing they were holding onto so carefully wasn't quite the thing they thought it was. And that was okay.

Of course, the group didn't take it quite as smoothly.

"You what?" Jeonghan asked the next morning at lunch, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head.

"We broke up," I said simply, popping a grape into my mouth.

Dokyeom blinked. "Since when?"

"Last night."

"And you're... fine?" Jeonghan asked, narrowing his eyes like he was waiting for the emotional breakdown to surface.

"We're good," Mingyu confirmed, sitting beside me and digging into his sandwich like he hadn't just blown everyone's minds.

Jihoon, across the table, barely looked up from his notes. "Told you it wasn't gonna last," he mumbled, scribbling something in his margins.

"Wow, thanks for the optimism, Ji," I said dryly.

He shrugged. "You're happier now. That's what matters."

Meanwhile, Soonyoung sat frozen, blinking rapidly. "Wait. So you're not together? At all?"

"Nope."

"And there's... no secret pining? No dramatic tension? No hidden love letters?"

Mingyu and I looked at each other and then back at him. "Nope," we said in unison.

Soonyoung slumped dramatically in his seat. "Man, what's the point of even being in high school if we're not living in a K-drama?"

Joshua laughed from down the table. "They're being adults about it. You should try it sometime."

"Never," Soonyoung replied. "I live for the drama."

Mingyu just leaned back, grinning. "Then you're watching the wrong couple."

Everyone's gaze collectively shifted.

And I didn't even have to look to know who they were looking at.

Because the moment that sentence left Mingyu's mouth, I could feel it.

The way Seungcheol went quiet across the courtyard. The way his eyes flicked to me just a second too long. The way Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, and Jihoon sighed like he was already bracing for what came next.

But that? That's another story.

For now, I'm single again. And strangely at peace.

Mingyu and I still share jokes. Sonya's still my right-hand girl. And Seungcheol... well. He's still watching from a distance.

The rest of lunch goes by in a blur of half-listened conversations and forced laughter. Mingyu's still cracking jokes, Sonya's nudging my elbow every time someone mentions anything remotely flirty, and Dokyeom keeps dramatically reenacting his imagined version of our breakup like it was some tragic K-drama finale.

"But what about the line, YN?" he cries, clutching his chest. "The 'I like you better as my chaos partner'—oh my god, it's like Shakespeare in hoodies."

"Please stop," I mutter, hiding my face behind my water bottle.

Seungcheol hasn't said a word.

He's at the end of the table, poking at his rice like it personally offended him, occasionally muttering something to Jihoon or Vernon but otherwise staying quiet. I sneak a glance his way and catch him already looking. He looks away just as fast.

I sigh and peel the wrapper off my snack bar with too much force, the plastic crinkling louder than it should.

He's been like this for weeks now—ever since I started getting closer to Mingyu. No more casual banter, no more half-smiles between classes, no more sarcastic jabs that made my stomach flip for no good reason. He hasn't been rude, exactly. Just... distant. Neutral. Professional, almost. Like we're classmates, not friends. Like we never spent an entire walk home laughing about nothing. Like he never let his hand rest on the small of my back like it meant something. It's driving me insane.

After lunch, I catch up with Sonya while heading to science class.

"Okay," she says, pushing her hair out of her face, "you and Mingyu are good, we've emotionally processed that, blah blah—now can we talk about the fact that someone hasn't looked at you for more than two seconds all week?"

"Which 'someone' are we referring to?" I ask innocently, even though I already know exactly who she means.

Sonya gives me a deadpan look. "Cheol. Your mysterious, broody almost-but-not-quite something."

I snort. "We were never—"

"Oh, save it," she says, waving me off. "I was there when he offered you his cardigan and stood outside your gate like he was auditioning for a romance movie. That's not 'just friends' energy."

I open my mouth, then shut it again. Because she's not wrong.

"I don't get it," I finally say, rounding the corner with her. "He was warm and sweet and borderline flirty for a solid two weeks. Then I start talking to someone else and he ghosts me emotionally. Like, what is that?"

"He likes you," she says easily. "And he's sulking."

"That's not how you handle your feelings."

"It is when you're a teenage boy with the emotional range of a teaspoon," she says, dead serious. "Give him time. Or don't. You could always call him out and see what happens."

I hesitate. "That feels... risky."

Sonya shrugs. "So is every good story. But for now, we let him simmer in his mysteriousness. Come on. Mr. Lee's class awaits."

We slide into our seats just as the bell rings. I try to focus on the whiteboard, the lesson, anything that isn't the brooding figure two rows behind me who won't even breathe in my direction. But I can feel it—the way the air changes when he shifts, the tension rolling off of him like a silent tide.

He's not mad. But he's definitely something. And for the first time in weeks, I realize: I want to know what it is.

The courtyard is quiet. Golden sunlight spills across the cracked pavement as the last few students filter out of the gates, voices trailing behind them until they're swallowed by the street noise beyond. I should be heading home. I know that. But I linger by the gate, backpack strap gripped tight in one hand. I had told the others I'd wait for them—Jeonghan, Jihoon, DK—but somewhere between my last class and the front gate, I changed my mind. I wanted space.

"Hey," a voice says behind me. Familiar. Soft.

I don't turn around immediately, but I already know who it is. Seungcheol. He approaches slowly, like he's not sure he has the right to. Maybe he doesn't.

"You waiting for the guys?" he asks, tentative.

I shake my head. "Decided to walk home alone today."

He stops a few steps from me. "Oh."

I don't say anything. I shift my weight, eyes fixed on the sidewalk ahead like it might open up and swallow me whole.

There's a long pause. The kind that makes you feel every second pressing down on your chest.

"I wasn't sure if you'd talk to me," he says eventually.

I glance over at him, just enough to meet his eyes. "I'm still not sure I want to."

His face tightens, just a little, like he expected it but still hoped for something else. "Fair."

I start walking. Not fast, just enough to signal that I'm not interested in standing still. He hesitates for a second, then follows beside me, matching my pace.

We walk in silence for a block. A cool breeze kicks up, rustling the trees above. I don't look at him, and he doesn't push.

Then, finally: "I owe you an apology."

I stay quiet. He continues anyway.

"I should've said something. Should've explained why I pulled back. But I didn't. I just... left you hanging."

I stop walking. He stops too. I turn toward him. "Yeah. You did."

The air shifts between us, heavier now.

"I got jealous," he admits, voice low. "That's not an excuse, but... it's the truth. I didn't know how to deal with it. Seeing you and Mingyu—he's easy to like. He makes you laugh. You looked happy, and I thought maybe that was better for you. Safer."

I blink at him, stunned—not by the words themselves, but by the nerve of him saying them now, like we could just pick up where he left me.

"You ghosted me because you were jealous?" I repeat, disbelief threading into my tone.

"I didn't mean to—"

"But you did." My voice is soft, but it doesn't waver. "You disappeared. You didn't check in. You didn't say a thing. Not even when everything felt like it was falling apart."

He looks like he wants to reach for me, to close the space between us, but he doesn't.

"I'm sorry," he says again, quieter this time. "I really am."

"I'm not saying I don't care," I say, biting the inside of my cheek. "Because I do. That's what makes this worse. You were my friend, Cheol. You mattered to me. And you just... vanished."

He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. The streetlamp above us flickers, casting long shadows that dance at our feet.

"I get it," he finally says. "I messed up."

I nod once, slow and deliberate. "Yeah. You did."

Another pause.

"I don't expect you to forgive me right now," he says. "I just... needed you to know. I never stopped wanting to be around you. I just got scared. And stupid."

I close my eyes for a beat, then take a breath. When I open them, I meet his gaze squarely.

"I need time, Seungcheol."

"Okay."

"I don't hate you. But I'm still hurt. And I don't want to pretend like that didn't happen just because it's easier now."

"I'm not asking you to," he says gently. "Take all the time you need."

I nod, hugging my arms around myself.

"I'll head home from here," I say, already taking a step back toward my side street. "I just want to walk the rest of the way alone."

He gives a short, understanding nod. "Okay."

"Goodnight, Seungcheol."

"Goodnight, YN."

And just like that, I turn and walk away. Not angry. Not broken. Just tired—and healing.

The morning sun barely filters through the half-drawn blinds when I settle into my seat for first period. The classroom buzzes with the usual energy—shuffling bags, chairs dragging across tile, someone in the back already cracking dumb jokes—but it all feels muted to me. Distant.

I rest my chin on my hand and let my eyes wander to the window. The teacher walks in and starts reviewing the homework, but the words blur around the edges. I manage to scribble down a few things, but I can feel it—everyone else is moving forward, laughing, chatting, doing normal high school things, and I'm stuck.

It's not that I want to mope. I hate being that person. But after last night—after Seungcheol's awkward half-confession and my own barely stitched-together response—I don't exactly feel like myself. The whole walk home played in my head like a loop I couldn't escape. The way he said it was jealousy. The way I had to shut it down.

"YN," the teacher calls, snapping me out of my daze. "Can you read question five?"

"Uh—yeah. Sorry." I fumble with my textbook, cheeks warm, and read the question aloud, trying to focus. But it's hard when I can feel the eyes on me.

Sonya leans over as soon as we're dismissed for group work, her voice hushed. "You good?"

I nod, too quickly. "Yeah. Just tired."

She doesn't push, just shoots me a look that says she doesn't believe me but will wait. That's the thing about her—she always waits. By the time lunch rolls around, I already know I'm not going. I shove my bento back into my bag and make a beeline for the music room instead. It's usually empty during this time, the piano tucked in the corner and sunlight pouring in through the tall windows. Peaceful. Quiet.

I slide into the back row and pull out my sketchbook, pretending to doodle while my thoughts swirl. Somewhere down the hall, I hear laughter—the kind that belongs to Jeonghan and Dokyeom, probably arguing about who forgot to grab snacks for the table. I imagine Jihoon rolling his eyes. I imagine Seungcheol sitting there too, pretending not to notice I'm missing.

But I hope he does. Because maybe if he notices I'm gone, he'll realize how much he made me feel like I wasn't worth staying for. And maybe, just maybe... he'll finally do something about it.

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[ktdragonborn]

Another Spencer. (Chapter 2)

Carlton Lassiter X Female Reader (Shawn's Sister)

Summary: You finally moved back to California after almost 15 years away. When your mom and dad separated, your dad got Shawn and your mom took you. (Don't ask me why it's just what they agreed on). But now you're back! And you never expected to meet such a dashing Detective that would sweep you off your feet.

Characters: You, Carlton, Shawn and Gus, Juilet, Henry Spencer (dad), Madeleine Spencer (mom), Chief Karan Vick, mention of many other characters.

Warnings: Some bar tension, some dude tries to hit on you for approximately three seconds, so nothing bad. There will be smut and other graphic scenes as the story progresses.

~This story follows the show Psych. Plots from episodes are mentioned and some chapters will have you added to them. I do not own any characters from the TV Psych, just a big fan of the show and a bigger fan of our boy Lassie. I couldn't ever find something that hit my craving for Lassiter so here I am. This will also be a very long story. Very long. I'm starting it towards the end of Season 2 and plan on writing it throughout the whole show, skipping some episodes but in the end, it'll be very long.~

I forgot to add this to the first chapter, but let me know in the comments if you wanna be added to the tag list! Thank you everyone for the support so far on this story!

Chapter 1.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You walked into your office bright and early in the morning. It was only your second week in California, let alone in this office, and you were still getting used to traffic and the city's layout. So much had changed since you last visited Santa Barbara, and it was a tad overwhelming at times. 

You turned on the overhead lights and started to prep your office for the day. Small lamps where you conducted your sessions and plenty of green plants around your office. It wasn't a huge area. There was a small lobby entrance for a waiting room-type thing. You had filled the room with a couch and a couple of chairs with a coffee table. Magazines and books for people to read as well as a water cooler. A small desk sat next to the door that led to the larger part of your office. There was a computer and phone set up. No one used it except for you, you weren't busy enough to justify hiring a receptionist- although you have thought about reaching out to Shawn since you know he's bored when he doesn't have a case to work. 

You set your bag down and grabbed everything you needed for the day from your desk. Thankfully, you had two new clients today. Your full schedule included four patients, two new ones, and two “regulars”. They were the first two to join your clinic and have been coming to you ever since. You were thankful for their “business”, and they had been spreading the word about you to their friends, promising every time they see you that they’ve got friends trying to find time to come see you. You set up in the larger room, sitting in your “therapist chair” as Shawn so lovingly described it. You read over the file of the first patient today. They wanted a check-up/check-in with their mental health. In the file they described what they had been feeling, they had been anxious in the workplace and began to realize that their friends were quite toxic. You began to formulate some reasonings and diagnoses for their ailment, just preparing yourself for the appointment but you knew you would keep an open mind throughout the appointment. You looked at the time and realized your patient would be here soon. You got yourself and your patient some water and sat down in your chair awaiting their arrival. 

~I know, You know~

You breathed deeply, leaning back in your desk chair. You moved your hands up to your eyes, giving them a good rub before sitting back up and packing up all your belongings. Today had been a long day. Simple enough, however, one of your returning patients came in with some new drama as she loved to describe it. You probably knew more about this girl's life than her parents at this point and you were happy about it. You were glad you could be the safety net that she needed. However, you knew now that you needed a drink. You shut off the lights and locked the door behind you, heading to your car and going to the closest bar you knew of. 

~They just don’t have any proof~

The problem about being a girl in California in a bar all by yourself is being a girl in a bar all by yourself. Unfortunately, the state you're in doesn't change much of anything. You sat alone at the bar, you took an end seat, and the only seat open next to you would cram someone up against the wall. You thought that might keep people away but unfortunately, it didn't. Fortunately, however, today was Friday, which meant you could relax and decompress from the week you just had. 

Another man tried to move into the seat next to you. You had been observing him across the bar and knew he'd try something. About 4-5 drinks in and his buddies kept pointing at you too. You looked at him and gave him a small smile. “Sorry pal, seats taken,” that's been your excuse most of the night, playing up that you're waiting for a friend or a date to stop by. 

“We've been here the whole time you have, and no one's shown up yet,” the man slurred through his words and started to get close to you. You reached for your drink and covered the top of it, not risking anything. 

“I might've gotten stood up but I'm willing to wait. Again, seats taken sir, please go back to your friends.” 

“Ah come on, I bet I can show you a better time than the chump you were meeting,” his hand started to caress the back of your arm. You frowned and looked at his hand. 

“If you don't stop touching me right now you will regret it.” Your tone was strict and your glare was firm. He took a step closer to you and his breath reeked of alcohol. 

“Oh yeah? How am I gonna regret it?”

“I suggest you leave her alone right now pal,” a very authoritarian voice echoed in your ears and you looked behind the man to see a taller man, with salt and pepper short hair and piercing blue eyes. He took your breath away but you stayed focused on the interaction. The man turned around and his whole body language changed when he had to look up to see your savior (hopefully). 

“What's it to you, buddy?" The drunk man tried to sound tough, but it didn't work out. 

“The fact that she's so uncomfortable with you around that she has to cover her drink. Leave her alone before I get the cops involved. I have ties to the SBPD.” The drunk man nodded and walked away quickly, seemingly spooked by something the man showed him. 

“Thank you for that, it's been happening all night but he's definitely been the most persistent one.”

“It's not a problem,” the man said, his blue eyes sparked when he saw you fully for the first time and he smiled at you. You smiled back and offered him the seat next to you. 

“I've been saving this for someone, at least that's what I've been telling everyone else. It's yours since you saved me.”

“Well thank you,” the man started and you signaled for him to stop for a second.

“I'll fit better over there since it's so close to the wall. Plus I think I'll be leaving soon so might as well give you the good seat,” you got up and switched and he sat down next to you. 

“Well thank you for the seat,” he smiled and waved the bartender down for a drink. You nodded and smiled and continued to sip on your drink. You spun around in your chair to face the crowd around you, watching everyone as they interacted. “Do you just come here to people-watch?” Your savior asked as he turned to watch you. 

“I'm a sense,” you laughed a little and turned more toward him. “My dad actually is a retired detective for the SBPD, and he was crazy about making sure my brother and I were super observant. Like crazy observant. My brother is definitely better at it than I am though.”

“Interesting,” the man hummed and looked out to the crowd with you. 

“I am also a licensed psychiatrist, so noticing things about people is kind of my job,” you laughed and the man chuckled next to you. 

“It's kind of my job too,” he said quietly and you turned to him, taking in his appearance. Suit pants, suit jacket, long sleeve button-up shirt. You noticed his shirt was unbuttoned a little bit, showing off some of his chest hair. You could tell he was wearing a tie all day, there was slight redness to his neck from the pressure of it. 

“You're a cop, aren't you?” You said quietly and he looked at you, kind of surprised. “No offense officer, but you're still dressed like a cop, and you have a certain tension to you that cops carry. I saw it all the time with my dad.” He looked down at himself and smirked at you. 

“I can tell you're pretty good at what you do,” he smiled and reached his hand out to you. “Carlton Lassiter, I'm the head detective with SBPD,” you took his hand and shook it. 

“Ooo a head detective, now that's impressive. I'm (Y/n) (L/n),” you took your mom's maiden name after the separation, although she remained a Spencer. Not sure why, but you two never really talked about it. A part of you knew too, that you'd come back to Santa Barbara, and you wanted to make sure to make a name for yourself without Spencer being attached to it.

“A lovely name,” you noticed Carlton swallowed hard, his eyes shifting as if gauging the situation and conversation.

“You're too kind, detective,” you winked and he smiled a little. “Listen, Carlton, I've gotta be honest with you,” you paused and his eyes changed, showing uncertainty, “I just feel like I need to tell you that I'm not a one night stand kind of gal, so I really don't wanna get your hopes up.” Carlton seemed to sign, or let out a breath he was holding.

“I'm fine with that, more than fine with that actually,” he almost said too excitedly.

“That’s a relief,” you laughed and relaxed a little with Carlton. “So, had any good cases lately?”

“I have,” he smiled and adjusted himself slightly, “We just had a case where the victim was murdered with the smallest dose of snake venom from Brazil, some crazy doctor was stealing money from the charity organization they were a part of.”

“Oh, you know what, I think my dad told me about that! Was it at that weird secret society lodge?”

“Yeah! Wait how’d your dad know?”

“He may be retired from the SBPD but that does not stop him from following cases very closely,” you laughed and Carlton nodded with a smile.

“Yeah, I’ll probably be that way too someday.”

“It’s not a bad thing by any means, at least you can still be in on the action without the risk of serious injury, which is good in old age.” 

“I suppose it is. I’m not sure if I’ll ever retire peacefully” Carlton confessed and you laughed. 

“Sounds an awful lot like my dad. There’s certainly a time and place for it, depends on what position you’re in too. Like if you were the Chief you could work for God knows how long, not a whole lot of field work with that position.”

“The field work is the best part though,” Carlton countered and you shrugged and nodded.

“I don’t disagree, but you gotta choose the lesser of the two evils. Fieldwork that can result in not-so-pleasant outcomes may get injured and have to retire early, or, the position of Chief where you can hide away from the outside evil.”

“You make a good point, I’m not sure if I can ever get Chief. Chief Vick is by far one of the most outstanding Chiefs the SBPD has had in recent years.”

“I’m glad to hear it, a good boss means good work.”

“What about you? How’s your job situation?”

“It's great. But that’s because I’m my own boss,” you added with a smile and Carlton gave you a small smile with an eyebrow raise. “I have my own office where I take clients almost every day. I’m working on getting my clientele back up to where it was back home- I just recently moved back to California from Colorado.”

“What brought you to Colorado?” Carlton inquired.

“My mom primarily. She divorced my dad when I was 13. My older brother was 17 and was being impacted the most by their failing relationship, as my mom so nicely explained to me one day. For some reason they just agreed to split us kids, so my brother stayed here with my dad and I went with my mom,” you sighed and Carlton looked at you with soft eyes. 

“I’m sorry. That doesn’t sound easy.”

“It wasn’t, but looking back on it, it was unfortunately the best option for everyone. My brother was basically an adult so my mom thought he would handle the divorce well. He blamed our dad for the divorce. It was my mom's idea though, she never told my brother that so he just assumed it was my dad.”

“Why haven’t you told your brother?”

“It's a conversation I know him and my mom need to have ya know? If I was the one to tell him, he could lash out and not believe me. I know one day he’ll express to our mom how he resents our dad for it, but that’s for the future,” you sipped your drink and took in Carlton fully. The way he carried himself was attractive. He was very confident and calm throughout your conversation with him and there was slight tension building up between the two of you. You thought back to the conversation and realized the trauma dump you just performed. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” Carlton asked, surprised at your sudden change of tone. 

“For the trauma dump, I just gave you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I appreciate it,” Carlton said with a small smile. “It shows you’re comfortable around me already.”

“I guess you’re right. You’re easy to relax around.”

“I guess I should repay the favor?”

“Of trauma dumping?” You laughed and he smiled and shook his head. 

“Not so much of dumping as just sharing more about myself with you.”

“Only if you’re comfortable, Carlton,” you smiled. His eyes lit up and he had a big smile on his face. 

“Surprisingly…I am comfortable. There’s not too much to tell. I became Head Detective of the SBPD in 1996, I’m very good at what I do. I was married, but we’ve been separated for about two years now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Carlton,” you said with a small frown. You reached your arm out and gently squeezed his arm.

“There are times when it sucks more than others. Right now, however, I’m not too upset about it,” Carlton smirked at you and you felt your cheeks heat up at the blatant flirting. You giggled slightly and let go of his arm, turning back to your drink. Carlton was really having an effect on you. You couldn’t remember the last time a grown man made you giggle because he was flirting with you. Carlton watched your cheeks turn bright red and continued to stare as the redness traveled up to the tops of your ears. He was mesmerized by you. A cute, amazingly single woman who was honest and attracted to him. You were young, he could tell. It made him a little nervous, himself being 40. He was nervous because of his age but he couldn’t bring himself to tell you, in case it scared you off. It wasn’t fair to you, he realized that, but he couldn’t help it. Your phone ringing pulled Carlton out of his trance and he watched as you quickly answered the call, muttering an apology to him. 

“Hey, what’s up?” You asked quickly. Carlton attempted to distract himself with patrons around the bar so he didn’t listen in to your conversation. “Really? Oh gosh okay. Yeah of course. I’ll be on my way,” you said with panic in your voice. Carlton immediately felt disappointed when you said you would be on your way. He turned back to you, and you were looking in his eyes immediately. He stopped breathing for a second, taking in your eyes and how vibrantly your emotions showed through them. 

“Everything ok?” “I’m so sorry Carlton, I have to leave. My brother just called and said something happened to his best friend, who in turn is also like a brother to me.”

“It's not a problem, this is obviously very important.”

“Here,” you said rifling your bag and digging out a piece of paper. You scribbled down your phone number and gave it to Carlton, making sure he had a good grip on the paper. “Call me tomorrow. Or- well, whenever you’re free, call me. I know a detective's schedule can be hard to work with. I’d love to see you again,” you smiled and tipped the bartender, grabbing your belongings and standing up. You looked at Carlton and could see the sadness on his face. You hopped a little in your place before quickly pressing a kiss to Carlton’s cheek. His face flushed red and you smiled. “Please, call me,” you said and started to head for the door. 

“I will,” Carlton called out to you as you turned around and gave him a big smile, before waving and walking out the door. Carlton wasted no time in adding your number to his contacts on his phone. He was absolutely going to call you. 

Chapter 3.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@capitanostella

[outercrasis]

The Distance - Ch 13

Pairing: Din Djarin x Pilot F!Reader (reader is petite/no other descriptors)

Word Count/Rating: 4.8k / T (will become M/E in later chapters)

Summary: Time to meet a new (old) friend.

Warnings: some general angst (nothing too heavy), alcohol consumption

Previous || Series Masterlist || Next

Din doesn’t offer any additional details about Mos Pelgo or whoever you're supposed to be dropping in on. You put together a small bag, prepping for a couple days away from your ship. Tex seems more nervous than you do.

“I know buddy, but I'll still be on planet,” you placate. “It's a good opportunity to test out these long range comms too. You can send me whatever updates you want while I'm gone.”

Tex beeps lowly, reluctantly accepting the situation. You don't blame him – you can't remember the last time you left Tex or the Chimera for more than a single night.

“Got ‘em!” You hold up your old goggles triumphantly, finally locating them at the bottom of a long forgotten pack. “Knew I still had these somewhere.”

Peli is already waiting for you at the bottom of the Chimera's ramp. You can see why Din likes her – she feels like a crazy aunt that you only see once a cycle, while also being able to intuit things better than anyone else you know.

“What should I know about her?” Peli asks. You can't help but smile.

Thirty minutes later and you've given her the  rundown of the Chimera's basics. Tex has instructions to share schematics with Peli when needed and is officially given authority over the pit droids. He's not so secretly thrilled by that fact. Knowing that Peli is the mastermind behind the N1 calms any of your bigger anxieties about leaving your baby behind for repairs.

Din is already standing by the speeder bike when you’re done. It’s a bigger model that could probably support a sidecar, but there are none of those in sight. The only option is to sit on the bike with Din. You steel yourself, trying to push down your hurt feelings. There’s no point in lingering on them right now when you’re about to be in very close quarters with him. 

You give Grogu a couple pats goodbye and then shove your bag into one of the saddlebags already attached to the bike. 

“Is it comfortable?” Din asks. You're more than a little lost.

“My bag?”

He chuckles, the low noise just managing to bypass the vocoder. “No, the holster.”

It's the first time you've been able to wear it since he got it for you. Sure, you've worn it around the Chimera a few times, but never out in the world. “It's good.”

If you were in a better mood you might tell him that it fits like a glove – that you can almost forget you have it on. You don't know how he managed to find a holster that feels like it was made for you.

“Good.”

You climb onto the bike, moving yourself forward to make it easier for Din. He turns and says something to Peli you don’t catch before getting onto the bike behind you. It’s tight, but you both fit. 

You’re hyper aware of his body around yours. The firm, cool beskar at your back, the way his legs bracket around yours, his arms caging you in as he reaches up to the handlebars. You barely have enough presence of mind to pull your goggles down before he takes off, launching the two of you into the vast expanse of the desert.

You wish you could enjoy this more. This is the closest and longest you have ever been next to Din and yet you're stuck in a terrible mood. With nothing to distract you, his stupid words are running on a loop in your head. 

Just a pilot.

Even worse is that you're getting upset with yourself as well as Din. You don't know why you can't let it go. Why the words wormed their way into the worst part of your brain, plaguing you and making you feel childish. He probably didn't mean anything by it. You wish you could convince yourself of that.

The speeder bike is doing nothing to improve your mood. While the bike is capable of carrying two, that doesn’t mean it was built for it. Peli was right when she said it was junk – the seat cushion barely offers a modicum of support. 

Din’s position on the bike is so firm you can’t move or readjust at all. It was fine at first, making you feel a bit safer, protected by him on the dangerously fast bike. Now though, your body aches. Your refusal to create any additional points of contact between your bodies beyond what's unavoidable isn't helping either.

Your muscles demand to move, one of your legs half asleep from the position it’s in. Only your hands are free to move but you can’t decide what to do with them, so you settle for relaxing them in your lap until that gets uncomfortable after a while. Logically you know this isn’t actually Din’s fault, but the irrational side of your brain is winning. You feel trapped, stuck in one place on the machine until Din determines that it’s time to stop. You aren’t even sure of a way to signal to him to let him know that you need a quick pause to stretch.

You endure for a bit longer before deciding that you can’t continue. You don’t know how far away Mos Pelgo is and your body feels like it’s being turned into stone from inactivity. Even if it’s only for a few minutes, you need to stretch your legs. You decide to tap Din’s leg and try to look up at him. He gets your message because soon the speeder slows down and comes to a stop.

“What’s wrong?” Din asks.

“I need to stretch. I haven’t moved in too long and I’m way too stiff,” you explain. 

Din gets off of the bike first. You keep your eyes firmly planted forward, unwilling to watch and risk an awkward situation.

You stretch your arms and back first before moving from the seat. Your spine pops and you can feel your muscles rejoice from the new movement. You swing your leg around and go to step off the bike, only to have your legs give out and nearly fall face first into the sand. It appears that your leg was more than half-asleep in its crunched position.

You’re saved by Din’s quick reflexes, catching your arm and holding you up before you fall completely. “You okay, can’gal?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you mumble, pulling your arm from his hold. You do your best to ignore the painful tingles in your leg as blood flow and feeling returns. You scan the landscape as you continue to stretch. It’s desolate, countless dunes of sand as far as the eye can see. Yet the planet is beautiful in its own way – a sterile kind that is unique with its twin suns shining brightly overhead.

After about five minutes of stretching and moving around, you turn back to Din. He’s leaning against the speeder with his arms casually folded over his chest. He looks like he should be on the cover of Speeders Weekly.

“I’m ready. Mind telling me how much farther we have?”

You climb back on and Din follows. “About another hour and a half. Think you can hold on that long?”

You glance up at him behind you. “It would be easier without your giant body blocking me in, but I think I’ll make it.”

Din lets out a distorted chuckle at your barb. He gives your legs a quick squeeze with his own. You ignore the skip in your heartbeat. “You can move if you need to, just don’t fall off.”

“How can I, with you in the way?”

Din laughs again and starts up the speeder. You pull your goggles back down and he takes off, launching you back over the endless sand dunes.

Nearly two hours later, Din’s prediction a little off, you can see Mos Pelgo in the distance. The twin suns hang low in the sky and cast barely enough light to see by. The second half of the speeder ride wasn’t as bad. It was shorter and the suns sinking had alleviated much of the heat. 

You felt a bit more comfortable moving when your body began to stiffen which helped to prevent more pain. At some point you even begin to relax – if you ignored how uncomfortable the seat was beneath you it wasn’t so bad. Din’s chestplate acted as a nice backrest for you and you can tell he tried to position his legs to give yours more room. They didn't start tingling again at least.

Once you see the tiny settlement on the horizon you feel your stomach drop. Your palms are getting sweaty and you know it has nothing to do with the planet’s heat. This town clearly doesn’t have much and you wonder why Din made his way out here before. Did he track a bounty all this way? And who could compel him to return? Whoever they were, they must be pretty to come out here for a visit.

Din slows the speeder bike as you roll into town and you see a few people wandering around Mos Pelgo. You expect them all to stare in wonder or fear like what normally happens when Din comes into a town. Instead, you can hardly believe your eyes as they… wave? Are the people in this town actually waving at the big scary Mandalorian? Maker, what is this place? It’s unlike any experience you’ve ever had with Din at your side before.

Din stops the speeder outside of the cantina. He hops off and offers you a hand. You still feel anxious and a large part of you doesn’t want to take it, but you can’t fully trust your legs at the moment. His hand is firm in yours and you can’t help but feel a small amount of comfort at the touch.

The cantina is as small and cozy as you've ever seen one. The lights are low, half the tables taken up by patrons. There's a comfortable murmur filling the air that mixes with the jizz music coming from a jukebox in the corner.

Din guides you towards one of the rounded booths. You've never seen him this relaxed in a public setting before. His visor is scanning the room but the looseness of his shoulders tells you he’s not looking for a threat.

You figure you'll know this mystery person when you see them. Din might be hidden away under all that armor, but somehow the only the prettiest of people find their way to him. You've seen more than a few brave souls be turned away. Nerves get the better of you and you begin to absentmindedly pick at your fingers.

Moments later, a drawl comes from above you. “Well I'll be.”

You look up and see a tall, lanky but not awkward man standing in front of you and Din. He’s got a sideways grin plastered on his face, which should look more ridiculous than it does. His silver hair looks as though it was nicely styled like his short beard before the desert winds blew through it. His eyes are bright and you’re tempted to describe them as sparkling.

“Mando,” he says in a friendly greeting while sticking his hand out towards Din for a handshake.

“Marshal,” Din shakes the man’s hand. He turns to you and gestures to his acquaintance. “Meet Cobb Vanth, Marshal of Mos Pelgo.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Cobb turns his smile to you and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel yourself melt a little. You already understand why Din would want to come out here for a visit – this man could probably charm just about anyone.

“And just who might you be, darlin’? Don’t tell me you’re somehow that little green kid he had with him before.”

That makes you laugh out loud. “No, I’m not.” You offer up your name along with your hand to shake. Cobb takes your hand and presses a soft kiss against your knuckles. You have to admit, he’s smooth. Din gives a small cough from his side of the booth.

“Sorry there Mando, just couldn’t help myself,” Cobb says, winking at you. Oh, he’s very smooth.

“Sure you couldn’t.”

Cobb sits on your other side, across from Din, and hails the bartender over. He sets down three cups and an entire jug of spotchka. The Marshal must be well liked then, you think, if the bartender is willing to part with a jug so easily. Cobb pours all three glasses, which strikes you as odd, considering that he should know Din doesn’t eat or drink with others. Din doesn’t say anything about it though, so you keep quiet as well.

“What brings you out this way?” Cobb asks as he passes the cups around.

“Had the time. I was told you came back here after your time in the bacta tank.”

Just how many friends does Din have on this backwater rock? You thought you were getting to know one another – two loners who found each other – and here he is with a number of mystery friends he never speaks of. Maybe you had misjudged the closeness of your relationship.

“Nowhere else for me to go,” Cobb says. “Besides, the new arm works for intimidation purposes.”

With a flick of his wrist, a small blaster pops up out of the Marshal's robotic arm. It probably doesn't have any more power than a hold-out blaster, but it gets a message across. Din doesn't even flinch.

As close as you are to each other, you're able to see the gears whirring in his arm and follow the different lines and parts as they travel up towards his shoulder. His mod isn't the fanciest you've ever seen but it's still a work of art.

“Marshal, do you mind if I take a look?” you ask, gesturing towards his arm. He seems proud of it, so you don't think he'll mind the request.

He puts the blaster away, setting his arm down on the table in front of you. “Not at all. Just don't touch with that part there, sends my nerves ablaze if it's messed with.”

This new man is just as much of a mystery to you as the other one at the table. Din took months before he'd let you poke around at his armor’s electronic components and that wasn't even fully attached to his body. Meanwhile Cobb is more than happy to have you take a look while also revealing its biggest weakness.

Din and Cobb's conversation fades away as you look over his arm. This kind of fine mechanical work is always tricky, ten times more when you factor in the biological component. Cobb allows you to move his arm in whatever way you see fit, easily answering the questions that you’re mostly muttering to yourself. You ignore Din’s weighty stare.

“You’ve got a thing of beauty there, Marshal,” you say as you complete your observations.

“Well that's not a word I hear that often,” he defers. “And please, call me Cobb.”

“Somehow I doubt that, Cobb.”

He laughs loudly. “Well shoot. You've got one heck of a girl here, Mando.”

You glance over at Din. He's as stoic as ever. You're left floundering – no longer truly understanding your relationship with him or his relationship to Cobb. Irritation bubbles over.

“Not his girl. Just a pilot.” You throw back the shot of spotchka in front of you, ignoring the burn as it goes down.

“Duly noted,” Cobb says, giving you a small nod. You don’t look over at Din. You don’t want to see his reaction.

The three of you are able to fall into easy conversation from there. You discover the connection between Cobb and Din – You mean you haven’t told her ‘bout me? I’m hurt Mando, real hurt – and you decide you can’t imagine Mandalorian armor on Cobb. There’s just something about him that doesn’t work quite right with your picture. He’s too casual, too comfortable with himself to ever need a second skin over top. He's also too skinny you decide, not nearly broad enough to fill out Mandalorian armor as it should be.

You don't try to hide your fascination as Cobb regales you with the tale of the krayt dragon. "I thought he was a goner for sure, getting eaten like that. Just when I'm thinkin' the worst out he comes, flying out of the beast's mouth like some sorta hero."

You turn to Din, the spotchka in your system removing any embarrassment as you openly gape at him. "Is he telling the truth?" you ask. It's not that you don't trust Cobb, but the whole thing is so remarkable that it's hard to believe.

"He's making it sound like more than it was. I was covered in it's bile, I stunk for weeks after that."

You learn about Mos Pelgo, how Cobb came to be its Marshal, and how the town has been getting on since the dragon's death. He tells you about the run-ins with the Pyke Syndicate and how he came to lose his arm.

Through all the replays of Din and Cobb's greatest hits, you figure that if there are any kind of romantic feelings between the two, it's never elevated beyond some flirtation. It makes you feel foolish for ever getting jealous in the first place. Old habits and ways of thinking die hard, you suppose.

The spotchka goes down easy, a welcome distraction from any unhappy thoughts lingering in the back of your mind. Cobb continues to flirt with you throughout the night, serving as another nice distraction. You know you shouldn't encourage it, but his open attraction and the alcohol make it difficult to resist. Sure, he is a bit skinny, a bit talkative, and his skin isn't as sun-kissed as you preferred, but he could do. 

As the night wears to a close, you can feel sleep begin to pull at the corners of your mind. The long day in the sun combined with the alcohol you consumed start working together to make your body shut down. You hardly register as Din asks Cobb where the two of you can stay for the night.

You pull yourself out of the booth, slapping your cheeks gently to try and clear up the fog in your mind. You regain enough clarity to function without assistance. After Din grabs your bags off the speeder, you both follow Cobb as he leads you both to the single spare room above the cantina.

"Sorry it ain't much, but as you know we don't get many visitors out here," Cobb says as he opens the door.

He's right. It isn't much. Just a tiny square room with a bed and a dresser with a 'fresher attached. You're happy to note that it all looks clean though, devoid of the layer of sand that seems to cover everything on Tatooine.

"It'll be just fine, thank you Marshal," you tell him. Cobb tips an imaginary hat and throws a wink at you. He gives Din a wink too, which makes you snort. He then walks away, throwing a goodnight over his shoulder.

You shake your head, amused, and follow Din into the room. Rather than flounder about the sleeping arrangements, you grab some clothes from your bag and go into the 'fresher, determined to get off at least some of the day's grime. You're disappointed with a sonic shower, although you weren't sure what else you expected, being on a desert planet. Still, it provides some relief and you change into some clean clothes to sleep in. You splash a small amount of water on your face from the sink and gulp some down in your cupped hands.

"All yours," you announce as you walk back into the small room. 

Din doesn't say anything, but he goes into the 'fresher and closes the door just a bit too hard. Was he mad about something, you wonder? Although you've hit your second wind, the alcohol is still playing with your thoughts. Maybe he's just moody from the long day.

He doesn't take long in there, certainly less time than your small tipsy fumbles, and comes back out still fully dressed. You push yourself up onto your elbows in the bed and look him over. "Take off the armor," you tell him.

"You're drunk,” he responds.

“Yeah? And why does that matter?” you ask. Din doesn’t reply. You sigh and drop backwards to stare up at the ceiling. 

“There’s no way you can be comfortable sleeping in all of that metal. So just take it off and get in the bed. I’m obviously not talking about the helmet.”

You stay staring at the ceiling. It’s a fairly comfortable position, head cushioned in the pillows, while you try to not make him uncomfortable. 

You aren’t really sure why this is such a big deal to him tonight. He’s taken off his beskar in front of you plenty of times now. Yet maybe something had changed between the two of you again without you noticing. You were just a pilot to him, maybe that meant some of his walls were coming back up? Desperately, you tried to ignore the stab of pain that thought caused you. You don’t want to lose Din to the cold, distant Mando you met so many months ago, especially not without knowing why. The thought is too much to bear.

You turn on your side, away from Din, offering him extra assurance that you weren’t just trying to perv on him as he removed his armor. You know he's caught you staring more than a few times around the Chimera. Did that bother him? You should have asked.

Part of you knows you should be more nervous about sharing a bed with Din – particularly with this growing gulf between the two of you. This is intimate in a way, isn’t it? Sharing a space to sleep like this? Yet, whether it’s the influence of the alcohol or the exhaustion, you can’t find it within yourself to be flustered over it. It’s practical anyway. You both need sleep and Mos Pelgo only has the one room and bed to offer. One of you sleeping on the floor would be stupid. You try to convince yourself that if only Din would stop being ridiculous and get into the bed, things would be just fine again – right?

After what seems like an eternity, you hear metal pieces begin to clank down together on the dresser. A small smile works its way across your lips and you’re happy that for once it’s your face hidden away from his. He’s hesitant maybe, but not uncomfortable enough to keep the heavy armor on. Knowing that things are okay enough, your eyes shutter closed and a deep sleep carries you away.

Din is surprised to discover that you’re already asleep when he climbs into bed. You seemed so awake a few moments ago when he started taking off his armor. He’s still kicking himself for his reaction. 

Of course you meant for him to take it off to go to sleep, not... anything else. Why would you? You’ve been acting off ever since landing on Tatooine. You wouldn’t suddenly be asking him for that, not now. Not that you would want anything like that with him anyway – Din feels like a monster for thinking that way about you.

Looking down at you, Din ruminates a bit more. Somehow between all of the bounties, long hours, injuries, and repairs, you worked your way into his heart. Part of him doesn’t want to admit it still, that you have such a large effect on him, but it gets harder with every passing day. Touches and stares linger for longer and Din takes notice of your bashfulness every time he calls your name. Until today.

Din hasn’t been able to figure out what has caused the change. Soon after landing in Tatooine you brushed him off, distancing yourself from him. He knew the speeder bike situation wasn’t ideal, but usually you would have handled something like that with more tact, not the brash way you questioned Peli about another bike. You were tense for the longest time on the bike, not relaxing until the small break you took part way through the ride. Were you just upset to be stuck on Tatooine? Bothered by the beating the Chimera took? Or had he done something?

He was leaning towards the idea that he had done something to upset you. Just a pilot. Those words bounced around in his mind. 

He panicked when Peli asked who you were and those had been the first words out of his mouth. He hardly even considered the way they would sound. The way you repeated those words to Cobb, it felt like a slap to the face.

The town marshal wasn't helping anything either. Watching the two of you was making his blood boil. He likes the man, killing a krayt dragon together has that effect, but he has few qualms about punching the Marshal in the face right about now. He stared at you so openly, flirted so shamelessly, and you reciprocated. If Din was a lesser man he would have thrown you over his shoulder and carted you out of the cantina.

His mind continued to swirl and wander. Was it simply being stuck on Tatooine that made you change? Did being stuck here, with no agenda as you put it earlier, make you realize flying around with him was not the life you wanted? 

Of course you didn’t want to be stuck, tied down to a man who couldn’t even show you his face, who couldn’t even admit what you were to him. Cobb was able to make his intentions towards you obvious from the first words he spoke. You deserved that, not the brief, vague moments of intimacy Din had to offer.

Din looks away from you, trying to close his heart off from you, deciding that it’s what's best. He makes himself comfortable, lying on his back, helmet cushioned by the pillow.

He reopens his eyes just as soon as he closes them. You've repositioned yourself in your sleep, turning over and wrapping an arm firmly around his waist, face tucked into his side. 

The touch makes him nervous, unsure of how to react to the foreign embrace. His resolve to give you up quickly crumbles. Din’s never had this. He’s thought of it before, but it was all theoretical. This is real and unlike anything he ever imagined.

Part of him feels perverted for enjoying it as much as he is and so quickly after realizing you deserved more than him. You’re asleep and you fell asleep facing the other direction – you had no control over this, no consent. 

Despite those protests, he can’t help but sink into your touch. He repositions his arm, wrapping it around you, which causes you to shift your head up onto his chest. His breathing stops for a minute, terrified that you’ll wake up and pull away, but you remain lost in blissful dreams. The feeling of your warm body pressed against his, hand fisting into his shirt, the gentle rise and fall of your back against his palm while you breathe, is almost more than he can handle.

Din lies there for a few minutes, trying to commit every sensation, every sound you make to memory. It’s overwhelming and yet he craves more. With the helmet on in this position, he can’t get the right angle to look down at you. A risky idea runs through his mind and once again he ignores his protesting thoughts, following the path your touch has sent him down. 

He calls your name twice, softly, just to test how deeply you’re sleeping. When you don’t do so much as twitch, he decides it’s safe enough. 

Carefully, Din removes his helmet with his hand that isn’t holding onto you. He doesn’t set it down, holding onto it in case he needs to quickly put it back on. Vision unobscured, he looks down at you wrapped around his body. Din finds himself dumbstruck.

That moment secures your position in his mind as the most beautiful thing in the whole of the galaxy. You look so peaceful, any worries wiped clean from your face. Your mouth is slightly open and although Din knows that means you’ll probably drool on him, he can’t bring himself to care. Your hair is a beautiful mess and Din thinks back to the one time he was able to touch it before, back on Rishi with you half-conscious from a concussion. He's really got to stop having these moments while you aren't awake.

Moving more cautiously than he ever has before, Din dips his head down and presses a gentle kiss against the top of your head. He whispers cyar’ika to you and dares to kiss you again. With one final look and a shaky breath, Din slips his helmet back on. He knows he’ll never get to sleep otherwise, far too tempted to spend the rest of his night just staring at you.

No longer using a taglist -- If you want alerts, this fic is available and gets updated on ao3 at the same time, so you can subscribe on there if you want to know when I update!

also going to be mushy here and say thank you to anyone who has sent me a message, left a comment, etc on this fic. It genuinely means the world to know that people are still reading and thinking about this fic 🥺💕