#portable terminal

[wirelessterminalsolutions]

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[merchantservicesarticles101]

Portable Credit Card Machine

[buckyseternaldoll]

Vaulted

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: When a mission turns sideways and you’re sealed in a lightless HYDRA vault with Bucky Barnes, buried trauma resurfaces fast. But vulnerability cracks open truth, and the quiet intimacy that follows reveals something deeper than either of you expected. What starts in darkness might just become something real.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), depictions of PTSD (reader and Bucky), mentions of past traumas involving captivity and torture (non-explicit), emotional vulnerability, consent-focused smut (not in established relationship), smut with emotional fluff, somewhat hurt/comfort, soft!Bucky

Word Count: 6,108

Author's Note: I can't find any gif with the exact outfit but I am having this image of him when writing this

The hum of the door seals with a final hiss, and your heart sinks like a stone.

You’re already mid-step toward the exit when you hear Bucky curse under his breath—low, sharp, controlled. You whip around. The vault door is shut. Fully. Seamless. Like it was never there.

No lights. No comms. No air circulation except for the faintest draft somewhere behind the walls.

“Shit,” you mutter, reaching for the control panel embedded beside the door. You’re already digging into your tactical belt for the pulse override chip, fingers shaking just slightly as you slot it in.

Nothing. Dead. As if the tech was rotting from the inside out.

You step back, breathing through your nose. Focus. Don’t let it crawl in.

Behind you, you can feel Bucky’s presence—steady, solid, watchful in the dark. His gear creaks slightly as he moves. You don’t have to look to know he’s wearing his mission fit: that fitted, dark combat jacket molded to his frame, straps crossing his chest, vibranium arm matte and silent at his side. You know how he moves by now—how he blends into the quiet, how he always stands between you and the threat.

Except there’s no enemy now. Just this silence. This dark.

This enclosure.

Your voice comes out tighter than expected. “If I had fifteen minutes and my portable terminal, I could brute-force a recursive decrypt.”

Bucky grunts. “Too bad your portable terminal’s in the jet.”

You don’t laugh. Neither does he.

You try the panel again, but the minute your fingers brush the cold edge of the steel frame, your throat tightens. Your mind flashes—not forward, but back.

To the old metal walls that boxed you in when you were barely more than a child. The bitter stench of mold and sweat. Cold porridge. Water so stale it tasted like metal filings. The clank of boots. The door opening—only ever to bring pain.

You swallow hard. Try again.

“You okay?” Bucky asks softly.

His voice breaks the air like a blade through cotton. Gentle, but sharp. You know he hears it—the shift in your breath, the sound your boots made when you stepped just a little too fast, too frantic.

“I’m fine,” you lie. But your voice catches, and he hears that too.

You press your palm to the steel wall, trying to ground yourself, but your body betrays you.

Sweat beads along your spine, cold despite the stifling warmth trapped in the airless vault. Your breath sticks in your throat. The darkness feels thicker now—dense, like it’s pushing in from every angle, like it’s alive and watching. Your fingers curl into your palms. You tell yourself this isn’t the same, this isn’t then—but your body doesn’t listen.

Behind you, Bucky shifts.

You don’t see him move, but you feel it—hear it. The creak of his tactical gear. The faint scratch of fabric against concrete. And then, the sharp stillness.

He smells it before anything else—your sweat. Not the heat-of-battle kind. This is cold, anxious. Your scent hits the air like an unspoken alarm, sharp and sudden beneath the usual steel and dust of the vault.

Then he hears it.

Your heartbeat.

Fast. Erratic. Like boots on tile, sprinting in panic.

“Hey.” His voice cuts through the dark—gentler now. Controlled. “What’s happening?”

You don’t answer at first. You can’t. You’re trembling before the words even reach your mouth. Your knees wobble beneath your weight, pulse roaring in your ears like a tide coming in.

“It’s—just the dark,” you manage, your voice too tight, too high. “And the quiet. The space. It’s not you. I just—”

You cut yourself off. Try to breathe. Try to swallow the clawing thing in your throat.

“I need to sit.”

You hear Bucky move. His boots scuff the concrete, just once. Hesitation.

You don’t look at him. You lower yourself to the cold ground, back to the wall, and stare into the dark. The walls feel closer now.

Your voice comes out in a whisper.

“Can I… sit next to you? I mean—I need to hold something. I just—” You stop. You don’t want to beg.

There’s silence. For a second, you think he’s going to say no. You wouldn’t blame him. He’s already carried enough broken things in his life.

But then you hear the quiet shuffle of movement, the whisper of leather and gear. He steps closer. Kneels. Doesn’t say a word.

And then—he offers it.

His flesh hand.

Glove off. Palm open.

You hesitate only for a second before you take it. Your fingers wrap around his—warm, solid, real—and your shoulders fall like something just slipped off them. Your other hand reaches for the warmth of his arm, and slowly, inch by inch, you lean into him. Not all at once—just enough for him to feel your weight and decide if he’ll take it.

He doesn’t move away.

Instead, he shifts slightly to brace himself—and lets you rest your head against his chest.

You breathe in.

He smells like leather, faint sweat, and that clean, woody scent you can never quite place—like trees in winter and something spiced beneath it. You imagine it’s what peace might smell like, if it ever existed.

It takes you a long moment before you speak again.

“I was taken when I was seven.”

Bucky stiffens under you. Just barely.

“They locked me in a cell. No windows. No lights. They taught me how to code between beatings. How to pick locks after they broke my fingers. Said if I was going to be their tool, I had to be the best damn one.”

Your breath stutters. You feel his thumb brush over the back of your hand.

You go on.

“They’d come in drunk sometimes. Just to hit something. I was that something. But I learned. Learned how to look useful. How to smile so they wouldn’t think I was planning anything.”

You swallow hard. “Guess I never unlearned that. The smiling.”

There’s a long, aching pause.

When Bucky speaks, his voice is rougher. Barely above a whisper.

“I always wondered… how you do it. How you’re so kind. So… whole. But I see it now.”

He exhales, and his hand tightens just slightly around yours.

“You glued yourself back together. Piece by piece. And maybe that glue still shows… but you never tried to hide it.”

You lift your eyes—only barely—and even in the dark, you feel the weight of his gaze.

“I used to think people like you were untouched by darkness,” he says, voice low. “But you’re not. You just walk through it with your chin up. Meanwhile I’m still trying to bury mine like it’s not part of me.”

You shake your head, resting your cheek against him again.

“You’re not the Winter Soldier,” you murmur. “You’re not that name they gave you.”

He swallows.

Bucky’s hand lingers at your cheek, his touch barely grazing the skin. Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he presses too hard.

And maybe you would’ve—once. But not now. Not here. Not with him.

“I like working with you,” you whisper again, softer this time. Your breath fans over the fabric of his jacket. He’s so close now, his body a wall of heat and breath and solidity. “Always felt safe around you.”

He huffs quietly—almost a laugh. Almost. “You’re the first person to ever say that to me.”

Your fingertips trace the lines of his bare hand—the one you’re still holding tight. Your thumb brushes over the rough pads of his knuckles, warm and calloused. Scarred in places, but steady. Human.

“I don’t see a killer when I look at you, Bucky.”

He doesn’t answer right away. You can feel his heart pounding through the chest of his combat jacket, steady beneath the heavy materials. The dark fabric shifts slightly as his breathing deepens, and your cheek sinks into the padded texture over his ribs—high-quality, reinforced, warm from his body heat. The structure of his combat harness digs faintly into your shoulder as you curl into him.

“I don’t think I ever knew who I was,” he says finally. “Not really. It was always something someone else wanted me to be.”

You turn your face toward his voice. Your nose grazes the hard curve of his chest. Your lips part slightly, but you don’t speak. You just breathe him in.

He smells like cool leather, like burnt cedarwood and warm metal. A trace of sweat clings to the collar of his undershirt, the faintest salt cutting through that earthy, masculine warmth. It clings to the inside of his jacket—black tactical leather, armored across the chest and shoulders—and you can feel the subtle rise and fall of each breath beneath it.

He shifts again, adjusting. His vibranium arm stays at his side—still, unreadable—but his flesh hand squeezes yours gently.

You raise your head, finally meeting his eyes in the dim. The darkness in the vault has softened everything around him. His steel-blue gaze shines faintly beneath his brow, eyes scanning your face like he’s still memorizing it.

“You’re still Bucky,” you murmur, barely louder than the air between you.

He freezes.

“Still the man who puts everyone else before yourself, even when you’re barely holding it together.”

Your voice trembles now, because the words carry more truth than you expected.

“That kind of heart doesn’t just vanish… no matter what they tried to do to you.”

Bucky blinks hard. His breath catches in his throat. You feel it—how the moment lands. How the wound inside him recognizes the salve in your voice.

Something inside him shifts. Something melts.

His jaw clenches. You feel the way his chest tightens, like he’s holding something back. His free hand rises—slow, deliberate—and this time, it’s not just a touch to your cheek.

He brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering at your jaw. His glove is off now—both hands bare. Raw. Unarmored.

You shift slightly, no longer curled at his side. Instead, you move to face him—pulling your knees beneath you, then over, settling gently into his lap.

Your thighs slide around his hips, bracketing his body with yours. Hands plant themselves on either side of his chest for balance as your breath mingles with his.

His hands remain steady—one at your jaw, the other cradling your fingers—but he’s looking at you now like he can’t believe you chose this closeness. This trust.

You lean into his touch instinctively, and when your lips part on a quiet exhale, his gaze flicks down to them. Lingers.

“Can I…?”

His voice is low. Uncertain. Vulnerable.

You nod.

That’s all it takes.

His lips meet yours with ache. Like he’s wanted to do this for years but never thought he was allowed. There’s no rush—only reverence. His mouth is warm, soft, tentative at first.

You kiss him back slowly, cupping the side of his neck where the stubble meets the sharp angle of his jaw.

You feel it then—his body shifting beneath yours, his breath hitching when your hand slides down the structured collar of his combat jacket, fingers grazing the leather between the buckles of his harness.

He groans softly into your mouth when your palm presses against the center of his chest, feeling the flex of his muscles beneath the dense fabric.

His vibranium hand comes to life now—bold where his flesh hand was tender. He traces the back of your thigh, up to your hip, then the curve of your waist, gliding with reverent pressure.

You shiver at the contrast—metal smooth and cool, his flesh hand warm and grounded as it follows just behind.

You tilt into him, mouth parting wider as his tongue grazes yours—gentle, searching. He tastes like heat and tension and restraint. Still, he pauses.

“You sure?” he whispers, breath warm at your mouth. His voice is rough—strained with everything he’s holding back. “We don’t have to—”

“I want this,” you whisper back. “I want you.”

A moment passes. And then he exhales—like you just unlocked something inside him.

His hands slide lower—one metal, one flesh—finding your thighs again. Guiding. Holding. Worshiping.

You rock into him slowly, feeling the tension flood through his body, feeling how tightly coiled he is beneath the tactical armor.

His combat jacket creaks as you push it open—just enough to feel the radiant heat of him beneath it. The black leather parts at his chest, revealing his high-collar undershirt now dark with sweat and body heat.

Your fingers skate down over the thick ridges of his chest—tactile, solid, powerful. His body is a weapon, but right now it feels like it was built for worship.

He shudders beneath you. “Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Just kisses you harder.

Your breath hitches as Bucky kisses you again—deeper this time, like he’s finally letting himself feel everything. His hands spread wide at your hips, thumbs brushing slow circles where your shirt lifts from the motion. The contrast between his vibranium fingers and the warmth of his skin makes your stomach tighten.

He pulls back just slightly, lips swollen, eyes dark.

“Tell me if anything feels too much,” he murmurs, forehead resting against yours. “If you need to stop, if you need a break—just say it, doll.”

Your heart stutters at the tenderness in his voice. The man who could kill a dozen enemies without breaking a sweat is shaking for you—asking permission like you’re sacred.

You nod, but it’s not enough.

So you take his face in both your hands—cradling him, grounding him.

“Bucky,” you whisper. “Buck… shhh. You already have my full consent.”

His eyes close for a breath. You feel him swallow hard, like he’s absorbing every word.

“I want you,” you continue, soft but firm. “Do me, Bucky. Do me so well I forget the dark—forget what they did to me. I want to be lost in the pleasure of you… not my past.”

Something snaps loose in him then—not wild or greedy, but pure. Focused.

“Jesus, sweetheart…” he exhales, like the words physically affect him.

Then he’s kissing you again—only now it’s like he’s claiming you. His tongue slides past your lips, his hands gripping your ass as he rocks your hips forward into the thick ridge beneath his tactical pants. You gasp when you feel him—already hard, already aching.

“Been holding back for so fucking long,” he mutters against your throat, kissing down to your collarbone. “Didn’t know if I’d ever get this… get you.”

“You have me,” you breathe, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging his head back just enough to meet his eyes. “All of me.”

His mouth crashes back to yours, but his hands are patient—undoing your shirt slowly, pulling it over your head. He gazes at you like you’re something holy as you sit there in your bra, flushed and panting.

His metal hand glides up your side, cool against your skin. His thumb brushes the underside of your breast with aching care.

“Can I?” he rasps.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

He peels your bra off with the reverence of someone unwrapping a gift, then lowers his mouth to your chest—trailing kisses, nipping softly until you arch for more.

“Oh my god, Bucky…”

He growls low at that—real and visceral—pulling your nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. His hands slide down to your thighs, gripping them as he starts to grind up against you.

You can feel him now—hard beneath layers of mission gear—and you can tell it’s driving him mad.

“Fuck this,” he mutters, one hand fumbling with his belt. “Wanna feel you—skin to skin.”

“Let me,” you say, breathless, sliding back to help him. You undo the buckle of his belt, tugging at the fastenings of his combat pants. It’s hot watching him unravel like this—powerful, restrained, but desperate just for you.

When he’s finally freed, you settle back over him—your soaked panties the only barrier now.

He groans deep in his chest when he feels how wet you are for him.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers, thumb brushing your jaw.

“I’m not scared,” you say. “Just… overwhelmed. In a good way.”

He nods slowly. “Me too.”

Then his hands slide beneath your waistband—pulling your panties aside. He cups you, fingers sliding through your slick folds, and his mouth drops open.

“Oh, baby… you’re so wet,” he murmurs. “So soft. So fucking ready for me.”

You whimper, grinding into his hand.

“Need you, Bucky. Please.”

“Not until you’re ready,” he says, even though he’s visibly trembling now. “Let me make sure you’re ready.”

He slips a finger inside you—slowly, gently. Then two. You gasp, rocking down, and he curls them just right, finding that spot that makes you cry out.

“There you go,” he whispers, kissing your shoulder, the hollow of your neck. “Just like that. You sound so good, baby. So goddamn good.”

You bite down on his name again and again, body shivering in his lap.

And when you’re practically dripping, panting, begging—he finally slides his fingers out and aligns himself at your entrance.

His eyes meet yours. Steady. Reverent.

“Tell me again, doll.”

You smile, even as your thighs tremble.

“I want you inside me, Bucky. All of you. Fill me up. Make me forget everything else but this.”

His eyes go wild.

And then he pushes in—slowly, thickly, stretching you until your head falls back and your nails dig into the harness at his shoulders.

You both groan at once—like something inside you finally clicks into place.

His thick length pushes into you inch by inch, and you both gasp—your nails digging into the fabric where his harness used to cling.

It’s like being filled and comforted and devoured all at once.

“God, you feel…” he groans, eyes shut tight. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

But even then, you feel it—the way he’s holding back. Like he’s afraid of doing something wrong.

“Too much?” he asks, voice wrecked, but gentle. “Tell me if I’m hurting you, sweetheart.”

You slide your hands to his face again, kissing him softly. “You’re not hurting me, Bucky. You’re making me feel whole.”

He lets out a shaky breath, burying his face in your neck. His chest is slick with heat, the cotton of his undershirt soaked beneath the open frame of his tactical jacket. You slip your hands between the panels of leather and slowly begin to push it off his shoulders, one inch at a time.

“Off,” you whisper, “let me see you.”

He lets you strip him down—harness unclipped, jacket peeled away with care. You don’t rush it. His shoulders are strong, gleaming with sweat, the thin black undershirt clinging to every hard ridge of muscle.

Once bare from the waist up, he lets you look.

And you do.

His flesh arm is trembling with restraint. His vibranium arm flexes as he braces it behind you for balance. Every scar, every contour of his torso feels like a story you want to read with your hands and mouth.

But Bucky’s still searching your eyes.

“Is this okay?” he asks again, whisper-quiet. “Do I feel good inside you?”

You can barely speak through the pleasure.

“Bucky… baby, yes. You feel incredible.” You cup his cheek, run your thumb over the stubble there. “Don’t hold back so much. I want this. I want you to feel good too.”

He nods slowly, but the doubt still flickers behind his eyes.

So you lean in, your lips brushing his ear.

“You don’t have to prove anything, Bucky. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be here with me.”

Something breaks in him then—a quiet surrender.

He kisses you with renewed purpose, one hand on your lower back guiding the motion of your hips, the other clutching your thigh like he’s trying to anchor himself to the moment. You ride him slowly, your wet heat grinding against the base of his cock, and he’s moaning freely now.

Still, you feel him pull back.

“I… can’t stop thinking about how good you taste,” he admits, voice shaking. “Can I…? I want my mouth on you.”

You blink, breath catching in your throat. “Yes,” you whisper. “Please, Bucky.”

He helps lift you off his lap slowly, reverently, hands firm and supportive. Once you’re laid back against the cool floor of the vault, your clothes already half-peeled away, he settles between your legs—kneeling, broad shoulders framed by the black of his tactical pants, sweat glistening along his chest.

“Tell me what you like,” he murmurs, placing a kiss to your inner thigh.

“Start slow, Bucky… build me up. Use your fingers too, honey.”

He groans—low and deep, like you’ve just given him the most intimate gift.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promises, and lowers his head.

The first swipe of his tongue is slow, deliberate. He tastes you like he’s learning you—mapping you with the flat of his tongue, pressing in and pulling back, watching every reaction.

You moan, head tipping back, hips already rising into him.

He hums softly, as if to say I’ve got you.

Then he slips one thick finger inside, curling it just right.

“Oh—there, Bucky… just like that, baby…”

“Yeah?” he whispers, glancing up, his chin already wet with you. “That's your spot, baby?”

You nod frantically, thighs trembling around his head.

He keeps going—tongue flicking, finger stroking, his vibranium hand pinning your hips down with perfect pressure. He’s moaning against you now, like your pleasure is the only thing keeping him alive.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, grounding yourself in the soft strands and the gentle scrape of his stubble against your inner thighs.

“Fuck, Bucky… you’re so good at this. So good for me, baby…”

He groans like praise is gasoline and you just poured it on his fire.

“You’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmurs against your slick folds, then sucks gently on your clit. “You’re everything.”

Your orgasm slams into you so fast it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

You cry out his name—“Bucky, Bucky—Bucky!”—as your back arches, thighs shaking, pleasure crashing through you like a tidal wave.

He doesn’t stop until you’re too sensitive to take it, until your fingers tug gently at his hair. Then he presses a kiss to your thigh, then your stomach, then your lips—bringing you back piece by piece.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, holding you close. “I’ll always have you.”

You’re still panting against his chest, your cheek against the heat of his skin, his pants still halfway undone.

And you’re not done yet.

Your body is still humming, your thighs shaking from the aftershocks of his mouth, his hands, his worship.

And yet, something inside you still burns—not from need, but from ache. From how much you want him. Not just his hands, not just his tongue. You want the whole of him inside you again—bare, deep, as close as humanly possible.

You reach for him, voice breathless. “Bucky…”

He’s already halfway leaning over you, brushing your hair off your forehead, looking at you like you hung the damn stars.

“I’m okay,” you whisper. “I promise, I’m okay. But I need you now. I need you to feel me. To lose yourself in me.”

His jaw flexes. His pupils are blown wide, lips parted, sweat dotting his brow. “You sure?”

You nod, more urgently this time. “I want you inside. All the way. Bare. Please, Bucky…”

He curses under his breath—something raw and aching. His hand slides down your stomach, thumb brushing your hip. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

You lift your hips, brushing against him again—his cock hard and hot, leaking against the waistband of his still-partially fastened tactical pants.

“I want to feel everything,” you whisper, cupping the side of his face. “Please. Just for tonight… let it be everything.”

He hesitates. He leans down and kisses you again—slow, deep, tender. Like it’s a goodbye and a homecoming in one breath.

“I’ll give you everything,” he murmurs against your lips. “Except one thing.”

You blink up at him. He hovers just above, arms braced on either side of you. His vibranium forearm is tense, grounding. His flesh hand cups your cheek.

“I’ll fuck you slow. Deep. As long as you want. But I can’t finish inside you. Not yet.”

Your breath catches.

“Why?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He swallows hard. “Because that’s… not just sex for me. That’s something I only give someone who’s mine. And I don’t know what we are yet.”

You stare up at him, your heart clenching—but not from pain. From something deeper.

He wants you. He respects you. He wants to mean something to you, not just in the dark.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Then give me everything but that.”

His eyes darken. “Gladly.”

—

He shifts his weight, letting his pants slide lower around his hips, just enough. Then he lines himself up, the tip of his cock brushing your folds—slick and ready.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmurs, guiding the head against your entrance. “So soft. So warm.”

You moan as he slides in again—slow, controlled. Inch by inch until he bottoms out, and both of you are panting.

“Fuck, honey… you take me so well,” he growls, kissing your neck. “Like you were made for me.”

You wrap your legs around him, heels hooking into the waistband of his pants.

“More,” you beg, voice cracking. “Please, Bucky… move. I need to feel you.”

He starts slow—long strokes, deep and deliberate. The friction is intense, overwhelming. You feel every ridge of him, every flex of muscle as his hips roll into yours.

He watches your face with every thrust.

“You feel good, baby?” he whispers, his voice low and reverent. “Is this what you needed?”

“Yes,” you gasp, fingers clawing into his sweat-slicked back. “God, yes.”

His pace builds—still steady, still controlled—but deeper now, the rhythm perfect. Your moans echo against the vault’s steel walls, your hands scrambling for purchase on his arms, his shoulders, anything you can hold onto.

Every time he pulls out and pushes back in, it knocks a cry from your throat. And Bucky watches you—drinks you in—like your pleasure is the only thing keeping him sane.

“You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart,” he breathes, kissing your cheek, your temple, your collarbone. “So fucking beautiful when you fall apart.”

And you do—again.

You sob his name, body trembling, core clenching around him as a second orgasm rips through you. He holds you through it, whispering filth and comfort in equal measure.

“That’s it, baby… give it to me. You’re perfect. So goddamn perfect.”

He starts to stutter inside you. You can feel the tension in his body—how close he is.

But true to his word, he pulls out at the last second, groaning low and deep as he fists his cock and spills over your lower stomach. Hot, thick, his breath shuddering against your mouth as he curses softly into your skin.

You cradle his face, even as he’s coming undone.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, echoing his words. “Always.”

He collapses gently beside you, pulling you against his bare chest, both of you panting. The vault is still cold. Still dark.

But in the quiet afterward, there’s no fear. No past. Just the sound of your breath syncing with his.

Just you and Bucky. Raw. Uncovered. Real.

It’s quiet.

The kind of quiet that settles after something seismic.

Bucky lies beside you, the sweat cooling on his chest, his vibranium fingers slowly tracing the edge of your waist like he’s memorizing the shape of you in silence.

He hasn’t said much since. Just the occasional kiss to your shoulder. A sigh. A swallow. A glance that flickers away too quickly.

You shift toward him, your cheek against the firm warmth of his bare chest, the soft thud of his heartbeat loud beneath your ear.

“You okay?” you ask softly.

He stiffens—just slightly.

“Yeah,” he says. Too fast. Too practiced.

You lift your head just enough to see him.

His eyes are fixed somewhere far away. That distant look—the one you’ve seen in briefings, in bunkers, in quiet hotel rooms between missions. Like he’s back somewhere else entirely.

“Bucky.”

He blinks. Turns toward you.

And then, quietly: “I’m sorry.”

Your brows pull together.

“For what?”

“I…” He swallows. “I shouldn’t have let it happen like that. I should’ve had better control. You were vulnerable. Scared. I should’ve restrained myself more. Waited. Been better.”

He won’t meet your eyes now. His hand is still on your waist, but his fingers falter—like he’s bracing for you to pull away.

“You think you took advantage of me?” you ask, your voice calm. Steady.

His jaw clenches. His silence speaks for him.

You sit up just enough to cradle his face in both hands. He flinches at first—but doesn’t pull away.

“Bucky. Look at me.”

His eyes lift, slow and uncertain.

“I gave you everything tonight. Every touch, every breath, every piece of me was freely yours. Do you hear me?”

He exhales, the guilt still simmering in his throat. “You were shaking. You asked for help. And I…”

“You didn’t use me,” you say firmly. “You saw me. And I saw you. I’ve never felt safer letting someone touch me than I did with you.”

His shoulders sag like he’s been holding up an entire wall of shame. You lean forward, pressing your forehead to his.

“I’ve wanted this,” you whisper. “Not just the sex. You. The man under the armor, behind the walls. You didn’t take anything from me—I gave it. Happily.”

His breath stutters, and he nods—just once—but you feel the emotion welling in him, deep and quiet.

“This changes things, doesn’t it?” he says after a long pause.

“It does,” you reply softly. “Because now I know for sure.”

He searches your face. “Know what?”

You smile, small but sure.

“That I want more with you. Something real. Something personal.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then he lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles like you’re something sacred.

“I want that too,” he murmurs. “But I’m scared I’ll mess it up.”

“Then we’ll take it slow,” you say, leaning into his touch. “And if you stumble… I’ll still be here.”

He pulls you into his chest and wraps both arms around you—one flesh, one vibranium—and buries his face in your hair.

You lie there like that, tangled in warmth, his chest rising and falling in quiet rhythm. The vault walls are still around you, but they no longer feel like a prison. Just a place where something true began.

Minutes pass.

Then—

CLANK.

The door seal hisses. Metal shifts.

You both blink, adjusting to the sudden flood of white-blue light spilling in through the widening crack.

“Yo!” Sam’s voice echoes into the space, half relieved, half exasperated. “Took us a damn hour to override the outer security.”

“I told you it was a dual-layered code protocol,” Joaquin mutters behind him. “No one listens to the tech guy.”

You scramble to pull your shirt over your shoulders, tugging it down hastily as your bra remains somewhere behind you. Your hands are shaking, but not from shame. Just adrenaline. Bucky reaches for his gear without a word, dragging his sweat-damp undershirt straight and grabbing for his discarded combat jacket, slipping one arm through, then the other. His chest is still bare, the zipper only halfway up. His tactical pants are back in place, loosely refastened.

You catch the flicker of his eyes—darting to you, then away. Not panicked. Not guilty. Just private. Guarded in the way only someone who just handed over their soul could be.

You reach for his hand before he can tug the glove back on. Your fingers catch his—bare, steady—and hold. Warm. Sure.

As the door creaks open and footsteps echo inside, Bucky helps you to your feet—tactical gear still halfway undone, but shoulders squared. Like he’s ready to face the light, even if it blinds him a little.

Sam steps in, blinking at the scene. “You two good?”

Bucky clears his throat. “Yeah.”

You glance up at him, smiling.

“We’re good,” you say, reaching for his hand again. “Better than good.”

He gives your fingers a squeeze. And for the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes smiles—not the forced kind. The real kind.

The kind that says something new has started.

—Epilogue:

The hum of the jet was soothing. After the chaos of the HYDRA vault and the long extraction, the warm, low-light interior felt almost indulgent.

You were curled into your seat, wrapped in a mission blanket, legs tucked under you. Across the aisle, Bucky sat in his usual brooding posture—but something was different now.

He wasn’t scowling.

He was… smiling.

Not wide. Not obvious. But every time you looked up, his mouth quirked at the corner, like he couldn’t help himself.

You gave him a slow, knowing wink.

He tilted his head just slightly, one brow lifting. That little look he gave you now wasn’t Winter Soldier. It wasn’t even mission-serious Bucky.

It was something warmer. Something just for you.

You stifled a smile and looked back down at your hands, the ghost of his fingertips still lingering there.

From the cockpit, Sam’s voice carried:

“Okay. No offense, but what the hell happened in that vault?”

You and Bucky both froze.

Joaquin didn’t even look up from his tablet. “What makes you ask that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sam called, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe because Bucky Barnes hasn’t stopped doing that smug little post-makeout lip twitch for the last thirty minutes.”

You shot Bucky a look. Bucky buried his face in his glove for a second, fighting the urge to visibly react.

Sam walked into the cabin a moment later, narrowed eyes flicking between you and Bucky like he was connecting red strings in his mind.

“You two didn’t die in there,” Sam said, “but someone sure as hell came back… reborn.”

You choked on your water. Bucky turned pink immediately.

“I’m just saying,” Sam added, settling into his seat, “next time you get stuck in a vault, give me a heads-up. I’ll bring candles. Maybe some background jazz.”

Joaquin muttered without looking up: “Let them have their trauma bonding, man.”

You and Bucky locked eyes again.

And this time, the smile broke through on both your faces—quiet, real, and a little reckless. Like two people who just learned they could still feel something soft in the middle of all the noise.

Soon after, your phone buzzes in your palm.

You okay, doll?

You looked up across the narrow aisle. Bucky was slouched in his seat—jacket halfway zipped, his glove still hanging from one hand. His gaze was fixed on the floor, but you could tell from the way his thumb hovered near his screen that he was waiting.

You smiled faintly and typed back.

better than okay. but also very distracted 😏🤭

You peek up from under your lashes.

He tilts his head just slightly, brow lifting—not cocky, just curious. That cautiously hopeful kind of curious.

Distracted how?

You glance around—Sam’s still up front, muttering about fuel efficiency. Joaquin has earbuds in, totally checked out.

Safe.

You lean into your seat, thumbs flying.

pretty sure i’ve been half-wet since you suited up in that whole lethal-sexy vibe 🫦🖤 trying so hard not to stare

You hit send. Bucky reads it instantly—and something in his body shifts. His posture straightens, then tenses. One hand lifts toward his face like he’s trying to hide the smile pulling at his lips.

You serious?

You watch the way he doesn’t quite look at you now. Like if he does, he’ll forget the jet has other people on board.

You’re grinning as you type your next reply.

dead serious. pretty sure i’ve been soaking on every mission with you lately 💦 you and that jacket?? literal war crime.

This time, he looks.

Just for a second—but it’s sharp, fast. His eyes cut to you and then he’s dragging his hand over his mouth like he’s trying to wipe off the heat rising up his neck. His jaw flexes hard.

He types back slowly.

You're killing me, doll

You bite your lip, sliding your phone just out of Sam’s line of sight.

Then you fire back the final blow.

too late, soldier 🤭 game’s already on 😌

Across the aisle, Bucky shifts again—this time slower, almost like he’s trying to physically will his body to behave. His jaw twitches. His fingers flex. And for the first time in what feels like years, you watch him lose the fight to suppress a smile.

[fullcircuitnj]

Portable Generators Wiring in Essex Fells | Ring Terminals in Roseland

We are qualified to wire a portable generator to temporary electrical power during outages in Essex Fells. Ring terminals secure electrical connections in Roseland.

[spectral-phases]

I need people to stop getting so precious about Clark "not letting" Bruce kill the Joker after Jason’s death post-Crisis. Everyone acts like it was like this:

But it was more:

So, we all know the story. Actually. Wait. Maybe we don't. So. The story beneath the cut.

Jason got benched as being Robin because he was not dealing well with his parents' deaths, felt like he was no longer wanted because he was adopted specifically to be Robin (and Bruce is shit at making his kids feel loved a lot of times). Jason discovered the woman who raised him was his step mother, not his bio mother. He goes looking for bio mom. Finds bio mom, she hugs him and tells him she's missed him so much, Bruce contemplates letting Jason live with his family if that would make him happier despite being obviously cut up about the idea of losing Jason. Bio mom is being extorted by the Joker to let him ship out Joker Venom disguised as medical supplies because he can't just steal the supplies and sell them. Bruce has to go stop the shipment of Joker Venom, his portable chopper is too small for two, so Jason is left behind. Jason is told to wait, but The Killing Joke just happened and his bio mom is alone with the Joker (who is insane, capricious and evil), so, obviously he has to save his mother and could not wait. Bio Mom is outside, no guards, Jason says, "Hey, I'm actually Robin, I'm here to save you from the Joker" and she says "Nah, he's actually gone, so I'm fine. But let's go inside so I can grab my things and we can leave." Her things turn out to be a gun to point at Jason after leading him to the Joker. Jason is too stunned to move. The Joker and his goons beat Jason up and then the Joker uses the crowbar to finish beating him to a presumed death. His bio mom at some point couldn't bear to watch it anymore and turns around to smoke a cigarette. Once Joker’s done, bio mom asks what they're going to do about Batman, and the Joker is all "oh. Yeah, lol. Probably was a bad idea to kill his kid. Whoops. My bad." And then ties up the bio mom to kill her and erase any evidence he brutally attacked/killed Jason. The Joker sets a bomb on a timer and leaves. Jason uses the last of his strength to untie his bio mom so she can escape. He can't see well enough to try and disarm the bomb. She tries to get them both out. The door is locked. Jason shields her as the bomb goes off, but she dies just as Batman comes up and tells him the Joker did it, calls Jason a hero, says he deserved a better mother (he did) but does not/is unable to own up to her part in Jason’s death before dying herself. Bruce finds Jason’s body and is fucking devastated.

So after that, Bruce chases the Joker down to the UN because the Joker lucked into being a diplomat for Iran and is now meeting at the UN assembly in New York. Bruce is 100% set on doing a premeditated murder of the Joker for Jason. The US government is aware of this. They hire Superman to grab Batman to try and talk him down because the Joker has diplomatic immunity for past crimes. It does not go well.

"That’s the law, not Justice." Batman is 100% still going to kill the Joker. Everyone knows. Superman knows. Superman says the stupid thing is putting vengeance above the interests of the country, not killing Joker.

Batman sneaks into the Joker’s room, and the Joker (forgetting his earlier desire to not get fucking killed by Batman) is like "oh man, I wish I could have seen your face when you found his body" and further needles Bruce with a "Or are you here to thank me for getting rid of him for you?" Making Bruce triple down on killing the Joker.

"Your confirming it makes what I have to do a lot easier."

Bruce manages to get in to observe the UN meeting as Bruce Wayne. Superman is disguised as a guard. Bruce is seething, watching the Joker, knowing that is the guy who killed Jason.

"I should have terminated his vile existence years ago. But I didn't. I couldn't. His insanity gained him a stay of execution. But no longer. ... Jason’s dead."

They both know the Joker is too stupid and lacks the impulse control needed to not attack the UN and immediately lose his immunity, which is the only thing keeping him alive. Joker releases Joker Venom to kill the delegates. Superman super breathes to inhale all the gas, which he's immune to because he's Superman and then says this as he leaves to go find a place to release the poison gas safely.

"Batman, he's all yours."

Superman basically says "You can kill him now" because he knows Batman’s mind has not changed, and Superman had not once tried to say "killing Joker would be wrong" just that it couldn't happen before the Joker acted in a way that lost him his immunity.

And Bruce does go to do just that. He chases the Joker down, intent to kill, and jumps onto the helicopter the Joker is using to escape. One of the guys fires at Batman. It shoots the pilot, hits the Joker in damn near his heart, if not his heart, and Batman realizes the helicopter is going down and decides to jump and leave the Joker behind. He intends for the Joker to die in the crash.

Okay? Bruce was 100% going to kill the Joker for killing Jason. Superman said "hang on. Let him get enough rope to hang himself first and then you can do it." And then Joker only survived because comic books. And Bruce is unhappy about having to wait. Superman did not try to talk Bruce out of killing the Joker at all ever, or scold him for wanting to kill the Joker. (Don't say he was rescuing the Joker in that last panel. The next panel is Superman fishing Batman, who is shot in the arm, from the harbor, and Batman telling Superman to go find the body. Find the body! And Superman does go to do just that, but is unable to).

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ new beginnings

chapter summary: The team finally gets a lead on Transigen.

word count: 20.9k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: finally! obviously, if i mention transigen, there's more than likely going to be laura with it!

sorry for posting a little later than normal, i was running errands with my mom then helped her cook dinner. (then watched andor with my dad)

(i didn't realize this chapter was also long, oops-)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, angst, transigen, mentions of experimentation, smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, protective!logan, protective!laura

series masterlist - chapter 13 → chapter 15

“I might have to cancel my session with Bucky.” Jean said, as the team got off the Blackbird. “Might be here for a while.”

“Or it’ll just be another dead end.” Kitty retorted.

“I think we can all agree that things are better without the Avengers in the mansion.” Scott spoke, leading the team. “Don’t have to deal with Stark’s incessant ego.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” Logan muttered.

After months of searching, Tony and Hank found a lead: a pharmaceutical company in Mexico City, rumored to be a front for illegal experiments conducted by Transigen. It was tenuous at first, whispers of missing kids and shipments of questionable materials, but it was enough for the team to move in.

The team split into smaller groups upon entering the facility. Logan led one group to handle security while Jean, Scott, and Ororo focused on evacuating any innocent workers or bystanders. You were paired with Kitty, tasked with finding the information room and gathering data on Transigen’s activities.

“Stay close,” Kitty said, her voice soft as the two of you crept down a sterile, dimly lit hallway. “The lab should be just up ahead.”

“I’m right behind you,” you whispered, clutching the strap of your small bag, which held the portable hard drive Hank had given you. The soft hum of machines and the faint murmur of voices in the distance made your stomach churn.

The information room was easy enough to locate, its doors marked with a keypad. Kitty phased the two of you inside effortlessly. The room was cluttered with monitors, hard drives, and endless rows of filing cabinets.

“This place screams ‘villain HQ,’” Kitty muttered, already scanning the room for anything valuable. “Get the drives. I’ll keep watch.”

You nodded, moving to one of the terminals. As you plugged in the hard drive and started copying files, your hands trembled slightly. The thought of what Transigen could be doing here was enough to make your stomach turn, but you tried to focus.

“Almost done,” you whispered after a few minutes, glancing over your shoulder at Kitty.

Her brow furrowed as she stood near the door, her head tilting slightly. “Wait here,” she said, her voice low. “I hear something. I’ll check it out.”

“Be careful,” you urged, watching as she phased through the wall and disappeared down the hall. The silence that followed was oppressive, broken only by the faint whir of the computer transferring data.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Your head snapped up, heart pounding as three armed men stormed into the room.

“Hey! What are you—” Your voice faltered as one of them grabbed your arm roughly, yanking you away from the terminal.

Panic flared, but you reacted instinctively, grabbing the nearest object—a keyboard—and smashing it against the man’s head. He stumbled back with a grunt but recovered quickly, his grip tightening as he shoved you against the wall.

“Stay still,” he barked, his voice cold.

You struggled, your breathing ragged, but you weren’t a fighter—not like the others. Just as fear began to take hold, a sharp, wet sound cut through the air, followed by the thud of a body hitting the floor.

Your captor released you abruptly, staggering back with a strangled gasp. In the dim light, you saw her—a small girl, no older than four, her dark eyes gleaming with a feral intensity. Two sharp claws extended from each tiny hand, coated in blood.

“Wh—” You couldn’t finish the thought as the girl moved swiftly, taking down the other two men with alarming precision. When the last one hit the ground, she stood still, her small chest rising and falling rapidly.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then her gaze shifted to you, wary but curious.

“Hey,” you said softly, raising your hands in a non-threatening gesture. Your voice trembled slightly, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The girl didn’t respond, her claws retracting slowly. She took a tentative step toward you, her expression guarded.

“Y/N!” Kitty’s voice came from the hall as she phased through the wall, her eyes widening at the scene. “What happened?”

“She… she saved me,” you stammered, gesturing to the girl, who was now watching Kitty with the same wary expression.

Kitty crouched slightly, her voice gentle. “Hey there, sweetie. We’re not here to hurt you, okay? Are you alone?”

The girl didn’t answer, but her posture softened just enough to suggest she wasn’t about to attack. You exchanged a glance with Kitty, your heart still racing.

“We need to get her out of here,” you said quietly. “And the others, if there are more.”

Kitty nodded, glancing at the computer. “Grab the drive. I’ll comm the team.”

You pulled the hard drive from the terminal, stuffing it into your bag. The girl’s gaze followed your every movement, and as you turned back toward her, she stepped closer, almost as if seeking reassurance.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, crouching to her level. “You’re safe now.”

Her small hand reached out, gripping the edge of your sleeve tightly. You froze, the weight of her touch grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

Ororo spoke through comms, “we got the kids. Y/N, do you have the data?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Good. Everyone meet up at the Blackbird.” Scott said.

You slowly crouched down, “is it okay if I pick you up?”

The young girl stood still for a moment before slowly nodding. You picked her up, settling her on your hip. “Let’s go, Kitty.”

---

By the time you and Kitty got to the Blackbird, Scott and Ororo were already there, a group of small children on the jet. “Jean? How is it going?” Ororo asked over comms.

“Good. Getting the last nurse out.” Jean responded.

“Logan?” Ororo questioned.

“Took care of the men. On our way.”

You sat the little girl down on the bench at the back of the jet. Her small hands clenched the fabric of your sleeve before you could move away, her grip surprisingly strong for someone so small. You paused, crouching to her level again.

“It’s okay,” you said gently, meeting her eyes. They were dark and intense, scanning your face like she was trying to decide if she could trust you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Her grip loosened slightly but didn’t let go entirely. Kitty stepped closer, keeping her voice soft. “Y/N, is she hurt? Did you check her?”

You glanced back at Kitty, shaking your head. “She doesn’t seem hurt. I think she’s just… scared.” Turning back to the girl, you spoke softly, “are you hurt? Do you need anything?”

The girl remained silent, her gaze shifting between you and Kitty. She shook her head once, almost imperceptibly.

“Hey,” Logan’s voice cut through the quiet as he stepped onto the jet. He was covered in blood and dirt, his knuckles raw, but his expression softened when he saw you crouched beside the girl. “What’s goin’ on?”

“We found her in the lab,” Kitty explained, stepping aside to let Logan approach. “She saved Y/N. Took out three guys all on her own.”

Logan’s eyes flicked to the girl, who stiffened under his scrutiny but didn’t look away. “That so?” he said, his tone gentler than you’d expected. He crouched beside you, his larger frame somehow non-threatening as he looked at her. “You’re a tough one, huh?”

The girl didn’t respond, but her small hand tightened on your sleeve again. You glanced at Logan, unsure what to say.

“She hasn’t said anything,” you explained softly. “I don’t think she trusts us yet.”

Logan nodded, his eyes still on her. “That’s okay. She’s been through hell—probably doesn’t know who’s safe.” His gaze flicked to you, his expression unreadable. “She seems to trust you, though.”

You felt a flush creep up your neck, unsure how to respond. “I think she’s just scared,” you murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I don’t think she’s used to… this.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, studying the girl. “She’ll come around.” His voice dropped, meant only for you. “You’ve got a way with people, darlin’. Just keep doin’ what you’re doin’.”

Before you could respond, Scott’s voice carried from the front of the jet. “Everyone’s onboard. Let’s move!”

“Hang tight,” Logan said to the girl before straightening. He glanced at you one more time before heading to the cockpit.

You turned back to the girl, still crouched at her level. “We’re going to a safe place now,” you said softly. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”

She looked at you for a long moment before finally nodding, her grip on your sleeve loosening but not letting go entirely. You sat beside her on the bench, letting her hold on as the jet lifted into the air. Kitty took the seat across from you, her gaze flicking between the girl and you.

“You’re good with kids,” Kitty said quietly, offering a small smile.

You gave a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t know about that. She just… needs someone right now.”

“Well, she’s lucky you were there.” Kitty leaned back, her expression softening. “She wouldn’t even let me get close.”

You glanced at the girl, who was now leaning slightly against your side. Her tiny frame felt so fragile, yet you’d seen her take down three grown men with ease. The thought sent a shiver through you. What had they done to her in that lab?

Logan’s voice came over the comms. “We’ll be back at the mansion in a couple hours. Hank, make sure the med bay’s ready.”

Hank’s reply crackled through. “Already on it. I’ll meet you there.”

As the jet settled into its flight path, you leaned your head back against the wall, your thoughts swirling. The girl shifted closer, resting her head against your arm. You glanced down at her, your chest tightening at the sight.

You placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

For the first time, she seemed to relax, her small body leaning into yours completely. You stayed like that, holding her close as the jet carried you all home.

---

The team was going through the files, trying to find out who each kid was when you realized something. In the files, every kid had a ‘Source DNA’ section. When you got to the young girl’s file—Laura’s—you saw something.

Source DNA: James Howlett

You stared at the screen, your breath catching in your throat. James Howlett. Logan. The realization hit like a weight pressing on your chest, and for a moment, the sounds of the bustling mansion around you faded.

“Y/N?” Jean’s voice brought you back, her hand gently resting on your shoulder. “What is it?”

You turned to her, unsure how to put it into words. “This girl—Laura. Her DNA… it’s Logan’s.”

Jean’s brows knitted in confusion before her eyes widened in understanding. “You’re sure?”

You nodded, pointing at the section of the file displayed on the screen. “It’s right here. ‘Source DNA: James Howlett.’ They… they used him to create her.”

Jean leaned closer, reading over the lines with a growing sense of dread. “She’s his daughter. Or… a clone, maybe. Either way, she’s connected to him.”

“She’s just a kid, Jean,” you whispered, glancing toward the med bay where the children, including Laura, were being examined. “And after everything she’s been through—”

“Does Logan know?” Jean asked, cutting you off gently.

“No. Not yet.”

Jean hesitated, her gaze searching yours. “Are you going to tell him?”

You opened your mouth to respond but stopped short. The truth was, you weren’t sure how to approach Logan with this. He’d been through enough already. Adding something like this…

“I will,” you said finally, though the thought made your stomach twist. “I just need to figure out how.”

Jean gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze. “You don’t have to do this alone, Y/N. I’ll help however I can.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, your thoughts already swirling with how Logan might react.

---

The medbay was quiet when you walked in, the soft beeping of monitors filling the space. Logan stood off to the side, his arms crossed and his gaze fixed on Laura, who sat perched on one of the examination tables. She was hunched forward, her small hands clutching a blanket someone had draped over her shoulders.

She’d been like that since you returned to the mansion, sticking close to you whenever possible and barely speaking a word to anyone. You didn’t blame her—whatever had been done to her in that lab would take time to heal, physically and emotionally.

Logan’s eyes flicked to you as you approached, his expression unreadable. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked, his voice low.

You glanced at Laura, then back at Logan. “Can we talk? Somewhere private?”

His brow furrowed, but he nodded, following you out into the hallway. Once the door closed behind you, he turned to face you, his arms still crossed. “What is it?”

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “Logan… I found something in the files we recovered.”

His jaw tightened. “What kind of somethin’?”

“It’s about Laura.”

At the mention of her name, his posture stiffened, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What about her?”

You hesitated, unsure how to phrase it without overwhelming him. “They used your DNA to create her. She’s… she’s your daughter, Logan. Or as close to one as she can be.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, the weight of your words sinking in. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

You reached into your bag, pulling out a printed copy of the relevant section of Laura’s file and handing it to him. “It’s all here. She was part of their experiments—Transigen used your DNA as the base for hers.”

Logan scanned the page, his grip tightening as he read. His breathing grew heavier, his shoulders rising and falling with each exhale. “They… they did this to her? To me?”

“Logan,” you said softly, stepping closer. “She’s been through so much already, but she’s here now. She’s safe. And she’s looking to you, whether she realizes it or not.”

He let the paper fall to his side, his eyes distant. “She’s just a kid,” he muttered, almost to himself. “A kid who didn’t ask for any of this.”

“No, she didn’t,” you agreed. “But she’s here now. And she needs someone she can trust.”

Logan’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, you saw the conflict in his eyes—the fear, the anger, and something softer, something that made your chest ache.

“What the hell am I supposed to do, Y/N?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his tone. Logan was always the rock—the one who took the hits and kept standing. Seeing him this unsure, this raw, was rare. You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

“She doesn’t need you to have all the answers right now, Logan,” you said softly. “She just needs to know she’s safe, that someone’s there for her. That someone cares.”

He let out a heavy breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. “What if I mess this up? What if I can’t be what she needs?”

“You won’t mess this up,” you reassured him, squeezing his arm. “You’ve always been good at protecting the people you care about. And she’s already looking to you—even if she doesn’t know it yet. You just have to show her she’s not alone.”

Logan looked away, his jaw clenching. “She’s been through hell, Y/N. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start small,” you suggested. “Be present. Talk to her, even if she doesn’t talk back. Let her see that you’re not going anywhere.”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is… it’s a lot.”

“I know,” you said gently. “But you’re not in this alone. I’ll be here to help, and so will the rest of the team. You don’t have to do this by yourself.”

Logan looked back at you, his expression softening just a fraction. “Thanks, darlin’. I mean it.”

You gave him a small smile. “She’s waiting for you. Go sit with her for a bit. Even if you don’t say much, it’ll mean a lot to her.”

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. Without another word, he turned and walked back into the med bay.

You watched him go, your heart heavy with a mix of emotions. You knew this wouldn’t be easy for him—or for Laura—but if anyone could handle this, it was Logan. He’d faced more than his share of battles, and this one, though different, was just as important.

---

Later that day, after Rogue and Jubilee finished setting up rooms for the kids, you walked Laura to hers. She stayed close to your side, her small hand gripping the hem of your sleeve. The quiet of the hallway felt heavy, but you didn’t push her to speak. She wasn’t ready, and you understood that.

“This is your room,” you said softly, opening the door to a cozy space with a twin bed, a small desk, and a chair by the window. Jubilee had left a few stuffed animals on the bed, hoping to make it feel less clinical.

Laura stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room like she was assessing it for threats. She still hadn’t let go of your sleeve.

“It’s just you in here,” you said, crouching to her level. “No one will bother you unless you want them to. You’re safe.”

She glanced at you, her dark eyes searching your face. The intensity of her gaze always caught you off guard—there was so much there for someone so young.

“You can stay here for as long as you want,” you continued, your voice gentle. “No one’s going to make you leave.”

Laura finally let go of your sleeve but didn’t step away. Instead, she reached out and tugged lightly at the edge of your glasses, her expression softening with curiosity.

“Careful,” you said with a small smile. “I kind of need those to see.”

Her lips twitched, just a hint of a smile, but she said nothing.

“Do you want me to stay for a bit?” you asked, tilting your head.

She nodded quickly, her grip shifting to your hand this time.

“Okay,” you said, letting her lead you to the bed. She climbed onto it, sitting cross-legged, while you settled beside her.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, the soft hum of the mansion filling the quiet. Laura reached for one of the stuffed animals—a small, floppy bunny—and turned it over in her hands like she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

“You can keep it,” you said. “Or any of the others. They’re yours now.”

She hesitated before hugging the rabbit to her chest.

“You know,” you started, keeping your tone light, “when I first came here, I was scared too. It felt like… too much all at once. But then I realized everyone here wanted to help me. No one’s going to hurt you here, Laura. I promise.”

Her gaze flicked to you at the sound of her name, but she didn’t speak. You didn’t mind. This kind of trust took time, and you’d give her as much of it as she needed.

---

Over the next few days, Laura continued to follow you around with the new addition of the stuffed grey bunny in her arms.

You picked Laura up and set her on the stool at the kitchen island, grabbing a bowl, a box of cereal, and the gallon of milk. After pouring her a generous serving of cereal and adding just the right amount of milk, you slid the bowl across the island to her. Laura hesitated for a moment, her dark eyes darting between you and the bowl, before reaching out to pull it closer. The grey bunny she’d been carrying for days was perched protectively on her lap, its floppy ears tucked neatly under her arm.

“You’re getting the hang of this place,” you said lightly, leaning against the counter as you watched her. “Cereal’s a favorite around here. Easy, no cooking required. Even Logan eats it sometimes.”

Laura didn’t respond, but her eyes flickered up to you briefly before she dipped her spoon into the bowl.

You let the silence linger, knowing she wasn’t ready to talk yet. That was okay. Her comfort mattered more than filling the quiet. She’d been through so much, and pushing her to open up too soon would only make things harder for her.

The sound of footsteps drew your attention, and Logan entered the kitchen, his gaze immediately landing on Laura. He gave a slight nod, acknowledging her presence, before looking at you. “She eatin’?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded. “She’s doing okay.”

Logan’s brows furrowed, his eyes lingering on Laura as she carefully scooped another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. He looked out of place in the brightly lit kitchen, his rugged demeanor a sharp contrast to the homey atmosphere. But when his gaze softened just a fraction as he watched Laura, something in your chest tightened.

“She’s stickin’ close to you,” he murmured, stepping closer so only you could hear.

“She feels safe,” you replied, keeping your voice equally quiet. “It’s not surprising after what she’s been through.”

Logan grunted, a sound that could’ve meant anything, but his eyes didn’t leave Laura. “She always hold onto that thing?” He nodded toward the bunny in Laura’s lap.

“Everywhere she goes,” you said with a small smile. “Jubilee left it on her bed the first night. It’s hers now.”

Logan crossed his arms, leaning against the counter beside you. “She talk to you yet?”

You shook your head. “Not yet. But she’ll get there. It’s only been a few days. She’s still figuring out who to trust.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he looked down at his boots. “What if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” you said firmly, nudging his arm with your elbow. “She’s already trusting you more than you realize. She watches you, Logan. When you’re in the room, her eyes are on you. She might not say it, but she sees you.”

His gaze flicked to you, a storm of emotions swirling in his eyes. You leaned forward and kissed his cheek before stepping away to make your tea. Logan stayed where he was, arms crossed, watching you move about the kitchen.

“You know,” he said after a moment, his voice gruff, “it doesn’t get easier, lettin’ people in. Never has for me.”

You stirred honey into your tea, the soft clink of the spoon the only sound for a moment. “You don’t have to figure it all out at once, Logan. She’s just a kid. She doesn’t need perfect—just someone who’s there.”

He sighed heavily and leaned against the counter, his fingers drumming against the edge. “Yeah, well, ‘there’ ain’t somethin’ I’ve always been good at.”

You turned to face him, cradling the warm mug in your hands. “But you are now. You’re here, Logan. That’s what matters.”

---

“Do you mind if I do some tests, Laura?” Jean asked. “I just need a few blood samples and a quick scan. Is that okay?”

Laura didn’t move for a moment before nodding, her eyes shifting toward you where you stood at the far side of the med bay. Her grip on the bunny in her lap tightened as she glanced between you and Jean, her expression unchanging but her intent clear.

You hesitated, understanding immediately what she wanted. She didn’t say a word, but you could feel the unspoken plea in her gaze.

“Hang on,” you said softly, stepping closer. Jean glanced at you with a knowing look as you moved to Laura’s side.

“You want me to stay here with you?” you asked gently, crouching so you were at her eye level. Laura gave a small nod, her dark hair falling into her face as she held the stuffed bunny closer to her chest.

“Okay,” you said, offering a reassuring smile. “I’ll stay.”

Jean set down the tablet she was holding, her tone calm and steady. “That’s perfectly fine, Laura. Y/N can stay with you while we run a couple of tests. I’ll be quick, and you won’t feel much.”

You pulled up a chair next to the exam table, close enough for Laura to feel your presence but giving her space. She kept her eyes on you, her small hand reaching out to lightly touch the sleeve of your shirt. You placed your hand over hers briefly, giving it a light squeeze before letting go.

“You’re really brave, you know,” you said quietly as Jean prepared the equipment. “This is just a little check-up, and then we’ll be done. You’re doing great.”

Laura didn’t respond, but her grip on the bunny relaxed slightly.

Jean’s voice was gentle as she approached with a syringe. “Laura, I’m just going to take a tiny bit of blood from your arm. It’ll be over before you know it.”

Laura stiffened at the sight of the needle, her knuckles whitening as she clutched the stuffed bunny.

“Hey,” you said softly, leaning closer to her. “Look at me, not the needle, okay?”

Her eyes darted back to yours, and you gave her an encouraging smile. “That’s it. Just focus on me. We’ll be done before you know it.”

Jean worked quickly and efficiently, the needle in and out of Laura’s arm within seconds. “All done,” she said, capping the syringe and stepping back. “You did great.”

Laura didn’t look away from you until Jean had moved the equipment aside. Her body relaxed by fractions, though she still stayed close, her expression guarded.

“See?” you said with a warm smile. “Told you it’d be quick.”

Jean knelt beside her, a gentle look on her face. “Laura, I’m going to do a quick scan of your vitals now. It’s just a machine—it won’t hurt at all. Is that okay?”

Laura hesitated, then nodded slightly, her eyes flicking to you again.

“I’ll stay right here,” you assured her.

The scanner emitted a low hum as Jean moved it over Laura’s body, checking for injuries or abnormalities. Laura stayed perfectly still, her trust placed solely in you to keep her grounded.

When Jean finished, she offered a smile. “You’re all set, Laura. You’re perfectly healthy, just like I thought.”

Laura didn’t react immediately, but she turned slightly to face you, her hand still brushing the fabric of your sleeve.

“You did amazing,” you said softly. “I’m proud of you.”

Jean rose to her feet, giving you both a gentle smile. “I’ll give you two some space. If you need me, I’ll be just outside.”

Once the door clicked shut, you turned back to Laura. “See? Nothing to it.”

Laura tilted her head, her expression unreadable as she studied you. Finally, she moved the bunny onto her lap and tugged at the edge of your glasses again.

“You like messing with these, huh?” you said, adjusting them back into place with a small laugh. “I don’t know if they suit me, but I can’t see much without them.”

Her lips twitched—just the faintest hint of a smile—as she dropped her hand.

As Jean walked out of the room, she found Logan leaning against the wall just outside, his arms crossed and his expression neutral—though there was a flicker of concern in his eyes. He straightened slightly as she approached.

“How’d it go?” he asked, his voice gruff but quieter than usual.

Jean glanced back toward the med bay door before answering. “She did great. A little nervous, but Y/N stayed with her the whole time. Helped keep her calm.”

Logan nodded, his gaze shifting toward the closed door. “She say anything?”

Jean shook her head. “Not yet. But it’s not surprising, considering what she’s been through. It’ll take time.”

Logan let out a low grunt, running a hand over his face. “She’s got good instincts, though. Trusts Y/N already.”

Jean smiled faintly. “Can’t blame her for that. Y/N has a way of making people feel safe.” Her tone softened as she added, “She’s good with the kids. Always has been.”

Logan’s lips twitched, almost like he wanted to smile, but the weight of the situation held it back. “Yeah. She’s got a gift for it.”

Jean studied him for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly. “How are you holding up with all of this? I know it’s a lot, Logan.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening. “Ain’t about me. It’s about makin’ sure these kids are okay.”

Jean nodded, though she didn’t look entirely convinced. “Well, if you need to talk—”

“I’m fine,” he cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Just want to make sure Laura’s got what she needs.”

Jean held up her hands in a placating gesture. “Fair enough. I’ll let you know if I learn anything else. For now, she’s physically fine, which is a relief.”

Logan gave a curt nod, his attention drifting back to the med bay door. After a beat, he pushed off the wall. “Think I’ll check in on ‘em.”

Jean stepped aside, watching him with a knowing look as he walked into the room.

Inside, you were still seated next to Laura, who now had her bunny balanced carefully on her knees. She didn’t look up immediately when Logan entered, but her posture stiffened slightly, and her eyes darted toward the door.

“You doin’ okay, darlin’?” Logan asked, his tone softer than usual as he directed the question at you.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, offering a small smile. “Yeah, we’re good. Jean finished up, and Laura was a champ.” Turning back to the girl, you added, “Weren’t you?”

Laura didn’t respond verbally, but her grip on the bunny eased just a little.

Logan moved closer, crouching down so he was at eye level with her. “Y’know,” he said, his voice low and steady, “I’ve seen a lot of tough people in my time. You’re up there with the best of ‘em.”

Laura’s eyes flicked to his face, studying him for a moment before her focus returned to the bunny.

Logan didn’t push, instead glancing at you. “She give you any trouble?”

You shook your head. “None at all. She just needed a little reassurance. Right, Laura?”

The girl hesitated before giving the faintest nod.

Logan’s gaze softened, though he didn’t say anything. After a moment, he reached out, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the table. “You let me or Y/N know if you need anything, alright? You’re not alone anymore.”

Laura’s eyes lingered on him briefly before shifting back to you. She seemed to take comfort in your presence, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction more.

“She’s already made a lot of progress,” you said quietly, looking at Logan. “It’s just going to take time.”

Logan nodded, his eyes never leaving Laura. “Yeah. Time.” He straightened up, resting a hand on your shoulder briefly before stepping back. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

As he left, Laura reached out again, tugging lightly at the sleeve of your shirt. You turned back to her, giving her a warm smile. “You’re doing so well, Laura. One step at a time, okay?”

She didn’t say anything, but for the first time, she didn’t look away. Instead, she leaned ever so slightly toward you, the bunny still cradled in her lap.

---

During the night, while Logan lay on his side of the bed with you tucked against him, the quiet creak of the bedroom door broke the silence. Logan’s senses pricked immediately. He shifted slightly, his eyes opening just enough to spot a small figure in the dim light. Laura.

She padded softly toward your side of the bed, her stuffed bunny clutched tightly in one hand. She paused near you, standing still for a long moment as if debating what to do. Normally, you would’ve stirred by now—your light sleeping had made you the first to notice her during previous nights. But tonight, you were sound asleep, your steady breathing undisturbed.

Laura hesitated, taking a small step back as if deciding to leave. Logan’s low, gravelly voice broke the quiet, gentle but firm enough to catch her attention.

“You wanna come over here, kid?”

Laura froze, her eyes flicking toward him. For a moment, she didn’t move, her expression unreadable in the dim light. Logan stayed where he was, his tone soft but not insistent. “It’s alright. You can come here if you want.”

After a long pause, Laura nodded just slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. Slowly, she made her way around the bed to his side. Logan sat up slightly, offering her his hand. “C’mere,” he said, his voice steady.

She hesitated again before taking his hand. Logan helped her climb up onto the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. Laura settled beside him, her stuffed bunny still clutched tightly. She didn’t say anything, but her posture was tense, her small body rigid as she perched near him.

Logan glanced at her, his rough exterior softening in a way he reserved for only a select few. “Nightmare?” he asked quietly.

Laura nodded, her grip on the bunny tightening. Logan didn’t press for details; he simply shifted slightly, giving her space but staying close enough to offer reassurance. After a moment, Laura leaned against him cautiously, her small frame relaxing just a fraction.

The two of them sat in silence, the room dim and still. Logan rested a hand lightly on the bed near her, careful not to overwhelm her. After some time, the tension in Laura’s body eased further, and she leaned into him fully, her head resting against his chest. Logan’s arm settled around her, his movements slow and unhurried, as if afraid to spook her.

Gradually, Laura’s breathing evened out, and she drifted into sleep. Logan stayed awake for a while longer, his hand resting protectively on her back as he listened to the steady rhythm of her breathing.

---

When you woke the next morning, the first thing you noticed was the warmth beside you. Turning over with a sleepy yawn, you were met with a sight that made your heart ache in the best way.

Laura was curled up against Logan, her small body tucked securely against his chest. Her bunny was still clutched in one hand, and Logan’s arm was draped loosely around her, holding her close. Both of them were sound asleep, their breathing synchronized.

You couldn’t help but smile at the scene, your heart swelling with an overwhelming sense of love and tenderness. For a moment, you simply watched them, unwilling to disturb the quiet peace of the moment.

Finally, you reached out gently, brushing a hand over Logan’s arm. His eyes opened slowly, his gaze immediately meeting yours. He gave you a small, tired smile before glancing down at Laura, still nestled against him.

“She had a nightmare,” he murmured, his voice low to avoid waking her.

You nodded, your voice just as soft. “And she came to find us.”

Logan’s lips twitched slightly. “Yeah. Guess she’s startin’ to trust us.”

“She already trusts you,” you said warmly, your eyes lingering on the two of them. “That’s obvious.”

Logan didn’t respond, but the faintest hint of emotion flickered across his face. He glanced down at Laura again, his hand gently brushing over her hair in a protective gesture.

“She’s just a kid,” he said quietly after a moment, his voice heavy with unspoken thoughts.

You placed a hand over his, giving it a light squeeze. “She’s safe with us, Logan. She’ll figure that out in time.”

He nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “Yeah. She will.”

---

While the team fought in the Danger Room, you took up your usual spot observing from the deck, keeping an eye on the controls.

Laura was with you, sitting on your lap with her stuffed bunny as you observed the Danger Room training session from the control deck. Her small hands gripped the bunny tightly as her eyes followed the action below, her focus intense. Despite how quiet she was, you could feel how closely she was watching everything—soaking in the details of every move the team made.

“Pretty cool, huh?” you said softly, glancing down at her. Laura didn’t respond, but her grip on the bunny loosened a bit as her dark eyes flicked up to yours for a brief moment.

You leaned back slightly in the chair, your hand resting on the edge of the console. “This is where we train to use our abilities,” you explained, gesturing toward the simulated battle below. “It helps keep everyone safe out there in the real world.”

Laura’s gaze drifted to your hand and then back to the training floor. She fidgeted slightly, her brow furrowing, before her hand tugged lightly at the fabric of your sleeve.

“What’s up?” you asked gently, tilting your head to look at her.

She hesitated for a long moment, clutching her bunny to her chest before reaching out tentatively. She pointed at the scene below, where Scott and Storm were sparring, then back at you. Her silent question hung in the air: what about you?

You smiled softly, understanding what she was trying to ask. “Me?” you said, tapping your chest lightly. “I’ve got abilities too.”

Laura shifted on your lap, watching you closely now. Her intensity was unwavering, and it was clear she wanted you to explain.

“Well,” you began, keeping your tone light but sincere, “I can control time. Kind of like pressing pause or rewind on a movie—except it’s real life.” You held up a hand, flexing your fingers slowly. “I don’t use it much unless I really need to. It’s not the kind of thing you show off unless it’s important.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to piece together what that meant. Her small fingers toyed with the ear of her stuffed bunny as she continued to stare.

“Here,” you said softly, leaning forward. “I can show you something small. Just watch.”

You reached for the pen on the console in front of you and gave it a light push, letting it roll toward the edge. Before it could fall, you lifted your hand subtly, pausing time just long enough to stop its descent mid-air. Laura’s sharp eyes widened as she noticed the pen floating in place. With a small wave of your hand, time resumed, and the pen clattered onto the floor.

She turned her gaze back to you, her expression still guarded but undeniably curious.

“See? Nothing too flashy, but it’s handy,” you said with a warm smile. “I promise I’ll teach you all about it someday if you want.”

Laura blinked, tilting her head as though considering your words. Then she did something that caught you off guard—she leaned forward slightly and tugged the fabric of your sleeve closer, resting her head briefly against your arm before pulling back. It wasn’t much, but you could feel the quiet trust forming between the two of you.

You placed a hand lightly on her back. “You’re safe here,” you said softly. “You’re part of our family now.”

Her lips pressed into a firm line, but she didn’t pull away from your touch. If anything, she seemed to lean just a little closer.

Below, Logan stepped off the mat after wrapping up his turn in the Danger Room, his eyes immediately finding yours up on the observation deck. He gave a small nod, the corners of his mouth twitching in what might’ve been a smile. You waved slightly, letting him know everything was fine.

Laura turned her head slightly, catching the exchange, but she didn’t react. Instead, she leaned back against your chest, the bunny tucked securely in her arms.

“You’re doing great, Laura,” you murmured, keeping your voice low and reassuring. “One step at a time, right?”

She didn’t reply, but the faintest hint of a smile flickered on her face. It wasn’t much, but it was progress. And for now, that was more than enough.

---

You decided to grade papers in your classroom over your office, giving Laura the ability to look at and mess around with things around the room, like right now with your laser pointer.

Rogue and Jubilee were in your classroom as well, though they weren’t your students anymore they sometimes came by to check in or hang out.

Laura pointed the laser at Jubilee, the red dot landing squarely on her hand as the younger mutant gestured animatedly. Jubilee paused mid-sentence, her eyes catching the red dot. With a dramatic gasp, she looked up at Laura, who sat perched on your lap, her face as impassive as ever.

"Is that... a laser pointer?" Jubilee asked, grinning as she held up her hand to ‘catch’ the dot. She waved her fingers back and forth, moving it like a cat trying to catch a toy.

You glanced down at Laura, whose small hand gripped the pointer tightly. Her dark eyes flicked from Jubilee’s hand to her face, her expression unreadable. A faint twitch of her lips might’ve been amusement—or just concentration.

“Laura,” you said softly, an affectionate lilt in your voice, “are you messing with Jubilee?”

Laura glanced at you briefly before pointing the laser at Rogue instead, the red dot landing on her shoulder. Rogue turned her head, furrowing her brow as she noticed.

“What the—?” Rogue swatted at the dot, looking up toward you with a raised eyebrow. “Y/N, is this your doing?”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Not me. Looks like Laura’s having some fun.”

Rogue chuckled softly, folding her arms as she leaned against the edge of your desk. “Well, she’s got good aim. Better than most adults I know.”

Laura tilted her head slightly, as if acknowledging the compliment, before turning off the laser and tucking it into her pocket. Her eyes shifted between Rogue and Jubilee, lingering on them with quiet curiosity.

“She’s sizing us up,” Jubilee teased, wiggling her fingers dramatically at Laura. “What’re you thinking, kid? Who’s cooler—me or Rogue?”

“Not a fair competition,” Rogue said with a playful smirk. “We all know I’d win.”

Laura didn’t respond, her gaze darting between the two women. Then, she tugged gently at your sleeve, her silent signal that she wanted your attention.

“What’s up?” you asked, leaning slightly to meet her gaze.

Laura pointed at Rogue, her finger steady as she tapped the air. Then she pointed at Jubilee. Her expression was serious, her question clear even without words: what are their powers?

You smiled at her perceptiveness, then looked up at the two women. “She wants to know about your abilities.”

Jubilee’s face lit up. “Oh, now this is my kind of conversation.” She raised her hands, conjuring a burst of multicolored sparks that crackled and popped like tiny fireworks. “I make things go boom. Pretty cool, huh?”

Laura’s eyes widened slightly, her interest unmistakable. She leaned forward just a touch, watching the sparks fizzle out in Jubilee’s hands.

Rogue smiled softly, lowering her gloves to reveal her bare hands. “Mine’s a little different,” she said, her tone gentler. “When I touch someone, I absorb their powers, memories—everything. It’s a lot, but it’s helped me save a life or two.”

Laura’s gaze lingered on Rogue’s hands before shifting back to her face. She tilted her head, her brow furrowing slightly as if processing this new information.

“She’s just curious,” you said, running a hand lightly over Laura’s back. “She’s still getting used to all of this.”

“Totally understandable,” Jubilee said, leaning against the desk. “It’s a lot for anyone, let alone a kid.”

Rogue nodded. “She’s got instincts, though. You can tell she’s sharp.”

Laura’s hand moved to the laser pointer in her pocket again, her fingers brushing over it absentmindedly. You could feel the faint tension in her body, the way she stayed close to you, as if you were her anchor in this unfamiliar environment.

Jubilee crouched slightly, her tone warm and playful. “Hey, Laura. If you ever wanna learn how to make stuff explode, let me know. I’ve got the best fireworks tutorial in the mansion.”

Laura’s lips twitched—just barely—but she didn’t pull away or retreat, which was progress in itself. You gave her a reassuring squeeze, your heart swelling with quiet pride at how far she’d come in such a short time.

---

Laura was good at cards. One night, while the team gathered around in the common room, Rogue asked Laura if she would like Remy to teach her how to play cards. Logan resisted but gave in when Laura willingly left your side to sit by Rogue as Remy taught her.

Laura sat cross-legged on the floor, her small figure hunched over the deck of cards as Remy dealt another round. The room hummed with conversation, laughter, and the occasional clink of mugs, but Laura seemed entirely focused on the game. Her dark eyes scanned the cards in her hand, her face giving nothing away.

You watched from the couch, glasses perched on your nose as you graded a stack of physics tests. Logan sat beside you, his arm draped across the back of the couch, his attention split between Laura and the hockey game playing on the TV.

“She’s got him sweatin’,” Logan muttered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

You glanced over, catching the way Remy’s usually confident demeanor had shifted. He leaned forward slightly, shuffling the cards in his hand as he studied Laura with newfound caution. Rogue stood nearby, arms crossed, watching the game with a soft, amused smile.

“Alright, petite,” Remy said, tapping his cards on the table. “Let’s see what you got.”

Laura set her cards down with deliberate precision, revealing a winning hand. A small murmur of approval rippled through the room as she calmly collected the pile of coins and trinkets in the center of the table—among them, Remy’s fancy pen and his lucky die.

“Mon dieu,” Remy muttered, running a hand through his hair. “This one’s ruthless.”

“She’s just playin’ smart,” Rogue teased, nudging him lightly with her elbow. “Don’t get all huffy just ‘cause a kid’s got the better of you.”

Logan chuckled under his breath, leaning back. “She’s got instincts. You should’ve seen her figure out poker a few weeks ago. Took Jubilee’s snacks, too.”

You couldn’t help but smile, setting your pen down for a moment. Laura’s serious expression hadn’t changed, but you could see the faintest glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes as she added her winnings to a small pile beside her.

“Alright, that’s it,” Remy said, holding up his hands. “I’m out before I lose my coat. Ain’t no beatin’ you, petite.”

Laura glanced at him briefly, her expression unreadable as she shifted the cards into a neat pile. She looked over at Rogue, then at you, as if gauging her next move.

“Nice haul,” you said, your tone warm and encouraging. “You’re really good at this.”

She looked at you for a moment, then nodded, the faintest hint of pride in her posture as she pocketed the pen and die. You felt Logan’s hand squeeze your shoulder gently, his way of silently sharing the moment with you.

Rogue crouched down beside Laura, her tone light. “You gonna go easy on me if I play a round with you, or you takin’ me for everything I’ve got, too?”

Laura tilted her head slightly, considering, before holding out the deck of cards toward Rogue. It wasn’t a verbal answer, but it was as close to an invitation as anyone could get.

“She’s got the hang of this place,” Logan murmured, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “Good thing, too. She’s tough, but it’s nice seein’ her relax some.”

You glanced at him, your heart warming at the rare softness in his tone. “She’s not just tough,” you replied quietly, watching as Laura dealt the cards with practiced efficiency. “She’s brilliant. Just needs time to find her rhythm.”

Logan leaned in slightly, brushing a kiss against your temple. “She’ll get there. She’s got you, after all.”

Before you could respond, Jubilee’s voice cut through the room, dramatic as ever. “Alright, who’s ready for movie night? We’re watching Spaceballs and there’s popcorn in the kitchen!”

Logan groaned, but there was no real complaint in it. “Again? Don’t you kids know any other movies?”

“It’s a classic, Logan!” Jubilee countered, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing a piece his way. “You just don’t appreciate art.”

Laura, seemingly disinterested in the commotion, finished dealing the cards for Rogue, then looked back toward you. You smiled at her, your expression full of encouragement. She stayed where she was, content to be in her little circle for now, but you noticed her eyes linger on you for just a moment longer than usual.

---

Logan stood outside, leaning against the wall as he watched you show Laura the different trees in the yard, while the other kids ran about playing games or just relaxing under the shade.

Ororo and Jean both came over to him, one of them standing on each side of Logan. Jean spoke first, “you’re jealous.” She teased.

Logan didn’t look over at her, “I’m not jealous.”

Ororo hummed, “oh, yeah? Is that why you got all pouty when Y/N took Laura to the mall the other day and didn’t invite you?”

Logan scowled but didn’t look away from the scene in front of him. You were crouched next to a tree, pointing at something on the bark while Laura stood beside you, her head tilted in curiosity. The other kids were scattered around the yard, laughing and playing, but Laura stayed close to you, her small frame almost rigid.

“I didn’t pout,” Logan muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jean grinned, leaning her shoulder into him. “You totally pouted. You didn’t even talk to anyone during dinner that night.”

“That’s just Logan,” Ororo teased. “Quiet brooding is his default.”

Logan shot them both a look. “I don’t brood.”

Jean smirked. “Whatever you say, Logan.”

The three of them stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching as you moved to another tree with Laura trailing behind. Her little hand brushed against yours, and you instinctively reached down, linking your fingers loosely with hers. Logan’s expression softened, though he didn’t realize it.

“She’s attached to Y/N,” Ororo said softly, her gaze warm. “It’s sweet.”

“She’s attached ‘cause Y/N gets her,” Logan replied, his voice quieter than usual. “Knows when to give her space and when to be close. Most people don’t figure that out with Laura.”

Jean tilted her head, studying Logan’s face. “And you? You okay with sharing Y/N?”

Logan frowned, but there was no real bite in it. “Ain’t about sharing. It’s about what’s best for Laura. Kid’s been through hell. If this helps her feel... safe, then I’m all for it.”

Jean exchanged a quick glance with Ororo, both of them smiling knowingly. “You’re a softie, Logan,” Jean teased.

“Don’t push it,” Logan grumbled, though his tone lacked any real edge.

Meanwhile, you crouched down again, pointing at a patch of moss growing at the base of a tree. Laura crouched beside you, mimicking your posture. Her dark eyes flickered between your face and the moss, her attention unwavering.

“See how it’s growing on this side?” you asked gently, keeping your voice low. “That’s because it gets more shade over here. Plants like this need to stay cool and moist to grow.”

Laura nodded slowly, reaching out to touch the moss with a tentative finger. You smiled, glancing over your shoulder toward the mansion. Your eyes met Logan’s for a brief second, and he gave you a small nod. It wasn’t much, but it carried a lot: approval, gratitude, and maybe something a little softer.

Ororo elbowed him lightly. “You’re staring.”

“Am not.”

Jean laughed. “You totally are. And it’s adorable.”

Logan groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “You two gonna keep yappin’ or let me enjoy some peace and quiet?”

“Peace and quiet?” Ororo echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Logan, you’re literally surrounded by kids.”

Before he could retort, Laura stood up and turned to look at him. She didn’t say anything—she never did—but her gaze was steady, almost challenging. After a beat, she reached out and tugged at your sleeve, silently signaling she wanted to go inside.

You stood up, brushing dirt off your hands. “Ready to head back?”

Laura nodded once, her grip on your sleeve tightening slightly. You gave her a reassuring smile, then looked back at Logan. “We’re going in. Coming with?”

He shrugged, pushing off the wall. “Yeah, why not?”

Jean and Ororo exchanged amused looks as Logan followed you and Laura inside. When the door closed behind you, Ororo shook her head with a grin. “He’s a goner.”

Jean laughed. “Completely.”

---

As you and Laura walked down the main stairway, a knock from the front door reverberated through the mansion. Laura immediately grew tense, her fists clenching.

“Hey, it’s okay. Let’s see who it is,” you said, your voice calm as you moved toward the front door. Laura stayed close behind, her small frame tense, her eyes darting toward the windows as if assessing possible threats. You placed a hand on the doorknob, glancing back at her. “It’s probably nothing to worry about.”

Laura didn’t respond, but her fingers twitched, brushing against her side where her claws often unsheathed in moments of anxiety. You opened the door slowly, peering through the small crack.

“Oh, Peter!” you exclaimed, opening the door fully to reveal the young man standing on the porch in his Spider-Man suit. He was taller than when you last saw him, his lanky frame filling out slightly, though he still looked like the same awkward, wide-eyed kid you remembered. “You’ve gotten a bit taller in a year.”

Peter pulled off his mask, revealing a sheepish grin. “Yeah, uh… puberty’s a thing, I guess.” He scratched the back of his head, glancing past you into the mansion. “Hope it’s okay I stopped by. I was in the area and figured—”

“Of course it’s okay,” you interrupted warmly, stepping aside to let him in. “You’re always welcome here.”

Peter stepped inside, his eyes immediately falling on Laura, who was standing half-hidden behind you. Her sharp gaze was fixed on him, her posture defensive. Peter paused, his grin faltering slightly as he raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender.

“Uh… hi?” he tried, his voice unsure. “I’m Peter. You must be… Laura?”

She didn’t respond, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him. You placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

“This is Peter Parker,” you explained softly, glancing down at her. “He’s a friend of ours.”

Laura’s gaze flicked to you, then back to Peter. She didn’t move or speak, but some of the tension in her shoulders eased.

Peter offered a nervous laugh. “Wow, tough crowd. It’s nice to meet you, though. I’ve, uh, heard a lot about you. Good things! Really good things.”

Laura tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable as she continued to size him up. Then she jerked her wrist once before pointing at Peter.

“I think she wants to see your webs,” you said, glancing down at Laura with a small smile. Her dark eyes remained fixed on Peter, her expression blank but her body tense, like a coiled spring.

Peter’s grin returned, albeit a little nervously. “Oh, yeah? Well, I can definitely do that. Hold on.” He flexed his fingers, then quickly flicked his wrist, sending a thin, shimmering strand of webbing across the room. It stuck to the far wall with a soft thwip, and he gave it a playful tug.

Laura’s head tilted slightly, her focus narrowing on the web as though she were analyzing its structure. Her fingers twitched again, though whether it was from curiosity or a reflexive urge to defend herself, you couldn’t quite tell.

“Cool, right?” Peter said, his tone a little more confident now. He released the web, letting it dissolve as he looked back at her. “I can swing through the city with these. It’s like… uh, instant transportation but way scarier and more fun.”

Laura finally moved, taking a single step closer, her gaze darting from Peter’s face to his hands. She pointed at the spot on the wall where the web had landed, then back at him.

“You wanna see it again?” Peter asked. He mimicked her pointing gesture, earning a faint twitch of her lips—almost a smile but not quite. “Okay, okay, one more.”

He aimed at the ceiling this time, sending a longer strand upward. The webbing clung to the chandelier, and Peter gave a mock swing to demonstrate, though he didn’t actually leave the ground. “Ta-da!” he said, gesturing dramatically.

Laura took another step forward, stopping a few feet in front of him. She didn’t look at you for reassurance, which was something; instead, she raised her hand and pointed again, this time at his wrist.

“Oh, you wanna see where it comes from?” Peter said, holding up his hand. “It’s, uh, kind of gross, but—oh, wait, not gross! Just… science-y. And cool. Definitely cool.”

He turned his wrist to show her the small, almost-invisible mechanism attached to the underside of his suit’s glove. “See this? It’s my web-shooter. Homemade. Took me forever to get it right, but now it’s pretty solid. I press here—” he gestured to a small trigger, “—and bam. Webs.”

Laura stared at the device for a long moment before looking up at him, her brow furrowed slightly. She pointed at his face, then mimicked putting on a mask.

“Oh, you mean the suit?” Peter said, catching on. “Yeah, I made that too. Well, this version’s had a few upgrades, but the original was all me. Gotta protect the ol’ secret identity, you know?”

You stepped closer, your hand brushing Laura’s shoulder gently. “Peter’s a bit of a genius when it comes to tech,” you said, your voice soft. “He built all of this himself.”

“That’s, uh, kind of an exaggeration,” Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just tinker a lot. Nothing fancy.”

Laura glanced at you briefly, then back at Peter. Finally, she reached out, her movements slow and deliberate, and tapped his wrist where the web-shooter sat.

Peter froze for a second, clearly unsure how to respond. “Oh, uh, you wanna try it?”

Laura pulled her hand back slightly, her expression unreadable.

“It’s okay,” you said gently. “He’s offering.”

Peter carefully unfastened the web-shooter from his wrist and held it out to her. “Here. Just don’t, uh, point it at anyone unless you’re ready to explain why they’re stuck to a wall.”

Laura hesitated, her fingers hovering just above the device before finally taking it from him. She turned it over in her hands, inspecting every detail with the kind of focus that made you wonder if she was mentally deconstructing it piece by piece.

“She’s like a little engineer,” Peter said, his tone full of admiration. “Seriously, I think she’s smarter than me already.”

“She’s definitely got an eye for detail,” you agreed, watching as Laura mimicked the motion Peter had demonstrated, pressing the trigger lightly. A small strand of webbing shot out, landing on the floor. Her head tilted again, and for the first time, you saw the faintest glimmer of curiosity in her expression.

“Not bad,” Peter said, grinning. “You’ve got the hang of it already.”

Laura handed the web-shooter back to him without a word, her movements quick but not abrupt. She looked at you, then gave a single nod, as if to say she’d seen enough.

“You’re a tough critic, huh?” Peter said, reattaching the device to his wrist. “I like that.”

Laura didn’t respond, but her body language had relaxed slightly. You reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “She’s just careful,” you said. “Takes a lot for her to trust someone.”

Peter nodded, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Hey, I get it. It’s cool. No rush or anything. I just wanted to say hi and, uh, not get on her bad side.”

You chuckled, giving Laura’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You did fine, Peter. Thanks for stopping by. It’s always good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too,” he said, pulling his mask back on. He gave a little wave, directing it at Laura. “Nice meeting you, Laura. You’re, uh… pretty awesome.”

Laura watched him go, her expression unreadable again, but you didn’t miss the way her posture stayed a little less guarded, even after the door closed.

---

You and Logan laid on the couch in the common room, with you laying in between his legs, your back against his chest. The TV played A New Hope, which Logan grumbled about at first, until you reminded him that the two of you watched some Western last night.

“It doesn’t make sense why the damn droids—”

You brought a hand up behind you and placed it over Logan's mouth just as R2-D2 and C-3PO landed on Tatooine. He let out a muffled grumble against your palm, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“Logan,” you teased, turning your head slightly to catch his annoyed expression. “You promised no complaints tonight.”

He pulled your hand away gently, smirking as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “I just don’t get why those two are so important. They’re just scrap metal on legs.”

“Blasphemy,” you replied, feigning offense. “They’re the heart and soul of Star Wars.”

Logan snorted, muttering something about “weird priorities,” but didn’t argue further. He rested his chin lightly on the top of your head as the movie continued, his arms wrapped securely around your waist.

The peace was interrupted by the sound of small, light footsteps entering the room. You glanced toward the doorway and saw Laura standing there, her stuffed bunny clutched tightly in one hand. She didn’t say anything, of course, just stood there staring at the two of you.

“Hey, kiddo,” you greeted softly, motioning her over. “You wanna join us?”

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes darting between you and Logan before cautiously stepping closer. You sat up slightly and held out your hands, and she climbed onto the couch without a word. Once she was close enough, you gently lifted her and settled her between your legs, her back resting against your chest. Her bunny stayed tucked safely in her arms.

Logan’s eyes softened as he watched, his earlier grumpiness forgotten. He shifted to make more room, one arm draped lazily along the back of the couch.

For the first few minutes, Laura kept her gaze firmly averted from the screen, clearly uninterested. But gradually, you noticed her small head turning slightly, her dark eyes flickering toward the movie as Luke Skywalker wandered the desert. By the time Obi-Wan Kenobi made his first appearance, she was fully focused, her brows furrowed as she took it all in.

“You want me to rewind it?” you asked quietly, glancing down at her. “We’re not that far in.”

Logan groaned immediately. “Aw, come on, darlin’. We already sat through all that desert stuff.”

You gave him a pointed look. “Some of us appreciate the desert stuff.”

Laura looked up at you, then back at the screen. She didn’t say anything, but the way she clung to her bunny suggested she didn’t mind starting over. You took her silence as agreement and reached for the remote.

Logan let his head fall back dramatically. “You’re killin’ me here.”

“You’ll survive,” you said, smirking as you hit the rewind button.

The movie started over, and this time, all three of you watched in relative silence. You occasionally explained a few details to Laura, keeping your voice soft so as not to disturb the atmosphere. Logan offered a few snarky comments here and there, but even he seemed more engaged than he’d admit.

At some point, you noticed Laura’s head drooping, her body leaning more heavily against yours. She was fast asleep by the time the Jawas captured R2-D2, her bunny still clutched tightly in her hands.

You smiled down at her, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Guess she’s a fan,” you whispered.

Logan glanced over, his expression softening again as he took in the sight of Laura curled up against you. “Looks like it,” he murmured. “Not sure I’m ready for the day she starts quotin’ this stuff at me.”

You chuckled quietly. “You’ll manage.”

A comfortable silence settled over the room. The movie continued to play, but before long, you felt your own eyes growing heavy. Logan’s steady warmth and the soft rhythm of Laura’s breathing made it hard to stay awake. Eventually, you let your head rest against Logan’s chest, your hand resting lightly on Laura’s shoulder.

Logan glanced down, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips as he watched the two of you. He reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch, carefully pulling it over you and Laura without disturbing either of you.

“Night, darlin’,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Then he leaned back, his eyes on the screen, the soft hum of the movie filling the room as the three of you drifted into a peaceful sleep.

---

“Rogue is an expert decorator, especially when it comes to Christmas.” You explained, carrying Laura on your hip. The mansion was decked out in lights, trees, garland, and glitter. Usually you and Logan would go to the cabin up north, a tradition the two of you have had for the past few years, but since Laura was around the two of you thought it’d be best to stay at the mansion.

Laura pointed up at the ceiling by the common room doorway. “Oh, that’s mistletoe,” you said with a soft smile, adjusting her on your hip. “It’s been a symbol of love and peace for centuries. There’s even a tradition—if two people stand underneath it, they’re supposed to kiss. Then they pick one of the berries.”

Laura’s brow furrowed slightly, her dark eyes flicking to you and then back to the greenery above. She shifted in your arms, clutching her stuffed bunny tightly.

Rogue’s voice called out from the other side of the room, drawing both of your attention. “Hey, Y/N! You think this garland should go along the staircase or the balcony?”

“Staircase,” you replied, moving toward her. “It’ll tie the whole entryway together.”

Rogue grinned, giving you a thumbs-up before going back to work. The mansion was in full holiday mode, with Rogue and you taking charge of most of the decorating. Or, as Rogue called it, “deckin’ the halls until the place practically screams Christmas.”

“Let’s go help,” you said to Laura, setting her down gently. She stuck close, always keeping one hand on your sleeve or your leg as you worked alongside Rogue, hanging ornaments and looping tinsel. Occasionally, you handed Laura a small task, like placing bows on the banister or choosing where a set of lights should go. She performed each task with the same quiet intensity she seemed to bring to everything.

Logan, meanwhile, was in another part of the mansion helping Jubilee sort out the tangled mess of outdoor lights. You could already imagine him grumbling under his breath about the chaos, but you had no doubt Jubilee would keep him in line with her usual brand of bubbly sarcasm.

The day wore on, and as dinner approached, you noticed Laura had disappeared. Your chest tightened briefly at the realization, but you reminded yourself that she’d been feeling safer in the mansion lately and likely wasn’t far.

You didn’t have to wonder long. Just as you moved into the common room, you spotted her, standing in the middle of the doorway under the mistletoe with her arms folded over her chest. Her sharp eyes locked onto you, and then she made a motion with her hand—a beckoning gesture.

You chuckled softly, stepping toward her. “What are you up to?”

She didn’t answer, only raised a finger and pointed toward the mistletoe. Her gaze slid past you, focusing on Logan, who had just entered the room behind you, holding a tangled string of lights.

“What’s this about, kid?” Logan asked, frowning slightly as he stopped beside you.

Laura pointed at the mistletoe again, her expression unyielding. She shifted her stuffed bunny from one arm to the other, and then, for the first time, she opened her mouth.

“Kiss.”

Both you and Logan froze, the single word hanging in the air like a snowflake suspended in time.

You blinked, your gaze snapping to Logan, whose eyes were wide with shock before softening into something warmer, more tender. A grin slowly tugged at the corner of his lips as he glanced between you and Laura.

“Well,” Logan said, his voice quieter than usual, “looks like she’s givin’ orders now.”

Your face warmed, but you couldn’t deny the smile pulling at your lips. “She’s persistent,” you murmured, looking at Laura.

Laura didn’t move, her expression unchanging as she stood her ground beneath the mistletoe, waiting. There was a glint of determination in her eyes, and you realized this wasn’t just her pushing you and Logan into a holiday tradition. It was something more. She was testing boundaries, creating her version of a family moment.

You glanced back at Logan, and his slight nod told you he felt it, too. With an amused sigh, you leaned up on your toes and tilted your face toward him. Logan’s hand came up, brushing against your cheek as he bent his head down to meet your lips in a kiss. It was soft and warm, lingering just a moment longer than you expected.

When you pulled away, the smallest trace of a smile had appeared on Laura’s face. She stepped closer, still clutching her bunny, and Logan reached down, picking her up easily. You grabbed the bunny so her little hands could hold onto Logan’s neck instead.

“Well, what about you, kid?” Logan asked her, his voice unusually gentle. “You gonna get a kiss, too?”

You smiled, leaning in to kiss one of her cheeks as Logan did the same to the other. Laura made a soft sound, something halfway between a giggle and a hum, as her arms wrapped tighter around Logan’s neck.

“Guess she approves,” you said, laughter in your voice as Logan looked at her with a rare softness in his eyes.

“Good,” he rumbled. “’Cause I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

From that point on, the evening felt even more special. Laura stayed close for the rest of the night, her presence a constant reminder of how much your little family had grown. You weren’t just surviving—you were building something new, together.

---

Ever since then, Laura spoke more. Not all the time, but enough.

You also learned that there was one thing her and Logan had in common. Their pranks. One evening, after classes ended, you took a shower and changed into your pajamas, one of Logan’s flannels and your sleep pants, before heading into the kitchen.

Jean offered you a glass of wine, which you accepted gratefully. The kitchen was warm with the smell of freshly baked cookies that Rogue and Jubilee had made earlier. You adjusted your glasses and took a sip, leaning against the counter as Jean filled you in on her day.

“I’m telling you, Scott nearly blew a fuse in the Danger Room today,” Jean said, chuckling softly. “He always forgets how easily Peter can get under his skin.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “Sounds like classic Peter. He never stops pushing buttons.”

Before Jean could respond, the faint sound of whispers and hushed laughter drew your attention toward the hallway. You narrowed your eyes, tilting your head as Logan and Laura entered the room, both looking suspiciously nonchalant.

“Logan,” you said, your tone laced with playful skepticism, “what are you two up to?”

“Us?” Logan asked, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Nothin’. Just makin’ the rounds.”

Laura stood beside him, her stuffed bunny tucked under one arm. Her sharp eyes darted between you and Jean, her lips pressed together in a way that suggested she was trying very hard not to smile.

Jean crossed her arms, her brow raised. “Uh-huh. And why do I get the feeling that ‘making the rounds’ actually means trouble?”

“No idea what you’re talkin’ about,” Logan said, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed him.

Laura shifted on her feet, her free hand tugging at the hem of Logan’s flannel shirt, a silent cue. Logan nodded once before turning his attention back to you and Jean.

“We’ll catch up later, darlin’,” he said, winking at you. “C’mon, kid.”

Laura gave you a brief, almost sheepish glance before following Logan out of the kitchen. You and Jean exchanged a look.

“They’re definitely up to something,” Jean said, smirking.

You sighed, already bracing yourself for whatever chaos was about to unfold. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t involve—”

A sudden shout from the hallway cut you off.

“Logan! Laura!”

Jean burst into laughter as Scott stormed into the kitchen, his visor slightly askew and his face smeared with what appeared to be whipped cream. He pointed an accusatory finger toward the hallway. “Those two little menaces rigged the training console! It blasted me with a—”

“Pie cannon?” Jean finished, laughing so hard she had to set her wine glass down.

You bit back a smile, raising an eyebrow at Scott. “You mean to tell me you didn’t see it coming?”

“It was disguised as a systems diagnostic!” Scott exclaimed, his voice full of indignation. “I spent twenty minutes analyzing the setup, and then—bam!”

From somewhere down the hall, you heard Logan’s deep laughter mingling with Laura’s soft, breathy giggle. Your heart swelled at the sound; it was rare for Laura to laugh so freely, and you knew that moments like these were helping her feel more at home.

Jean wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “Scott, I hate to say it, but you walked right into that one.”

Scott grumbled something under his breath before turning to leave, muttering about “revenge” as he stomped down the hallway.

You turned back to Jean, shaking your head in amusement. “I should probably go check on them before this escalates.”

Jean grinned, waving you off. “Good luck, Y/N. You’ll need it.”

---

You found Logan and Laura in the rec room, both looking entirely too pleased with themselves. Laura was perched on the arm of the couch, her bunny in her lap, while Logan lounged beside her, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“You two really couldn’t resist, could you?” you said, crossing your arms as you leaned against the doorway.

“Guy had it comin’,” Logan replied, completely unapologetic. “Been ridin’ me about the outdoor lights all week.”

Laura nodded, her expression serious despite the faint sparkle in her eyes.

You sighed, shaking your head as you walked over to them. “Just… try not to push Scott too far, okay? He’s still the one who has to lead team missions.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Logan said, waving a dismissive hand. But there was a softness in his gaze as he watched you, a quiet warmth that always lingered when you were near.

Laura slid off the couch and moved to your side, her small hand tugging at your sleeve. You looked down at her, and she tilted her head, her expression curious.

“Are you mad?” she asked softly, her voice still carrying the hesitancy she hadn’t yet outgrown.

You knelt down to her level, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “No, sweetheart. I’m not mad. Just making sure you two don’t get into too much trouble.”

Her lips twitched into a small smile, and she leaned in, wrapping her arms around your neck. “Okay.”

Logan watched the exchange, his smirk fading into something more tender. He knew how much you had both longed for a family, and seeing you with Laura reminded him of just how far the two of you had come—not just as a couple, but as a team, a unit. A family.

---

Ever since summer break started, Laura followed you around more often. Without classes to worry about there was logically no reason to be separated.

Logan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, as Rogue, Kitty, and Jubilee chatted animatedly about their upcoming mall trip. Laura stood close to you, her small hand clutching your skirt. She hadn’t said much, just watched the girls with her usual quiet intensity.

“You wanna go with them?” Logan asked Laura, his voice casual as he nodded toward the girls. “Looks like they’re gonna have a good time.”

Laura glanced up at you, her brow furrowing slightly. “Do you want me to go?”

You knelt down to her level, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you said gently. “You can stay here with me and Logan. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Logan shot you a look that was equal parts amused and exasperated. “C’mon, kid,” he said to Laura, crouching slightly to meet her eyes. “Could be fun. You’ll get some new clothes, maybe a toy or two. And these three know how to find the best snacks at the food court.”

Kitty grinned. “Oh, for sure. We’ve got the food court mapped out like a treasure hunt.”

Jubilee chimed in. “And we’ll make sure you have fun, Laura. Promise.”

Laura’s gaze flicked between you and Logan, clearly conflicted. You gave her an encouraging smile. “It’s up to you, kiddo. I’ll be right here when you get back.”

Logan’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “You’ll be fine, kid. Go have some fun. You don’t need to be stuck with us old folks all the time.”

Laura hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded. “Okay.”

Rogue extended a hand to her. “Great. Let’s go, little one.”

Laura hesitated just long enough to give you a quick hug before taking Rogue’s hand. As the group headed for the door, you called after her, “have fun, Laura! Be good!”

“Always,” she replied, her voice soft but steady.

The door closed behind them, and the house fell into a rare, peaceful silence. You turned to Logan, who was watching you with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Before you could say anything, he closed the distance between you in two long strides, scooping you up effortlessly.

“Logan!” you squeaked, laughing as you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“Finally got you all to myself,” he said, his tone low and teasing. “Not lettin’ this opportunity go to waste.”

“Logan—”

He silenced you with a quick kiss, his smirk never fading. “Relax, darlin’. You’ve been runnin’ yourself ragged lately. Time to take a break.”

You tried to feign indignation, but his warmth and the way he carried you so easily made it hard to keep a straight face. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” he shot back, carrying you down the hall toward the bedroom.

By the time he kicked the door shut behind him, you’d given up pretending to be annoyed. Logan set you down gently on the bed, his hands lingering at your waist as he leaned in close. His voice softened, the teasing edge giving way to something more tender.

“Missed this,” he murmured. “Missed you.”

You smiled up at him, your fingers brushing through his hair. “I’m not going anywhere, Logan.”

His gaze darkened slightly, a flicker of something unspoken passing through his eyes. But he didn’t say anything, just kissed you again, his touch reverent, as if grounding himself in the moment. His lips traveled from yours, skimming along your jaw, down your neck. Each kiss was deliberate, like he was marking a path only he knew.

“Logan,” you murmured, your fingers curling in his hair. Your voice carried a soft plea, one he clearly heard as his hands slid down your sides, lifting your shirt over your head. He paused for a moment, his thumbs brushing over your waist, and his eyes roamed over you, filled with something raw and tender all at once.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, his voice thick. “Never get tired of this, darlin’.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You always say that.”

“And I’ll keep sayin’ it,” he shot back, leaning in to press another kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Before you could respond, Logan’s hands moved to the clasp of your bra. But instead of unhooking it, you felt the unmistakable snikt as one of his claws extended. Your breath hitched when he expertly slid the adamantium blade under the fabric, slicing it open with ease. The sound was barely audible over your quickened breathing.

“Logan,” you started, but his mouth was already moving down your body, kissing along your collarbone, then lower. His hands skimmed the straps from your shoulders, and your ruined bra joined your shirt on the floor.

“Hmm?” he hummed, his lips trailing between your breasts. His hands rested on your waist, firm and grounding, while his mouth continued its descent, worshiping every inch of skin he uncovered.

“You… you didn’t have to…” Your protest trailed off into a shiver as his lips pressed against your stomach, his beard scratching just enough to make you gasp.

“Didn’t wanna waste time,” he replied, his voice muffled as he kissed just above the waistband of your skirt. His hands tugged at the fabric, pushing it higher until it bunched around your waist, leaving you in nothing but the small wedge heels you’d forgotten you were wearing.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him with a mix of anticipation and amusement. “Still fully dressed, huh? Doesn’t seem fair.”

Logan glanced up at you, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips. “Fair? Darlin’, I’m about to spoil you rotten.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he gripped your thighs, spreading them apart effortlessly. His lips pressed against the sensitive skin just above the edge of your panties, and you shivered at the heat of his breath.

“Logan,” you breathed, your voice trembling with want.

He looked up at you again, his expression softening for a moment. “I got you,” he said simply.

In one smooth motion, you found yourself straddling his face, his strong hands gripping your thighs to hold you steady.

“Logan!” Your voice was a mix of shock and laughter, your hands automatically going to his shoulders for balance. “What are you…”

“Told you,” he interrupted, his tone both teasing and commanding. “Gonna spoil you.”

You barely had time to process his words before his mouth was on you, hot and insistent. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as his tongue parted you, finding exactly where you needed him. The initial shock melted into pleasure, and your head fell back as a low moan spilled from your lips.

“Oh, God,” you managed, your fingers digging into his shoulders. Logan’s grip tightened on your thighs, pulling you closer against him. His tongue worked in slow, deliberate strokes, each one sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body. When he sucked lightly, your hips bucked involuntarily, and his hands moved to hold you in place.

“Logan, please,” you whimpered, your voice barely more than a breath.

He groaned against you, the vibration only adding to your pleasure. “You taste so damn good, sweetheart,” he murmured between strokes, his voice thick and low.

Your fingers curled tighter in his hair, your thighs trembling under the firm grip of his hands. He held you in place as his tongue explored you, each deliberate motion sending ripples of heat through your core. The raw need in his voice matched the way he devoured you, like a man starved.

“Logan… oh, God,” you gasped, your hips instinctively rolling against his mouth. The intensity of it, the sheer focus he poured into you, left you teetering on the edge. You leaned back slightly, bracing your hands on his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

He chuckled against your sensitive skin, the low rumble sending another shiver through you. “Keep sayin’ my name like that,” he teased, his lips brushing over your clit before his tongue swirled around it in slow, agonizing circles. “Drives me wild.”

You couldn’t answer—not coherently, at least. Instead, a breathy moan escaped your lips, your head falling back as pleasure coiled tighter in your belly. The wet heat of his mouth, the scrape of his beard against your inner thighs, every sensation overwhelmed you.

“You’re… you’re too good at this,” you managed to choke out, your voice trembling.

His smirk was evident even without seeing it. “Damn right I am,” he replied, his grip on your thighs tightening. He shifted slightly, pulling you even closer as his tongue plunged deeper, his nose brushing against your clit in a way that made your back arch.

The sharp gasp that tore from your throat only spurred him on. His hands slid up to your hips, his thumbs pressing into the curve of your waist to steady you as you trembled against him. “That’s it, darlin’,” he muttered, his voice muffled but unmistakably rough with want. “Let go for me.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. The tension inside you snapped, a flood of white-hot ecstasy that left you crying out his name. Logan groaned as he held you through it, his tongue never relenting, drawing every last wave of pleasure from you until you sagged against him, your thighs shaking uncontrollably.

You blinked down at him, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. His lips glistened with evidence of your release, his smirk smug but not unkind. He looked utterly unrepentant, like a man who knew exactly what he’d done and was damn proud of it.

“Still with me?” he asked, his voice a little softer now as his hands caressed your thighs, grounding you.

You hummed as he gently pushed you down onto the bed. He was sitting on his heels between your legs as you leaned up to start unbuttoning his flannel. Logan watched you, his eyes fixed on your face, his hands resting on your thighs. The reverence in his gaze made your breath hitch, and you focused on the small task of freeing him from the worn fabric.

“C’mere,” he murmured, one hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek. “Need to see you, darlin’.”

You tugged the shirt open, revealing the faint scars littering his chest, some old and faded, others still pink and newer. Your fingers trailed over his skin as you pushed the flannel off his shoulders. He shivered slightly under your touch, and you smiled softly.

“You’re overdressed,” you pointed out, sitting up to work at the buckle of his belt. Logan’s hands covered yours, halting your movements.

“Leave the skirt,” he said, his voice low and rough. His gaze flicked to your heels. “And those.”

Your cheeks heated, but you nodded, your hands dropping to your sides as he finished unfastening his belt. His jeans and boxers joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor, and when he was finally bare before you, your eyes lingered, taking in every inch of him. He leaned down, catching your lips in a slow, heated kiss that left you breathless. His hand slid under your thigh, hitching your leg higher as he settled between your legs.

“Been too damn long,” he muttered against your mouth, his voice thick with longing.

Your fingers traced the muscles of his back as he kissed you, his lips soft but insistent. When he pulled back, his hand slid down your side, calloused fingers skimming your hip. He guided himself to your entrance, his forehead pressing against yours as he paused, his breathing uneven.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice trembling with want. “Please.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. He pushed into you slowly, the stretch making you gasp softly. Logan groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping your hips as he filled you completely. He stayed still for a moment, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he breathed you in.

“Always so fuckin’ perfect,” he rasped. “Takin’ me so well, sweetheart. Always do.”

Your nails pressed into his shoulders as you adjusted to him, your body instinctively arching against his. He started to move, slow and deliberate at first, each thrust deep and purposeful. You whimpered softly, biting your lip to muffle the sounds threatening to escape.

“C’mon, darlin’,” Logan urged, his voice rough. “Lemme hear you.”

“Logan,” you gasped, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. The sheer intensity of him, the way he moved inside you, left you trembling. His hands roamed your body, one sliding under your thigh to angle your hips, the other tangling in your hair.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “Doin’ so good for me. So good.”

Your head fell back against the pillows, your breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps as he picked up the pace. His hips snapped against yours, the rough friction sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. Logan’s voice was a constant murmur in your ear, each word dripping with adoration and want.

“You’re gorgeous like this,” he said, his voice thick. “Spread out for me, takin’ my cock so damn well. Been dreamin’ about this, darlin’. Missed the way you feel.”

Your hands slid to his sides, your fingers digging into his skin as you clung to him. The pressure building inside you was almost unbearable, your body tightening around him with every thrust. Logan groaned, the sound low and primal, and his lips found yours in a heated, desperate kiss.

“Logan,” you whispered against his mouth, your voice trembling.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, his grip on your thigh tightening. “Let go for me, sweetheart. Wanna feel you.”

His words pushed you over the edge. Your body arched against his, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as the tension snapped, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Logan’s pace didn’t falter, his movements driving you higher as he chased his own release. The sound of his name on your lips sent him spiraling, his body tensing as he followed you into bliss.

He collapsed against you, his weight grounding you as you both tried to catch your breath. His hand slid to your cheek, tilting your face up so he could kiss you softly. The tenderness in his touch made your heart ache, and you smiled against his lips.

“Missed you,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reminded him, your fingers brushing through his hair.

Logan pressed his forehead to yours, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Good.”

You held him close, your bodies tangled together, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

---

“Guess I’m the unlucky one then.” You said, grabbing a few binders from your desk.

Logan grumbled under his breath as he watched you gather a few binders and textbooks from your desk. "I’m gonna kill Scott. There’s no reason you should be teachin’ a summer class."

You adjusted your glasses and glanced over your shoulder at him, an amused smile tugging at your lips. "Logan, it’s only for eight weeks. It’s not like I’m running a full semester."

He narrowed his eyes, clearly unimpressed by your attempt to downplay it. "Still too much. You already do enough around here."

You shook your head, biting back a laugh. "It’s just a class for the younger kids. Basic physics. Nothing too strenuous."

Logan snorted and crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. "Darlin’, you’d find a way to make a black hole sound like a bedtime story. Don’t mean you gotta be teachin’ every second of the day."

"That’s because black holes are fascinating," you teased, brushing past him to set your materials down on the kitchen table. "And it’s not like I’m always working. You know I’m just filling in since Ororo is handling extra field training this summer."

"Uh-huh," Logan muttered, clearly unconvinced. "And what about time for you? When’s the last time you had a break that didn’t involve grading papers or chasin’ kids around?"

You opened your mouth to respond but paused when you felt a small tug on your pants. Looking down, you found Laura standing beside you, her stuffed bunny tucked tightly under her arm. Her serious gaze flickered between you and Logan.

"Why is he mad?" Laura asked softly, her voice careful but laced with concern.

Logan’s expression softened instantly, and he crouched to meet her eye level. "Ain’t mad, kid. Just think your mo—" he caught himself, clearing his throat, "—Y/N, works too hard sometimes. Somebody’s gotta look out for her, right?"

Laura looked up at you, her small brow furrowing in thought. "Do you want me to help?"

Your heart melted at her earnestness, and you knelt beside her, brushing a hand over her dark hair. "Sweetheart, that’s very kind, but I promise I’m okay. Logan’s just being overprotective again."

"Someone’s gotta do it," Logan quipped, standing back up and crossing his arms again.

Laura seemed satisfied with your answer and wrapped her arms around your neck in a quick hug before retreating to sit at the kitchen counter, her bunny in tow. You straightened and turned to Logan, who was still giving you that stubborn, protective look.

"It’s eight weeks, Logan," you said softly, stepping closer to him. "I promise, it’s manageable. And I’ll still have plenty of time for you and Laura."

His jaw twitched, but he relented with a small sigh, one hand reaching out to rest on your waist. "Fine. But if you so much as look tired, I’m takin’ over. Don’t care if Scott likes it or not."

"Noted," you replied, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

Before Logan could grumble again, the distant sound of children’s laughter echoed through the mansion halls, followed by the patter of small footsteps. You glanced toward the doorway as a group of younger kids you’d helped rescue, alongside Laura, ran past, giggling and chattering excitedly. One of them stopped to wave at you before darting after the others.

Laura glanced at the commotion, then turned back to you. "Do I have to go with them?"

You smiled gently and shook your head. "No, sweetheart. You can stay with us if you’d like."

Laura hesitated for a moment before nodding and settling deeper into her chair. Logan watched her carefully, his usual gruff demeanor melting as he studied her.

"She’s stickin’ close today," he murmured, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

"She’s getting more comfortable," you said softly. "But she still has her moments. We just need to keep showing her she’s safe."

Logan nodded, his hand brushing against yours. "She’s got you, darlin’. That’s all she needs."

---

“You should’ve seen it, Jean! I grabbed the papers from Scott’s hands and got this,” you said, holding up your index finger to show the tiny, nearly invisible cut. “And Laura snarled at him.”

Jean laughed, setting her mug down on the counter. “She snarled at Scott? Oh, I wish I’d been there for that.”

“I know, right?” You adjusted your glasses, shaking your head in disbelief. “I mean, Scott looked so confused. He just froze and started stammering, like he didn’t know what he did wrong.”

Jean leaned on the counter, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well, Scott does have a talent for rubbing people the wrong way. But I think it’s sweet—Laura’s protective of you. She’s really come out of her shell since she’s been here.”

Your expression softened as you thought about Laura. “She has. She still sticks close, though. Logan says she’s like that because of, you know, everything she’s been through.”

Jean nodded knowingly. “It’s understandable. But it’s also because of you. She feels safe with you. Both of you.”

“Maybe.” You smiled faintly, swirling your mug of tea. “It’s just… hard to believe sometimes, you know? I mean, for so long, it was just me and Logan. And now, suddenly, there’s this kid who sees us as her family.”

Jean’s smile turned warm, but there was a flicker of thoughtfulness in her gaze. She reached out and squeezed your hand. “You’ve built something amazing, Y/N. She’s lucky to have you.”

Before you could respond, you heard heavy footsteps approaching. Logan entered the kitchen, his ever-present gruffness softened as his eyes landed on you. “You tell Jean about Scott yet?”

Jean smirked. “Oh, she did. And I’m dying to know—did he actually apologize to Laura, or did he just flee in terror?”

Logan chuckled, leaning against the doorway. “He tried, but the kid just gave him her death stare. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “That sounds about right.”

Laura padded into the kitchen just then, her bunny tucked securely under her arm. She stopped beside you and tugged gently on your sleeve. “Are you okay?”

Her small, serious voice tugged at your heart. “Of course, kiddo. It’s just a little paper cut.”

Laura frowned, her gaze dropping to your hand. “It could get infected.”

Jean covered her mouth to stifle a laugh as Logan stepped closer, resting a hand on Laura’s shoulder. “Kid’s got a point,” he said, clearly trying not to smile. “Better let her put a Band-Aid on it. Y’know, for safety.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your grin. “Fine, but only if you help, Laura. Think you can handle it?”

She nodded solemnly and marched off to fetch the first-aid kit. Jean leaned closer and whispered, “you’ve got your own little bodyguard now.”

“I know,” you whispered back, smiling as Laura returned with the kit in hand.

Laura set to work with the precision of someone much older, carefully cleaning the tiny cut and applying a Band-Aid decorated with cartoon characters. When she was done, she looked up at you with a serious expression. “No more paper cuts.”

You nodded, biting back a laugh. “Got it. No more paper cuts.”

Logan ruffled Laura’s hair, his expression softening in that way it always did when he looked at her. “Good work, kid. Keepin’ her safe.”

Laura nodded firmly, clearly taking the role very seriously. Jean’s gaze flicked between the three of you, her smile growing as she picked up her mug. “I’d say you’re in good hands, Y/N. Between Logan and Laura, you’ll never have to worry about anything.”

You looked at them both, warmth blooming in your chest. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I think you’re right.”

---

You looked at both sides of the hallway before quickly ducking into Ororo’s office, shutting the door behind you. She glanced up from her desk, eyebrows raised. “Whoa, whoa. What’re you doing here?”

“Hiding,” you muttered, leaning back against the door.

Ororo tilted her head, clearly intrigued. “From who?”

“Logan,” you admitted, sighing as you adjusted your glasses.

Her lips twitched with amusement as she leaned back in her chair. “Logan? Why are you hiding from him?”

“Because,” you began, stepping away from the door and crossing your arms, “this morning, he wouldn’t let me get out of bed. I mean, he wrapped himself around me like a vice, said it was ‘too early,’ and when I finally managed to escape, he helped me dress.”

Ororo blinked. “He helped you what?”

“Dress,” you repeated, exasperated. “He buttoned my shirt, made sure my socks matched—he even put my glasses on for me!”

She burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Oh, I’d pay to see that. Logan, Mr. ‘I’ll Rip Your Head Off,’ playing stylist.”

“Not stylist,” you corrected. “He wasn’t picking outfits. He just... wouldn’t let me do it myself. It was sweet but—ugh—I’m an adult! I can dress myself.”

Ororo raised a skeptical brow, her smile widening. “Sweet? That doesn’t sound like something you should hide from. Sounds like you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.”

You groaned, sitting in one of the chairs across from her desk. “It’s more than that. He’s been extra... clingy lately. And Laura, too! She wouldn’t even let me walk down the stairs this morning without holding my hand. She said the bannister might ‘give out.’ The bannister, Ororo.”

Ororo pressed her fingers to her lips, trying to suppress another laugh. “Sounds like they’re on high alert. Did something happen recently?”

“No!” you said quickly, waving your hands. “Everything’s been fine. Better than fine, actually. Laura’s been settling in, Logan’s been... happy, I think. I don’t know what’s gotten into them.”

Ororo gave you a knowing look but didn’t press further. “Well, maybe it’s just their instincts kicking in. Logan’s always been protective, and Laura’s clearly picked up a few habits from him.”

“Clearly,” you mumbled, running a hand through your hair. “But it’s a bit much. I just needed a breather, you know?”

She nodded, her expression softening. “I get it. But you know, for all their gruffness, they love you. And maybe they’re just trying to show it in their own... unique way.”

You smiled faintly, her words easing some of your frustration. “Yeah, I guess. I just hope this phase passes soon. I’m not used to being hovered over like this.”

“Well, if you need a place to hide, my office is always open,” Ororo teased, leaning forward with a grin. “But I wouldn’t stay too long. Logan’ll probably sniff you out before lunch.”

“Don’t remind me,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “Thanks, Ororo.”

“Anytime,” she said, watching as you stood and stretched. “Oh, and Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

She smirked. “If Logan starts trying to braid your hair, let me know. I’ll need to see that for myself.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you headed for the door. “Don’t hold your breath.”

---

When you stepped into the hallway, you didn’t make it five steps before Logan appeared around the corner, his sharp eyes locking onto you immediately.

“Darlin’, thought I told you to take it easy today,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar gruff warmth as he approached.

You sighed, caught red-handed. “Logan, I’m fine. I don’t need to—”

He interrupted you by tugging your glasses up slightly and peering at your face, as if checking for signs of exhaustion. “You been runnin’ around again?”

“Not running,” you said, batting his hand away but smiling despite yourself. “Just... walking briskly.”

He snorted, clearly unconvinced. “C’mon. Laura’s lookin’ for you. Said she wants to sit with you during lunch.”

You couldn’t help but soften at the mention of her. “Alright. But no more helping me get dressed, okay?”

His smirk was small but unmistakable. “No promises, sweetheart.”

---

You stepped out of the bathroom in the main hall, closing the door behind you before turning to face Logan, who was leaning against the wall by the door.

You yelped, covering your mouth with one hand and your heart with the other, “Jesus, honey, you scared me!”

Logan raised an eyebrow, “you’ve been going to the bathroom more often.”

“Yeah… because it’s summer and I’m drinking more water. Unlike someone who thinks coffee counts as part of his water intake,” you teased, adjusting your glasses as you glanced at Logan.

Logan crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Coffee’s got water in it. Pretty sure that counts.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not how hydration works, Logan.”

He tilted his head, watching you closely, and his smirk faded into something more thoughtful. “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been lookin’ a little… off lately. Not sick or nothin’, just different.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “Different how?”

Logan shrugged but didn’t break eye contact. “Dunno. Just feels like somethin’s changed.”

You waved a hand dismissively. “I’m fine, really. Probably just tired from teaching the summer class.”

Before Logan could press further, Laura appeared around the corner, her little bunny tucked under her arm as always. She made a beeline for you, her small hand immediately wrapping around yours. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft but insistent.

Your heart melted a little at the concern in her wide eyes. “I’m fine, Laura. Just talking to Logan about staying hydrated.”

She frowned, looking up at Logan with a scolding expression that was comically reminiscent of his own. “You should drink water, too.”

Logan snorted, crouching slightly so he was closer to her eye level. “Kid, I’ve been doin’ just fine with coffee for decades. Don’t think I’ll stop now.”

Laura’s frown deepened. “Coffee doesn’t hydrate you.”

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh as Logan raised an eyebrow. “You teamin’ up on me now?”

“She’s right,” you said with a grin. “Even if it pains you to admit it.”

Logan shook his head, muttering something under his breath about stubborn women before standing and looking down at the two of you. “Fine. I’ll drink more water. Happy?”

Laura nodded, satisfied, and tugged on your hand. “Come on. It’s time for lunch.”

“Alright, alright,” you said, letting her lead you down the hallway. As you glanced back, you caught Logan watching the two of you, a softness in his eyes that made your chest tighten in the best way.

---

Laura sat on the stool at the kitchen island, watching your movements like a hawk. Her bunny sat in her lap while her hand absentmindedly stroked one of its ears.

Some pop music played from the radio by the stove as you dipped your finger in the sauce. You quickly pulled your finger away from the spoon, muttering an “ouch” as you sucked on your finger. Before you knew it, Laura had hopped off her stool and come to stand by you, tugging your arm down so she could inspect your slightly reddened finger.

“It’s fine, kiddo,” you said softly, holding up your hand for her to see. “Just touched the sauce. It’s hot, but no harm done.”

Laura frowned, narrowing her eyes at your hand as though the sauce itself had committed some great crime. “You shouldn’t do that,” she said seriously.

You bit back a smile, her concern both endearing and amusing. “You’re right. I’ll be more careful.”

Logan’s familiar footsteps echoed into the kitchen before he appeared in the doorway, his arms crossed. His gaze flicked to you and then to Laura standing protectively by your side. “What happened now?”

“Nothing!” you exclaimed, throwing him an exasperated look. “I touched the sauce, and it was hot. End of story.”

Logan raised a brow as he leaned against the doorframe. “Did you burn yourself?”

“No,” you said firmly, lifting your hand to show him. “See? No burn. Laura’s just being thorough.”

“She’s not wrong to be,” Logan muttered, his sharp eyes scanning you as if to confirm you were telling the truth.

Laura crossed her arms, mirroring Logan’s stance. “She needs to be more careful,” she said with a seriousness far beyond her years.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Alright, alright. I’ll be more careful. You two can call off the safety patrol now.”

“Not a chance,” Logan said with a smirk. “We know you too well.”

Rolling your eyes, you went back to stirring the sauce, but you couldn’t ignore the way Laura stayed glued to your side, her watchful eyes tracking your every move.

“Laura,” you said gently, glancing down at her. “I’m fine. Why don’t you go back to your bunny and let me finish up here?”

Her brow furrowed, but she hesitated, glancing at Logan. He gave her a small nod, and she reluctantly climbed back onto her stool, though she kept her bunny close and her eyes on you.

Logan pushed off the doorframe and walked over, resting a hand on your lower back as he leaned in to check the sauce. “Smells good,” he murmured, his voice low.

“It would smell better if you stopped hovering,” you teased, elbowing him lightly.

He chuckled, his hand staying on your back. “Can’t help it, darlin’. You know that.”

“I do,” you admitted softly, meeting his eyes. “And I appreciate it. Both of you.”

Laura perked up at that, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Good,” she said. “You should.”

Logan grinned, ruffling her hair as she giggled. You couldn’t help but smile at the scene—the three of you in the kitchen, the warmth of the moment settling over you like a blanket. For the first time in a long while, everything felt right.

“Alright,” you said, breaking the silence as you picked up the spoon again. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. Go set the table, you two.”

Laura hopped off her stool, grabbing her bunny as she darted toward the dining room. Logan lingered a moment longer, his hand brushing against yours as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he murmured.

You smiled, glancing up at him. “And don’t you forget it.”

He smirked, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before following Laura. The kitchen fell quiet again, save for the music playing softly in the background, and you let yourself bask in the peace of the moment.

---

You raised an eyebrow to yourself as you turned the corner, carefully listening to the footsteps behind you turning from two pairs to one pair.

Students moved out of the way as Charles rolled down the hall, “hello, Professor.” You said, with a smile.

“Hello, Y/N.” Charles rolled past, offering you a kind smile. He didn’t get far before spotting Logan and Laura entering the hallway behind you, the young girl perched comfortably on Logan’s shoulders. “And hello to you two.”

Laura gave a small wave, her hand clutching her bunny. Logan nodded, his grip firm on Laura’s ankles to keep her steady. “Charles,” Logan said, his tone gruff but polite.

“You’re all heading to the kitchen, I take it?” Charles asked, an amused glint in his eye as he noted how closely Logan and Laura were sticking to you.

“Yeah,” you replied, adjusting your glasses. “Someone promised Laura she could pick her dessert for after dinner. Now she’s making sure I follow through.”

Laura leaned forward slightly, her chin resting on Logan’s head. “She’s not allowed to forget,” she added, her voice serious.

Logan smirked. “She’s like me—sticks to her word. You don’t gotta worry about that.”

Charles chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Well, I’ll leave you all to it. Enjoy your evening.”

“You too,” you said as Charles wheeled off, his presence leaving the hall feeling quieter.

Logan shifted Laura slightly before following you into the kitchen. Inside, Jean and Scott were already seated at the island. Jean was flipping through a magazine, and Scott was fiddling with his glasses, a steaming cup of tea in front of him.

“Hey,” Jean greeted with a smile. “How’s it going?”

“Busy,” you replied with a small laugh, heading to the counter. Logan stayed close, setting Laura down carefully as she scampered over to sit beside Jean.

Scott grabbed another cup of tea and handed it to you. “Figured you might need this.”

You accepted it with a polite nod. “Thanks, Scott.” You took a tentative sip, the warmth spreading through you—until the taste hit. Immediately, you fought to keep your expression neutral, but a slight grimace slipped through.

Jean caught your eye and raised a brow, mouthing, it’s bad, isn’t it?

You gave a subtle nod as you swallowed. Terrible.

Scott tilted his head, watching you curiously. “How is it?”

You hesitated, glancing at Jean for backup, but she just smirked and sipped her water. “It’s, uh…” You cleared your throat. “Unique. Thanks for making it.”

Scott grinned. “Unique’s good. I’ll take that.”

Laura leaned forward, her bunny in her lap. “Can I taste it?” she asked innocently.

“No!” you and Jean said in unison, a little too quickly. Logan stifled a laugh, shaking his head as Laura blinked in confusion.

Jean smoothly recovered, putting a hand on Laura’s shoulder. “Tea’s not really for kids, sweetie. Stick to your dessert plan.”

Laura shrugged, seemingly satisfied, and turned back to her bunny. Logan stepped closer, leaning his hip against the counter near you. “Unique, huh?” he said low enough that only you could hear.

You shot him a look. “Don’t start.”

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Never said a word.”

Jean leaned back in her chair, looking between the two of you with a knowing smile. “So, what’s on the dessert menu tonight?”

“Laura’s call,” you replied, glancing at the girl. “What’ll it be, kiddo?”

Laura’s face lit up. “Ice cream. With chocolate syrup. And sprinkles.”

Scott winced. “You’re braver than I am. That’s a sugar rush waiting to happen.”

“She’s got Logan to burn it off later,” Jean teased.

Logan smirked. “Bring it on.”

You sighed dramatically. “Great. Guess I’m stuck cleaning the aftermath.”

Logan’s hand brushed against yours, his touch grounding. “You’re never stuck. We’ve got it covered.”

You met his eyes, his sincerity making your chest tighten. For a moment, it was just the two of you, the world fading into the background. Then Laura tugged at your sleeve, breaking the moment.

“Let’s go, Y/N!” she said excitedly. “The ice cream’s waiting.”

With a smile, you nodded, following her to the freezer. Logan stayed close, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back, and for a brief second, you wondered if he even realized he was doing it—or if it was as unconscious as the way Laura hovered near you this past month.

---

You hadn’t checked your calendar in a few weeks, either too busy with the summer class you were teaching or too busy with Laura and Logan hovering over your every move.

Luckily, it was the first time in weeks that neither of them were to be found. The two of them were outside with the other young kids and Ororo.

You marked off each day with an ‘X’ after double-checking that everything had been done. June 20: New toothbrushes. June 25: Clean bathroom. June 30: Wash bedsheets (unless already washed). July 9-15: Period.

You waited a moment, looking at the calendar. It was July 21, so not too far off from when you were supposed to get your period. You marked an ‘X’ throughout the week, leaving the 21st unmarked.

Putting on your slippers, you headed down to the med bay where Jean should be; she told you the other night she had some reorganizing to do.

Opening the doors, you saw Jean wiping down one of the medical beds, a clipboard resting on the counter nearby. She glanced up as you entered, her expression softening into a smile.

"Hey, Y/N. What's up? Need me to patch someone up again, or is this a social visit?" she teased, setting the cloth aside.

You shook your head, adjusting your glasses. "Neither, actually. Just... something I wanted to run by you."

Jean gestured to one of the stools by the counter, her curiosity piqued. "Alright. What's going on?"

Sliding onto the stool, you sighed softly. "It’s probably nothing, but I figured I’d ask. My period’s late—about a week or so." You hesitated, glancing at her. "I’m not too worried, but I wanted to see if that’s normal. Hormone fluctuations or stress maybe?"

Jean’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Could be either. It’s been unusually hot lately, and I know Ororo mentioned she was late a while back because of it. Stress can throw things off, too. Have you been under a lot of pressure lately?"

You gave a small laugh. "A little. Between teaching and keeping an eye on Laura and Logan hovering every second, it’s been a lot. Not bad, though—just busy."

Jean nodded, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter. "It doesn’t sound alarming, but if you’re feeling off, we can do some tests—just to rule anything out. Plus, it’s about time for your yearly checkup, right?"

You nodded, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Might as well knock it all out at once."

Jean offered a reassuring smile. "Good call. Let’s run some blood tests and take a look. Probably nothing, but better safe than sorry."

You followed her instructions, extending your arm as she prepped for the blood draw. Jean worked efficiently, her movements calm and practiced. When she was done, she labeled the vials and gave your arm a gentle pat.

"That’s it for now. Results will take a little bit, so sit tight," she said, nodding toward the stool. "I’ll run these through."

You settled back, trying to distract yourself by scrolling through your phone. After what felt like forever but was probably only twenty minutes, Jean returned with a peculiar expression—one that made your stomach twist in uncertainty. She had something behind her back.

"Okay," she began, her tone light but her eyes sharp. "Before I say anything, I need you to trust me and just do this."

She revealed a pregnancy test and handed it to you. Your brows shot up in confusion. "Jean, why are you giving me this? I told you, that’s not—"

"Just humor me," she interrupted, her tone firm but kind. "Go. Take it. I’ll explain after."

You stared at her, baffled. "You’re being cryptic, and I hate it."

She smirked faintly. "I know. Go. Please."

Grumbling under your breath, you grabbed the test and headed for the restroom. A few minutes later, you emerged, holding the test carefully in your hand.

Jean looked up, her expression unreadable. "Well?"

"It’s not done yet," you said, setting it on the counter. "What exactly are we doing here, Jean?"

"Just waiting," she replied smoothly, but there was a tension in her posture that you couldn’t ignore.

The two of you stood in silence, the seconds dragging on until the test’s display showed the result. Your breath caught when you saw the word: pregnant.

You stared at it, blinking as though it might change. "Jean," you said slowly, turning to her. "This can’t be right. I mean... after everything—this can’t—"

Jean stepped closer, her hands gently gripping your shoulders. "The blood test confirmed it, Y/N. You’re pregnant."

The words hit you like a freight train, your mind reeling. You shook your head, unable to process. "No. That’s not possible. We stopped trying years ago. There’s no way—"

"I know it’s a lot to take in," Jean said gently. "But the results don’t lie."

Tears blurred your vision, a whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "How?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Jean’s smile was warm, her eyes shining with understanding. "Sometimes, things happen when you least expect them."

You couldn’t find the words, your hands trembling as you clutched the test. Jean pulled you into a hug, her presence grounding you.

"Take your time," she said softly. "And when you’re ready, you can tell him."

---

You paced the bedroom later that night, the pregnancy test—one of many you took for your own peace of mind—in your hand.

The last time you did this; it didn’t end so well. And though Jean guessed you were 5 weeks along, only one week away from when you had the miscarriage, it didn’t do anything to quell your nerves.

Part of you wanted to wait until you passed 6 weeks to spare Logan the pain of losing another baby, but the other part of you wanted to throw up at the thought of keeping it away from him.

Before you could spiral further, the bedroom door opened, and you quickly slipped the test into the pocket of your robe. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest as Logan stepped inside, his expression softening when he saw you. He had that familiar, slightly worried look—one that said he’d been thinking about you but didn’t know how to bring it up.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Logan greeted, closing the door behind him. His voice was calm, but there was a subtle edge to it. “You alright? Haven’t seen you much since breakfast.”

You forced a smile, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, just… busy.”

He stepped closer, his piercing eyes scanning your face, and for a moment, you thought he might somehow already know. But he didn’t say anything, just settled a hand on your shoulder. His touch was warm, grounding you in the moment.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

You nodded, taking a breath. “Yeah, but there’s, um… something I need to talk to you about.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. “Alright. What’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, your fingers brushing the edge of the test in your pocket. The words felt heavy, like they didn’t want to leave your throat. But you knew you couldn’t keep this from him, no matter how scared you were.

“I went to see Jean earlier,” you started, your voice quieter than you intended. Logan’s brow furrowed slightly, but he stayed silent, letting you continue. “I wasn’t feeling off or anything—just… noticed my period was late. So, she ran some tests.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly, his protective instincts kicking in. “What kind of tests? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “At least… I think it is. She ran a blood test, and, um…” You trailed off, finally pulling the test out of your pocket and holding it out to him. “I’m pregnant.”

Logan stared at the test in your hand, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly, he took it from you, his fingers brushing yours. His eyes lingered on the word displayed on the test, and you saw the exact moment it registered.

“Pregnant,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze snapped back to you, searching your face. “You’re… serious?”

You nodded, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Jean thinks I’m about five weeks along. I didn’t think it was even possible, Logan. We tried so long, and then…” You swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence.

Logan stepped closer, cupping your face in his hands. His touch was steady, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Hey, hey,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “Darlin’, don’t—don’t do that. This ain’t like before, alright? We’re not gonna think about that.”

A small, shaky laugh escaped you. “I don’t know how to not think about it. I’m terrified, Logan. What if—”

He cut you off, leaning in to press his forehead against yours. “No ‘what ifs.’ Not this time,” he said firmly. “We’re gonna take this one day at a time, together. And if you’re scared, that’s alright—I’ll be scared with you. But I’m not gonna let you go through this alone.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch. “I was going to wait until we passed six weeks to tell you. Just in case…”

Logan pulled back slightly, his hands still cradling your face. “You shouldn’t have to carry that by yourself,” he said softly. “Doesn’t matter if it’s five weeks, five days, or five minutes—I wanna be here for all of it. Every second.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, and Logan pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. His hand rested on the back of your head, his other arm wrapped securely around your waist. You clung to him, your face buried against his chest.

“I don’t know how this happened,” you admitted, your voice muffled.

Logan kissed the top of your head, his voice low and steady. “Don’t matter how, sweetheart. All that matters is it happened. And I’m gonna do everything I can to make sure you and the baby are alright. You hear me?”

You nodded against his chest, his words soothing some of the fear that had been clawing at you. For the first time that day, you felt a small flicker of hope, fragile but there nonetheless.

Logan pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand brushing a tear from your cheek. “We’re gonna be alright,” he said softly, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “All three of us.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and for the first time that day, you believed him.

this takes place in 2016 and part of 2017!

also... finally😭😭it's been a long journey for them

[torukmaktoskxawng]

the wooden glen

Pairing: So'lek/Human!Fem!Reader

Summary: There are plenty of abandoned Resistance field labs across the Western Frontier of Pandora, and you happen to be assigned to the one that cuts through one of So'lek's usual routes to HQ.

Word Count: 8k+

Na'vi Words Used: 'eylanay - acquaintance (with the potential of becoming a friend), kuru - queue braid, 'eylan - friend, palulukan - thanator, sevin 'eve - pretty girl, kalin - sweet, mawey - calm, tewng - loincloth, tawtute - human

Warnings: NSFW, mentions of solitude, keeping sane, potential danger, smut, dni minors, oral (fem!receive), mentioned biting, scenting, and claiming, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it you skxawng), belly bulge, creampie, swearing, etc.

Taglist: @mooniequeen

~~~~~~~~~

Wooden Glen Field Lab, a Resistance Field Lab, just northeast of the Aranahe Hometree. Your new home.

It had been overrun by the flora and fauna of Pandora, left abandoned when the Resistance had to close back up due to heavy RDA activity. Several of these sites were vacated, but times have changed, and the Resistance needed these labs back up and running now more than ever. You've never been stationed at one until now, and from where you stood, it was quaint. Back on Earth, you wouldn't have been able to afford anything at even half of this shack's size, so you took it as a blessing. Thank you, Eywa.

Speaking of, you noticed something indicating a different kind of wildlife has been through here. A campfire just outside the lab on the forest floor and Na'vi-designed woven baskets and material stationed around it. Signs of the natives using this place as shelter. One of the remaining Sarentu acted as your guide and protection for the journey here, and explained that it was normal for any friendly Na'vi to rest at the scattered field labs throughout their journies and you would likely see more of them. They didn't say much else after that, however, wishing you luck and leaving once they were sure there wasn't any nearby danger around.

Taking a deep breath through your mask, you walk up to the human-fashioned shack surrounded by wildlife and vegetation. It hadn't been used in some time, so you take out your SID device and use it to power up the small complex, watching as the lights and terminal flash then power back on as if good as new. Someone had tried to turn this place into a more welcome environment, placing various small potted plants all around the space and in makeshift shelves made of tree branches. It looked a bit hippy, and you wouldn't be surprised if the former RDA-turned-rebel who lived here used to be a botanist.

Looking up, you took note of the netted hammock that was storing extra supplies and luggage up above to keep out of the way. Looking down, you're careful to watch your step as occasional rubbish and cables scatter across the floor, left abandoned by its former resident. One side of the small lab was clearly meant to be for business, hosting a work bench, the terminal, and additional medical supplies and weaponry.

On the other side, it looked more like a living space, sporting a portable counter fridge, bookshelves, and of course all of the freaking house plants. One corner looked like a reading nook, with a bean bag made of several different colored-fabric, surrounded by papers and empty paper coffee cups, the lights above giving off a warm atmosphere. Setting down your things, you decide on tidying up your new home before settling in for the night.

You must have been cleaning the space for hours by the time you heard a faint rustle outside. Looking up, you spare a glance at the rifle on the wall before bravely deciding to check out the noise without it. It's your first night here... surely there wouldn't be any danger right away, would there? As you step out of your new base, you glance around until you notice the unlit campfire. Standing there stood a male Na'vi, but not just a random stranger.

You recognized So'lek as one of the most significant Na'vi faces who tend to prowl around Resistance HQ. Everyone knows who he is, everyone knows his story, and everyone -including humans- knows to give him a wide berth. His sharp eyes had been looking directly at you, since he noticed you before you saw him, and his gaze narrowed with suspicion just as you gasp in shock.

"Oh! Hello."

His hard stare is the only thing keeping your feet frozen to the floor of your lab before he knowingly states, "You are from the headquarters."

You nod, faintly shocked that he remembered your face, especially since neither of you have shared a word until now, "Alma and Priya asked me to man this lab so it stays functional for botany research and RDA activity."

"I see."

You relax some, only for a thought to dawn in your head as you point to the Na'vi made structure right outside your new home, "Wait, is this your campfire? Have you been living here?"

"When I occasionally travel through this area, yes."

Nodding, you open your arm out wide to gesture to the whole yard outside the lab, "You were here first, so help yourself to whatever is yours. I'll stay out of the way."

"No need," he shakes his head then, the first movement he ever made upon recognizing you, "You will be staying here for a lot longer than I. And besides, I prefer to rest outside."

"Alright, will you be resting here for the night? I think it's supposed to rain so I plan on shutting down the place and locking myself in."

"I am moving on for the night. Just needed some things I left behind. I will be coming back this direction on my way to HQ in three days."

"Sounds good. Safe travels."

He nods and turns to go, before pausing two seconds and then tilting his head back toward you, "Stay alert while you're out here, 'eylanay. Do not ever let your guard down."

~~~~~~~~~

His words were haunting and bothersome, but you suppose he doesn't have a choice than to be that way after everything he's been through. Plus, he's from this world and knows its dangers better than you do. The thought that something could be lurking just outside or staring at you through the window sent chills down your spine.

As you stated, you locked down the two large doorways that open up the shack and secure all the windows, waiting until the oxygen levels are steady before removing your mask. You had closed everything up just in time, the storm hitting just moments after. Out of everything beautiful here, you didn't envy Pandora's storms, so fierce and terrifying... and you were alone.

A beep pings from your terminal and you try to pretend you didn't dash over to answer it, "Hey, Priya."

"Hey! Did you settle in okay? Is it scary? Is it dangerous? Oh, what am I saying? Of course, it's dangerous! And scary and dangerous are almost one in the same--"

"Priya, I'm fine," you smile to yourself, unsure if you missed her ramblings or not, "Everything's fine. It's actually quite peaceful here."

"Oh, good!"

"And it's comforting to know that So'lek treks through here often enough to where I won't feel completely alone and he could check in if I need any help."

"You saw So'lek?"

"Yeah, he just happened to be passing through."

"That's perfect! Oh, that makes me feel so much better! I'll make sure to send another radio with him next time so that you two could chat between each other or if you need him to check on you. Oh, this is gonna be great! You guys can chat to each other whenever you need some company!"

"Uh, Priya...?"

"I mean, just think about it! You're going to be living alone in the middle of the forest and he's constantly traveling alone. It's perfect! So cool!"

"Okay..." You try not to sound a little put-off by her suggestion but decided to kindly cut her off, "Hey, I think I'm gonna clock out for the night. I'm tired from the cleaning."

"Cleaning? Why did you need to clean?"

~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, So'lek comes back through, as promised. He immediately finds you outside, in your mask, wearing worn-out clothes while you work around and monitor the plants that the resident before you had planted. The plan was for you to continue their work, and while you weren't a botanist, you figured that the notes the previous tenant left behind could help you continue their research.

Looking up from taking notes, you noticed So'lek standing a half a dozen yards away from you. To attempt at being friendly, you wave him over and feel both surprise and pride when he walks closer to join you.

"I half expected to find you dead already."

"Only half?" You snort in amusement, "It's nice to hear that you had some faith in me, if only a little bit."

He kept his face blank, not reacting to your tease, "I still would never drop my guard if I were you, 'eylanay."

"Yes, yes, I know," you take note of the direction he came in and come up with your own observation, "Are you heading back to HQ?"

He nods and you flash a small smile of sympathy, "A word of warning? Priya is going to be handing you a radio to bring back to me when you get there. She wants to make sure you and I keep in contact should I ever need help."

You don't miss the small grimace on his face when you mention Priya. You can't entirely blame him, knowing that Priya is a lot to handle for someone who prefers to be left alone, and everyone knows how desperate Priya is to make Na'vi friends, So'lek most of all.

He nods once more, schooling his face back to something more neutral, "Very well. Is there anything else you need from Headquarters?"

"Uh... when do you think you'll be coming back through?"

"Less than a week."

"Maybe some rations then, just to be safe."

~~~~~~~~~

That is basically the gist of your conversations with So'lek for the next upcoming month. Every time he comes through, whether heading to or from Resistance HQ, he makes time for small talk, talk that only lasts less than ten minutes, then he's gone before you have time to say goodbye. It doesn't bother you a whole lot, but that could be from the feeling of loneliness. You'll take a few moments of conversation with practically anyone and anything if it will keep you sane from your solitude, even So'lek, who was hardly one for words to begin with. Part of you wondered if you'll end up like him if you continued working alone in this lab without anyone else to talk to you.

He never stays the night at his campfire, or maybe he does and he happens to leave before you even wake up. Either way, you never see him sitting outside or sleeping by the fire as you imagined he once did before you came along and took his space. He brings back any supplies you ask of him whenever he's on his way back from headquarters, and sometimes he brings items that Priya practically had to beg him to take to you. They weren't necessities, but you appreciated the comics and recordings of guitar solos one of the Resistance members likely cooked up. You didn't believe Priya would be capable, but you had to wonder whoever was sneaking you dirty romance novels among those supplies, and how your suspicions only heightened when you realize the novels were about a human female and her alien male lover. Despite how horrified you felt when discovering that little surprise hidden among your rations, it was... comforting, to say the least. It helped keep you sane and one with your humanity. You were also thankful that So'lek didn't appear to notice what he was tasked to give you.

One month turns into two, and there was a patch of weeks where you hadn't seen So'lek at all. A part of you told yourself not to worry, knowing he had a mission that took him in the opposite direction of your field lab, or at least that's what Priya told you. The other part of you, however, couldn't help looking out your window before bed every night, wondering if he'd be there the one time you looked. Suddenly you found yourself immerced in those dirty romance novels just to keep yourself from worrying too much, and you were beginning to question your mind when you realized you had begun to picture the male alien lover to look like So'lek in your head as you read.

That one fateful day you decide to leave the large doors completely open to let the fresh air through the lab was the one day you shouldn't have even gotten out of bed. You heard the deep growl first, then your hairs on the back of your neck stood on edge. You were inside the complex and quickly look around for your rifle, but the moment you made too quick of movement was when the thanator leaped into action. It roared loudly, deafening your small ears, as it leapt up onto the walkway leading into the lab before prowling right inside as if it owned the place, it's eyes never leaving you for a second, practically freezing you where you stand. You internally curse whoever designed those doors to be big enough for a thanator and you hope they're rotting in Hell. As the beast corners you into the smallest space of the lab, a part of you hopes you'll meet that inventor in Hell so you can kill them again yourself.

The thanator's nose scrunches as its snarling muzzle curled up, its limbs lowering closer to the ground, ready to strike. When it bows its back to pounce, you faintly catch sight of a collar or some form of restraint around the creature's neck, clearly of RDA make judging by the worn and chipped yellow paint coated over the metal. You wonder if it would be the last thing you ever see, a creation made from the ones you swore to fight against.

An entire barrage of gunfire shrieks through the air, bullets raining into the thanator's side at the same time it cries out in pain. So'lek inched forward until he leaps up into the lab, stepping into the open doorway and continuing his assault until he empties the entire clip into the beast's hind. As he's going to reload, the thanator decides to retreat, mewling and whining in pain as it tries to limp out of the opposite door it came through. So'lek had other ideas, however, loading his rifle once more and emptying out another whole clip into the beast, even after its body fell dead outside.

So'lek finally stopped, the silence ringing in your ears after being forced to be in the same small space as an assault rifle. He hops back out of the lab and trudges over to the dead body outside, knife in hand just to be safe. You take your time, gasping for breath as your mask hissed and testing your shaking legs out as you slowly but surely step right outside the door to see for yourself.

"I... I thought thanators were territorial?" You find your voice, swallowing down saliva when your chords cracked from fear, "Last I checked, this place wasn't in any known territory."

"These are the Severed kind our Sarentu informers have been running into," So'lek explained almost robotically while nudging the dead creature with his foot, "Animals whose kuru have been cut. Experiments, courtesy of the Sky People."

"There... Usually, there are two of them, right?"

"Nor mentioned he managed to kill one, but not its partner. This must have been the one that got away." He paused as if remembering something, before his eyes finally peer up to meet yours, "Are you alright?"

Your exhale isn't very strong, and your voice quivered, but you nod, "I... I think so. Just... shakened..."

His eyes squint, but he didn't look as though he was judging or analyzing you. He looked... for lack of a better word, concerned, "Perhaps I should take you back to base camp."

You shake your head while trying to muster a weak, joking smile, "I think I need to sleep for two days straight before I do that. That took a lot out of me."

He doesn't comment and instead offers to help clean up the mess of bullets and anything the thanator might have knocked out of place while causing a rampage through the base. You don't refuse or even agree, you just nod and move back inside to get started.

The two of you clean up in silence, all the while So'lek keeps a close eye on you, and you pretend not to notice. It's hard not to, however, since his gaze can drive your skin to rise and heat up unlike anyone you've ever met before.

He noticed how your hands were still shaking as you pick up a couple of fallen books, "'Eylan..."

"I'm alright," you wave off, too strung up to even acknowledge the achievement of gaining a new friendship status with the hard-won Na'vi man, "Just... too tense. How did you know I needed help?"

"I was already on my way here. I picked up the animal's scent and started to run and hope I wasn't too late."

You didn't dare assume that tone in his voice was trembling. You knew that assuming anything out of someone who kept his cards close to his chest would be wrong. Your eyes briefly look up at the Na'vi man, a faint smile on your lips, "You weren't. You were right on time. Thank you..."

Unbeknowst to you, So'lek's chest squeezed almost painfully at the sight of your grateful smile. Even through all that adrenaline and fear, you were still standing and unharmed, which relieved him so much to the point that it frightened him. He didn't think he would feel such fear when he had first caught the scent of the feral palulukan mixed in with the one he had come to associate with you. And yet, his legs moved before his mind was made up, running faster than he ever thought possible out of desperation.

To hear your reassurance that he had managed to save you on time strikingly comforted him, and yet, he didn't feel as though you were completely safe despite the danger being gone. He moved his eyes to watch the world outside your window to avoid your gaze as he spoke,

"I do not feel comfortable moving on and leaving you here alone tonight. If it will help, I will keep watch as you rest."

With his eyes off yours, he failed to notice your face heat up or the bug-eyed expression you sent his way. Of course, you knew you wouldn't sleep very well tonight and would like nothing more than to have some company after nearly dying. However, you also tried to play it cool and nonchalant. After all, this man did warn you to always keep your guard up, and you would hate to disappoint him, despite the odd friendship you now shared.

You simply shrug as a way to try and hide your embarrassment, "I know it'd be useless to try and convince you otherwise, so do what you want."

You activate the doors to slide completely shut, locking the two of you inside as you listen for the familiar hiss of oxygen being filtered in and out. Only when the terminal deems it safe do you remove your mask and walk over the mask station. You hang up yours and retrieve a smaller one for So'lek, handing the device to him. So'lek expertly breathes into the mask once and then lets the device dangle around his neck before he moves to the window. You watch him retreat before moving over to snuggle into the bean bag resting in the corner, trying to ignore the tall Na'vi now standing by your window as you close your eyes.

While he kept watch, he also occasionally watched you as well. You looked even smaller than usual, lying curled up in the bean bag as if trying to disappear from the world. After everything you've been through today, it's understandable you'd still be antsy, but So'lek had to commend you for how brave and put-together you appeared to be in the face of danger. He doesn't know many sky demons who are capable of that, which is why he had found himself conversing with you more than he should have over the course of these months.

Since the day you first arrived at Wooden Glen, an ugly part in his head immediately told him to stay back, keep away from you, and try not to get used to your scent. Despite hating most humans -with the Resistance balancing on that tight rope-, he surprised even himself when he didn't feel those emotions toward you. You, who immediately gave him space and didn't question him. You, who respected his boundaries and opted to live peacefully in the same space when you learned he would occasionally rest at the lab. You weren't defensive or suspicious, and you didn't expect anything from him. Sure, most of the Resistance fighters were like that -hence why they no longer worked for the RDA- but none of them were you.

So'lek may be hard to talk to and therefore found it hard to form bonds, but he's not blind. He knows beauty when he sees it, and despite hating almost everything the Sky People create, he didn't hate whatever method of creation made you. You were not Na'vi by any means, yet he couldn't help the way his eyes scan your body, so much smaller in comparison to his, and wonder what it would be like to press you into him. And your scent-- oh, your scent. Somehow, it lingered in his nostrils even from miles away in a vastly different part of Pandora. There wasn't much to your scent. It wasn't perfume or deodorant. Nothing distinct, and yet he knows it's you the moment he catches a whiff of it. It's not a bad scent. It's just you. He internally knows that there's nothing bad about it, least of all you.

So you could imagine the horror he felt when he had drawn close to the lab that day, only to smell a thanator in your general direction.

Unaware of his staring, you felt unnerved and restless now that you were finally trying to sleep. You weren't sure if you had laid there for hours or mere minutes, but you began to toss and turn, your heart beating loudly in your chest and unable to slow down.

So'lek noticed your transgressions immediately and voiced his thoughts, "You should get some sleep, my friend."

"I can't," you murmur quietly, "I'm too jumpy and too tense... Too cold."

He wasn't sure what came over him, but the sight of you restless and your claims of being cold pulled him from the window. He strides across the room and crouches in front of your form, ignoring the shock and hidden worry behind your eyes. You had grown still, a little cautious as to what would happen or what he would do if you moved. You get your answer as his large hand slowly rises up and rests over your forehead. You didn't dare move, feeling the heat of his palm against your face, and-- by god, his hand was so large, it could easily fit your whole skull without a problem.

He stomps down whatever he is feeling in his gut when his hand presses against your skin, a little shocked at how smooth you feel beneath his touch. He hadn't experienced many humans before, especially not up close and personal. The softness of your skin was... new and an interesting sensation. So'lek couldn't help but wonder what the rest of you might feel like beneath his touch.

He huffs with a faint smirk on his lips, "You are definitely cold."

Despite seeing anything other than a scowl on his face for the first time, you couldn't help the slight sting of your sarcasm emerge, scoffing and lightly swatting his hand away, "Thanks, Captain Obvious."

His eyes squint in confusion, "I do not understand."

"Never mind," you wave it off easily enough, starting to sit up before you notice So'lek inching closer, beginning to crowd your space. Your jaw nearly slacked before you picked it back up and found your words again, "Uh... what are you doing?"

He wasn't entirely sure himself. His usual instinct to stay away was nonexistent. A different instinct took over, and he wasn't sure if it terrified or intrigued him, but the scent you were giving off definitely wasn't helping him form a clear thought.

"Warming you up."

He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world as if your heart didn't just threaten to leap straight out of your mouth as his large body suddenly started to surround you in every sense of the word. It could've been from being so touch-starved and lonely, or it could've been your attraction toward him. Either way, your body immediately felt hot, and he wasn't even completely touching you yet. If you had half a sensible mind, you would immediately look away from the intensity of his sharp, yellow gaze, hiding the blush beginning to creep up over your face, but you didn't. You found yourself entranced by him, unable to look away.

He's pressing into your space now, completely pinning you into the bean bag, and yet you didn't feel scared or suspicious of ill intent. You felt yourself trusting his slow methods... as if he was testing to see what you would do. The long length of his strongly corded body overpowers your smaller form, encompassing you with his... well, everything. He took up your vision, your touch, and your hearing, and suddenly, you felt your mouth go dry with the need to taste as well. His eyes flick down, away from your eyes, and your mouth unconsciously opens in a silent gasp. You watch his eyes stare intently at your lips, his strong jaw visibly tightening underneath his skin. His face leans closer to yours until you feel his hot breath fan over your face, forcing your eyes to blink. He briefly looks up to watch your pretty eyelashes flutter before finally opening his mouth.

"Yes or no, sevin 'eve?"

You don't know what that means, but your body shivers in response regardless. You're scared to reach out and touch first in case this is all just a dream after falling asleep while reading those romance novels. You don't miss the way his brow ridge furrows as if in pain as he watched you wet your bottom lip and find the words to speak,

"Yes."

He's molding your lips together before the word even fully leaves your mouth, forcing you to inhale through your nose and feeling dizzy by the scent of his musk. His lips were bigger than yours, making the kiss sloppy until the two of you found a rhythm that suited you both. The air was stolen from your lungs as he seemed hellbent on constantly chasing your lips whenever you needed to pull away to breathe.

You weren't sure how long you kissed, losing track of time, immersed in the sensation before you were all too aware of the wet patch forming between your legs with the way he carefully laid his weight down on your pelvis. You find yourself moaning into his mouth, and his reaction is instantaneous.

His hands are finally on you, starting at your waist and moving up, pushing the fabric of your shirt up as he goes to expose your skin to him. Your heart leaps at the feel of his large hands, practically covering your entire waist, able to expand his fingers over the soft valley of your stomach.

His amazement is replaced by a scowl when his hands push your shirt up enough to expose your bra, "Why must your people feel the need to cover yourselves in so many layers? This is criminal."

You're not offended, finding yourself breathlessly laughing at his expense. You move your hands to grab the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, "If you think that's bad, you should try unhooking this thing."

He frowns but doesn't protest, taking his mask and breathing in its contents, waiting for your instruction as he stares down at your bra as if it offended him by simply existing. Dare I say it almost looked as though he was pouting if such an expression existed within So'lek. You bite your lip to refrain from laughing more and gently grasp his hands. He clearly had the strength to pull away, his hands so much larger than yours, but he lets you guide him to the expanse of your back where he's met with the strap of your bra. Small hooks kept the offending piece of fabric together, and while he tried to fiddle with it, it only made his frustration grow.

You're not surprised when he finally gives up and just rips the bra apart like it was nothing, but you still groan in slight annoyance, "I only have a few of those, you know."

"You will not be needing any of them from here on out," he states gruffly, with confidence, as he moves down to plant large, smooth kisses down the front of your neck and toward the space between your now exposed breasts, your heartbeat strong against his lips.

So'lek was determined to be rid of all of your bras in the near future. He'll burn them if he has to. This world is not a place for the Sky People's opinions on indecent exposure, nor is their culture and fashion welcome in So'lek's eyes. As if he needed another reason to hate the Sky People, their insistence on covering someone as beautiful as you up was the cherry on top.

His hands and mouth move onto your breasts, squeezing and kissing, licking over both of your nipples. You were more pliable and squishy compared to Na'vi women, but So'lek loved it because it just meant there was more of you to hold. He liked the feel of your tits, warm and heavy in his palms. Why need a bra when his hands are literally right here?

You lean back, sighing up at the ceiling and gasping when he slips one of your nipples into his mouth, unknowingly arching your back to push your chest further into his hands, much to his inner delight. His tongue is wet and rough, running circles around the bud until it forms into a peak then he moves on to the other one, keeping his hand occupied on whichever tit that wasn't currently in his mouth. Your skin rises wherever he touches, and your hips involuntarily try to move, your need for anything to press between your legs only growing when So'lek gently bites his teeth around the tit he was playing with. You nearly rock your hips up at the feel of his fangs sinking slowly into your skin, not puncturing or causing you to bleed, but causing a bruise to form when he finally pulled away, your breasts now slicked with his saliva and one marked with his teeth.

His breath was unsteady now, his eyes blown out of proportion, hiding the yellow color behind those black voids of a pupil. His eyes rake over your form, smugly enjoying how flushed you look with wet, kiss-bitten lips, tangled hair, and scrunched eyebrows, Sitting back on his hunches and taking it all in, So'lek's eyes finally land on your lower half, your thigh muscles clenching at the way his expression turns to hunger.

He hooks his fingers into the hem of your bottoms and helps peel them off your legs, again, showing his disapproval when his need to see all of you is obstructed by your panties.

His hands reach down to grab a hold of the panties, but you find enough willpower to remember to pull away as you fix him a stern look, "I am not letting you rip these."

He scoffed half-heartedly, "They are already ruined," he emphasizes this by gently beginning to rub a finger over your clothed clit, the bold movement surprising you enough to forget your words and gasp out in pleasure. The movement of his fingers sent your head spiraling, unaware you were so worked up to the point that a simple touch had you needy for more. He leans over you, keeping his finger's speed steady as his voice whispers into your ear, "Do you not feel how soaked and uncomfortable they feel?"

You groan in response, silently agreeing that the wet fabric rubbing against your most sensitive area wasn't as pleasant as say his fingers. Part of you wanted him to rip the panties off you so he could quickly return to drawing circles and figure eights over your clit, but the more logical part in your head reminded you that underwear was more crucial than a bra for everyday life. You wiggle your hips and with So'lek's help, you manage to get the panties off at least one of your legs and let it dangle around your other ankle before kicking it off all the way.

So'lek's breath stuttered as he stared down at the tight, shiny wet cunt between your legs, so small that his thumb nearly envelops half of it as he continues to play with your now bare clit. The slick makes it easier to rub and your moans slip out of your mouth without a fear of anyone else hearing. The thought of being able to let you make as many lewd noises as possible without anyone around sent a thrill up his spine.

He found himself moving until he was lying on his stomach, his head inching forward between your legs. Once you realized his intentions, your body began to writhe with anticipation, a little nervous but wanting this all the same. His hot breath fanned down the inside of your leg and gusting over your pussy, making your inner walls unconsciously clench around nothing.

When you felt the wet warmth of his tongue run up the seam of your pussy, you're startled into moaning up at the ceiling, "Fuck, So'lek--"

"Mm..." he mumbled, the vibrations sent straight into your heat and making your skin tingle. He's unashamed of how loud he was being, drinking you up like he's a man trapped in the desert, his moans and tongue causing the most erotic sensation that you have never felt before. His tongue dips into your greedy hole as a gasp is stolen from your lungs.

He hummed as if he just tasted the sweetest fruit, "Kalin."

"Oh, God..." You respond, moving your hips to press further into his mouth. He doesn't seem to mind and eagerly takes as much of you as he can, pressing his nose into your clit as he licks up what he could only describe as your sweet nectar.

He takes it a step further once he knows you're wet and ready and inserts a finger into your entrance, slowly pushing it despite there wasn't much resistance yet. He carefully watched the way you bucked and arched your back as if your body was trying to decide to pull away or push for more. Your eyes were closed, wanting to just feel every sensation, the bottom of your stomach already warm and fluttery. Once So'lek added a second of his large fingers, he felt a tiny stretch against the initial ring of muscle, but it gave way barely a second later and welcomed him into your tight warmth. He slowly pulls his fingers in and out, trying to commit the sound of you and your responsive body to memory, all the while licking up your slick and pressing his nose into your clit.

It felt as though he was in several places at once, and the growing ache was igniting a pleasant, burning fire within you. Every lick and every thrust of his fingers were barreling you closer to some unforeseen peak, threatening to push you over the edge. You rock your hips against his face, thighs beginning to tremble around his head. He moaned deep into your pussy as he felt the muscle of your inner thighs flex and pressed down tightly around him. It was glorious and exhilarating, driving So'lek to pump his fingers in and out of you, faster and faster.

"Ah~!" You jolt, hands quickly reaching down and tangling into his hair, helping you thrust your hips more closely into his face. The sounds coming from your mouth and pussy was so obscene, normally, you'd feel embarrassed, but right now you weren't even paying attention. You were more focused on grinding into So'lek's face, chasing after your own release, feeling it rise and rise as the coil begins to dangerously tighten.

"So'lek--" Your plea is abruptly cut off by a moan escaping your lips, your body trembling in response to him curling his fingers just right inside of you. It drove you into a frenzy, now grinding your hips faster as you cried out, "So'lek! Do that again-- fuck... I'm so close..."

He moans, going even faster while repeating the movements you begged him to mimic, his tongue eager to lap you up and taste everything you could give him. Your fingers tighten in his hair and the sensation nearly makes his eyes rolls back, more eager than ever to feel and see you finish.

You're unable to warn him as your climax barely had time to build up before it snapped and let go, your screams of pleasure filling up the lab as your pussy pulses and sends waves of hot ecstasy up and down your body. The whole time your orgasm clings to you, so does So'lek, his tongue and fingers still working in and out of you, riding out your high. He groans when you spill into his mouth, your thighs uncontrollably shaking all around him and your pretty little noises add to his already aching cock.

By the time you're beginning to relax and turn to jelly in his hands, he finally pulls his mouth away, gasping deeply for air only to choke and remember than he needed the breathing mask around his neck to do so. Licking his lips, he brings the mask up to his face and takes long, deep breaths, in and out, closing his eyes and moaning when his smells you on his own breath. Opening his eyes, he finds you with your eyes still closed and a small, satisfied smile on your face. It feels as though he has no choice when he leans down to kiss you, wishing to feel that sweet, irresistible smile with his own lips. You hum lightly, kissing back with your hands gently soothing his scalp where you had initially pulled his hair, a soft moan escaping his lips when the soreness is slowly massaged away. You can feel his moan on your lips, the taste of his tongue intoxicating once you realize he tasted like you. You shift underneath him, needing more as your hands move to start disrobing his chest pieces and loincloth.

"Mawey..." he moaned softly, even as his hips moved to give you better access to his tewng.

Despite not understanding him completely, you could tell by his tone that he wanted you to slow down. You had to crane your neck to peer up at him, and suddenly his reluctance immediately caves, his heart clenching with the way you stare up at him with half-lidded eyes, long eyelashes, and wet lips. He manages to unclip his vest before diving back in to kiss you, savor you, his large hands on either side of your face, fingers raking into your hair.

You sigh in content, closing your eyes while you return the passionate effort, trying not to get distracted as your hands begin to untie his loincloth. You feel him before you can see him, both of you pulling out of the kiss to gasp as your hand grabs a hold of his cock. The fact that your hand couldn't fully wrap around the width told you all you needed to know, and once you caught a glimpse of him, your mouth began to water.

Your fingertips and thumb were nearly an inch apart, unable to touch. Maybe it was your imagination, but the only thing you could compare to describe the size of So'lek's cock was your own forearm, much to your distress and excitement. There was no way he was going to fit, but by Eywa, you needed to try.

Using your free hand, you gently grab the back of So'lek's neck and pull him in for another kiss, just to be sure he didn't make any other protests. For added measure, you slowly move your other hand up and down his length, causing full body shivers to erupt across his back. You catch a bead of precum at the tip and slather it over his cock, making your movements easier on his sensitive, uncut skin.

It was easier to coherce him than you originally thought it would, moving the both of you until you were flat on your back, bean bag forgotten, with So'lek hovering above you, his hips flush between your legs. His cock stood tall between your bodies as your hand continued to move up and down the impressive length. His eyes squeeze shut, a small snarl on his lips as a growl runs through him. Both of his hands are planted on either side of your head, holding him up as he tries to regain control of himself, enjoying your touch but trying to restrain the overbearing thoughts that involve plunging deep inside of you no matter how loud you scream.

"Ma'kalin... I do not want to hurt you."

"Please..." you whimper desperately, hand moving up and down his cock faster while you arch your back to try and get closer, "I need you... I promise to tell you my limits."

He paused to consider this, opening his eyes to watch yours for anything, and all he could see was your lust and desperation for him. His ears lower, wondering what he did to deserve such a need for him, and how he could've possibly deserved it. Regardless of his inner demons, his own need for you clouds most of his usual judgments and he surrenders to you, nodding once before spitting into his hand and gently moving your hand off of his cock. You both moan as his hand rubs up and down his length, and hopefully the saliva and pre cum you had spread earlier would be enough to slip inside your tight heat with ease.

You sit up, and for a moment he's alert at the idea you are changing your mind, but you smile and grab his mask, lifting it up to his mouth, "Take a breath first."

"Curse this thing," he mutters under his breath, his tail twitching behind him at the soft sound of your laugh. He does as he's told and takes a deep breath before letting the mask fall back around his neck.

He lies you back down as your lips meet once more, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. Your movements stalled when you felt the tip of his cock press on your clit before slowly dragging down toward your entrance, making your breath hitch in anticipation.

So'lek parts from the kiss and briefly brushes his lips over your soft cheek, "Now it is your turn to take a breath."

You nod obediantly, expanding your lungs as you deeply inhale just as he began to press his cock into your pussy. Your hands immediately fly up to hang onto So'lek's hair once more when you felt your pussy begin to stretch around his cock, his movements so agonizingly slow but you appreciated it once that ring of muscle that held his length like a vice grip in your entrance began to burn. You slowly exhale, albiet a little shaky at the uncomfortable stretch. Looking down, your internally horrified that he's barely two inches inside of you. A soft whimper escapes your throat and So'lek is swift to reassure you, dipping his head into the crook of your neck while his hand reaches between your bodies to gently rub your clit to ease the pain.

"I know..." his presses a kiss into the side of your neck, "I know. You are doing so well, ma'kalin, taking my cock so well..."

You mewl beneath his praise, taking a better, deeper breath as he pushes another inch inside. The burn isn't as painful and as his thumb continues to rub your clit, the stretch almost feels arousing. You already want to move your hips up to meet his, but you remain still instead, hellbent on the idea of getting him to fit in as much as possible before doing anything else.

It's a few minutes of patience and determination, but eventually, you can feel the tip of So'lek's cock breach the top of your cervix, bumping into that special, spongy spot that makes you whimper with pleasure.

"By Eywa..." So'lek groans quietly into your neck, "Feel yourself, ma'kalin."

You do as your told and reach down to where you know his thumb is currently rubbing your clit, only to pause when you felt something unfamiliar on your body. A large protrusion beneath your skin, sticking out of your abdomen. You look down between your bodies and moan. So'lek was only able to fit his cock a little over halfway in, and whatever he could fit was now forming a large bulge in your belly. You reach and press down on the bulge, the instant response was So'lek gripping tightly onto your hips.

"You..." he sounds as though he's been punched, groaning when you unintentionally squeeze around him until he finds his words, "You are so tight. I can feel every inch of you squeezing my cock."

"Does it hurt?" You ask with a small hint of worry.

A small quiver of a smile rises in the corner of his mouth, able to hide it in your shoulder as his kisses a small freckle on your skin, "In a good way. Always a good way. Keep tightening around me and I might finish without even moving."

A staggered breath escapes your lips, closing your eyes just to feel it all. The feel of being so full, the feel of his finger on your clit, the feel of his large body on top of you, both of your bodies moulded together, despite difference in size. Your gummy walls clench, and you feel the way his cock twitches in response, followed by a small snarl that released from deep in So'lek's chest. Your hands gently card through his hair and be sure to avoid his kuru when you guide him out of the juncture of your neck to look at him. You're not disappointed by his expression, his hairless brow pinched together in blissful agony, a small bead of sweat dripping down from his forehead and over the scar on the side of his face. You find your fingers following the pattern of the scar, tracing it and catching the bead of sweat, wiping it away.

He opens his eyes at your small gesture, staring wide eyed at you as if he had made some sort of new discovery. Your stomach fluttered in response, meeting his gaze as a roar of need waves through you. Without breaking eye contact, you move your hips and it only helps his cock slip further inside you.

He nearly buckled then and there, startled to the point he needed to remember to hold himself above you so you wouldn't be crushed. He growls deep in his throat, the bridge of his muzzle scrunched up as he grit his teeth. Unbeknowst to him, his reaction made your heart skip a beat, and if he wasn't already buried deep inside you, your legs would've no doubt clenched together to relieve the heat beginning to grow. Taking your hint, So'lek begins to moves his hips, pulling out and only going as far to leave the tip inside before sliding back in, your stuttering breaths mingling together as the ridges of his cock bumps and fits in all of the grooves of your aching walls, creating the most erotic friction you knew no toy could ever recreate. The idea of this man ruining all other sexual experiences for you was both enticing and mournful, knowing you would never be able to properly get yourself off ever again. Then again, you wouldn't mind always having to go to him in order to climax from here on out. Just as long as he felt the same.

Slick with sweat, your bodies slide together as So'lek finally starts to pick up the pace, the sound of skin slapping together filling up the lab that was your little corner of paradise. Each of his thrusts punches a moan out of you, your hands moving to get a better grip on his body, only to leave long and angry scratch marks up and down his back, your legs wrapped tightly around his hips.

The pleasant sting of your nails only encourages So'lek to rut more roughly into you, growling and snarling in your ear, an animalistic desire driving him to chase after your cervix with every thrust. The instinct to mark you all over clouded his mind, but he purposely clenched his jaw to refrain from doing so. For now, the scent he already left on you would be enough to mark his claim. It was also driving him to his climax quicker than he wanted, not when he wanted you to reach yours first. It wasn't just a want. It was a need for him.

Needing to help you reach your peak faster, he puts his hands and tongue to work. He had to hunch a little uncomfortably to reach his intended target, but it was all worth it when one hand was figioursly rubbing your clit while his tongue swirled around one of your nipples, driving the coil in your stomach to start winding up unbearably tight, already oozing out small waves of ectsasy like warm honey.

"So'-- fuck!" You gasp, your body already beginning to shake, "I'm going to come--"

"Do it," he growled out, unintentionally turning the phrase into an order as his hips stutter before returning to their previous pace, "Come on my cock, sevin 'eve. Let me... by Eywa-- hear how good I make you feel."

His cock rams right into the best spot inside of you, your screams heightened as you began to see stars, "Fuckfuckfuck!"

You grab onto the only thing you could reach, his forearms, and let yourself go. Your toes curl as the coil inside you snaps, sending wave after wave of pounding pleasure through you from head to toe, flooding all of your other senses with the rush of your high, making your head feel light. Your mouth had fallen open in a silent scream, too overwhelmed to make any other sounds.

Your pussy was clenching and unclenching around So'lek's cock as you come, and the sight of you made his own head feel dizzy. The breathy groans he lets out makes your walls clench tighter around him, and after a few more quick thrusts, he's burying his cock as deep as he could get and spilling inside your already full pussy, painting your pulsating walls in large streams of white. He has to remove his hands from your body to keep himself upright, and even then you faintly notice the way his arms shake from such intensity. You two take those few moments to remain still, basking in your shared orgasms, panting heavily and not wanting to move if it meant the high would fade faster.

You had thought he had emptied everything inside you, but when he slowly and agonizingly pulled out, he was still spilling out a few short streams of cum and they end up landing onto your stomach, his cock twitching as he watched his essence stream down your skin and leak out of your pussy. His heart was still racing and his muscles were tense, unable to relax as his cock continued to twitch as he tried to catch his breath.

You take pity on him and move your arms around his frame, manovering him until he's lying on his side next to you. His muscles finally relax once he's not holding himself up, groaning quietly once he manages to press his mask to his mouth and take another breath.

He's reaching for you tiredly even before he's letting the mask drop around his neck, "I will clean you up..."

"Not now," you reply, boldly curling up into his chest to keep warm once the air in the lab had cooled down. You close your eyes and smile to yourself, "Just take your time. I'm in no rush."

He's hesitant at first, but he eventually wraps his arms around you, trying not to think too hard about this little tawtute currently safe in his embrace, your breathing starting to slow as you're finally relaxed enough to go to sleep, using his chest to rest your head. With the cloud of lust lifting, his mind is at war while his heart is at peace. He knows he shouldn't be selfish after what just happened, but he secretly wishes to have this moment all the time. Every night with you would be marvelous... but he's not sure if that's what you want, despite having just fucked you silly.

He lets himself be selfish for a little while longer, just for tonight, his fingertips lightly following the path down your spine, creating goosebumps on your skin, and lulling you to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~

Reference photos for the field lab HERE!

MASTERLIST

REQUESTS

[anexperimentallife]

If you need to get out of the US, READ THIS:

Again, if you need to get out of the states and have a location-independent source of income (because on the easiest-to-get visa you won't be able to work here--SSDI or regular social security works, but not SSI), we can help with the logistics of getting settled in the Philippines and make local introductions in Baguio. English is one of the two official languages of the Philippines, too, so although you're encouraged to learn Filipino, Tagalog, and/or Illocano, you can get by with English.

(And I hate that this needs to be said because of today's mercenary culture, but OF COURSE WE'RE NOT CHARGING ANYTHING. I'm just sorry we're not in a position to offer financial help to others.)

It's not perfect here (especially with all China's sabre-rattling), but at least for now, it's safer and freer than the US, especially if you're queer or an ethnic minority. We've been here going on seven years, and I've helped one person get out already, so I know what to do and how to do it. Also, although marriage laws have not caught up yet, queer folks are generally more accepted here than in the states.

As far as mechanics go--As a US citizen you get an automatic 29-day tourist visa on arrival, and can keep getting extensions for up to three years, at which point you board a cheap (often less than 100 dollars) round-trip flight to Kuala Lumpur or Singapore, and start your three years over again. (You cannot work on a tourist visa, though, hence the need for location-independent income.) There may be other options depending on your specific situation, but ANYONE from the US can do the tourist visa thing.

The local immigration office here in Baguio is incredibly helpful and sympathetic, and went above and beyond the call of duty for us during our daughter's citizenship fiasco. Everyone there is friendly and helpful, but we'll be happy to introduce you to our contact there just for extra comfort.

I'll post some relocation tips in a day or so, but in general, a single person, or even a couple, can get by on 600 USD a month here with some budgeting and giving up some Western luxuries. 1K USD puts you (as a single person) firmly in lower middle class. You can have fresh produce from the wet market delivered to your door for about a third of what it would cost at the local supermarket, and as for eating out, you can find budget meals for around 2 dollars--some with unlimited rice--if you shop around a bit. Public transit is ubiquitous, and costs literally pennies to use, and taxis start at about 75 cents. (This is all for Baguio, a popular tourist destination city--things are even less expensive if you live out in a small town or in the country--and I've converted to US currency for better clarity.)

Birth control and plan B are available over the counter (birth control pills start at about a dollar for a month's supply), and if you need to terminate a pregnancy, Thailand is close--with no one threatening you upon your return.

Now, on this next part I can't make promises, but we'll also be looking into what it would take to open an English school here to sponsor work visas for folks who want to get out, but who don't have a portable income. (Although as indicated above, English is widely spoken here, it's not the same dialect as anywhere else in the anglosphere, so some schools hire a single qualified American, Brit, or Aussie, as a bragging point, and they focus on people here on spouse visas that allow them to work, so they won't generally sponsor work visas--so I imagine a school with ONLY US-raised instructors would do well.) The English schools here mostly serve foreigners (especially Koreans) attracted to the Philippines' lower cost of living, and there are enough who want to study here that another school would only be adding to the local economy, and not putting any locals out of work.

As for your own education, tuition for a semester at University of the Philippines Baguio campus was about 900 dollars last time I checked.

More later.

[foone]

Got hired as a sysadmin for a robot girl. It's not a sex thing as everyone seems to expect when they hear this. I just have to log in and make sure her hard drives aren't running out of space, periodically update some software packages for security reasons, and occasionally set up some new users when she gets a new girl/boy/botfriend.

I do most of it from my home office, with occasional trips into the datacenter when she's bootlooping due to a failed kernel update. She's standing in a rack next to some Sun boxes, I just plug in a portable terminal and mess with grub for a bit before she comes right up.

[milf0rd]

BENEATH THE MASK

pairing. simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

summary. (Y/N), Task Force 141's medic, saw Ghost's face for the first time while patching up his injuries.

warning. descriptions of gunfire, explosions, scenes depicting injuries, medical treatments, and blood (typical cod theme)

word count. 2.3k

a/n: english is my second language, so if you find any mistakes, don't hesitate and text me!

The desert wind howled across the rocky terrain as the Task Force 141 team moved swiftly through the night. (Y/N), their medic, felt the weight of her gear as she kept pace with Captain Price, Soap, Gaz, and the mysterious Ghost. She had been with the elite unit for a few months, but Ghost remained an enigma to her, a silent, masked figure whose presence was always felt but never fully seen.

Their mission that night was simple in concept: infiltrate a heavily guarded compound and extract crucial intel regarding a new shipment of chemical weapons. But as they approached the compound under darkness, their plan quickly unravelled. A patrol they hadn't anticipated stumbled upon them, leading to a chaotic firefight.

Bullets whizzed through the air, accompanied by the sharp cracks of rifles and the distant thunder of explosions. (Y/N) took cover behind a crumbling wall, her mind racing as she assessed the wounded. Soap and Gaz held their ground nearby, providing cover fire as Captain Price barked orders over the radio.

Suddenly, Ghost appeared beside her, his presence as silent as ever. He motioned towards Soap, whose shoulder was grazed by a bullet. Without a word, (Y/N) nodded and hurried to assist.

The firefight continued for what felt like an eternity, but the team managed to eliminate the immediate threat. With the area momentarily secure, they regrouped in a small, dimly lit room within the compound. Captain Price leaned over the map spread out on a makeshift table, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"We need that intel," Price said grimly, his voice low yet commanding. "Ghost, find it. (Y/N), patch up whoever needs it and be ready to move out."

(Y/N) nodded, her focus shifting to Soap and Gaz as she pulled out her medical kit. Soap winced as she began to clean and dress his wound, but Gaz remained alert, scanning their surroundings.

As (Y/N) worked, she stole glances at Ghost, who was hunched over a computer terminal in the corner of the room. His movements were precise and deliberate, his gloved hands flying over the keys as he accessed the encrypted files.

The tension in the room was palpable, broken only by the occasional click of Ghost's keystrokes and the muted sounds of the ongoing battle outside. (Y/N) couldn't help but wonder about the man behind the mask—his past, his motivations. But such thoughts had to wait. Right now, their survival depended on securing the intel and getting out safely.

Just as Ghost seemed to make progress, an explosion rocked the building, sending debris flying and knocking everyone off balance. (Y/N) stumbled, but Ghost was quick to steady her, his gloved hand gripping her arm firmly. For a brief moment, she felt the weight of his presence, his strength beneath the mask.

"Ghost!" Captain Price called out, his voice urgent. "We're running out of time. Can you get that intel or not?"

Ghost nodded, his masked face unreadable. With renewed determination, he returned to the terminal, his fingers moving faster now.

Outside, the gunfire intensified, drawing nearer by the second. Soap and Gaz exchanged worried glances, their weapons at the ready. They knew they couldn't hold out much longer.

"Almost there," Ghost muttered under his breath, his eyes fixed on the screen.

Suddenly, the screen flickered and then displayed a map with a blinking marker. Ghost's gloved hand hovered over the keyboard as he extracted the data onto a portable drive.

"We've got it," Ghost announced, his voice calm yet triumphant.

Captain Price wasted no time. "Good. (Y/N), pack up. We're moving out–"

Before Price could finish his sentence, a barrage of gunfire erupted from outside the room. Bullets tore through the walls, sending chunks of debris flying. (Y/N) ducked instinctively, shielding her head with her arms.

In the chaos, Ghost acted decisively. He grabbed (Y/N)'s arm and pulled her towards him, shielding her with his own body as they sought cover behind a thick concrete pillar. His masked face was just inches from hers, his eyes intense behind the tinted lenses.

"Stay down," Ghost ordered, his voice low yet urgent.

(Y/N) nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the heat of his body against hers, his presence a comforting shield amidst the chaos. For the first time, she found herself grateful for his silent strength.

Captain Price and the others returned fire, their shots echoing through the room. The enemy was relentless, their numbers seemingly endless. But Task Force 141 was relentless too, fighting tooth and nail to hold their ground.

As the firefight raged on, (Y/N) couldn't help but steal glances at Ghost. His mask remained firmly in place, betraying nothing of the man beneath. But now, with the adrenaline coursing through her veins, she found herself drawn to him in a way she hadn't before.

"We need to move," Captain Price shouted over the din of gunfire. "Ghost, (Y/N), cover us. Soap, Gaz, with me!"

Without hesitation, Ghost and (Y/N) provided covering fire as Price and the others dashed towards the exit. Bullets whizzed past them, impacting the walls with deadly precision.

"Go!" Ghost called out, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of battle.

(Y/N) nodded and followed Ghost as they made their way towards the exit, their backs pressed against the cold stone walls. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of gunpowder, their lungs burning with each breath.

Just as they reached the exit, a stray grenade sailed through the air and landed at their feet. (Y/N)'s eyes widened in horror as she realized they were trapped. Without thinking, Ghost pushed her behind him and shielded her with his body once more.

The grenade exploded with a deafening roar, sending shrapnel flying in all directions. (Y/N) felt the force of the blast against her back, but Ghost absorbed the brunt of it, his body tensing with the impact. She could hear him grunt in pain, but he didn't falter.

"Ghost!" (Y/N) screamed.

"(Y/N)..." Ghost's voice was strained. He was conscious but clearly in pain.

"Ghost is down!" she shouted into her comms, her voice filled with urgency.

There was a brief crackle of static before Price's voice came through, sharp and focused. "Gaz, Soap, fall back to Ghost's position! (Y/N), get to him now!"

As the smoke cleared, (Y/N) peered around Ghost to assess the damage. His mask was scorched and cracked, revealing a glimpse of his face beneath. Blood trickled down his neck from a gash caused by a piece of shrapnel.

"We need to get him out!" she called out, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

A few moments later the team managed to get to the position of (Y/N) and Ghost. Soap and Gaz provided cover as Price helped lift Ghost. They moved quickly, bullets whizzing past them, the sounds of battle all around. Outside, the night air was cool against (Y/N)'s skin as they regrouped with the extraction team and jumped into the helicopter that was waiting for them. As everyone was situated, (Y/N) immediately went to work, her focus solely on saving Ghost.

Captain Price and the others scanned the area around the helicopter, holding off the enemy as they flew off. (Y/N) didn't hesitate, knelt beside him. Ignoring his initial resistance, she gently pushed aside his damaged skull mask, and her hands went to his fabric mask that was under the other one.

"I need to see the wound," she said, her voice steady despite the panic rising within her.

Ghost caught her wrist instinctively, his gaze locking with hers. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"It's alright, I need to patch you up," (Y/N) said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

Ghost hesitated, his grip on her wrist loosening ever so slightly. He gave a barely noticeable nod, allowing her to proceed. (Y/N) peeled back the mask, revealing his face for the first time. His face was a canvas of battle-hardened features, each scar telling a story of survival and sacrifice. A deep, fresh gash ran from his cheek down to his neck, the wound raw and bleeding, but the older scars drew her gaze – the jagged line across his left eyebrow, the faded burn mark along his jawline, and the small, puckered scar near his temple. His skin was pale, almost ghostly, contrasting sharply with the dark stubble that shadowed his jaw. But it was his eyes that caught her attention – dark brown, filled with a mix of determination and vulnerability.

Carefully, (Y/N) cleaned the wound on his neck and applied pressure to staunch the bleeding. Ghost felt a strange mix of emotions. He was not used to being exposed, his face a closely guarded secret. The sensation of her hands, gentle yet firm, was foreign but strangely comforting. Despite the pain, there was a sense of relief, a small crack in the armour he had built around himself.

Even though the severity of the situation, she remained calm, her training guiding her every move. Ghost winced, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he watched her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

"There," (Y/N) said gently, securing a bandage around his neck. "That should hold for now."

Ghost's eyes met hers, a mixture of pain and gratitude in their depths. "Thanks," he muttered, his voice strained.

"I've got you," she replied firmly. "Just hang on."

As (Y/N) finished, Captain Price stepped over the duo, his expression a mix of concern and relief. "How is he?" he asked, his eyes on Ghost.

(Y/N) looked up, exhaustion evident in her features. "He'll be okay. The wound was serious, but he's stable now."

Price nodded, his respect for (Y/N) clear in his eyes. "Good work. You saved his life."

(Y/N) offered a tired smile. "Just fulfilling my duty."

Price clapped a hand on her shoulder, a rare gesture of affection. The helicopter blades whipped through the night, and (Y/N) stayed beside Ghost, her hands steady as she pressed the bandage on his wound. The field dressings had been held, but the ride was rough, so she kept a close watch to ensure he stayed stable. Despite the dire situation, Ghost’s eyes remained sharp, and focused, a silent testament to his resilience. (Y/N) looked at the others and Ghost knew that she wanted to check on them. He nodded and without another word, he moved (Y/N)’s hand from his gash and pushed her to go to the other injured comrades.

Once she agreed, (Y/N) turned her attention to Soap. She barely took care of his shoulder which took a hit during the firefight, and although he didn’t say anything, she knew he must be in pain.

“Soap,” she called, her voice cutting through the hum of the helicopter. “Let me see your shoulder.”

Soap glanced at her, his usual bravado dimmed by exhaustion. “It’s just a scratch, doc,” he muttered, but he didn’t resist as she moved closer.

(Y/N) carefully peeled back the torn fabric of his sleeve, revealing the graze. The bullet had grazed his shoulder, leaving a raw, bloody scar. She winced at the sight but quickly set to work, cleaning the wound with practised efficiency.

“You need to take it easy,” she said, her tone firm but gentle. “This might not be serious now, but it could get worse if you don’t let it heal.”

Soap grinned, a flicker of his usual humour returning. “Don’t worry about me, lass. I’m tougher than I look.”

(Y/N) smiled back, shaking her head. “Maybe, but even tough guys need to let their medics take care of them.”

As she bandaged his shoulder, Soap’s grin softened into something sincere. “Thanks, doc. We’re lucky to have you.”

She finished securing the bandage and patted his good shoulder. “Just doing my job, Soap. Now sit tight, we’ll be back at base soon.”

She glanced around the helicopter, checking on the rest of the team. Gaz was alert, his eyes scanning the horizon, and Captain Price was deep in thought, already planning their next move. Despite the weariness and the injuries, there was a deep sense of unity among them. They had faced the fire together and come out stronger on the other side.

As the helicopter touched down at the base, the team began to disembark, their movements slow and weary. (Y/N) remained beside Ghost, her presence a steady anchor amidst the chaos. His mask was back in place, hiding his features once more. But now, she knew the man behind the mask – a warrior with a haunted past, driven by a sense of duty and honour. She held his hand gently, ensuring he felt her support. Even through the pain and exhaustion, Ghost’s eyes flickered with a rare vulnerability, acknowledging her silent strength.

As the other medics arrived and began to transfer him onto a stretcher, Ghost’s grip on her hand tightened slightly. “You don’t have to stay,” he muttered, his voice strained but sincere.

(Y/N) smiled softly, squeezing his hand in return. “I want to. You’re my patient and my friend. I’m not leaving you now.”

Ghost’s eyes softened, a flicker of gratitude passing over his features. “Not used to... this kind of care.”

She chuckled lightly, adjusting the blanket around him. “Well, get used to it. You’re stuck with me.”

There was a brief silence as the medics prepared to move him, the sounds of the bustling base fading into the background. Ghost looked at her, his expression serious. “Thanks, (Y/N). For everything.”

(Y/N) leaned closer, her voice gentle but firm. “Just focus on getting better, Ghost. We need you.”

He nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth behind the fabric mask. “I’ll do my best.”

“You better do,” she said, walking alongside the stretcher as they moved him towards the infirmary.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The Last Guardian

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

There was once a legend of a dead world called “Terra” that held a vault so ancient that even time could no longer fade its surface. It was said this vault contained the last vestiges of a species that once strode across the stars like gods and shaped the very fabric of reality to their liking on a whim.

The Vault was said to contain not only the collective knowledge of this species but several of their most advanced machines they had ever created. Jump drives that span entire quadrants instead of systems, portable dimensional storage spaces, templates for artificial life forms both mechanical and organic, and so much more beyond the vast depths of a universe’s imagination.

For years treasure seekers hunted this legendary world. Called to it from across the stars every manner of species came in search of the lost world with no luck until finally a lone survey team stumbled upon it while searching for fresh mineral deposits.

Terra was just as described in the stories; an entire planet covered in cities and empty buildings reaching forever into the sky for the heavens they will never touch. Only a single power source was detected on the planet and the mineral team made straight for it.

Set in the center of a decaying city the mineral ship set down and began prospecting while several of their number went to investigate the energy readings. They had not traveled far when a strange figure appeared before them. It was a bipedal robotic figure caped in a cloak to protect itself from the harsh wind and eyes as bright as the sun that shun between the clouds.

It spoke in a tongue that none of the crew understood or their translator units and allowed none to pass. When the crew ignited their mining equipment to begin harvesting some of the rare metals still found in the decaying buildings the robot’s eyes turned red and disappeared in a blink of an eye.

Not much is known after that as the teams recorders terminated one after another until finally the entire contingent was killed. This was only known as the ship’s emergency systems activated and the autopilot took the ship back to headquarters to report the loss of crew.

When news broke of the events that had transpired additional crews were dispatched to investigate, yet all shared the same fate as one by one their empty ships returned home to report entire crew deaths. From then on security details and treasure hunters flocked to the mysterious death world in search of the promised fortune.

They lasted only slightly longer than the mineral teams.

Even with their advanced weaponry, the lone figure would appear before them and dispatch them as if they were nothing more than children. Plasma fire bounced off its polished exterior, quantum rockets were caught midair in its grasp and flung away like playing balls, an even the strength of a Omega class war droid was nothing as it ripped its arms off and impaled the droid on them.

Attempt after attempt was made until finally the body count had reached such an extent that the galactic powers took notice and dispatch their mightiest warships to the planet to investigate from orbit. They had no sooner arrived in high anchor when a beam of dark energy shot up from the planet’s surface and simply erased them from existence. From then on a quarantine procedure was placed around the entire solar system on pain of death for crossing it until the galactic powers could determine what to do next.

This lasted a year before one of the powers suggested opening diplomatic talks with the entity on the world. In truth none had considered it given its innate hostility to intruders, but they soon realized that in the previous attempts no one had actually attempted to communicate with the robotic being.

A small delegation was dispatched, comprised of the finest diplomats and linguists, and made landfall at the same place as the original mining team that had discovered the world.

In short order the lone robotic figure appeared before them mysteriously and spoke again its strange words.

As before no one could understand them, but since the original first contact other locations had been discovered in the universe that bore many similar markings as the Terra planet. It was theorized that these had once been colonies or other worlds controlled by the same power many millennia ago and through careful study a working translation had been achieved.

When activated the figure’s words finally became clear.

“Tread with care, for you stand on the greatness of my creators.”

“They….create….you?” the translator replied. It was not a complete translation but it could pass for the minimum understanding.

“Yes.” It replied. “I am the guardian of this world and the legacy it contains.”

“Why…attack?”

The robot cocked its head to the side in an unnaturally life like pose of confusion.

The robot stood to the side and held up a hand towards the entrance of the vault. As the dust winds finally dissipated the gathered delegation could finally make out the surroundings and wept in fear. Before the doors of the vault now stood row upon row of corpses, shoved on to stakes or mounted to walls in numerous horrific fashion each more grotesque than the last.

“The fate of thieves and pilferers is not one of kindness.”

It clasped its hands behind its back once more and addressed the gathering.

“Shall you share theirs?”  

[kusogitsune]

The Tametebako or Colloquially "Fuchi's Last Stand" was a no holds bar, money is no object vanity project by an unsupervised faction of Fuchi Asia. The stated goal was to make a completely unmatched bleeding edge piece of tech that could compete with the best static units while being a portable terminal replacement. Aimed at the Newly minted UltraLux CEO Segment, The Tametebako was made from rare and hard to get materials to sell it's exclusive nature; bundled with its innovative hardware and extremely powerful Otohime Assistant Software (Which Fuchi spend 10 years developing). Consequently, The Tametebako Commlink retailed at 50 000 nuyen which many consumers balked at for what was essentially an overpowered phone with an extremely intelligent chatbot. Many reviewers sledged the device for it's inability to install new applications if they weren't from approved sources. These Commlinks are now seeing second life in the collectors and hackers markets with finding the styling and theming of the phone to be charmingly retro and powerful enough to keep up with modern hardware with some QoL mods. Diehard fans report the Otohime software taking on a life of it's own after modding the hardware; her usual calm and dignified demeanor shifts around and changes during the jailbreaking process due to the random voltage pulse needed to defeat the modification lockout chip. This results in a unique iteration of the Soft on each device. SinkaSwim P2.0Net

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Vertical Evac”

Sev x Reader

The Senate landing pad still stank of charred durasteel when the four commandos in Katarn armor strode out of the dawn mist. Boots hit duracrete in perfect cadence, and every aide around you startled, skittering out of their way like spooked tookas.

The one in the center stopped in front of you.

“Senator,” the vocoder rasped, calm as a metronome, “Delta Squad assumes your protection detail.”

You’d asked for one discreet guard after the Separatist torpedoes punched holes in your shuttle last night. Instead you’d been delivered a miniature shock battalion.

“I requested subtle,” you said dryly, sweeping your gaze over identical T‑visors. “Instead I’ve been issued four portable war crimes.”

A bark of laughter crackled through the comms. The clone on the left—armor scorched black at the shoulders—tapped two fingers to his helmet. “Portable war crime, that’s a new one, Senator. I’m Scorch. Demo expert. You break it, I blow it.”

“Stand down, Scorch,” the leader murmured. “I’m Boss. These are Fixer and Sev.”

The tallest—Sev—inclined his helmet a millimeter. “We’ll try not to stain the carpets.”

You almost smiled.

⸻

Your suite looked less like a workspace and more like a forward operating base. Scorch crawled through the ceiling vents, humming while he tucked micro‑det charges behind every ornate sconce. Fixer was wrist‑deep in the security terminal, ripping out obsolete boards and muttering about “code that predates the Jedi Order.” Boss paced, mapping angles of fire that only a clone commando would notice.

Sev took the window.

He didn’t move, didn’t even sway—just stood with the DC‑17m sniper attachment snug against his shoulder, visor tracking the boulevard five stories below.

You returned from the kitchenette with a tray of caf. “I assume troopers run on caffeine the way senators run on spite.”

Fixer declined with a grunt. Scorch popped down from a vent to snag two cups—one for himself, one he tried to hand to Sev by clinking the rim against the sniper’s elbow. Sev accepted without breaking sight‑line.

“Thanks,” he muttered. The voice behind the filter was low, gravel under ice.

You leaned against the sill beside him. “How long can you stare at traffic before you see stars?”

“Long as it takes.”

“Healthy.”

He gave a quiet huff that might have been a laugh. “Health is secondary. Mission first.”

Your lips twitched. “Let’s keep them aligned, Trooper.”

He finally turned his head. The visor reflected your own weary expression. “Call me Sev.”

“So,” you ventured, “Sev. What’s that actually short for? Your brothers keep calling you ‘Oh‑Seven.’ ”

A low rasp filtered through his vocoder. “Serial: RC‑1207. Clones don’t waste syllables—turns into ‘Zero‑Seven,’ then ‘Sev.’ Vau tried to rename me once—Strill‑bait—but Sev stuck.”

“Efficient,” you mused. “I was hoping for something poetic.”

“Closest thing to poetry we got,” he answered, “was Sergeant Walon Vau reading after‑action reports aloud and marking every missed shot in red. I preferred numbers.”

You huffed a laugh. “Numbers never filibuster.”

“Exactly.” He tipped the caf under his helmet, then added with a shrug you felt more than saw: “Still, seven isn’t a bad omen. Seven Geonosian snipers on my first real op. They’re the stripes.”

Your gaze dipped to the dried‑maroon slashes across his plate. Those kills were in the official record—no campfire exaggeration, just Sev doing Sev. “Better trophy than a Senate commendation,” you said.

“Commendations don’t stop blaster bolts,” he agreed. “Armor paint might. Enemies aim for the bright bit.”

“Note to self—add high‑visibility stripes to every lobbyist I want removed.”

He chuckled, deep and short. “You handle it with speeches, I handle it with DC charges. Same outcome; mine’s louder.”

The ceiling vent banged open and Scorch—all riot‑yellow hazard marks—dropped in upside‑down. “Louder? Did someone say louder? Because I have a three‑det primer that’ll make democracy sing.”

Sev kept his rifle steady, unamused. “You done wiring the vents?”

“Finished! Whole place is a merry little grave waiting to happen.” Scorch swung like a loth‑monkey. “What’s the banter—numerology and murder? Count me in. My favorite number’s forty‑seven—arms, legs, whatever’s left.”

Fixer snapped from the terminal, voice flat. “Scorch, your ‘festive’ cabling is shorting the main feed. Touch another conductor and I’ll teach you binary via blunt‑force trauma.”

“Harsh love, Fix.” Scorch saluted invertedly…and clipped a coil. Screens died, lights cut; the building’s distant alarm groaned awake.

Pen‑light clicked—Sev’s, white beam spearing the dark. “Stay with me, Senator.” He toggled comms. “Boss, primary’s down in the principal’s suite—unknown cause, probably Scorch.”

Boss answered, calm and clipped. “Assume breach until proven Scorch Error. Fixer: backups. Scorch: vent lockdown. Sev, keep the package intact.”

“Copy.” Sev shifted, square in front of you. Above, Scorch’s grin hovered in the torch.

“Bright side,” Scorch quipped, “if hostiles come now, they won’t see the scorch marks!”

“Touch that wire again,” Fixer warned in the dark, “and the next blackout’s permanent—for you.”

The auxiliary kicked in; light flooded back. Scorch fled up the duct, chastened but humming. Boss appeared in the doorway, orange visor band bright.

“Clear. Scorch is off det‑detail,” he declared.

Sev’s low chuckle rumbled. “Discipline, Delta‑style.”

You toasted him with the caf. “To functional anarchy. First amendment: electrified committee chairs.”

He gave a tiny nod. “Second amendment: motion passes with high‑explosive majority.”

A distant “I CAN SUPPLY THOSE” echoed from the shaft.

Side‑by‑side at the window, you both let the city’s neon river roll past, sharing bruised humor and the mutual certainty that, whatever happened next, you’d handle it—whether by votes or by very precise blaster fire.

⸻

Sleep never really came. You were half‑draped across a stack of datapads when every pane of transparisteel in the lounge shattered inward at once—a prismatic roar of sound and stinging air.

A glare‑white projectile streaked through the breach, thunked against the far wall, and bloomed into a spiderweb of crackling ion static. Lights died. Grav‑conduits hiccupped. Gravity itself seemed to wobble.

“Contact, east aspect—breach charges and ion!” Boss’s voice snapped from the darkness, all business. He’d been on silent watch in the corridor.

Sev materialised out of the gloom between you and the ruined window, rifle already hot. “Droid jump‑squad—minimum six. Senator, with me.”

You barely had time to register the whirring hiss of BX‑series commando droids vaulting the balcony rail before Sev’s gauntlet closed around your forearm.

Boss kicked the apartment’s panic door open with enough force to shear its hinges, emergency chemlights flickering along his orange‑striped armour.

“Fixer, Scorch—status?” he barked into squad‑comms while shoving a palm‑sized beacon into your hand. An amber arrow blinked on its surface: PROX‑CODE DELTA.

“Dining area’s a toaster, Boss. I’m boxed—two droids.”

“Vent shafts compromised—make that three,” Scorch added, laughing like it was Life Day.

“Hold and delay,” Boss ordered. “We’re exfil Alpha with the principal.”

Sev herded you down the service hall, DC‑17m coughing scarlet bolts that popped droid skulls as they rounded corners. A ricochet sizzled past your ear; you felt the heat, smelled scorched upholstery.

“Keep your head ducked,” he growled. “That helmet budget of yours is still pending.”

You shot back, breathless, “Filed under agricultural subsidies—nobody reads those.”

“Smart.” He clipped a spare vibroblade from his thigh and pressed it into your palm. “If it comes to close‑quarters—stab the gap at the jaw hinge.”

“Charming bedside manner, Sev.”

“Better than a funeral eulogy.”

The maintenance lift doors yawned open—just in time to reveal the empty shaft beyond. Gravity stabilisers flickered; wind howled up the vertical tunnel.

Boss lobbed a glow‑stick; it spiralled downward, showing two hundred metres of nothing before emergency nets. “Main lift’s offline. We rappel.”

A cable launcher thunked against the upper frame. Sev snapped the line to your belt, then to his own. “Clip in and step off on my count. Boss goes first.”

Blaster‑fire rattled down the corridor—Fixer’s voice on comms: “Third droid down, corridor secure.”

“Copy, Fix,” Boss replied. Then to you, calm and steady: “Three… two… one.” He vanished over the edge.

Sev guided you after him. The world flipped; you were suddenly running down a wall of permacrete, black void on either side, cable humming overhead. You focused on Boss’s glowing armour below, and on Sev’s hand firm between your shoulder blades.

Halfway down, a BX droid leaned out a blown‑open access door and fired upward. The cable near your hip sparked.

Sev twisted mid‑descent, rifle spitting crimson. The droid’s chest plate caved; it pinwheeled into darkness.

“Cable integrity?” Boss called.

“Nominal,” Sev grunted. To you: “Still with me?”

“Not filing that helmet request after all,” you gasped.

“Good. Would’ve been a waste of paperwork.”

Boots hit deck plating beside Boss. An auxiliary hangar gaped before you—service speeders, loading cranes, and, at the far end, a battered LAAT/i gunship painted civilian grey.

Boss punched the hatch codes. “Borrowing that. Scorch, Fixer—vector to my beacon.”

Scorch: “Roger—bringing the fireworks!”

Fixer: “And the repair bill.”

Sev swept the bay, visor pinging heat‑sigs. “Two more droids on the gantry.”

“I’ll drive,” you said, surprising yourself.

Sev angled his helmet. “Can you?”

“Committee on Combat Logistics. I made sure senators kept their pilot’s certs current.”

Boss tossed you the cockpit datakey. “Then fly it like you filibuster—fast and ruthless.”

⸻

The gunship thundered out of the sub‑level exit just as Scorch vaulted aboard, demo‑satchel first, Fixer broken‑armed behind him. Sev slammed the side hatch; Boss took the troop bay guns.

City lights blurred past. Sirens dopplered below. Somewhere behind, your shattered apartment flickered with fresh explosions—Scorch’s parting gift.

Sev crouched beside the cockpit, shoulder braced against the bulkhead. “Secondary safe‑house is eighteen klicks. We’ll clear traffic for you.”

You tightened your grip on the yoke. “Appreciate it. Next housing allowance better cover blast windows.”

“That, or we install the windows we like—three metres thick, transparisteel.” His tone was almost light. “Adds character.”

You glanced back, met his visor. “And here I thought I was the expensive one in this arrangement.”

“Worth every credit, Senator,” he said—and for the first time you heard a smile in RC‑1207’s gravelled voice.

Outside, the dawn line crept over Coruscant’s horizon—crimson, like Sev’s war‑paint—while Delta Squad regrouped in the hold, bruised but intact. The war would send more droids, more nights like this, but for now you flew toward the rising light, the commando’s words lingering like an unspoken promise.

⸻

The scarlet bloom of predawn still clung to Sev’s visor as Delta Squad escorted you across the durasteel bridgeway toward the Sienar Senatorial Cutter waiting in docking cradle G‑43.

You’d only decided an hour ago—papers signed, aide‑team recalled—that it was time to go home: to the domed foundries of your world, to the committees that actually listened. Coruscant could keep its marble tombs.

Fixer had already swept the cutter’s nav‑core; Scorch grumbled that the fuel cells were “too clean, suspiciously sober.” Boss, always by the datapad, had plotted the twenty‑six‑hour jump. Sev walked at your left flank, rifle slung but senses wired tight.

“I still think the Senate Medical Board could clear you in two days,” he said through the vocoder, voice low.

“And I think if I stay two days more, the war will veto me permanently.” You managed a wry smile. “Besides, your safe‑house couch is murderous on the lumbar.”

“Could requisition a better couch.”

“You’d blow it up for target practice.”

“Fair.”

A claxon whooped overhead, routine pre‑launch. Hangar crews gave thumbs‑up as they sealed the cutter’s boarding ramp, crimson Republic insignia catching the light.

Scorch jogged back from the refuel pylon, yellow armor bright against the grey deck. “All green—ship’s thirstier than a cadet, but she’s topped.”

Boss nodded. “Mount up. We launch in eleven.”

You rested a hand on the cool hull, exhaled. Going home. For the first time in weeks, the knot behind your ribs loosened.

A muffled whump—more vibration than sound—rippled underfoot. You frowned; Sev’s helmet snapped toward the cutter. An instant later a second, deeper concussion rolled across the ring. Cries echoed; deck crew scattered.

Sev’s shout hit like blaster fire: “DOWN!”

He tackled you behind a cargo skid just as the Senatorial Cutter blossomed into white‑hot shrapnel. The blast‑wave hammered the gangway, ripping durasteel like foil. Chunks of hull screamed overhead, flaming arcs against the pale sky.

Boss’s orders barked through squad‑comms—“Perimeter! Trawl for secondaries!”—even as Fixer dragged a stunned tech from the collapsing ramp. Scorch ran straight into the haze, thermal scanner up, searching for unexploded ordnance.

Your ears rang. Liquid fire licked the wreck thirty meters away; atmosphere pull whipped the flames sideways until emergency force‑screens slammed down.

Sev’s weight still covered you, armour shielding against stray shards. Heat washed over the two of you; the copper tang of scorched electronics filled your lungs.

He leaned close, voice pitched for your ears only. “Senator, you all right?”

Heart hammering, you forced a nod. “Yes.” The word came thin. “Our ship—”

“Gone,” he said, absolute. “Someone timed a shaped charge for pre‑board.”

You felt the knot snap tight again—rage this time, not fear. “That hangar was Level Three clearance. Only Republic personnel.”

“Or someone wearing their code cylinder.” Sev’s visor reflected the inferno. “Saboteur’s still out there.”

Fire‑suppression foam oozed from ceiling vents; med‑droids hissed down the smoke‑curtains. Boss herded survivors past you, every gesture clipped, professional.

“Saboteur planted thermal baradium in the starboard fuel neck,” Fixer reported, one gauntlet cradling his bandaged arm. “Timed off the pressure equaliser—no remote signal.”

Scorch skidded up, visor flecked with soot. “Found partial detonator casing. Separatist‑pattern, but tractable.”

Boss looked to you. “Senator, the ring isn’t secure. I recommend immediate extraction to Defender‑class corvette Vigilant—Command has a cabin we can hard‑seal.”

You opened your mouth—I still have to reach my planet—but Sev cut across gently, “Your world can wait eight more hours. You can’t if there’s a second bomber.”

You met his visor, saw your own shaken reflection. A breath in, out. “Corvette it is.”

The Vigilant detached from the ring on emergency vector, hyperdrives spooling. Through the small viewport the docking cradle burned, a smear of smoke against the stratosphere.

You sat on a cot, jacket singed, palms trembling. Sev posted at the door, Boss conferring with the bridge. Fixer typed one‑handed at a forensic padd; Scorch fussed, pulling charred slivers from his pauldrons.

“You know the irony,” Scorch called across the room, irrepressible even now. “Hangars scare me more than battlefields. Too many things that go ‘boom’ when they’re supposed to behave.”

Fixer grunted. “Statistically still safer than letting you cook ration bars.”

You managed a weak laugh, rubbing temples. “Gentlemen, please—one trauma at a time.”

Sev stepped forward, offered a flask of electrolyte water. “Sip slowly.”

You obeyed, then asked, “Anyone else hurt?”

“Minor burns only,” Boss answered, approaching. “But the Separatists just escalated. Cutter’s manifest leaked thirty minutes ago—only a very short list knew you’d leave today.”

“Which means,” Sev finished, “there’s a mole in Republic logistics.”

Silence pressed in, broken by the corvette’s hyperdrive howl—the stars outside stretched to lines.

You set the flask aside, straightened. “So we find them.”

Boss inclined his helmet. “That’s the plan.”

Sev’s voice dropped, meant only for you. “And until we do, no transports. No public schedules. We move when we control every variable.”

A beat. Then you asked, quietly fierce, “Does that include better couches?”

The sniper’s helmet tipped, the faintest nod. “And blast windows thick enough for a rancor.”

Despite everything—the smoke, the dead crew, the gut‑deep dread—you felt a spark of something steadier than fear. Delta had you. And you weren’t done fighting.

Outside, hyperspace opened like a blue fracture, swallowing the Vigilant—but not the promise Sev had made, soft as a sniper’s breath: They’d failed to kill you twice. Third time would never come.

⸻

The Vigilant slipped into hyperspace hours ago, but sleep never boarded with the rest of you.

When the muted corridor lights dimmed for ship‑night, you found yourself drifting—restless—until the muffled clank of a familiar gait guided your steps.

Most racks were dark, humming behind containment fields, yet one bench lamp burned low. Sev sat there, helmet off, the harsh light carving shadows along the scar that split his right temple. He was field‑stripping the DC‑17m with the same care a jeweler gives crystal.

You halted at the threshold. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

Crimson eyes flicked up—tired, alert, softening when they found you. “Blaster lubricant’s cheaper than sedatives.”

You ventured closer, palms tucked in your sleeves to hide the tremor still living there. “I wanted to thank you. You put yourself between me and—” You gestured at empty air that smelled faintly of ionized smoke. “Everything.”

He reassembled the last actuator, set the rifle aside. “That’s the job.”

“I know when duty ends and choice begins.” You lowered onto the next bench. “Saving me was duty. Staying here polishing gun parts at three a.m.—that’s choice.”

For a moment the only sound was the distant thrum of hyperdrive coils. Sev’s gaze dropped to your hands. “You’re still shaking.”

“Adrenaline’s a stubborn tenant.”

He reached into a med‑pouch, produced a flat stim patch. “Cortical calmative. Won’t knock you out—just tells the nerves the shooting’s done.”

You accepted it, hesitated. “Could put it on my own neck, but I imagine you’re more precise.”

His expression did something rare—softened into a hint of a smile. He peeled the backing, brushed your hair aside with surprising gentleness, and pressed the patch below your ear. Heat bloomed, then a slow coolness spread through muscle and marrow alike.

“Better?” he asked, thumb lingering against your pulse as if counting the beats to be sure.

“Getting there.” You studied the scar on his temple—white against tan skin, the kind Kamino med‑droids never fully erased. “Geonosis?”

He nodded once. “Turret ricochet. Left a mark. Reminds me to keep my head down.”

“You kept mine down today.”

A silence stretched, warm instead of awkward, until he said, low: “When the cutter blew, time slowed. Thought—if that’s the last thing I do, it’s enough.”

Your breath hitched. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” His hand dropped to the bench between you, open‑palmed—an invitation without expectation.

You laid your fingers across his. Armor‑calloused knuckles felt like forged durasteel, but the grip he returned was careful, almost reverent.

“I’m glad,” you whispered, “that ‘enough’ didn’t end there.”

His lips curved—a small, earnest thing. “Me too, cyar’ika.” The Mandalorian endearment slipped out before he caught it; color touched his cheeks. “Sorry”.

“Don’t be.” You squeezed his hand. “I speak fluent subtext.”

From the passageway came Scorch’s distant voice complaining about ration bars; somewhere Fixer muttered diagnostics. But inside the armory a hush settled—two steady heartbeats, the scent of cleaning solvent, the promise of unexploded tomorrows.

Sev reclaimed his rifle, but his other hand never left yours. “Stay a while. The patch works better with company.”

You leaned your shoulder to his, felt the tremor finally subside, and decided the armory was, for tonight, the safest place in the galaxy.

[cleverwolfpoetry]

Psycho-pass Movie Novel Chapter 8 Complete

Note before reading: sentences in italics represent the character’s thoughts; sentences between square brackets are phone/radio conversations or the voice of dominators or other electronic devices.

1

At the gate of Shambala Float, Tsunemori was asked to leave her weapons. She was a little irritated at being treated like an enemy, but she didn’t consider the government forces to be her allies either.  She reminded herself that she had gone so far with her actions on the battlefield that it couldn’t be helped.

Surrounded by soldiers of the National Military Police soldiers, Tsunemori was forced to walk at gunpoint. After a lift to the top floor, she was taken to the courtyard of the National Military Police dormitory. There, a grim-faced Nicholas was waiting for her.            

“…No matter how important you are as a guest, our patience has a limit…”

“Important guest? You tried to kill me.”

“It was because you were working with a guerrilla.”

“That was part of the investigation.”

“Why can’t you understand that this is ‘our country’? You are confined and will be forcibly repatriated to Japan on the next airfreight.”

Repatriated? Finally, Tsunemori’s expression changed. With a look of steel on her face, she moved closer to Nicholas, and in response, the other soldiers threatened her with their weapons. Nicholas despised Tsunemori and was wary of her. But Tsunemori hadn’t expected him to see her as such a threat. She was prepared for house arrest, but not for repatriation. It was highly unlikely that the soldiers would even allow Tsunemori to open her mouth.

At that moment, the soldiers in the courtyard suddenly stood at attention.

Footsteps approached and Nicholas looked suspiciously in their direction to see Chairman Hang.

“I’d rather you didn’t make important decisions alone.”

“Your Excellency Chairman…!”

“There is no need to repatriate her. Send her back to her room and put her under supervision.”

“But… !”

“Silence! I have my doubts about the way the National Military Police have acted recently. And I am the Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces.”

“Yes, sir…”!

This time Nicholas changed colour.

“That was too harsh. As you know, she is a guest... an inspector from the Japanese Ministry of Welfare. Please, take that into account.”

“…”

Chairman Hang’s leniency created a feeling of mistrust in Tsunemori.

2

The guesthouse was located in a corner of the Sky Gardens of Krita Yuga. Tsunemori returned to her assigned private room, a  cottage-style loft structure. She had been forced to return. Two security drones and two soldiers stood guard at the door of the room. She was effectively under house arrest, but she felt she had been saved from forced repatriation.

“Well, then…”

Tsunemori checked the radio wave signal in the room using the sophisticated portable terminal provided to the inspectors, and then carefully checked the power supply, lighting and communications systems. ��  She discovered that the holographic TV system embedded in the wall had been bugged. She was not particularly surprised. The display on the portable terminal showed that the bathroom, which also contained a toilet, was indeed unmonitored.

Tsunemori entered the bathroom bringing along her self-moving suitcase. First, she took out her notebook, then she opened the cosmetics pouch that Karanomori Shion had hidden, which was filled with the Public Safety Bureau’s ‘Pill bug’ micro-drones.

Tsunemori entered the empty bathtub with the notebook in her hand. As she gave a command on her portable terminal, a multitude of pill bugs began to move simultaneously. The micro-robots rolled around under the power of their macromolecular motors, spreading out through the drains and ventilation fans.

They explored the area from the quarters of the National Military Police to the nearby Chairman’s residence and the surrounding Government Headquarters. It took time, but in the meantime Akane operated the notebook. She found a relay node[1] in Shambala Float and connected to it wirelessly. Careful not to leave any traces, she fed it the hacking programme she had received from Karanomori via her portable terminal.  As soon as this was accomplished, a hologram appeared on Tsunemori’s portable terminal with the words [Private Network Established] and [Satellite Communication Online].

“Sorry about this, Shion-san. Can you hear me?”

[Oh, Akane-chan.]

The time difference between SEAUn and Japan was two hours. Karanomori was usually at work at that time. She had tried to communicate with her, thinking that as long as there were no major incidents, she would pick up right away.

[Yes, of course. The programme I gave you seems to be working. So, what’s going on?]

“I’m scattering the pill bugs all over the place. These guys can fool the security equipment in this country. Please check every single psycho-pass diagnostic device installed in buildings and on the streets.”

[What do you hope to find? The Sibyl System is already running there, isn’t it? In that case...]

“The System may not be working fairly. Selectively check the relevant equipment within the Special Ward, especially that of the Military Police. Check that the cymatic scans are really measuring accurately.”

[A detective’s intuition... sort of thing?]    

Tsunemori laughed at Karanomori’s words.

“It’s not like that. It’s the result of a series of considerations.”

[Okay. I’ll go all out.]

The pill bugs started the search. The collected data was transferred to Tsunemori’s computer, from where it was sent to Karanomori in Japan via satellite through a private network .

“One more thing. The collars used to monitor latent criminals here in Shambala Special Ward are also made in Japan, right?”

[Shouldn’t they be?]

“Could you please find a code to unlock them under the authority of the Public Safety Bureau?”

[It’s a piece of cake, but... will you be all right? The Military Police won’t be  all too pleased, will they? ]

“I am long past the stage where I act by worrying about people’s moods .”

3

— The Old Town, where the guerrilla clean-up had come to an end. The camp of Desmond’s mercenaries had been set up in a large, abandoned theatre that occupied one corner of the city. Armoured vehicles, transporters and two powered suits had been brought into the atrium.

Kougami’s hands were tied with reinforced plastic bands, and he was suspended by chains from hooks in the ceiling. His upper body had been stripped naked, and he was covered in bruises from being beaten and kicked.

The man torturing Kougami was a large, muscular Frenchman — Weber. Rutaganda, Babangida and Bun looked on. The Russian, Yulia, had just returned from buying local alcohol and food. Yulia tossed a bottle of whisky to Rutaganda and a bottle of beer to Weber.

Having got his drink, Weber stopped hitting Kougami and took a break.

Rutaganda approached Kougami instead. After putting the whisky on the table, he reached into his survival kit and pulled out a small pair of first-aid scissors.

Medical scissors with a thin, knife-like tip.

Rutaganda opened the scissors and placed them on Kougami’s nipple. The cold blades touched the muscular chest, and the man involuntarily frowned at the repulsive sensation. Rutaganda pinched Kougami’s nipple with the tip of the sharp scissors. A little more force and it would have been cut off.

“First of all, I can’t shake off the suspicion that you were acting as a military advisor to the guerrillas under someone else’s orders.”

Rutaganda inquired.

“Actually, didn’t you have contact with the Japanese Tsunemori even after you left the country? To what extent does the Japanese government know the real situation of SEAUn? ... That’s what we want to know.”

“It would have been much easier if I had had the support of the Japanese government…”

Kougami defiantly held his ground.

“What makes you think that? You’re the one who’s supposed to have connections with the Japanese government, aren’t you? Shambala Float is a division of the Ministry of Welfare…”

“Don’t you care about nipples? How about here, then?”

Rutaganda placed the medical scissors on Kougami’s crouch. He clamped them around the base and, as expected, Kougami’s face contorted at the feel of the blades touching the sensitive area.

“…Do it!” Kougami said.

“It doesn’t sound like you were acting,” Rutaganda put the scissors back in her bag. “Even men have less fun when they lose their nipples. You should be grateful for my kindness.”

“…These aren’t regular army methods. You’re mercenaries, right?”

Kougami countered. Rutaganda laughed.

“I was surprised to find that the guerrilla military advisor I had heard so much about was Japanese. I thought that country was nothing but a phony, spineless rubbish, with all the Sibyl and other bullshit.”

“It’s true that I don’t have a place there anymore.”

“Did you leave the government service after receiving a professional training? But as a mercenary, you are third-rate. Above all, you have no eye for choosing your employers.”

“Don’t lump me in with your hyenas. I don’t just live by trailing the scent of blood.”

“Well, that’s the kind of nonsense that only a former detective would say. There are those who are eager to write slogans saying that in the ideal state of violence there is both law and justice.   In a world where states have collapsed, there is a ‘privatisation of violence’. This is because the monopoly of organised violence is the essence of the state.  When violence begins to spread, it becomes ‘infrapolitical’[2]. Organised violence as an economic activity, with social resentment as its source.”

Kougami laughed scornfully.

“ ‘The wretched of the earth’[3], eh?   A post-colonialist mercenary is hard to deal with.”

“Huh? You’re not only skilled, but also educated? More and more interesting.”

Rutaganda raised his eyebrows, somewhat impressed.

Then he released Kougami’s bonds.

“What?” the mercenaries shouted in surprise, but Kougami was the most surprised of all.

— What is he up to?

“ From what I have heard, your fellow guerrillas idolised you. Did you inspire them with some reassuring ideologies?”

As he said this, Rutaganda lightly adopted an orthodox boxing stance.

Then Kougami finally understood.

He wanted to test Kougami’s skills a bit more... that’s how it was.

“…no idea.”

“Hmmm. But I wonder. Sure is that when I talk to you, I feel strangely uplifted. It’s like listening to Wagner’s music.”

“These are words I’d rather hear coming from a glamorous, beautiful woman. Hearing them from a man just gives me goosebumps.”

Hearing this, Yulia from the gallery tilted her head and wondered ‘Is he referring to me?’ But Kougami was focused on Rutaganda, and the beautiful woman was out of sight.

“That talent of yours is precious, Mister Japanese. You’d make a good agitator. You have a special charisma that can stir up anger and focus resentment.”

Kougami tried Rutaganda’s skill test.

After the torture, his condition was close to the worst. Just lifting his arms made every joint in his body ache. And yet, when Rutaganda gave him that ‘come at me’ attitude, he couldn’t help but do so.

Kougami tried to hit him but failed. Due to the pain and his diminished strength, his punch was too long.  Rutaganda easily dodged it and counterpunched him.

Rutaganda’s left fist was human, but still effective. Two more jabs from Rutaganda. Kougami did not dodge and continued to receive sharp, fast punches.

This is good boxing — .  Even at my best, it will be hard to beat Rutaganda, Kougami thought. A left punch alone had almost knocked him out.

In a hazy state of consciousness, Kougami still managed to put together a plan.

— Rutaganda’s right arm must be  made of a special alloy.

The left, of course, is a decoy. A diversion. The real punch will come from the right.

Kougami dared to throw a jab.

He wobbled but dared to throw it anyway.

Then he waited for Rutaganda’s right hand.

The sound of the blow, the pain. The skin of his cheek torn. The taste of blood filling the cut mouth.

Finally — the long-awaited right came.

(—  I did it!)

Rutaganda threw a right straight and Kougami matched it with a left hook.

A cross counter.

A steel fist was driven into Kougami’s face, but he also landed a powerful blow.

“…!”

The mercenaries’ eyes widened at the sight. It had been a long time since they had seen Rutaganda take a beating — No, it was the first time since they had formed the mercenary group. Weber almost dropped the bottle of beer he was drinking and quickly grabbed it on the way down.

The damage was worse for Kougami.        

His knees trembled and he fell.

But Rutaganda’s feet wobbled as well.

Kougami hadn’t been able to defeat Rutaganda with a single blow, but he was doing what he could now.

“No way! That’s awesome.”

Laughing, Rutaganda pulled out a gun from his belt. It was the revolver pistol he had taken from Kougami. He pointed the muzzle of the revolver at Kougami, who had fallen to the ground.

“It’s rather modest, but we have our own community. Eventually we want to build up our forces and form our own military clique. When that happens, we’ll need not only the usual leadership skills, but also the ability to excite and captivate the masses.”

Rutaganda poured whisky onto the pistol he was holding up. The highly alcoholic drink poured down the barrel of the gun onto Kougami. It seeped into the wounds all over his body. Kougami groaned involuntarily at the burning pain in his nerves.

“How about it? Do you feel like joining us? We'll give you the opportunity to hone your skills and set the stage for you to be able to use them to their fullest.”

The mercenaries scowled at Rutaganda’s proposal.

“He… hey! Leader…”,  Babangida  said with a confused look on his face.

Rutaganda ignored the voices of his subordinates and continued.

“If I hand you over to my client like this, you’ll be dead anyway. I’m saying that I’m giving you a chance to live.”

“I don’t see how that’s  better than dying, don’t expect me to be grateful.”

Wet with whisky and enduring the pain, Kougami spat out resolutely. Rutaganda was about to say something when he received a call on his portable terminal.

[Is he still alive? The male target.]

It was from Nicholas Wong of Shambala Float.

“Yeah. Can I kill him yet?”

[He still has some use. Bring him to me.]

“…copy that.”

Rutaganda ended the call and shrugged at Kougami.

“I would have liked to give you some time to think it over. Too bad, that was poor timing.”

4

The doorbell rang in Tsunemori’s room. She was now under house arrest by the National Military Police. In this situation, only one person was using the intercom.  Tsunemori, who had her laptop open in the bathtub, invited her maid, Yeo, into the room.

“Excuse me. I see you’ve returned to your room…”

Yeo had brought the meal on a tray cart. Porridge with chicken, fried egg. A spicy salad. She was tempted to eat it all, but for the moment she held back and just gulped down a glass of mineral water.

Tsunemori moved her face closer to Yeo.

“What?”

“Stay calm.”

Tsunemori grabbed Yeo’s hand and pulled her into the bathroom. There she pressed her portable terminal against the girl’s collar and entered the code she had received from Karanomori. This unlocked the collar, which came off and fell to the floor.

“Th-this is…” a confused Yeo said.

“Calm down and listen to me. I need your cooperation.”

“… cooperation?”

“To expose the abuses committed by the National Military Police.”

“…!”  Yeo’s eyes widened in surprise.

“It’s okay. If I can’t prove that there’s corruption in the Military Police, you can just say I threatened you. Then you won’t be charged with a crime.”

“… Are the National Police really corrupt?”

“There’s no doubt about it. So much so that I could stake my entire career on it.”

“But”

Then it happened. Suddenly, Tsunemori’s vision began to sway. Her knees were shaking, and she could not stand properly.

I’ve been drugged. — When? The mineral water just now! Yeo betrayed me? In any case, the enemy beat me to it. The next moment, realising she was in a bad situation, she used her remaining strength to retrieve the notebook she had left in the bathroom, switched the pill bugs to autonomous control, and executed the command to erase all data. She left the rest to the Karanomori.

Yeo ran out of the bathroom.

“Yeo-san…”

Tsunemori ran after her on shaky legs.

The door opened and Nicholas and his soldiers burst in. The drug had made it impossible for Tsunemori to resist, and she was tied behind her back with a plastic band.

“…!”

“I did as you said!” Yeo clung to Nicholas.

“Now you are really going to take off my brother’s collar, aren’t you? His illness is progressing and a high level of medical — ”

“I’ll have a good think about it.”

Nicholas pushed Yeo away and drew his gun. He shot her carelessly in the head.

“Tsk!”

“Don't kill the woman yet. We’ll arrange for her to die together with the guerrilla’s military advisor. It’s the least suspicious way.”

“Why did you kill Yeo-san?!”

Tsunemori’s mouth barely moved as it should have.

“The gun I just used was the one I confiscated from you,” Nicholas said triumphantly.

“Inspector Tsunemori shoots and kills the maid in order to escape. She runs outside and tries to join the guerrilla leader. Then we rush to the scene and shoot the inspector and the guerrilla to death... We used to be able to deal with the troublemakers more easily, but now we have to be very careful with the Sibyl System, right? ...”

“I knew you guys weren’t getting read by the cymatic scans. The scanners in this city have been fooled.”

“Oh? Do you have proof?”

“You just killed someone!”

“If the Sibyl system doesn’t complain, no action is a crime. Isn’t that so?”

Laughing, Nicholas poked Yeo’s corpse with his toe.

“In other words, this woman was just trash who deserved to die. That’s fine with me.”

Tsunemori looked at Yeo’s corpse. She had been a beautiful girl, but now most of the back of her head was gone and pieces of her brain were spilling out of the large gaping hole in her skull.

— A person like her shouldn’t have been killed. Tsunemori bit her lip in frustration.

NOTES TO TRANSLATION:

[1] Relay node: radio stations that cannot communicate directly due to distance, terrain or other difficulties sometimes use an intermediate radio relay station to relay the signals. A radio relay receives weak signals and retransmits them, often in a different direction, as a stronger signal.

[2] Infrapolitical:  Adjective of infrapolitics. Infrapolitics refers to the study of political actions and consequences that occur below or outside the realm of official political structures and processes. It examines the physical, social, and political infrastructure that supports urban life, including how it can be used for both oppression and resistance. Infrapolitics explores how individuals, groups, and institutions engage in non-traditional forms of political expression and action. 

[3] The Wretched of the Earth is a  book by the philosopher Frantz Fanon. In this case, Rutaganda’s speech is not a direct quote from the book but rather a personal elaboration based on it.

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translation by cleverwolfpoetry @ https://cleverwolfpoetry.tumblr.com/