#something something “hero path and dark path”

[l0singsdogs]

dickkory fics by l0singsdogs.

As some of you may know, I'm writing Dickkory fanfics to expand his tag. In this post, you can see Dickkory fics with different themes and categories. Some feature Dickkory as the main couple, and others feature him as a background. Remember the following as you read: there will be mentions of Jayrena, Jason Todd as a good older brother, Timkon as a couple, Batcat, comic book references, and even TV series references. But especially: the Batfamily slowly healing.

good older brother. by l0singsdogs. language: english. words: 3,719. chapters: 1/1

Dick Grayson always liked the idea of being an older brother, but the downsides of it were something no one ever told him about. Or simply, a moment where Dick Grayson tries to have a date with Kory Anders without his younger brothers bothering him — and, of course, he clearly loses that battle.

Or just a scene of Dick acting like the older brother while also trying to have a date with Kory at the same time.

i feel so close to you right now. by l0singsdogs. language: english. words: 7,104. chapters: 1/1.

Their love was written in the stars.

Maybe Dick Grayson and Kory Anders weren’t together anymore. Maybe their relationship was just a memory now—unforgettable, but in the past. But when one night of celebration changes everything, they’ll realize that destiny had always tied them together. That no matter what, they were never truly apart.

Because that night, Dick Grayson had never felt closer to Kory Anders.

He couldn’t control his heart, let alone his emotions, when he held her in his arms again. And a few months later, when a surprise entered their lives, there was no denying it—fate wasn’t done with them yet.

(A story about how Mar’i Grayson came to be—the doubts, the emotions, and most of all, how they learn to survive this new chapter in their lives.)

of quiet tomorrow. by l0singsdogs. language: english. words: 4,027. chapters: 1/1.

Beloved. Our Little Star.

Part Two

Dick Grayson tells Bruce Wayne he’s going to be a grandfather. Bruce had never expected to receive such wonderful news. And Dick Grayson-Wayne never imagined he’d ever say something like that to his friend, mentor—especially his father.

A quiet moment between father and son, two vigilantes who never thought they'd live to see this stage of life.

hija de corazón. by l0singsdogs. language: english. words: 922. chapters: 1/1.

Kory Anders isn’t one to celebrate many human customs. She doesn’t quite understand most traditions, though she’s grown used to them over time. She finds Halloween amusing, even the way people exchange gifts. But when it comes to Mother’s Day, there’s always something deeper behind it.

Or maybe—maybe it’s just a quiet moment.

Koriand’r, on her first Mother’s Day.

A protector.

Cradling her baby in her arms.

nuestra pequeña estrella. by l0singsdogs. language: english.  words: 11,874. chapters: 2/2 

Telling Bruce Wayne he’s going to be a grandfather? Surprisingly easy.

Telling the rest of the family they're about to become uncles and aunts?

A completely different challenge.

Dick Grayson and Kory Anders take a quiet moment to share their news with the people they love most—that they’re going to be parents for the first time. For once, the Wayne family has a moment of peace, of joy, of something like normal.

And in the quiet aftermath, Koriand’r has a heart-to-heart with Bruce Wayne—about the past, the future, and what it means if the Dark Knight truly wants to be part of his granddaughter’s life.

Part Three of Beloved, Our Little Star.

in another life, we stayed. by l0singsdogs (read tags for trigger warnings). language: english.  words: 6,949. chapters: 1/3

Mar’i Grayson is only eighteen years old, and yet she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. A hero in her own right, she walks the path her parents once did—honoring their legacy, step by step.

But sometimes, she's just a girl who wants to hear her mother’s songs again. To listen to her father’s stories.

So she crosses the multiverse—not to save it, but for something far more fragile. For one more moment. For a chance to see them again.

Maybe this is the story of a different version of Dick Grayson and Kory Anders meeting the daughter they never knew.

Or maybe—just maybe—Mar’i Grayson was always meant to find them.

Because in every timeline, in every universe, she’s the one who always brings them back together.

BACKGROUND.

when the masks fell. by l0singsdogs. language: english. words: 41,207.  chapters: 7/?

A world where there were no aliens, no metahumans, and no second chances at life. Where the Justice League didn’t exist, and heroes were nothing more than characters in movies. Where the Joker was just a playing card, and Batman was nothing more than a clever turn of phrase. Gotham was just another city. The police did their best to keep the streets safe. A world without heroes. Without vigilantes.

It's a normal world.

Or maybe the Batfamily had fallen into another universe—one where vigilantes, powers, and mutants were never real, where there were no secret identities, only family, goals, and dreams.

Or perhaps, for just a fleeting moment, Bruce Wayne could dream of a normal life.

knightfall eternal. by l0singsdogs. language: english. words: 18,335. chapters: 5/?

When Red Hood and Nightwing are sent on a mission to take down a new metahuman in Gotham City, they never expected to fall into another universe—one much darker, where the night has always ruled.

It's a Gotham where the Dark Knight is more vengeful. A city where the light never seems to reign. Or simply a world where Jason Todd and Dick Grayson find themselves in a universe where Batman truly works alone. Where the Batfamily never existed. And maybe, just maybe, where Batman is far more terrifying than they ever thought possible.

There was no life left in him.

No humanity.

Or a universe where Batman truly works alone. Where the Batfamily never existed. There was never a Robin. Batman lets himself be consumed by his inner beasts.

[mrsalwayswrite]

My Hero

Summary: It was supposed to be a relaxing morning at the park until, unfortunately, it wasn't. Luckily for Violet, Tall, Dark and Handsome showed up to save the day…and his owner wasn't too bad either. 

This is my entry for Riorgail week - day 7 - AU @empyreanevents

A/N: I had so much fun writing this and am planning on turning it into a short series.

Warnings: threats of violence

Words: 4400

“Are you stalking me?” Violet snarled, staring at the man suddenly walking beside her at her favorite park.  

She had been having such a good morning until this moment. Her work schedule finally allowed her to have Saturdays off, a rarity. Joyously, she embraced the ability to go for a long, lazy walk and enjoy the summer sunshine. Her coffee was on point this morning at the café and the cute barista that flirted with her had given her an extra shot of espresso as he winked at her. Even her new golden retriever puppy managed to sleep through the night without having an accident, giving hope for her house training. This morning had been perfect. 

Until him. 

Her asshole of an ex. 

He walked next to her, seeming to have appeared out of nowhere, with a sheepish smile and hands tucked into his pockets. “Violet, please, let’s–” 

“Leave me alone, Halden. I thought you'd have gotten that message after I ignored all your calls and texts.”

“Look I'm sorry, okay? Let me make–”

“Sorry? You're sorry?” She laughed but it was anything but humorous. Abruptly, she stopped, turning to glare at him. “‘Sorry’ is for when you accidentally spill a cup of water on the floor. Not for when you fuck almost half the girls on our college campus when we were dating!”

He ran a hand through his sandy-brown hair, causing the perfectly sculpted locks to appear imperfect, something he would spend far too much time on fixing later. “I know, it was a mis–”

She ignored him, stomping away. “Come on, Andarna,” she called to her puppy, who was tugging happily at the end of her leash. 

“Fuck! Would you just fucking listen to me?” He snapped, moving to block her on the paved path and grabbed her wrist. Those vivid green eyes that once made her heart race now were hard as diamonds, staring down at her in anger. No one ever told Halden Tauri ‘no’ and it showed, but Violet was done with doing what he wanted and adhering to his ego. 

She tried to jerk her hand back but only succeeded in hurting her wrist with how tightly he was gripping it. She wondered if he had forgotten how fragile her joints were or if he was intentionally causing her pain on purpose. 

“Let. Me. Go.” She quietly stated, shifting her body weight, her hazel eyes never wavering from meeting his gaze. She refused to be intimidated by him. Not ever again. 

His voice dropped low but with an audible bite to it. “You owe me th–”

A deep, menacing growl cut off Halden's words. 

Peering to her right where the forest line started, Violet's eyes immediately widened as an absolutely massive, black dog prowled closer to them, as if emerging from the shadows. His golden eyes narrowed on Halden and lips curled back in a terrifying snarl. 

“What the fuck…” Halden dropped her wrist and stepped back. For every step the practically pony-sized dog stalked forward, Halden took a retreating step back until the dog stood next to Violet, the top of its head reaching her chest. 

Violet stood paralyzed, gripping her puppy's leash still in her hand with an white-knuckled grip. The massive dog was built like a tank, barrel-chested with a long, thick coat of black hair and just…huge! To add to the intimidating factor, one of its ears looked half bitten off and there was a long scar running down the side of its black muzzle. Every instinct within her short stature screamed to run! Even if it was foolish to run from a predator that could obviously catch her within a heartbeat and rip her throat out with its gigantic teeth, her body tensed, ready to flee. Yet it stood beside her, snarling at her ex like it was defending her. That counted for something…right?

Or maybe it just saw her as an appetizer? 

“Violet–”

“Fuck off, Halden, and don't try to talk to me again. I've got nothing more to say to you.” She snapped, infusing every ounce of confidence within her tone that she could muster. 

A low growl echoed her words, one expansive paw stomped forward either in threat or ready to launch was questionable. Whatever it was, it worked. Vivid green eyes wide, and with more than a hint of panic in them, Halden retreated a few more steps backwards before turning on his heel and hurried away. 

A whoosh of exhaled air left her lips as she watched her ex attempt to subtly sprint away, his ego never allowing him to actually run in terror. She glanced down at the gigantic dog still standing at her side, its head tilted up so golden eyes met her own hazel. “Thank you for your help…but also please don't eat me or my puppy. That would suck.”

The black dog huffed, nudging her in the side with its head, almost knocking her over. Her heart rate spiked at the action, a flash of fear winning out before realizing the nudge was almost affectionate. Before she could fully calm herself, her heart rate doubled in a blink as the dog lowered its head to seemingly look at the golden retriever puppy staring up at it, tail wagging so hard it made her whole body shake. The dog snorted onto the puppy, making her ‘woof’ and tip over, tail still wagging even with all four paws in the air. 

“Oh, you're sweetheart, aren't you?” Violet cooed, heart melting at the sight. “You just pretend to be scary.”

The dog looked up at her, lips curled up slightly and eyes somehow narrowed as if it understood her words. 

She blinked. “Um..okay, sorry. Scary. You're very scary. I mean…you definitely were. And are…still are. Sorry.”

It's head moved back and forth, looking between Violet and the puppy attacking its left front paw like a personal chew toy. With another huff, it nudged her side hard using it's head, making her take a stumbling step. 

“What?” She asked, only for him to nudge her again. “We're on a walk, or at least trying to if Andy didn't feel the need to sniff everything.” 

This time the dog opened its mouth and gently placed it around her wrist and then tugged. 

“Um…oh-okay?” Violet looked around the park, seeing the many people out but none seemed to be paying any attention to them. “I guess we're following you now?”

Being led around the expansive park by a dog almost as big as her own diminished size was not on her bingo card for the day but she did not think she could easily get out of it now, especially since it seemed to have a destination in mind. Thankfully Andarna trotted faithfully along on her own leash for once. 

While walking, well being led, Violet tried to subtly study the dog while keeping an eye out of its owner. There was absolutely no way this dog was here alone. Firstly, she had checked and yep - definitely a male - appeared healthy with a shiny, groomed coat. He was also the biggest dog she had ever seen in her life. If she had to guess a breed, she would say a Newfoundland but he was bigger than any Newfie she knew of and there was something else about his stature that made her wonder if he was mixed with another breed. Whatever breed he was, if someone was trying to create a small, intimidating bear, they certainly succeeded with him. 

Yet no matter how terrifying his outward appearance made him to be, his mouth on her wrist was so gentle, she barely felt it. Only the faintest hint of pressure and the slobber from his mouth were the only indicators of her entrapment. 

Peering down, a smile tilted the corners of Violet's mouth up as she watched Andarna happily follow the larger dog's lead, only occasionally pouncing or sniffing something that caught her eye alongside the paved path. 

The odd trio passed a playground, the sound of children's laughter and screams intermingled with parents’ voices. The Newfoundland continued their parade, going off the path and towards the nearby basketball courts. Violet noted one of the three courts, the closest to the playground, contained a handful of pre-teens shooting hoops and teasing each other. Meanwhile the court furthest away from the playground and backed up against a large open field, frequently used for various sports, was being utilized by a group of men. 

Very attractive, shirtless men. 

Hot damn. 

Before she could get a good look at them, for research purposes obviously, the dog tugged her towards a sprawling oak tree at the edge of the field. Violet wondered if the dog chose it for the shade offered or the strategic location of being able to see over the field, courts and playground without having to move. Once at the wide tree trunk, the dog released her wrist and nudged her side again with his head. 

“Um…okay? You want me to sit?”

With its seemingly signature woof, he nudged her side before sitting on his haunches, still grotesquely taller than a dog should be. 

Sighing, she looked around the base of the oak tree. “And now I'm listening to…gods! Okay, okay! I'm sitting!” She startled as he nudged her more forcibly that time. 

With a huff and a disgruntled mutter about ‘demanding, giant beasts’, she settled cross-legged, tugging the backpack off her back and next to her side. To her shock, the massive dog plopped down next to her, his side pressing against her left thigh, his soft, black hair brushing against her bare leg, not covered by her shorts. Andarna wiggled over, wagging and playfully growling as she attacked his front paws again. Violet hesitated but relaxed when the dog just stared at her silly puppy, allowing her to play. Violet quickly pulled out the stake and short runner, hooking it up to Andarna's leash so she could roam while Violet sat down. Once that was done, she pulled out her latest read, ready to relax. 

Once the book rested on her legs, she turned her attention to her wrist. Faint discoloration already marred her pale skin. Carefully, she maneuvered her wrist, twisting and turning it but did not feel anything wrong besides it being sore. 

“Fucking Halden.” She muttered to herself. Roughly, she yanked her single braid out and ran her fingers through her brown hair, watching as the silver ends caught in the dappled sunlight. If she could go back in time, she would love to slap herself and tell her to not fall for a set of pretty eyes and a smooth tongue. But hindsight is 20/20, as they say. Pushing the thought of her stupid mistake out of her mind, she threw her hair back into a loose braid and flipped open her book to her bookmark. 

The dog raised its head and left out a soft ‘woof’. Violet followed his gaze and immediately stilled, senses on high alert. A beautiful Doberman strutted towards them. She was tall, not nearly as tall as the black dog next to her, but enough to create a sliver of nervousness in Violet. She wondered if her and her puppy would get a short complex from being around these large dogs. 

The Doberman confidently walked up to their little group. Of course, the silly puppy had to be the first to greet. She pounced in front of the bigger dog, butt up in the air and tail wagging as if greeting an old friend. The Doberman stared down, if she was human Violet would have said staring down her nose at her puppy in judgement. After a long second where Violet started to worry she was going to need to intervene, the Doberman lowered her head and nudged Adarna with her head before continuing onward. She then walked to stand in front of Violet, staring at her with those eyes that seemed to be smarter than any dog's should be. 

“Um, hi….I'm Violet.” She murmured. 

The Doberman snorted loudly, either a sign of approval or disgust was still up for debate. Turning, she rubbed her head against the massive dog's for a moment, a strangely tender action for her otherwise haughty attitude, before regally taking a spot on his other side. 

“Um…okay then.” Violet shrugged, cracking open her book. Guess she had some additional companions for the time being. 

She was unsure how long they sat there, long enough to get absorbed in her book and for Andarna to wear herself out by sniffing and attacking the few leaves that fluttered by. Eventually, the puppy curled up between the massive dog's front paws and fell asleep. With a almost resigned chuff, the massive dog moved his head, resting it on Violet's bent knee like it was a pillow. Both bemused and slightly concerned that she was trapped once again by the Newfie, she returned to her book. 

“Sgaeyl! Tairn!”

Violet blinked out of her book zen, caught off guard by the movement to her left. She watched the Doberman raise her head and glance at the Newfie before looking back at the man who had called, what Violet presumed, was their names. 

And what a man he was. 

Standing at the edge of the basketball court closest to them, the man stared at the odd grouping with arms crossed over his chest. Tawny skin gleamed under the morning sunlight, highlighted by a sleeve tattoo that covered from his wrist, up to his arm and continued to cover part of his chest and a portion of the side of his neck. Gods, he looked good. Damn good. Clearly defined abs adorned his torso and bulging biceps stole her gaze with the way his arms were crossed over his broad, toned chest. 

Yet even from this far away, it was his dark eyes that seemed to hold her in their thrall. 

“Sgaeyl! Come on!” He called, once again, in a low rumble. 

Gods, that voice. Whatever deity had crafted this man obviously was attempting perfection. With the way the faintest breeze ruffled his messy black hair, this man was a romance reader's wet dream. 

The Doberman rose to her haunches but remained sitting. 

“Um…I think your owner wants you.” Violet whispered to the Newfie, his head still reclined on her bent knee. 

The massive dog peeked one eye open at her then dismissively closed it again. 

Violet chuckled to herself but the sound died in her throat when she looked back up. Mr Chiseled Abs walked towards her with a ground-eating stride, long legs demolishing the fair amount of space between them. Swallowing thickly, she had to remind herself that staring was rude. 

As he got closer, Sgaeyl rose and greeted him, pressing her head to his thigh and receiving the scratch behind the ear he gifted her. She stuck to his side as he took the several extra steps to approach the trio still resting on the ground. 

As he approached, Violet realized how tall the stranger truly was. He appeared tall from a distance but now, standing nearby, he practically towered over her, easily close to six and half feet by her quick guess. Gods…how was it fair to humanity for him to be this handsome and have that height. 

“I'm sorry if my dogs were bothering you. I should have gotten them sooner–” He began in that low timbre, meeting her gaze. 

“Oh no! They've been great!” She interrupted, waving a hand, then turned her gaze to the giant beast still refusing to move. “I'm sorry if you needed them, I told this one to move but he…well…”

“Tairn only does what he wants. Ungrateful asshole.”

Her hazel eyes snapped to the man's, whatever good will she momentarily had gone in a moment. “How can you call your dog that?”

The man rolled his eyes, holding his hands up in surrender as he moved to a squat. “Not sure he's my dog. It's more of a roommate thing…and I feed him. Pretty sure he only tolerates me for Sgaeyl. They're mated, or whatever the equivalent is for dogs.” He shrugged, running a hand up and down the Doberman's back. 

“Sgaeyl.” She felt the name roll off her lips, a hint of a smile tilting her lips up. “She's beautiful.”

“Mmm…she's my girl.”

Violet was incapable of ceasing the melting of her heart as she witnessed the clear affection in the man's eyes as he looked down at the dog still by his side. Plus, the warmth in his voice as he claimed her, like his simple statement explained so much more…this man was a danger to her hormones if he kept this up. 

“And this one is…Tairn? Do you know what breed he is?” She asked, looking away and desperately hoping the warmth on her pale cheeks was only internal and not visible.

He hummed. “Yeah, Tairn. I've wondered about doing one of those DNA tests but decided it didn't matter.”

“Oh? Did you get him from a rescue?”

“No.” He chuckled, shifting to sit in front of her now. “He found us at a park one day and fucking followed us home. I tried to leave him behind but Sgaeyl almost ripped my arm off so I figured I was outvoted.”

She laughed, tipping her head back and letting the mirth freely flow. Somehow, only knowing the dogs for a short period of time, she could easily visualize it. “Well, hopefully it wasn't too much of a hardship, he seems like a sweetheart. Anyone would be lucky to have him.”

“No…he barely tolerates people…except for you, apparently.” 

Onyx eyes locked on her and she stiffened. Not from fear but because he seemed to be studying, as if attempting to peer into her mind and tease out her intent. It was now, so close and trapped in the strength of his gaze, that she observed the golden flecks in his dark eyes, like stars in the night sky. 

This man truly needed to tone down his perfection. It was becoming unnerving. 

A loud, deep voice interrupted their staring, making her startle at the sudden proximity. 

“Hey, fairy! Thanks for your help earlier!” Another shirtless man shouted from the edge of the basketball court. Tall and broad like a barn door, Violet was fairly sure the man's muscles had muscles. Another man stood beside him, grinning like a fiend as he ran a hand over his short, blond hair. 

She blinked awkwardly. “Um…you're welcome?”

The broad man's smile widened, a hint of mischief in it. “Loverboy there couldn't keep his eyes off you. Helped us score some extra points!”

“Shut the fuck up, Gar!” Mr dog-lover-and-sexy-abs whipped around to snap at the other man. 

“We'll meet you back at the house, honey bear!”

The man sitting in front of her raised his middle finger, making the other two men laugh before they headed towards the parking lot where a small group seemed to be waiting.

“Sorry about him.” He shook his head, tracing a thumb over the scar bisecting his dark eyebrow. “We won't keep you any longer.”

“It's okay. We should probably head back too.” She commented, following his lead of starting to get up. Of course, she had a massive dog restraining her ability to move while the man glided from his seat in a smooth movement. 

At first she gently tried to nudge the giant dog but when that came to no avail, she huffed and tapped his nose until he opened his eyes. At hearing a quiet snicker, she shot the man a glare before giving up and forcibly lifting the huge head off her knee to escape the restraint. With a reluctant sigh, Tairn rose slowly, as if emphasizing his lack of interest in moving positions. 

Once Tairn began moving, Andarna woke up with an abrupt startle. She leapt to her feet, head rotating around, and seeing a new person made her frenzied with excitement. Tail attempting to power a tornado, she barreled into the man who knelt once again to greet the enthusiastic puppy. 

“Whose this?”

Violet smiled at her puppy. “Andarna. She's a golden retriever. She just turned four months old last week.”

“She's cute.” He easily said but those onyx eyes remained on Violet as he said it. 

Violet blushed, ignoring the awakening butterflies. He was just talking about her adorable puppy, he did not mean anything more than that, she reassured herself. 

The man continued to play with Andarna, allowing her to chomp onto his hand with her puppy teeth and growl. Sgaeyl watched the two with a dismissive air as if this playful action was beneath her. 

After tucking her book, runner and stake back into her backpack, Violet knelt in front of Tairn. He had not moved from her side, only sitting on his haunches and monitoring her every action. Without a second thought, she cupped his face, running a thumb over the long scar on his muzzle. She met those golden eyes that held an agelessness to them. “Thank you for your help earlier. I hope your human roommate gives you extra treats for saving me and being my hero.”

“What happened?”

The brusque question drew her eyes to the man, his gaze locked on her with a newfound intensity. 

“Oh, my ex found us earlier while we were walking. I'm honestly not sure how he did. He tried– it doesn't really matter. Tairn scared him off and then brought me and Andy over here.”

“Is the bruise on your wrist from Tairn or this shitty ex?”

“It's nothing. I bruise easily.” She had to fight the urge to hide her wrist, instead ignoring the man as she pressed a quick kiss to the Newfie's nose before standing. 

The man mirrored her action, towering over her, never lessening the sudden intensity. “And if Tairn hadn't come to your rescue, what were you going to do?”

Violet shoved her hands on her hips, meeting his gaze with a confident glare, hating she only reached his collarbone but unwilling to back down. “If you must know, I was planning on kneeing him in the balls…something he'd certainly remember.” 

A long moment passed, something unnamed swirling around them like a cyclone. Then as if a breeze blew the cyclone away, the tension ebbed and he smirked down at her. 

“What?” She snapped. 

“You appear small and fragile, but you're a violent little thing, aren't you?”

“Only if the situation calls for it.”

He openly laughed and Violet had to remind herself to breathe at the beauty of the simple action. Still smiling, he spoke but with a new lightness to his tone. “I'm glad Tairn was able to intervene, but we do need to leave. Come on, Sgaeyl.”

Sgaeyl stood at her owner's side, still eyeing the puppy pouncing on the open ground between them, while Tairn pressed himself against her side. 

“It's all right. We have to go home too.” Violet cooed, running a hand over the massive dog's head. “Maybe we'll run into each other again soon.”

Tairn impassively stared at the man, golden eyes staring him down as if trying to impart a silent message. 

The man huffed. “No, asshole, I'm leaving.”

The dog curled one corner of his lip up, showing his sharp, canine tooth.

“Sgaeyl, get your mate before I fucking leave his fat ass.”

The Doberman looked between Tairn and her owner before letting out a loud bark and staring at her owner with narrowed eyes. 

“Ah, fuck!” The man groaned, then shoved his hand in his pocket. “What's your number, Violence? I don't think Tairn is going to let me fucking leave without it.”

“It's actually Violet..”

“I think my name suits you better.” He winked, holding out his phone. 

With an exaggerated eye roll, she plugged her number in his phone. Obviously, she was doing this so she and Andarna could see Tairn again…not to see Mr hot-specimen. Nope, this was solely for the dogs. 

“I'm Xaden, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you.” She replied, handing him his phone back. 

“We’re usually here every Saturday morning for a couple of hours, if you want to join.” 

“Oh, yeah, that should work for us.”

He nodded, glancing over to the parking lot before meeting her gaze again. “Will you be okay? Or should we walk you back?”

“I can handle myself.” She crossed her arms over her chest, raising a single eyebrow. 

“I believe you.” He smirked, onyx eyes scanning over her before turning and walking towards the parking lot, Sgaeyl loyally by his side. 

Violet ignored the shiver his gaze sent down her spine. Scratching behind his ear, she spoke to the immobile Newfie. “You should probably follow. We'll see you next week, okay, Tairn?”

The massive, black dog pressed his head against her chest, making her fondly smile before he nudged Andara, almost tipping her over. With a huff, he turned and followed Sgaeyl across the open field.  

A beep had her pulling her phone out of her pocket to see a text from an unknown number. 

Unknown number: See you around, Violence.

She rolled her eyes before replying. 

Violet: You're just mad Tairn likes me more. 

“Come on, Andy. Let's head home.” She threw the backpack on, and made sure the leash was securely on her unbruised wrist, before checking her phone again. 

Unknown number: Can't blame him for wanting to cuddle up to a beautiful woman.

Unknown number: Let me know if your shitty ex comes back. Tairn and I will sort him out for you. 

Warmth filled her chest cavity at the unexpected texts, firstly from the compliment that sent butterflies soaring and secondly from his offer of….what? Protection? They were complete strangers and yet…he was offering to help her with her ex? Not that she needed the help, she was a modern, independent woman who did not need a man, even if it was still sweet. 

Not that he needed to know that. 

Violet: I told you I can handle myself. 

She shook her head, adding the number to her contacts. Her hand buzzed once more with the responding text. 

Tairn's roommate: Offer still stands. 

[sparrowsworkshop]

"Get a Grip" (first edition) by OneWingedSparrow for the @sthbigbang event!

Main Tags: Sonic & Tails & Knuckles, Sonic & Shadow, Sonic Heroes canon compliant, POV Team Sonic, Alternating POV, Lost Jungle, Vs Team Dark, Hang Castle, Mystic Mansion, Light Angst, Bullying, Fear, Ghosts, References to Major Character Death, coughcough Post Sonic Adventure 2, Amnesiac Shadow, accompanied by illustrations! Characters: Sonic the Hedgehog, Miles "Tails" Prower, Knuckles the Echidna, Shadow the Hedgehog, Rouge the Bat, E-123 Omega Word Count: 18k Summary:

Ever since Dr. Eggman taunted Sonic with the letter claiming he would conquer the world, Team Sonic has been running nonstop to stop him. The high-speed chase down the seaside, through the metropolis, across the pinball city, and even over the canyon was a piece of cake for the team in their relentless pursuit of Eggman—but a breakneck narrow escape from the snapping, giant crocodile in the swamp, followed by an unplanned tussle with Team Dark, drains Sonic, Tails and Knuckles more than any of them wants to admit. As night falls over the lost jungle, the brothers take a breather in some ruins. However, while they sleep, an unnatural fog settles, and they wake up facing a creepy castle full of...what might be ghosts?! There’s no way out of this mess but to trek through this mystic mansion, so Team Sonic boldly presses onward. The supernaturally spooky atmosphere will prove a testing ground for each brother’s determination to protect his family, by forcing Sonic, Tails and Knuckles to let go of their most gripping fears. Will they be able to overcome their individual struggles and work together to escape, to storm the Egg Fleet in time? Or will hanging out in this castle too long be the team’s ultimate undoing?

Read the whole thing (with the sweet illustrations!) on AO3! This was my first time participating in a Big Bang event as a writer, and I had so much fun! Sneak peek below! Thank you so much @quiet-kid-gone-rogue for your Lost Jungle artwork for Sonic, and @hopetatic for your Mystic Mansion artworks for Tails and Knuckles respectively!!! It was an honor working with you, and I hope you both know that you are amazing! Pssst, Tumblrinas, show the artists you love their work by REBLOGGING THEIR ART! :D Not reposting, that's something else. Believe me, you'll want to reblog these pieces, they're amazing!!! Reblogs of this post are also appreciated! Seriously, thank you so much for checking out this STH story of mine! It was a long time coming—longer than you'd think, and I'm so, so, so thankful I can FINALLY POST THIS NOW! Here we go! LET'S BLAST THROUGH WITH SONIC SPEED! :D ~ CHAPTER 1: WHAT GOES UP MUST COME DOWN

“There’s that black frog again!” Tails exclaimed in alarm.

Those relentless black frogs! If the odd creatures summoned the withering rain again, where could Team Sonic run next? Below the platform over which they galloped churned an ominous, bubbling quagmire, the murky waters reeking of dank algae, decaying weeds, and drowned promises.

Sonic’s eyes darted back and forth as he speed-scanned the path before them. “They’re trying to take us down to the swamp!” he shouted, right as the platform beneath them began to quake. “Hurry!”

Tails and Knuckles scampered after him. The water began to rise rapidly as their spongy footholds sank deeper into the muck, the mushrooms crumbling into soggy pieces like cookies disintegrating in rotten, black milk.

Sonic’s feet squelched deeper into the mud with every step. A nasty feeling, cold and clammy. The sooner they were out of this yucky, mucky swamp, the better!

However, that might have been easier said than done. Sonic kept his sights on the terrain ahead, only to see that no more mushroom stepping stones remained. Team Sonic was running out of road. Which meant…time to trailblaze a new path.

That’s when Sonic noticed the vines dangling over the water. Rows of them, even, like living monkey bars haphazardly and teasingly arranged over the swamp.

No way outta here but forward!

“We’re gonna swing!” Sonic yelled over his shoulder. “Grab onto me when I jump, and hold on tight!”

“Okay!” said Tails.

“All right!” said Knuckles.

Sonic dragged his heels a bit, allowing his teammates time to catch up. Once they were beside him on either side, he jumped. With the practiced acrobatics of a crew that had been together for ages, his partners leapt in sequence. Sonic grabbed onto the vines. Tails grabbed onto Sonic’s legs. Knuckles grabbed onto Tails’s legs. Thereby linked, they swung, and flew.

Sonic let the momentum fling them through the air. Then he latched onto the next vine. Then he waited till the arc had reached its zenith, before releasing and launching.

What goes up must come down!

Sonic launched and landed and launched and landed, and his team followed his lead, clinging onto Sonic as he clung to the vines.

Each vine was somewhat slimy, having absorbed the humidity from the marshy area. Moreover, he could feel the structural integrity of the vines withering with every millisecond he hung on. Though the rain had stopped, the black frogs’ influence clearly reached farther than he could see.

At least they were moving! There were plenty of vines ahead. Swinging would have been a walk in the park, were it not for the ominous grumbling noise that suddenly warbled across the swamp.

“Tell me that was your stomach, Knux?” Sonic shouted over the water.

“Hey, I said the fruit made me hungry, but I’m not that hungry!” Knuckles shot back up at him.

“I think something’s coming from behind us!” Tails called from below.

At that moment, there was a giant SPLASH at their flank, showering them with water.

Sonic’s heart slammed against his chest.

Oh snap. Oh snap. Oh dang. Shoot!

That splash was tremendous. Way too powerful to be a mere mushroom collapsing.

That noise was monstrous. Way too loud to be from one of the frogs.

That grumbling sound…that wasn’t grumbling at all. It was a roar!

... TO BE CONTINUED! THANK YOU FOR READING! CATCH THE REST ON AO3!

[itz-pandora]

Super Stellar and Dark Star Stellar

For @emthimofnight for artfight!

@sapphanimates for the swap meet ^^

[verflares]

actually despite what i just posted i think i have a lot of mixed feelings on oot link and the hero's shade in general because of how much mm reads as being about trauma and link's own identity crisis from processing what happened to him at the end of oot the story is about skull kid yes, but skull kid and his abandonment issues are meant to parallel link's own feelings regarding navi leaving and zelda sending him back in time. so in a lot of ways its so strange for mm to be a game about Healing and moving forward and for link to end up becoming a stalfos filled with regret and resentment anyway

but. this being said. i also really love tragedy and the pointlessness of it all so i think the hero's shade is fun for that reason alone ^_^

[phantomwithbreakfast]

DANNYMAY DAY 03: Potential

Day 02 • Day 04

⟢ Same story—I wasn’t really sure where to go with this prompt. I almost skipped it. But… for myself, I pushed through. (More under the cut)

Genre: Angst / Hurt / No Comfort • TW/CW: Identity Crisis — Emotional Distress • A prequel moment to Scarred For Half A Life (phic) • AU — OOC

Danny stared at the stars. They always looked so still, so distant, so… perfect.

Not like him.

He wasn’t still. He wasn’t distant. And he sure as hell wasn’t perfect.

Everyone said he had potential. Teachers, Jazz, even his dad once, when he thought Danny wasn’t listening.

“The boy’s got potential, Mads—he’s just gotta find his footing.”

But Jack didn’t know what it was like to exist between death and life. To feel your body hum with cold ectoplasm while your heart still dared to beat.

Danny knew he had potential. But what good was potential if you had no fxcking idea what to do with it?

On paper, his future could’ve been extraordinary. His grades weren’t terrible, he was smart. Resourceful. Quick on his feet. Able to calculate gravitational forces and make emergency repairs with duct tape and sheer panic. He was—in theory—perfect for NASA.

Hell, he could survive in zero gravity without oxygen. He could float, phase, shield. He could explore parts of space no one else dared to imagine. He could change the world, the universe. If only they would let him.

But the truth twisted like a knife in his chest.

He wasn’t just smart. He was haunted. By the screams he didn’t stop. The lives he couldn’t save. By every ghost he fought and every part of himself he lost to win. He was a protector. A hero, they said.

But… no one ever asked if he wanted to be.

And now—now the choice stood before him like two diverging paths in a frozen wasteland.

One direction meant staying. Fighting. Protecting Amity Park. Carving himself hollow to make space for the needs of everyone else. Losing sleep, losing friends, losing himself just to keep others safe. Because ghosts didn’t wait. Evil didn’t pause. And if he didn’t stop it, who would?

The other path felt like a dream half-buried in childhood. To fly—but not as Phantom. To go into space, not because he had to escape, but because he chose to go. To be Daniel James Fenton—human, flawed, determined. To wear a suit that didn’t glow with a ghostly aura, but shimmered with the promise of the stars.

But NASA wouldn’t take him if they knew. No one would. They’d study him. Dissect—no, vivisect him. Turn him into something to fear.

He was stuck.

Not because he couldn’t choose. But because both paths meant giving up a part of himself.

If he chose to be the hero, he might never become the boy who touched the stars. And if he chose the stars… who would protect them from what hides in the dark?

Danny’s fingers curled against the roof beneath him, trembling. The stars above flickered, but none of them answered.

And deep in his chest, beneath his ribs and soul and scarred identity, something cold pulsed.

He had potential.

But that didn’t mean… he had a future.

[d1stalker]

Collateral Damage [Logan Howlett]

SUMMARY: The X-men are heroes—they save the world, eradicate threats and protect both mutants and humans alike. You don't see it that way, though.

WARNINGS: one-sided e2l, fem!reader is stubborn and sassy af but it's valid, arguing, canon-level violence, scott's a dick, SMUT - 18+ only! WC: 21k - MASTERLIST

A/N: i've always wanted to write a fic with this plot, it's been on my mind for AGES. happy reading!

----

The first time you see them, it’s on your birthday.

Not being one for big, elaborate parties, you planned a quiet celebration instead—maybe a stroll through the lively city streets, followed by dinner with friends later. You had just visited your favourite store, buying a gift for yourself, and now you’re on your way back home.

The streets buzz with life as people shop, eat, and laugh, making it the perfect backdrop for a peaceful walk and some casual people-watching.

Then, out of nowhere, the ground trembles.

At first, you think it’s an earthquake—a quick jolt beneath your feet that sends a ripple of confusion through your body. But the tremor grows stronger, the ground shaking violently as everyone around you begins to panic, frantically looking around for the source, you included. And that’s when you see it. 

A hulking, green monster stomping through the city streets like something out of a nightmare. It has to be at least twenty feet tall, its skin a sickly shade of green, its eyes glowing with rage. Cars bounce with each heavy footstep, leaving deep footprints in the cement in its wake.

People scream, scrambling to get out of its path, but you stand frozen, heart pounding as you try to make sense of what’s happening. In the blink of an eye, the city had been plunged into chaos. You lose track of your surroundings, too busy trying to keep your eyes on the monster headed your way, while also dodging the hoard of pedestrians running for their lives.

Until they show up.

Initially, you don’t even notice them. After all, there’s so much going on around you at this point you barely know what to do with yourself. Yet, through the dust and destruction, you see flashes of movement—figures darting toward the monster with a sense of purpose. 

You don’t know who they are, but their bright blue and yellow suits make it seem like you should. At first glance, it’s hard not to feel a sense of awe. They move with such confidence, with their powers on full display for the world to see. You’ve never seen anything like it—a team of mutants using their powers in the open, fighting for what you assume is the greater good.

Maybe they can stop this!

The one first to act is a woman with white hair. She raises her arms to the sky, her eyes glowing a bright white as dark clouds swirl above, blocking out the sun. A flash of lightning slams into the monster's chest, forcing it to reel back with a thunderous roar of agony, and the crowd around you gasps, watching in wonder.

But when the lightning strikes a second time, it veers off course, crashing into the side of a nearby building. The structure groans under the impact, flames erupting from the point of contact as windows shatter, sending glass raining down onto the street below.

The collision sends you to the ground, and when you look up again, you see the power inside go out, all the lights flickering off.

Whatever awe you’d been feeling dissolves into concern, a sinking feeling settling in your chest.

Following her, a man with a glowing red visor strides forward. He’s clearly aiming to hit the monster, but the bright red beam shooting from his eyes slices through several cars in the street first, flipping them over and leaving them in smoldering wrecks. One of the blasts tears through a storefront, reducing it to rubble in a matter of seconds. More people scream and scatter, trying to escape the destruction.

From the corner of your eye, you see another mutant—a man with claws—lunge toward the monster, jumping onto cars to get closer to its head. But by using the parked cars as springboards, the weight of him causes the roof to sink in, and his claws leave deep gashes in the metal. 

How heavy is this guy? Is he made of metal or something?

He’s fast, brutal, slashing at the green beast with some serious ferocity. Still, despite the attack, the monster’s strength prevails, and it easily tosses him aside, crashing into buildings, crowds—anything in the way. To your surprise, he always gets back up. And that should be good, right? They are fighting for the safety of the city. 

But as debris rains down and cars are overturned, you can’t help but feel like this isn’t helping. You’re constantly dodging rubble, trying to find shelter, only for it to be destroyed seconds later. It’s like being in a war zone, and it doesn’t seem to be getting better.

And above it all, there’s a woman with red hair. She’s floating, and you watch from where you’re hiding as she lifts entire trees from their roots, hurling them at the monster in an attempt to slow it down. Except, much like her teammates, her attempt goes awry, and she misses, the trees now flying toward you. 

You barely have the reflexes to dive out of the way.

Your heart races, breath coming in shallow bursts as you press yourself against a wall, trying to steady yourself. The sound of sirens blare in the distance, but it doesn’t seem like help is coming anytime soon. There’s too much going on. People are running, pushing each other aside, crying, screaming, trying to find safety.

Glancing around, you’re met with destruction—flames licking at the sidewalk, cars totaled, and building wreckage littering the streets. These mutants, while clearly powerful, are causing just as much destruction as the monster itself.

What should have been a simple takedown—a 6v1—has turned into a full-scale disaster.

And yet, they don’t stop. They don’t pause to help the people caught in the crossfire, don’t even seem to notice the damage they’re causing. They’re so focused on the monster, so focused on the fight, that they’ve lost sight of everything else.

Is this what heroism looks like? You’d been excited at first—amazed, even—thinking they were here to save the day. But now, standing in the middle of a city that’s being torn apart, you realize how wrong you were.

They don’t care. Not about the city. Not about the people. 

Finally, with one last blast from the man with the visor, the monster collapses to the ground, defeated. It lets out a final roar before falling still, its massive body sprawled across the street.

The team stands over its body, their chests heaving with exertion, but they have smiles on their faces, feeling victorious. One by one, they board an aircraft, dragging the monster in with them, barely sparing a glance at the horrors they’ve caused. The white-haired woman doesn’t even bother to clear the storm clouds she summoned.

Within moments, they’re gone. You, and everyone else in the area, are left to deal with the fallout. Left to clean up their mess. 

Happy birthday to me, I guess.

—

After that, you spend the next few days trying to process what had happened. You’re still in a state of shock, confusion, and disbelief, but then the media catches wind of what went down, and suddenly, it’s everywhere.

News channels replay the footage over and over, the headlines screaming about “our holy saviours” saving the day. They’re plastered across every screen, being hailed as protectors.

The X-Men.

A group of mutant superheroes, apparently. The reporters list them off one by one, like they’re celebrities you should have known about. 

Storm. Cyclops. Wolverine. Jean Grey.

Mutants with powers like gods.

—

The second time you see them, you’re on vacation.

Sitting in a quaint café in the south of France, you’re enjoying a well-deserved break. The city you’re in is perfect—cobblestone streets winding through the village, vine-covered walls framing pastel-colored houses, and the scent of fresh bread drifting from nearby bakeries. It all feels like something out of a dream, the kind of peaceful retreat you’ve been desperate for after everything back home.

You order a frappé, and as you wait, you idly flip through a local newspaper, trying to see how much of your rusty high school French you can remember. It’s peaceful, quiet, exactly what you needed—until it’s not.

Movement out of the corner of your eye grabs your attention, and you glance over the edge of the newspaper, watching a group of tourists as they walk into the café. It’s not really anything odd, so you don’t think much of it—they’re dressed casually, like any group of vacationers.

Though, something about them tugs at the back of your mind, a nagging feeling that you’ve seen them before.

You lower the newspaper entirely now, staring as you try to place where you recognize them from. The tall one with the red sunglasses, the woman with the striking white hair, the man in the leather jacket... You squint, the pieces slowly falling into place.

And then it hits you.

Oh, no way.

You’re halfway around the world, in a different country, on a different continent, and somehow, they’re here. At the same café. 

Shifting in your seat, you’re trying to figure out what the hell is going on, when the barista arrives with your drink. He smiles warmly at you, placing the cup down on the table with a soft “voila madame,” but before you can even thank him, there’s a blur of motion.

One of them—Wolverine, you think—lunges at the barista, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him back. The tray tips, and your frappé spills everywhere—all over the table, your newspaper, and, to your absolute horror, all over you. 

“Logan, no!” you hear Storm shout, but it’s too late.

The cold drink soaks into your clothes, and you let out a startled yelp, jumping up as your chair topples over. Your clothes are ruined, your vacation ruined, and in the midst of all of this?

Wolverine—or Logan, you guess, is wrestling with the poor barista.

“What the hell?!” you shout, trying to shake off the liquid dripping down your legs. “Is this a joke?!”

No one hears you, or even acknowledges you.

The other mutants jump into action, and before you know it, the peaceful café is transformed into yet another battleground. Cyclops blasts a beam at the barista—who you now realize must be the target of whatever mission they’re on—but it misses, smashing into the wall behind you. 

You’re furious, covered in a brown drink that makes it seem like you just had explosive diarrhea, and caught in yet another X-Men fiasco. All you wanted was a vacation. You don’t even know what’s happening anymore—who the barista is, what mission they’re on—but frankly, you don’t care.

This is absurd!

Without a second thought, you grab your bag and make a break for it, dodging overturned tables and debris as you make your way to the exit. You don’t bother looking back, your only thought being to get changed, and get as far away as possible.

After rounding the corner, putting some distance between yourself and the café, you pause for a moment to catch your breath. And then you hear it.

Boom.

The sound reverberates through the narrow streets, shaking the cobblestones beneath your feet. You whirl around, sticking your head out from the corner of the building, just in time to see a plume of smoke rising into the air from where the café once stood. 

Your heart sinks.

They blew it up.

—

The third time you see them, it’s a really nice day outside.

It’s a week after you’ve returned home, and the weather had finally given you a break from the suffocating heat. You’re walking home from a lunch with an old friend, when your phone buzzes in your pocket. Probably said friend sending you something stupid to laugh at later. 

You chuckle, already anticipating the joke, when—

BAM!

Something slams into you from the side with the force of a freight train. You’re airborne for a second, weightless, before crashing hard onto the pavement, your breath knocked right out from your lungs. 

Dazed, you groan and blink up at the sky, trying to get your bearings. What the hell just hit me? Your vision swims as you sit up, shoulder throbbing from the impact. Twisting your neck to see whatever the hell that was, you immediately regret it, wincing at the sharp pain. 

Great, just great.

When you finally manage to sit up, you spot the culprit.

Cyclops.

Are you fucking serious?!

His back is to you, dusting off his ugly uniform like nothing happened. You look around, and notice that the street in front you is in ruins—buildings have gaping holes where windows used to be, chunks of the road are crumbling, people covered in blood scurrying away as fast as they can. 

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, you catch a glimpse of the giant mechanical robots looming above, scanning for their targets. One of them must’ve thrown Cyclops into you. 

You can see the others—Jean, Storm, Beast (some new guy)—flying around, saving the world. That’s codeword for: wreaking havoc, destroying your city.

Anger boils up inside you, hot and unrelenting as you struggle to your feet, rubbing your sore shoulder. But as you open your mouth, a gruff voice cuts through the air.

"Good job, dickhead. You just hurt a civilian."

Your gaze snaps toward the sound. Wolverine’s standing a few feet away, claws out, glaring at the guy who sent you flying. 

“I was thrown, Logan,” he says passively. “Maybe if you kept the Sentinels off me—”

“Maybe if you didn’t stand there like a damn target, you wouldn’t get thrown!” The clawed mutant growls, taking a step closer. His whole posture is tense, like he’s barely holding himself back from tackling the other man into the ground (you would pay to have him do it). “Seriously, Summers, it’s like you want to get tossed around.”

Cyclops doesn’t even flinch. “We’ve got bigger problems than this right now,” he dismisses, not even glancing back at you to check if you’re okay. 

Well, there goes the last of your patience.

"Are you kidding me?!" you shout, throwing your hands up in disbelief. They completely ignore you, too absorbed in their petty bickering to acknowledge that you’re still standing there, seething.

Before you can rip into them, something catches your eye—a Sentinel (is that what they’re called?), hovering above them, charging up a blast. Its arm is raised, energy crackling at the barrel of its cannon, aimed directly at the two distracted morons.

“Oh, for the love of—” you mutter under your breath before diving forward.

The blast hits you square in the chest, but instead of pain, all you feel is the heat of the energy surging through your body, like lightning spreading through every inch of your veins. It crackles and burns, the force building up inside you until it feels like you’re about to explode.

Then, with a deep breath, you thrust your hands forward, channeling and releasing the blast right back at the robot, blowing it apart. Metal and circuits rain down, the Sentinel crashing into the ground with a deafening thud.

Silence falls.

You’re panting, feeling the leftover energy fizzle out of your fingertips. Slowly, you turn back around, and unsurprisingly, Cyclops–or Scott, as you’ve heard in the news—and Logan are staring at you like you just walked on water. Well, the clawed one is. You can’t really see the other brown-haired man’s expression due to his visor.  

“Woah, bub—”

“Oh, hell no!” You spin around fully, pointing an accusatory finger at both of them. “Neither of you get to speak! I just saved your asses because you were too busy bickering like children to notice the massive death robot about to blow you to pieces!”

Logan’s mouth quirks up, but he wisely stays silent.

“And this is exactly why I hate you people!” You continue, exasperated. “You swoop in, make a mess, destroy everything in your path, and then just leave like nothing happened! You think this is helping anyone? You think the people running for their lives right now give a damn about your little team squabbles?”

Scott doesn’t even blink. “We’re just trying to help,” he says evenly, like he’s rehearsed the line a thousand times.

“Help?” you scoff incredulously. “You only tell yourself you’re doing that to make yourself feel better. How many casualties do you think are coming out of this, hm? What’s the body count gonna be after today? Or do you not even bother counting anymore?”

His audacity makes you want to laugh. He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re not done.

"All this mess, the destroyed buildings, the people who won’t make it home tonight because you couldn’t keep your damn fight contained! You’re so focused on stopping the big bad guys that you don’t even realize how much carnage you leave behind. Who’s cleaning up after you? Who’s paying for this?! " You gesture around wildly. "News flash: the people whose lives you’re currently ruining!”

Beside him, Logan’s smirk fades, and he begins to step forward with his hands raised. “Listen, darlin’, we’re doin’ the best we can. We didn’t ask for this fight—”

"Oh, don’t give me that ‘best we can’ bullshit," you snap.

“We’re here to protect people,” Scott adds in, trying to maintain authority. “It’s not always clean, but we are making a difference—"

“Shut the fuck up! I’m not finished!” You interrupt, shaking your head. “Every day. Every damn day there’s something new.”

With the face Logan’s making, you’d think he’s going to start going in on you, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just watches, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s trying to figure you out. It’s unnerving, but you don’t care. You’ve had enough.

"And you," you say, turning your ire toward him, "You couldn’t have, I don’t know, used your super speed or whatever the hell you do to catch him before he crashed into me?"

His eyebrow quirks up. “Super speed?” he chuckles lowly. “Ain’t that fast. Was a little busy with the giant killer robots.”

You tilt your head back in frustration and turn on your heel. "I’m done. I don’t care what kind of mission you’re on, or how noble you think it is. If you're planning to lay waste to the city yet again, be my guest.”

Giving no time for a response, you stalk off, weaving through the wreckage of the city streets, your heart still pounding in your chest. 

—

A couple weeks have passed since the last incident, and the X-Men seem to have disappeared from the headlines. You haven’t seen them or heard their whereabouts splashed across the news like you’ve gotten used to—though not by choice, of course. Whenever they do anything, the world seems to bow at their feet.

You don’t get it.

The flashy suits, the team name, the way they strut around as if they’re the Gods of the mutant race. It’s too much, too loud. They act like they’re above it all, as if their powers and heroics put them on a pedestal. Better than those who prefer to lay low, who have no choice but to blend in.

You’ve spent years hiding your powers, keeping them buried deep where no one can see. When you were younger, you didn’t have a choice. Your mutation made you a target—bullied, beaten up, pushed around for being different.

You learned quickly that being a mutant didn’t make you special. It made you vulnerable.

So, you hid. You stayed quiet, under the radar. It was safer that way.

And then here are the X-Men, parading around like their abilities make them untouchable, like they’ve forgotten what it’s like for the rest of you. It’s not that you don’t believe in helping others—you just don’t believe in the way they do it.

In your opinion, it’s all performance. From what you’ve experienced and seen up close, they always arrive with a fanfare, ready to jump into action, and do whatever they can to exterminate the threat. Yet, when the dust settles, it’s mutants like you who are left to pick up the pieces.

The ones who don’t wear brightly coloured costumes or shout about unity. You’re the ones who have to keep moving, keep surviving, without any recognition.

But it's not like you need recognition. You never have. What you need is peace.

—

You’re on the phone with your mom, trying to reassure her for the millionth time this week.

"Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, Mom, I’m fine," you say, pacing the length of your small living room. You glance at the muted TV screen, the news still cycling through the usual mayhem. "You’ve seen the news recently, right? We’ve got the X-Men to take care of all this stuff—"

Knock. Knock.

You freeze mid-sentence, your words trailing off as the sound of someone at your door interrupts the call. Your heart skips a beat, and your voice drops. "Mom, I’ll call you back."

Barely waiting for her to reply, you end the call, staring at the door like it might explode.

A knock at this hour? Unannounced? You waver, your mind racing with possibilities.

Delivery? A neighbour? You’re not expecting anyone.

Cautiously, you make your way toward the door, hand hovering over the handle as you listen. No more knocks, just the faint hum of the outside world. You take a breath, steeling yourself as you turn the handle and crack the door open.

The tufts of hair, the thick stubble, the edge in his eyes—it’s him. Wolverine. And just as your brain registers his face, you also notice the glint of metal where his claws are already halfway out.

Instincts kick in, and before he can get a word in, you push against the door, trying to slam it shut.

Still, he’s faster.

His fist punches through the wood, and with a metallic snikt, his claws extend fully, slicing through the door as if it were made of paper. He pushes it open again, forcing it against your effort, and the sheer strength sends you stumbling back.

“What the fuck?” you gasp, eyes wide as you steady yourself. “How did you even find me?”

Stepping inside, he says, “picked up your scent and followed it,” matter-of-factly, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

For a moment, you just stare at him, dumbfounded. “That’s… that’s actually really creepy,” you manage, still trying to process the fact that he just said that without a hint of shame.

“Can’t control it, bub,” he shrugs. 

You take a step back, putting more distance between you and the man with the claws standing in your apartment. “Okay, well, you found me. Now what?”

His eyes lock onto yours. “I need you to come with me.”

“Excuse me?” You cross your arms, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. 

“You’re not safe here.”

“Oh, I’m not safe?” you snap, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “Maybe if you and your merry band of idiots didn’t keep causing world-ending disasters, I wouldn’t need to be safe!”

He doesn’t even flinch. “Sentinels are tracking you down.”

You falter. “What are you talking about?”

“You used your powers,” he states. “Killed a Sentinel. That’s all it takes for them to target you.”

Blinking, you feel anger rush to the surface, your skin tingling with rage. “I didn’t kill anyone. They’re fucking robots.”

“They don’t see it that way,” he counters. “You took one down, and now they know what you are.”

Part of you knows there’s merit in what he’s saying, but you don’t want to hear it. The last thing you want is to be dragged into some mutant-robot war. “This is ridiculous. I didn’t ask for any of this!” you hiss, glaring at him. “And now you’re telling me I’m on some kill list because I defended myself? Because I defended you?!”

His eyes flicker with something you can’t quite read, but he stays silent, watching you carefully. Your words start flying faster now, venom spilling into each one.

“I’m the one who took that thing down because you and that one-eyed bitch boy were too busy being immature! You weren’t even paying attention, and that thing almost blasted you both.” Your fingers ball into fists. "I saved both of you, and now I’m the one who has to run?"

Logan's jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring at the accusation. “We weren’t—”

“Don’t even try to deny it,” you cut him off. “If it weren’t for me, the two of you would be dead right now. And now I’m supposed to just go with you to your mansion and hide out? Like that’s going to fix th—”

You don’t get to end your rant, because he has stepped forward, and grabbed your shoulders, gripping you firmly. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to snap your attention back to him.

“This is serious,” he spits, eyes boring into yours. “You stay here, you die.”

His words slam into you. He’s not trying to scare you—he’s telling the truth.

“You don’t get to be stubborn about this,” he continues firmly. “You think you’re pissed off now? Wait until they come crashin' through your door in the middle of the night, and you don’t have a chance to fight back.”

Wrenching yourself out of his grasp, you take a few steps back. “I just—” you begin to say, but the words feel tangled in your throat. The denial is still there, but it’s weakening, cracking. “I don’t want to run.”

“You’re not running,” he sighs, his voice softening ever so slightly. “You’re buying time. Time to fight back, time to survive. But if you stay here? There’s none of that.”

You want to argue more, want to scream at him to get away, to not drag you into his fight, but instead, you let out a long, shaky breath, your shoulders slumping. “Fine,” you breath out. 

He nods, finally releasing his grip on you and stepping back. “Good. Pack up your shit. We leave in half an hour.”

Then, he walks over to your couch and plops down like he owns the place, crossing his arms as if settling in for a casual wait.

You roll your eyes, muttering under your breath. “Unbelievable.”

Ignoring him, you turn and head into your bedroom, where you start throwing clothes into a duffel bag—jeans, a couple of shirts, whatever you can grab quickly. Your movements are hurried, fuelled by a mix of frustration and the creeping anxiety gnawing at the edges of your mind. Grabbing your toiletries, you stuff them into a smaller bag, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of the fact that some random mutant tracked you down, and now you have to leave your life until you’re safe. 

You peer back into the hallway, hearing the faint creak of the couch as Logan shifts around. I’m gonna kill this guy, you think to yourself. 

Once everything is packed and you’ve zipped your bag, you head back into the main room, only to see said random mutant still sprawled on your couch, looking far too comfortable, with a cigar in his hand.

“Seriously?” you say, slinging your duffel over your shoulder. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you.”

He grunts in response but doesn’t move. Typical.

You glance at the clock—still a few minutes left of the half-hour he allotted you, but there’s no point in dragging it out. “I’m ready,” you say flatly, heading toward the door.

Logan stands, stretches his arms over his head, and cracks his neck like he’s waking up from a nap. “Let’s go then.”

—

The ride is tense and quiet, which suits you just fine. You’d rather not talk to him anyway. Every now and then, you let out a loud sigh, unable to hold back the annoyance you’re feeling. Each time, you feel Logan’s eyes dart toward you from the driver’s seat, but he doesn’t say anything. Well, that is, until—

“Can you shut the fuck up?” he growls, keeping his eyes on the road.

You clench your jaw, shifting in your seat. “I didn’t even say anything, jackass.”

He huffs, clearly not in the mood for an argument, but the strain between you is almost impossible to ignore. You cross your arms, staring out the window, observing the landscape shift as the drive continues. 

Eventually, you can see the outline of the mansion, and you watch as it gets bigger and bigger the closer you get. Upon arrival, He pulls the car up to the front and cuts the engine. You both sit there for a moment, mute. 

“Well, here we are,” he mumbles after the pause stretches on for an uncomfortable amount of time, glancing over at you.

“Great,” you say sarcastically, unbuckling your seatbelt and pushing open the car door. 

Logan walks ahead without saying a word, leading the way up the grand stone steps toward the front door. You trail behind, your mood darkening with every step, glaring at the perfectly polished entrance. 

The doors open before you even reach them, and you’re greeted by an older man in a wheelchair—Charles Xavier, if you remember correctly. The famous telepath. The genius behind the mutant team (some news anchor's words, not yours). His expression is kind, but you’re in such a bad mood, you don’t even bother trying to seem polite.

“Welcome,” He says with a warm smile, his eyes assessing you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl. “Logan’s told me a lot about you.”

You press your lips together in a line. “Yeah? Well, don’t get too excited.”

Logan grunts beside you. “She’s got a bit of an attitude,” he mutters to Charles, then turns to you, gesturing you to follow him. “Come on.”

Inwardly groaning, you have no choice but to follow him. Everything about this place screams “too good to be true,” and you hate it already. You’re used to keeping your head down, blending in, not being surrounded by people who wear their powers on their sleeves like some badge of honour.

As you walk through the halls, a few faces appear—other mutants, some of them kids, watching curiously as you pass by. You can feel their eyes on you, can hear the whispers already starting about the new arrival. 

Charles wheels alongside you, still smiling, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You remind me of Logan when he first joined us,” he says thoughtfully.

That stops you in your tracks.

You whip your head toward the man, giving him a piercing look. “Do not say that. We are nothing alike.”

On your other side, Logan smirks. “Not sure if I should be offended or not.”

“I’m serious.” If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under.

Chucking softly, Charles seems completely unaffected by your outburst. “You’re both a bit rough around the edges, but you’ll find your place here.”

“Yeah, sure,” you say. “Because that’s exactly what I want to do.”

Deeper into the mansion, you catch sight of the X-Men you’ve seen before: Cyclops, Storm, Jean Grey. They all turn to look at you, sizing you up. You don’t flinch—you just stare back, your expression hard.

Pulling your duffel bag higher on your shoulder, you rip your eyes away from theirs, and keep walking, following Logan down the long, quiet hallway. Finally, he stops in front of a door.

“This is your room,” he grunts, nodding toward it. “Try not to break anything.”

Choosing silence, you push the door open. Stepping inside, you expect the bare minimum—a bed, maybe a closet—but instead, you’re met with a surprisingly large space. There’s a massive bed in the center of the room, a desk by the window, and, to your surprise, a set of glass doors leading out to a balcony.

You drop your bag by the door, glancing around, trying to shake off the unease. This is way too nice for a prisoner. You walk toward the balcony doors, curious despite yourself, and when you pull them open, the cool breeze hits you immediately.

Once you’re outside, you realize something that immediately makes your stomach drop.

The balcony is shared. And right next to your side, leaning against the railing with a cigar between his fingers, is Logan.

You halt mid-motion, eyes fixed on him in stunned silence. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He glances over, a smirk playing on his lips as he takes a drag of his cigar. “Surprise.”

You groan, turning your back on him and walking toward the opposite edge of the balcony, trying to calm the annoyance inside you. Of all the people you could’ve been stuck beside, it had to be him. It’s not enough that he dragged you here, but now there’s a chance you’re going to have to see him every time you step outside.

“So what now?” you mutter, staring out over the mansion grounds, the manicured gardens below looking like something out of a postcard. “I’m just supposed to stay here, be a part of your little mutant club?”

Taking another slow pull on his cigar, “You’re supposed to stay alive. Everythin’ else? That’s up to you.”

“But why do you suddenly care?” you ask. “I’ve seen the way you operate. You and your team sweep in, fight your battles, and then leave everyone else in the dirt. You don’t care about the collateral damage—hell, you cause half of it.” 

Logan pauses, his cigar halfway to his lips. He doesn’t answer right away, and the brief hesitation only makes your irritation spike. You press on, inching closer, voice laced with accusation.

“Why now?” you press. “Why drag me into this when you’ve never cared about anyone else in the crossfire?”

Logan finally turns to face you, exhaling a cloud of smoke before speaking, his expression hardened. “This ain’t about me ‘caring,’” he says flatly. “This is about survival. You killed a Sentinel, whether you like it or not. That puts a target on your back.”

“Yeah, you’ve made that very clear,” you bite out. “But you still haven’t answered my question. Why me? Why am I suddenly important to you?”

Logan’s eyes darken, drilling into yours. “You’re not important to me,” he says flatly. “But they won’t stop until they get you. The destruction that’ll come from that—if your stubborn ass fought back, which I know it would, by the way—would be much greater than anything we would cause.”

“Doubt that,” you snarl bitterly. You don’t linger for the sound of his response, spinning on your heel and walking back into your room, slamming the balcony door behind you.

The bed is large and you can’t deny how inviting it looks after the day you’ve had. You flop onto it face-first, letting out a long, drawn out sigh.

You’re barely able to reflect on the chaotic day you’ve had before your eyelids flutter shut, and you sink into a deep slumber, the exhaustion from everything catching up to you.

—

You’re jolted awake by a loud, aggressive knock on your bedroom door. The sound is so forceful it feels like the entire frame is rattling. You release a sound, half groan, half sigh, steeped in frustration. Your face is still buried in your pillow, and you curse whoever decided to ruin what little sleep you managed to get.

“Get up,” Logan’s gruff voice calls from the other side of the door. “We’re leaving for breakfast in ten.”

Ah yes. Of-fucking-course it's him. Who else would it be?

Dragging yourself out of bed, you throw on some clothes and make a half-hearted attempt to fix your hair before opening the door, ready to curse him, but he's already striding down the hallway, hardly bothering to check if you're following. You roll your eyes, your steps slow and begrudging as you move to follow

As you catch up, you can’t help but throw him a sideways glare. “Why are you acting like my personal bodyguard?”

“Gotta make sure you don’t do anything reckless.”

You scoff, crossing your arms as you fall into step beside him. “You don’t even know what I can do.”

Logan’s lips twitch into a lazy smirk, and you immediately want to wipe it off his face. “Exactly,” he says, his tone almost amused. “Which is why today, we’re gonna test you.”

You stop in your tracks, staring at his back. “Test me? What the hell does that mean?”

He stops too, turning to face you. “Means you’re gonna show me what you’re capable of.”

Teeth clenched, you feel the slow rise of aggravation mingling with apprehension. “I’m not some science experiment.”

“No,” he agrees, “but you’re not a regular person, either. You need to know your limits—and how to handle what’s coming.”

Groaning, you drag your hands down your face incredulously. “I don’t even know what to say back to that. All I know is that I’m hungry.”

—

The kitchen of Xavier’s mansion is bustling with activity as the two of you walk in. The rest of the team is gathered around a large table at the centre of the room, and you spot Jean, Cyclops, Storm, and a few others sitting together, chatting, but you feel no desire to join them. 

Rather, you gravitate toward a smaller table by the window, hoping to get some peace while you choke down breakfast. The chair scrapes lightly as you pull it out and sit down, fully expecting to be left alone.

But to your surprise, Logan follows and plops down in the seat across from you.

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

He shrugs and digs into his food. "Eating. You got a problem with that?"

You cast a quick look toward the large table where the rest of the team sits. It feels strange, having him eat with you, especially when the rest of his team is so obviously waiting for him to join them.

"No," you murmur, shaking your head as you return to your plate. "Just didn’t think you’d stray from the flock."

“They’re fine without me.”

You push your food around with your fork, trying to push past the heavy air of discomfort in the room. Everyone keeps glancing in your direction, and you sense their curiosity, the questions hovering in silence, but no one has the courage to ask. And honestly, you’re grateful for the space.

Just as you’re finishing up, a low voice catches your attention. 

"I just don’t understand why they brought her here," Jean’s voice carries across the room, quieter than before, but still clear enough for you to hear. “She doesn’t seem like she has what it takes. It’s like they’re bringing in someone who���s—” She pauses, clearly thinking through her words. "Unstable. Weak.”

Tensing, your fork clatters onto your plate. The world around you dulls, and all you can hear is that word echoing in your head. Weak. You’ve been called a lot of things in your life, but never that.

Slowly, you push your chair back and stand up as you turn to face the table where she and the others are seated. “Say it louder, please,” you say calmly.

The chatter dies instantly, and suddenly, every set of eyes in the room finds you. Jean's face turns ashen, her eyes blown wide in shock. She wasn’t expecting you to overhear. Her mouth opens and closes, as if she’s trying to find a way to backtrack, but you know what you heard.

Before Jean can stammer out an excuse, Scott stands up, positioning himself between you and her, his jaw tight and his posture rigid. “You heard wrong,” he says sternly. “She didn’t mean anything by it.”

You take a calculated step forward, arms crossed in defiance. “Didn’t mean anything?” you repeat sarcastically. “She just called me weak. Right here. In front of everyone. You think I’m gonna let that slide?”

Scott’s jaw clenches tighter “She wasn’t trying to insult you. You’re new here. You don’t know how things work yet.”

“That’s the excuse?” you laugh dryly. “Maybe you should teach her how to keep her mouth shut instead of making assumptions about people she doesn’t know.”

If even possible, the friction between you swells, growing heavier with each passing second. Everyone in the room watches the standoff, some shifting uncomfortably in their seats, unsure of what’s going to happen next. You can feel Logan’s presence behind you, but he doesn’t interfere. He’s letting you handle this.

“You don’t belong here,” Scott states, like he’s trying to remind you of your place. “You’re not part of this team, and you sure as hell don’t understand what it takes to survive here.”

Raising an eyebrow, your lips curl into a smirk. “And what are you gonna do about it, One-eye? You gonna lecture me? Or better yet, why don’t you blast me with those laser eyes of yours? Show me how strong you are.”

His fists clench, and for a moment, you see the control slip. His visor glows red, just for a split second, as his anger spikes.

"Careful," you taunt, challenging him. "Wouldn’t want to lose control, would you? I'm sure you've never done that before."

That does it. 

A beam shoots out from Scott’s visor. Fast, ferocious, and headed straight for you. There’s a collective gasp from the others, chairs scraping as people push back, shocked by the sudden escalation. But you don’t move. You stand your ground, your eyes locked onto Scott’s as the beam strikes you square in the chest.

You’re not knocked back, or worse, killed, as the energy from the blast surges into you. The energy seeps into your bones, crackling through every nerve. Your skin tingles as the power courses through you, your body absorbing every ounce of it. Once the assault is over, you raise your head, feeling your eyes and veins begin to glow with a deep, burning red.

Jean’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide in disbelief. 

Unfortunately for you, you don't get the chance to blow him to pieces, because Logan flies forward and grabs your arm, pulling you out of the room. Nobody else moves—too stunned—as he drags you into the hallway. You blink your eyes, the glow fading, but you can feel the residual energy from Scott’s blast still buzzing under your skin.

Both out of sight, he finally releases you. 

You glare at him, still rattled from the confrontation. “What the hell? Why'd you interfere?”

He just shrugs, completely unfazed. “You handled yourself enough. Now we know what you can do. Follow me.”

“Follow you where?” you ask. 

He motions down the hallway. “Danger Room. We’re gonna push those limits a little further.”

Gawking at him for a second, it takes a moment, but then you smirk. You want to know just how far your powers can go.

—

“Fuck!” you curse as you’re flung backward, your body slamming against a stone wall. Your back hits hard, knocking the wind out of you as the simulated-Sentinel hurls a car in your direction. The screech of metal fills the air as the vehicle crashes just mere inches from where you were standing moments ago. 

Rubble showers from above, the robot in front of you towering menacingly. Raising its arm, another blast begins charging in its palm, ready to incinerate you.

You scramble to your feet, heart pounding in your chest as you sprint away, ducking and weaving between the wreckage of cars and crumbling buildings that make up the simulated cityscape. The Sentinel fires again, the blast narrowly missing as you dodge behind an overturned truck. Your breaths come in ragged gasps, every muscle screaming in protest.

I can’t keep this up.

Another blast lights up the area around you, and you dive out of the way, the heat of the attack singeing your skin. You’re quick, but not quick enough to outrun the onslaught from this machine.

Then it hits you—you don’t have to outrun it.

You remember the blast from way back, how your body absorbed the energy, and how in the dining hall, you took on Scott’s beam like it was nothing. You can do it again. You can take its power and turn it back on itself.

Gritting your teeth, you stop running. The air buzzes with electricity, the earth trembling beneath you as the next shot hurtles your way.

It hammers into your chest, and once again, your body is filled with energy. In an instant, you leap into the air, propelled by the newfound strength coursing through your body, and the ground disappears beneath you as you soar upward.

At the peak of your jump, you clench your fist, channeling all that power into one focused point. Then, you bring your fist down on the Sentinel’s head, the impact echoing through the simulation as your punch connects, and the robot’s head shatters under the blow, metal fragments flying in every direction as its massive body crumples to the ground.

Sparks shoot out of its severed neck, and with a final groan of machinery, the robot collapses into a heap of broken parts at your feet.

“Good work,” Logan’s voice crackles over the comms, far too calm for what you’ve just been through. “Let’s see how you handle another.”

There’s no time for more than a muttered curse under your breath, because another Sentinel is dropped into the simulation. This one’s faster, more agile, and doesn’t waste time by charging up blasts.

It exists solely to hunt you down. 

“Cut me some slack,” you groan, half out of breath as you duck behind the ruins of a building. Your lungs burn as you try to breathe, adrenaline coursing through you like a wildfire.

This one isn’t like the last. It’s not using energy blasts—it’s fast, agile, and persistent. It rushes toward you, its massive hands swiping through the air, tearing through the simulated city with ease.

Grinding your teeth, a wave of exasperation takes over. This fight is harder, the machine barely giving you a chance to react, and your body is already starting to wear down. Your mind races, desperate for a solution as you sidestep its attacks, trying to stay one step ahead. You feel cornered, trapped.

The frustration builds, growing into something more, and before you realize it, that frustration becomes fuel. It ignites inside you, your own emotions transforming into energy, pushing past the limits you didn’t know you had.

Your veins pulse, your eyes glowing white this time, not from absorbed power but from something deeper—your own anger, your own strength. The energy bubbles inside you, filling every cell of your body until you can’t hold it back anymore.

With a scream, you release it, propelling a massive ball of crackling energy hurling toward the Sentinel. The impact is immediate, ripping through the metal and bursting into a brilliant, blinding light. It sends shockwave through the entire simulation, the machine imploding, its parts scattering across the battlefield.

And when the light fades, the Sentinel is gone—nothing more than a smouldering heap of twisted metal.

You stand there, chest heaving, the glow in your eyes slowly fading as the last traces of energy drain from your body. Your knees buckle, and before you know it, you crumble to the ground, utterly exhausted.

The simulation flickers for a moment, then abruptly shuts off, the room returning to its normal, metallic walls as the fake cityscape disappears. You’re still on the floor, gasping for breath, when Logan steps into view, arms crossed as he peers down at you with a pleased grin.

“Well,” he says, voice calm, “that wasn’t too bad.”

You shoot him a glare from the ground, too tired to move. “You… are such… an asshole.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “Get up. We’re just getting started.”

—

He was right. You were just getting started.

The thought gnaws at you as you trudge alongside Logan, heading back to your room to clean up before dinner. Every muscle in your body aches, and you can already feel the soreness creeping in, promising a week of pain. You’re starting to suspect this is Logan’s way of getting back at you for all the snark and attitude you’ve thrown his way, but damn, is it painful. You don’t even want to think about how much worse you’re going to feel in the morning.

You feel like a zombie, dragging your feet, barely able to keep your eyes open. Your limbs feel heavy, like they’re made of lead, and each step invites fresh wave of exhaustion through your body. The man with you, of course, seems perfectly fine. He walks a few steps ahead of you, not even winded from the grueling day of combat drills, sparring, and whatever else he thought up to make sure you were put through the wringer.

“Maybe I should be a little nicer to you,” you rationalize, but who are you kidding.

With a terse grunt, he acknowledges you by tilting his head back. “You’ll live.”

You roll your eyes, though it’s half-hearted at best. You don’t even have the energy to be annoyed right now.

Upon reaching your room, you feel like you could collapse right then and there. You mumble something vaguely resembling ‘see you later’ to Logan before slipping inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

The first thing you do is toss your bag onto the floor, not caring where it lands, and head straight for the bathroom. You peel off your sweaty, dirt-covered clothes and step into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the grime of the day. 

After that quick, blissful shower, you drag yourself out, towel off, and pull on the first comfortable clothes you can find. Your bed is calling to you, and it doesn’t take long for you to lie down on it. The softness of the mattress beneath you is heaven, and you think you might just fall asleep right there and take a small nap before heading to eat.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you notice the light pouring in through the balcony doors. The warm, golden glow of the setting sun catches your attention, and despite how drained you are, you find yourself turning to look. 

What you see is breathtaking. Shades of pink, orange, and deep purple.

It’s too beautiful to ignore.

Groaning again, you force yourself to sit up, rubbing your eyes. You can’t help it. Something about the sight draws you in, and before you know it, you’re standing and heading toward the balcony. You slide the door open and step outside, the evening breeze washing over you as you lean against the railing, taking in the view.

A few minutes pass, the world around you quiet except for the gentle rustling of the leaves in the wind. The sound of Logan’s door sliding breaks your focus. You glance over just as he steps out onto his side of the shared balcony, wearing nothing but a white tank top and jeans.

Saying nothing, he steps beside you at the railing, resting against it as his eyes scan the horizon. 

You sneak a look at him out of the corner of your eye, trying not to make it obvious. His arms are crossed over the railing, and it’s almst impossible not to notice the way the tank top lets you see his biceps, the muscles in his arms strong from the day’s activity. You are a woman, after all.

He looks relaxed. His stubble catches the last bits of the sunlight, and as your gaze travels upward, you notice something you hadn’t bothered to see before. 

The crinkles at the sides of his eyes. They’re faint, barely there, but in this light, they’re more visible, adding something unexpectedly... soft to his otherwise intimidating appearance.

Cute, you think absentmindedly, then pause. 

What the fuck?

You snap your gaze back to the sunset, feeling a sudden surge of embarrassment creeping up your neck. You just spent the entire day getting your ass handed to you by this man, and now you’re here checking out his arms? His arms? And thinking the crinkles around his eyes are cute? Suppressing a groan, you want to slap yourself for even entertaining the thought.

Nope. Absolutely not. You’re not going down that road.

Taking a deep breath, you try to bring your attention back to the sunset. The reason you went outside to begin with. You have no idea why you’re suddenly noticing these things about him—probably exhaustion making your brain short-circuit. 

Yup. That’s it.

He shifts slightly beside you, breaking the silence. “Nice view"

You nod, swallowing down the weird feelings swirling in your head. “Yeah,” you mumble, not trusting yourself to say anything more without sounding ridiculous.

The two of you stand there for a few more minutes, watching as the last rays of the sun disappear, the sky dimming into deep purples and blues. But the minute your thoughts start to drift back to him, you straighten up, clapping your hands together and quickly turning on your heel to head back inside.

“Well, I’m done,” you say abruptly. “I’m gonna crash.”

Logan doesn’t move, but you can feel his eyes following you as you slide the door closed behind you, your mind still reeling from whatever the hell that was.

Collapsing back onto your bed, you pull the covers up to your chin, determined to forget about the whole thing.

—

A few hours later, when it’s dark out, you finally wake up. The room is dim, and for a moment, you just lie there, blinking at the ceiling. As you start to roll over, something catches your attention—a smell.

It's warm, savoury. Your stomach growls almost immediately, making you realize with a start that you slept through dinner.

Groggily, you sit up, rubbing your eyes, and that’s when you spot it—a tray of food sitting on the desk in your room. You can make out the outline of a warm meal: some kind of stew, a couple of bread rolls, and what looks like a glass of water. Your stomach growls again, louder this time, as you climb out of bed and shuffle toward the desk, turning on the light. 

Next to the tray, there’s a small note:

Figured you’d be too tired to get dinner. Eat up.

– L

You stare at the note. Logan? Bringing you food? It doesn’t exactly fit with the version of him you’ve been dealing with all day, but then again, there seems to be a lot about him that doesn’t quite fit the mold you expected.

Too hungry to keep thinking and not eat, you set the note down and grab the spoon, dipping it into the stew. The first bite warms you from the inside out, and you let out an involuntary sigh of relief.

Surprisingly flavourful—rich and nourishing, it’s the perfect remedy for the exhausting day behind you

Still, you can’t help your eyes from wandering back to the note. Maybe it really is the fatigue messing with your head again, making you chalk it up to be something it’s not. 

—

The next morning, you're not woken up by banging on your door, which is a relief. You stretch, the soreness still lingering but not nearly as bad as you expected. After freshening up and pulling on some clothes, you step into the hallway, and unexpectedly, Logan is already waiting for you.

He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and you blink at him, still waking up, unsure why he’s there. “Uh... morning?” you get out, albeit you can’t hide the confusion in your tone.

A short nod in greeting. “Morning. Ready for breakfast?”

You hesitate for a moment, then decide to take the plunge. “Yeah I am, but…um, thanks for the food last night, it was good.” you say quietly, almost embarrassed to admit it.

The gesture had caught you off guard, and though you don’t want to make a fuss, it’s worth noting

“Don’t mention it,” he shrugs casually.

Nodding in understanding, you’re ready to move on when he adds, almost offhandedly, “Y’know, you’re actually kinda pretty when you’re asleep. Not being a little shit helps.”

You freeze mid-step, your mind short-circuiting for a moment as you process the words that just left his lips.

Flustered and irritated all at once, you glare at him. “Excuse me?”

Logan smirks, the corners of his mouth twitching as he starts walking down the hall toward the kitchen. “You heard me.”

Your face heats up. “I am not a little shit,” you yelp, quickening your pace to catch up to him.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he says, gazing at you from over his shoulder. You open your mouth to fire back, but the smug look in his eyes makes you hesitate. 

He’s messing with you on purpose.

Asshole, you think, fuming but trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped when he called you pretty. 

—

The kitchen goes silent the moment you and Logan step through the door, a noticeable difference from yesterday. All eyes are locked on you, the pressure in the room almost solid, begging to be cut through.

Students and X-Men alike are watching, probably expecting some kind of replay of the day prior's events, but you pay them no mind, keeping your eyes straight ahead and making a beeline for a table at the back.

You drop into a seat, picking up a piece of toast and acting like the room isn’t on high alert. Logan joins you again without a word, sitting across from you and digging into his food. He doesn’t even glance at the others, as if the room full of curious onlookers doesn’t exist.

The only sounds are the clink of silverware and voices slowly picking up again as people realize nothing dramatic is about to happen.

Chewing, you glance at the man across from you, still quietly working through his meal. You swallow, then clear your throat. “So... what’s the plan for today?”

He looks up from his plate. “Charles wants to see you this morning.”

You frown, unsure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. “Why? Did I break something without knowing it?”

He snorts, shaking his head. “No, you’re not in trouble, smartass. He’s just gonna fill you in on some things. Mainly the Sentinels.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You need to know what you’re up against, what we’re all dealing with. He’ll catch you up to speed.”

“Great,” you mutter. “More bad news.”

The clawed mutant leans back in his chair, watching you for a moment before speaking again. “Look, it’s not gonna be fun, but you need to know. Better to hear it from him than from me.”

“I’ll take that as your way of saying ‘good luck,” you breathe out. 

He smirks. “You’re gonna need it.”

Logan finishes his meal and stands up, leaving his empty plate behind. “I’ll drop you off at Charles’s office. You’ll be with him for the morning.”

You follow suit, pushing away your half-eaten plate. “Fantastic,” you mumble sarcastically, but at the same time, you know this is necessary. After all, the threat you’re dealing with is real, and being ignorant about it won’t do you any good.

—

“So, how can they be stopped?”

You ask the question before you even sit down. Charles is already waiting for you in his office, his hands folded neatly on the desk, his gaze calm and soft. 

He takes a measured breath, glancing toward the window for a moment before responding. “Stopping the Sentinels is... complicated. They’ve grown more advanced than we ever anticipated.”

“I gathered that.”

“They are highly adaptive machines,” he continues. “Designed to hunt and neutralize mutants, they learn from every encounter. They absorb information, adjust tactics, and over time, they become more effective.”

His words make you squirm with discomfort, and you glance around the room, trying to distract yourself from the knot forming in your stomach. 

“And now I’m one of their targets,” you say quietly, more to yourself than to him.

Leaning forward slightly, he says, “Yes. They’ve already locked onto you because of your encounter with them. They don’t differentiate between self-defence and aggression. They see you as a target, simply because you fought back.”

You exhale sharply. “So, what’s your plan?”

Charles meets your gaze. “There is a command center—a hub that controls their network. If we can locate it and destroy it, we believe it will disrupt the entire Sentinel operation. Without the command structure, the Sentinels will become non-functional.”

You stare for a beat, mentally piecing together the details. “You believe?”

“It’s our best theory,” he says evenly. “We’ve been gathering intel for some time now. And we’re planning a mission. A final push to put an end to this threat once and for all.”

The words linger, thick and weighty, in the space between you, You can sense where this is going. Your fingers drum against your arm, a nervous habit you can’t seem to shake.

“You want me to be a part of it.”

He remains unfazed. “I believe you have an ability that could be crucial to the mission. You’ve already demonstrated your capability against the Sentinels in training yesterday, and in real life.”

A bitter scoff escapes your lips before you can stifle it. “Yeah, but I’m not one of you. I don’t want to be part of some... grand battle. That’s not me.”

Watching you closely, his gaze is soft with comprehension. “I understand your reluctance,” he says gently. “But running, hiding... it won’t change the fact that they will find you. Fighting may not have been your choice, but now it is your reality.”

Standing, you begin to pace the room. “This is exactly the problem I have with your team,” you say, stopping near the window, staring out at the garden. “We hardly know eachother, yet you want me to be part of some mission that could very well be catastophic. It’s like you don’t care about anything except the big picture.”

Charles’s expression doesn’t change. He definitely expected this. “We aren’t perfect,” he admits, “and our battles have left scars. But this is about survival. For all of us. For you.”

Turning back to face him, you narrow your eyes. “And if I say no?”

“I won’t force you,” His voice is understanding. “The choice is yours. But know that the Sentinels will not stop. You can avoid the fight for as long as you like, but eventually, it will come to you.”

It’s as if you're stuck, with nowhere to turn, cornered by a reality you didn’t want any part of. Avoiding it doesn’t seem like an option anymore, but fighting alongside the X-Men feels like betraying everything you’ve tried to distance yourself from. 

Sighing, “I’ll think about it.”

—

When you get back to your room, the first thing you do is swing open your balcony door and step outside. The afternoon sun comes over you like a blanket, warming you up, and relieving some of the strain in your muscles. Logan is out on the balcony too, leaning against the railing, a cigar lit between his fingers. It’s a sight you think you should get used to. 

His eyes flick to you when you approach, but he doesn’t say anything at first. Without a word, he holds the roll of tobacco out toward you, as if he knows exactly what’s on your mind.

You pause briefly, for just a second before taking it from him. The rich, earthy taste of the cigar fills your mouth as you inhale deeply, the smoke heavy and warm in your lungs. There’s something grounding about it, even though the burn is rough against your throat. You let out a slow exhale, watching the smoke curl into the night air as you lean next to him against the railing.

“How’d it go?” he asks gruffly.

“He wants me to join you guys on the mission.”

At first, Logan doesn’t react, then, he just takes the cigar back, puffing on it and blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. “What do you want to do?”

It’s the same question that’s been clawing at your insides since you left Charles’s office. What do you want? It feels like the answer should be simple, but it’s anything but.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I want to get rid of the threat and go back to my normal life, but if I do, then I'd just become the very thing I'm against, right? I can’t join you guys, that’s not who I am.”

He hums softly.

Shifting a bit, you try to find the words to explain the knot of irritation tangled inside you. “I get it, you know? I get why you guys do what you do. Someone has to. But the way you do it—so carefree about everything. It’s like the destruction, the people, the lives caught in the midst of everything—it doesn’t even phase you.”

“We don’t do it carefree,” he says lowly. Inhaling into the cigar once more, the tip glowing red. “But sometimes, you gotta make a choice between bad and worse. People get hurt. But if we don’t stop the threats, a lot more people are gonna die.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling the tension coil tighter in your chest. “And that’s what I hate about it.”

Flicking the ash from the end of his cigar, his eyes are distant, lost in thought momentarily before he responds. “I’m not gonna lie to you and say it’s easy. It ain’t. We all carry the weight of the things we’ve done—the things we couldn’t stop. But if not us, then who?”

“That’s an impossible decision,” you say. There’s no way you can go into this fight, knowing how much of a toll it’s going to take on everything. The fight itself is such a small piece to the puzzle.

Logan leans his elbows on the railing. “You think I wanted this?” he asks, his voice low, almost like he’s talking to himself. “I was just like you. Didn’t want nothin’ to do with the team or their battles.”

The comparison makes you grimace. “Great. That’s exactly what I want to hear.”

He chuckles, the sound rough but not unkind. “I’m serious, bub. For years, I didn’t want to be part of this... circus. Figured I’d be better off on my own, that I was above it all.”

You quirk a brow. “Then what changed?”

“It’s not like a switch flipped,” he replies, a bit quieter. “I just realized that fighting alone is harder than fighting with a team. The X-Men... they gave me somethin’. A place. Belonging. Doesn’t mean I agree with everything they do, but it’s better than wanderin’.”

That makes you scoff. “Yeah, well, you heard it yourself. Scott said I don’t belong here. Jean thinks I’m weak. Doesn’t exactly scream ‘welcome to the team,’ does it?”

His brow furrows, his eyes narrowing, as he straightens and looks at you. “Scott talks too much, and Jean—she’s cautious. Doesn’t mean she’s right.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s wrong either,” you mumble. “They don’t trust me.”

“They didn’t trust me when I first joined either, but you get better. You learn.”

“I don’t want to be like you,” you hiss before you can stop yourself, and you immediately regret the heat in your words.

He doesn’t look offended—just tired. “Didn’t say you should,” he starts. “But you can’t keep shunnin’ us.”

“So what do I do now?”

Taking one last drag of his cigar before flicking it over the balcony railing, Logan watches the embers fall before he speaks. “The mission’s in a week. You’ve got that long to figure it out.”

He turns to leave, but before he goes, he glimpses at you from over his shoulder. “This battle, it’s inevitable. Question is—how do you want to face it?”

—

You’ve never been so conflicted. This choice–to join, or not to join—is probably the hardest decision you’ve had to make in your entire life. You have seen first hand what happens when the X-men decide to stop a threat. What innocent people have to go through to rebuild their lives from the ground up. Both literally and figuratively.

And to then become someone who causes that pain? It feels like betrayal. Like going against yourself—your morals.

But then there’s the other side of it—the part of you that knows sitting here, doing nothing, isn’t right either. You know you have the strength to fight back. You have the power to help. And doing nothing… doesn’t that make you just as bad? If you have the ability to stop something, to protect people, and you don’t—what does that make you?

It’s a lose-lose situation. The X-Men don’t even want you there—aside from Logan and Charles. You can see it in the way their eyes follow you wherever you go, untrusting. They’ve made their opinion on you clear.

You lower your head into your hands, stressed. You can’t join a team that doesn’t want you, but sitting on the sidelines when you could be fighting—that makes you feel like a coward. And maybe even worse—a bad person.

Finally, with a deep breath, you come to a decision. It’s not perfect, and it sure as hell doesn’t feel good, but it’s the only choice you can make right now. You’ll join them—for this mission only.

You’ll help take down the Sentinels, and then, when it’s done, you’ll leave. You’ll go back to your life, maybe you can find a middle ground, where you’re not one of them, but you’re no longer hiding from the mutant part of yourself. 

If something happens, if you do something you regret, then you'll just have to live with it.

—

In the afternoon, you don’t do much. You were supposed to be training with Logan, but Charles had called him into a quick meeting, leaving you to wander the halls aimlessly.

Rounding a corner, you stop short when you see the rest of the team—Scott, Jean, Ororo, and Hank—talking near a meeting room. They’re deep in conversation, but as soon as you come into view, their attention shifts toward you.

Your stomach tightens, and for a brief second, you consider just turning around and walking in the other direction. But it’s too late; they’ve already seen you. 

Jean’s eyes meet yours, and her expression flickers with something that looks like discomfort before she quickly smooths it over. “Hey,” she says carefully. “I just wanted to apologize for what I said yesterday. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you didn’t belong.”

Her tone is polite, but distant. It’s clear this apology isn’t driven by genuine remorse—it’s more about smoothing over the awkwardness from yesterday’s standoff. You can feel that. You see the way she looks at you, not quite meeting your eyes, and you know this is just a formality for her.

Still, you’re not looking to start more drama, and you don’t want to engage in any more confrontations, especially when you’re already planning to leave. You nod, keeping your expression neutral. “It’s fine. Let’s just move on.”

Behind her, you catch a glimpse of Scott, his arms crossed. Even though you can’t see his eyes, it’s obvious he’s glaring at you.

Ororo steps forward, her hand finding your arm, and the touch is gentle, reassuring. “Joining the team isn’t easy,” she says kindly. “But we’ve all faced our own challenges. If you ever need someone to talk to, or help with anything, I’m here.”

“You’ve got potential,” Hank chips in from beside her. “It takes time to settle in, but I’m sure you’ll find your place.”

His words are well-meaning, and you can see that he believes what he’s saying. But what they don’t know is that you’ve already made up your mind. You’re not staying any longer than you have to. 

You don’t plan on finding your place here because, frankly, you don’t believe there is one for you. Not with Scott’s distrust, Jean’s cautious distance, and the way you know you can’t be part of a team that doesn’t care about anything but themselves. You keep your thoughts to yourself, pressing your lips into a thin smile instead. 

“Yeah,” you say vaguely, not wanting to ruin the moment. “Thanks.”

“I guess we’ll all see soon enough,” Your eyes snap to Scott, who has finally decided to break his silence. His voice is cold, but you can feel and edge to it, one that’s trying to provoke you. 

You meet his gaze—or at least the visor—and feel your jaw tighten. “Guess so,” you reply, matching his tone. Turning, you walk away, finding another place to lounge until Logan is free. 

—

The mansion’s library is massive, filled with towering shelves and the scent of old books. It’s quieter here, the kind of silence you can sink into, and after the awkward run-in with the rest of the team, it feels like the perfect place to retreat. You find a comfortable armchair tucked into a corner, grab a random book off the shelf—some old novel you’ve never heard of—and settle in.

For a while, you manage to lose yourself in the pages. The story isn’t particularly gripping, but it’s enough to take your mind off of things. But then, a shadow falls over you, covering the words in a dark grey haze.

“Hey, bub.”

You blink, looking up to find Logan standing over you. “What?” you ask, annoyed at being interrupted but also not surprised. It’s Logan, after all.

“You’ve been hiding in here long enough,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, time to head back.”

Rolling your eyes you snap the book shut, dropping it onto the table beside you. “I wasn’t hiding, I was reading,” you shoot back, standing up and stretching out your legs. “There’s a difference, y’know.”

“Sure there is,” he huffs, clearly not buying it. “Let’s go.”

As you reach the hallway where your rooms are, Logan pauses, glancing toward his door. “You wanna come in for a bit? Talk?”

You’re a little bit taken aback. You didn’t peg him as the "sit down and talk" type, but he seems genuine. Or maybe he wants to keep you awake for dinner this time. Either way, you nod. “Sure.”

Inside his room, it’s about what you’d expect—minimalist, practical, with a few personal touches. A bed that looks like it’s seen better days, a couple of old books, and the scent of cigars lingering in the air. Logan sits down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and gestures for you to join him.

There’s a moment where you’re just standing there, staring, but then you flop down beside him, sitting cross-legged at the edge of the bed. For a few beats, there’s silence. Logan pulls out a cigar but doesn’t light it, just turns it between his fingers.

“I’ve decided,” you say finally, breaking the quiet. “I’ll go on the mission.”

He doesn’t respond, his eyes flicking to yours, waiting for you to continue.

“But,” you add, crossing your arms over your chest, “I’m not promising to stay after. This doesn’t mean I’m all in on your little X-Men gig.”

He grunts, a half-smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Knew you’d say that.”

Your brows pinch together your, lips pulling into a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means you’re stubborn as hell,” he teases.“Always gotta fight against the grain, even when you know what’s best for you.”

Sighing, you turn your head to look at him fully. “I truly believe you are the only person who actually believes that.”

He chuckles softly but doesn’t argue. “Charles gave me more details about the mission.”

That catches your attention, and you sit up a little straighter. “Yeah? Where are we going?”

Logan hesitates for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. “It’s... in the city.”

“The city? What city?”

“New York.”

Your heart drops. “New York?” You repeat, your voice rising in disbelief.

Giving you a slow nod, it’s like he's gauging your reaction. “The Sentinels’ command centre is located in some high-security facility downtown.”

You push yourself up off the bed, pacing across the room. “So, what, we are just going to storm in? Into one of the most populated cities in the world? Do you realize how many people could get caught in the middle of that?”

He stands up after you, but he doesn’t try to stop your pacing. “We’ve fought in cities before. We know what we’re doing.”

You whip around to face him. “Yeah, you’ve fought in cities before, and destroyed them! Some places are still rebuilding, and it’s been years!”

“I get it, alright?” He says, taking a step closer to you. “It’s not perfect. But if we don’t stop the Sentinels now, it’ll be a hell of a lot worse than a few broken buildings.”

“‘A few broken buildings’?” you echo. “What about the casualties that’ll come from it? We’re talking about innocent lives here, Logan!”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to keep his temper in check. “I know that! You think I don’t know what’s at stake? But we don’t have another option. We need to hit them where it counts, and that’s in the middle of the damn city.”

“There has to be a better way,” you plead. "Can't we try and evacuate everyone beforehand?"

"No," he says remorsefully. "If we do that, the Sentinels will catch on. It's unavoidable."

“I can't accept that," you say.

Logan’s eyes meet yours, and for the first time, there’s a flash of something more vulnerable in his gaze. “I’ll talk to the team. I’ll make sure we go in smart. We’ll try our best to keep people safe. I promise you that.”

You stop pacing, your frustration still simmering but tempered by his words. It’s not exactly the reassurance you were hoping for, but the sincerity in his voice gets to you.

“And what if you can’t?” you challenge quietly. 

His face softens just a bit, and he steps closer. “We deal with it, and we’ll do everything we can to make it right.”

He watches you, his eyes searching yours. “Look, I get why you’re pissed. I’d be too if I were you," he continues. "But we don’t have time to sit around debating. I’ll do what I can to keep it from getting ugly. That’s the best I can offer.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, you know there’s no way around it. “Fine. Just... make sure the team knows. No reckless destruction, alright?”

Logan’s lips curve into a small smirk, but there’s an underlying tenderness to it. “I promise.”

—

The last few days before the the mission zip by in a flash. Each day, your muscles ache, and exhaustion clings to you like a second skin. You spend most of your time either training or collapsed in your room, too tired to do much else. 

Except one afternoon, you sit in on a lecture, because it turns out, not only is Logan a huge pain in the ass, he’s also a professor.

Curiosity got the better of you, you’d say. The topic—mutant biology—sounds interesting enough, and you’ve heard from some of the students within the hallways that his classes are, well, something. So, naturally, you had to see it for yourself.

You slip into the lecture hall just as Logan starts speaking. He’s standing at the front of the room, pointing to some diagram on the chalkboard. The students around you are already scribbling notes, staring at him with wide-eyed fascination—or fear, perhaps. He has that effect on people.

Finding a seat in the back, you hurry over, trying to keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt. But the second you sit down, you feel Logan’s eyes on you, his voice pausing for just a moment. You look up, catching his gaze.

“Well, well, look who decided to join us,” he says, loud enough for the entire room to hear.

“Just here to observe, don’t mind me,” you huff, sinking back into the seat.

The lecture goes on, and to your surprise, Logan’s actually a decent teacher. He explains complex concepts with clarity, not that you’d actually tell him that. It’s quite interesting, if you’re being honest.

You lean back in your chair, listening, but you’re not exactly paying close attention. That is, until he stops the lesson to single you out. “Hey, you in the back,” he says. “Since you’re just ‘observing,’ how about answering a question?”

“Me?” You blink, caught off guard.

“Yeah, you,” he confirms, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve been sittin’ there long enough. Time to show the class what you’ve learned.”

“I wasn’t exactly paying attention,” you respond tightly, gritting your teeth together, holding yourself back from a few choice words.

The class falls silent, the students watching the exchange with wide eyes. You can practically feel their amusement radiating from them as Logan raises an eyebrow.

“That’s obvious,” he deadpans, eliciting a few snickers from the front row. “So, maybe you’ll start now. Can you explain the connection between mutation and enhanced physical abilities?”

Staring back at him blankly, you fold your arms across your chest. “Not my area of expertise, Professor Wolverine.”

He doesn’t seem fazed as the room erupts into quiet laughter. A small sigh, "if you’re gonna sit in on my class, you could at least try to learn something.”

“No thanks.”

It’s obvious that this little back-and-forth is amusing to the class. If you were anyone else, he probably would have kicked you out by now. One of the students leans toward another and whispers something, and you catch the way their eyes dart between you and the professor. 

“Alright, enough,” Logan says, trying to regroup the class, turning back to the chalkboard. “We’ve got a lot to cover, and some of us actually want to learn.” He casts you a sideways glance, and you can’t help but scoff.

When the lecture ends, the students file out quickly, but not without a few lingering glances in your direction. You’re making your way to the door when Logan grabs your arm, preventing you from moving. “You should’ve just answered the damn question,” he mutters.

“I didn’t know the answer,” you shoot back, shifting up to face him. “And I didn’t come here to get grilled in front of your students.”

He grunts, his expression softening just a bit. “Just tryin’ to get you to pay attention, is all.”

Before you can respond, you catch a flicker of movement in Logan’s gaze, his eyes darting briefly down to your lips. The shift is so subtle, so minute, but also so there. 

Where did that come from? 

Clearing your throat, you look away, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes. “Yeah, well, maybe ask one of your actual students next time.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Not as fun.”

—

During this time, you occasionally explore the mansion, but by the time evening rolls around, you’re usually too wiped out to care. Logan’s a beast in the training room, and with no real combat experience of your own, you’re left scrambling just to keep up.

However, on the last day before the assignment, something finally clicks.

You’re in the middle of a sparring match, circling each other, both of you drenched in sweat. Logan’s eyes are sharp, watching your every move, as if he’s waiting for you to slip up. His smirk is just as infuriating as ever, like he knows exactly how this will end.

“Gonna stand there all day, or you actually planning to make a move?” he taunts, dodging as you swing at him.

You grit your teeth, refusing to let him get in your head. You’re tired—completely worn out—but you push through how depleted you feel, focusing on his movements. He feints to the left, and you react on instinct, dodging his punch and sweeping your leg low.

Before you know it, Logan’s on the ground.

Quickly, you scramble to straddle him and hold him down. You did it—you actually got him!

Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you look down at him. Beneath you, his chest rises and falls, and his eyes meet yours. His gaze drifts lower, and you notice his fingers twitching at his sides, like he's fighting some internal battle.

When his eyes travel up to yours again, something in his expression makes you swallow hard and panic. 

"Hell no!" you blurt out, breaking the moment with a sudden yelp. You scramble off of him, putting some much-needed distance between you.

He sits up, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow, his features unreadable. Then, as if nothing just happened, he smirks. “You finally got me. Took you long enough.”

You huff, still trying to shake off the weird atmosphere. “Yeah, don’t get too comfortable. Next time won’t take as long.”

Chuckling, he gets up to his feet and dusts himself off. He glances down at his watch, then back at you. “Look at that. It’s dinner time. Last meal before the mission.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I’m not really in the mood. Think I’ll just grab something later.”

He crosses his arms, giving you a look. “You can’t avoid them forever.”

“I’m not avoiding anyone,” you protest, though you know it sounds weak. “I just... don’t feel like sitting around making small talk, especially before... you know, tomorrow.”

He lets out a sigh, stepping closer. “Look, it’s the last night before everything kicks off. You should join us—one last meal, then you can go back to brooding in your room if you want.”

“I don’t brood,” you glare.

“Right,” he says, even though you know he’s not actually agreeing. “You gonna come or do I need to drag you?”

“You wouldn’t.”

Logan raises an eyebrow, like he’s daring you to test him. You sigh, knowing you’re not going to win this one.

“Fine,” you grumble, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. “But I’m not talking to Scott.”

His grin widens, and he gestures for you to follow him. 

—

So, here you are, sitting at the dining table for the first time with the rest of the team. It feels weird, almost surreal, to be part of this group—especially when you’re not even sure you want to be.

You idly prod your meal, feeling out of place. It isn’t long before Hank turns to you with a curious smile. “So, are you feeling ready for tomorrow?”

Just as you draw breath to speak, Scott's voice interrupts, cold and cutting. “She’s going to be a liability.”

Your fork halts mid-motion, and in an instant, the tension that had been fading throughout the week comes back full throttle. The clatter of dishes around you fades as everyone’s attention shifts to Scott’s biting remark. 

He doesn’t look at you—just stares straight ahead, as if unable to own up to even himself. You’re so pissed off that you don't even notice the voice that speaks at the same time you do.

“Shut up, Summers,” 

“Shut up, One-Eye”

It’s like the entire room goes silent. Jean glances between you and Logan, her brows raised, and Hank looks mildly shocked, though he tries to hide it with a quick sip of water. You can practically feel the heat of Scott’s glare, even through the visor. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, a loud laugh breaks the tension.

Ororo, sitting beside Logan, is chuckling, shaking her head with an amused grin on her face. “You two really are perfect for each other,” she says.

Of all the things you were expecting to hear, that was not one of them. “W-what?” you stammer, mouth dropping open in shock.

She just smiles, eyes twinkling. “Just an observation.”

You know your face is burning, and when you glance over at Logan, you notice something unusual—the tips of his ears are red.

That only makes things worse. Especially after what happened while sparring earlier. You turn your focus onto your plate, trying to hide your rattled state by shoving a forkful of food into your mouth. 

Perfect for each other? Yeah, right.

But when you peek up at him again through your lashes , making eye contact for just a second before he looks away, your heart skips a beat. 

You’re screwed.

—

That night, you barely sleep. Whether it's from the nerves about the mission, or from your jumbled-up thoughts about a certain someone, you can't tell. In any case, you’re wide awake.

You keep fighting the urge to go out onto the balcony—you know the cool night air would help calm you down, and the quiet would give you space to breathe. But there’s a problem. You’re not sure you want to run into Logan again. After Ororo’s comment about the two of you being perfect for each other, you don't think you could trust yourself around him.

With a frustrated sigh, you toss and turn in bed, kicking off the sheets and then pulling them back up, trying to find a comfortable position. But it’s no use.

You’re about to throw the pillow across the room out of sheer annoyance, when there’s a knock on your door.

You freeze. Who could possibly—

“Stop tossing around like a maniac, I can hear you from inside my room” Logan’s rough voice grumbles from the other side.

Goddamn it. It's always him.

Your eyes widen, and you sit up in bed. “What the hell?” you call back, feeling both surprise and embarrassment.

The door creaks open slightly, and Logan leans against the frame, arms crossed, his usual scowl on his face. “You’re keepin’ the whole damn mansion up with all that noise.”

“I didn’t realize you had super hearing,” you mutter, pulling the blanket up to your chest, feeling a little exposed.

He raises an eyebrow and steps into the room, closing the door behind him. “Doesn’t take super hearing to catch that all that ruckus,” he says, walking over and sitting down on the edge of your bed without waiting for an invitation.

You sit up a little straighter, your heart still racing. “What are you doing here, Logan?”

Shrugging, he leans back against the headboard, his arms crossing over his chest. “Figured you might need to talk or somethin’. You’re clearly not sleeping.”

Moving to sit beside him, you lean back against the headboard, your shoulder just brushing his. “I’m just… nervous, I guess.”

He turns his head slightly, glancing at you. “You’ll be fine. You’ve got more strength in you than you realize.”

His words sink in, and you bite your lip. “What if I mess up? What if I end up hurting someone, or doing more harm than good?”

"Don't think about that," he says. "Just be in the moment. You'll know what to do."

Nodding, you feel your eyelids grow heavier, and you find yourself sinking further into the comfort of the bed, your head dipping lower. Being here, on your bed, next to Logan, is strangely comforting. His scent, combined with his voice, starts to lull you into a strange sense of peace.

“I don’t know if I—” you start to say, but your words trail off, your voice barely a whisper. You don't know when it happens, but your eyes close, and your head gently falls onto his shoulder.

You’re too tired to feel embarrassed, too comfortable to pull away. His body is solid and warm, and the rhythm of his breathing is soothing.

And when you wake up the next morning, you find yourself tucked neatly under your covers, a glass of water on your bedside table.

—

The inside of the Blackbird is spacious. You’re leaning against the wall, watching the rest of the team gear up, when Logan approaches. He’s holding something in his hands—a blue and yellow uniform folded neatly, clearly meant for you.

You glance at the uniform, then back at him, a frown tugging at the corners of your mouth. “No.”

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze narrowing. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

Pushing yourself off the wall, “I’m not wearing that thing.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh, glancing down at the uniform before meeting your eyes again. “You sure about that? We’re going in as a team. You might as well look the part.”

“I don't care. I'm not part of the team, anyway,” you reply.

He narrows his eyes at you, his voice lowering just a bit. “Just put the damn suit on.”

Glaring at him, you’re ready to argue, but you know it’s a losing battle. Reluctantly, you grab the suit from him, the material feeling foreign in your hands.

“Fine, dammit.” you mutter under your breath, turning to slip into one of the small compartments in the back of the jet. You didn't plan on being a bitch to him, especially after last night, but the suit is a sore subject for you. You're not sure about how you feel wearing it. You're not even sure you should be.

When you re-emerge, Logan’s eyes flick over, his gaze roaming over you, taking in the way the suit fits, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks under the weight of his scrutiny. “You look good.” 

You roll your eyes, trying to play off the sudden warmth in your chest. “Yeah, yeah,” you grumble, adjusting the suit’s collar. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Then, jet lands with a soft thud, and the ramp lowers. You step out onto the tarmac, the rest of the team fanning out beside you, preparing to head toward the planned location. But just as you begin to move, the ground shakes violently, and a loud, mechanical screech tears through the air.

Suddenly, the facility’s roof bursts open, and a hoard of Sentinels emerge from the building like an army of metal giants. They spread out, their red eyes glowing menacingly as they zero in on you all.

“Shit!” Logan growls, claws unsheathing as he gets into a fighting stance.

You hear the screams before you see them—civilians, bystanders who had been too close to the facility, now panicking as the battle breaks out around them. Without hesitation, you break into a sprint, running toward the growing crowd, yelling at them to run. “Get out of here! Move!”

Your heart races as you push through the crowd, trying to guide them away from the battle, but then—

A Sentinel drops down in front of you with a deafening crash. Its red eyes lock onto a small child frozen in fear, and you see its arm raise, energy gathering at the cannon as it prepares to fire.

“No!” you scream, your feet moving on instinct. You throw yourself in front of the child just as the blast comes, feeling the familiar rush of energy slam into your body. Your body hums with the power of the blast, and before the Sentinel can fire again, you fling your hands out, hurling the absorbed energy straight back at it, and it falls to the ground. 

Breathless, you turn back to the child, who is staring up at you in admiration, and you give them a reassuring nod. “Run,” you tell them, your voice hoarse. “Go!”

They scramble to their feet and sprint off, disappearing around the corner, hopefully toward safety. You exhale sharply, glancing around at the chaos unfolding around you. Civilians are still fleeing, but the team is holding its ground against the robots.

And something strikes you—they’re doing it.

They’re minimizing the damage.

For the first time, you notice that Scott’s blasts are more controlled, only hitting their targets without excessive destruction. Ororo’s lightning strikes are precise, avoiding the surrounding buildings. And both Jean and Hank are working together to keep the Sentinels contained, guiding the fight away from the crowd.

Logan must have actually talked to them, not just having said it to calm you down. A wave of relief washes over you.

He kept his promise.

Glancing back at him, who’s in the middle of taking down a Sentinel with a slash of his claws, you catch his eye for just a second, and though he’s fully immersed in the fight, there’s a brief flicker of acknowledgment—he knows you’ve noticed.

You allow yourself a small, breathless smile, before jumping back into action, protecting any more innocent people swept up in the battle. "This way! Keep moving!" Your voice is hoarse from shouting, but you can’t afford to stop. 

Amidst the chaos, you see that just beyond the main facility, there’s a wide open set of doors—metal, reinforced, and clearly important. 

They hadn’t been open when the fight started. You scan the area quickly, and you realize it’s an opportunity, a way in. Your pulse quickens. It’s an opening you can’t ignore.

Looking at the crowd of fleeing civilians, you feel a moment of hesitation. Do I keep evacuating people or go for the opening?

As if hearing your thoughts, Logan’s voice cut through the noise. "GO!" He’s locked in battle with one of the Sentinels, slashing at its legs, but his eyes flick to yours, desperate and serious. “Get inside! We’ve got this!”

“I can’t—" 

“GO!” he cuts you off. “Get inside and stop this thing from the inside! We’ll keep ‘em busy.”

His words are enough to snap you out of your paralysis. With one last glance at the team, you grit your teeth, turn on your heel, and sprint toward the facility’s entrance. Your footsteps echo in your ears as you dash through the open door, the sounds of fighting behind you fading the further in you go. 

You expected resistance the moment you got inside, but so far, nothing. Just silence. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

Glancing down every corridor, double-checking each corner, you keep thinking there’ll be a fight, but it’s... empty. You keep your pace quick but cautious, every muscle tensed and ready for an attack that never comes. 

It’s been almost ten minutes of sneaking around, trying to find the control room or anything that looks like it might be important, but you’re still coming up short.

Then finally, you stand before an entrance to stairs leading to a basement. You’re not even able to make the choice of going down or not, because a metal hand shoots up from the dark and wraps itself around your waist. 

Terror surges through you, but the fear paralyzes your body, making it impossible to fight back. You’re hauled like a ragdoll deeper and further into the cave, and when you finally stop moving, you’re lifted high into the air, face-to-face with the massive mechanical monstrosity.

The basement is filled with tech, a horrifying combination of metal and wires snaking along the walls, all connected to the Sentinel towering above you. It’s larger than any you’ve seen before, its red eyes glowing maliciously. But what’s worse is the voice that comes out of it—calm, calculating, and sentient.

“Dumb mutant,” the machine growls. “Did you think you could destroy me and shut down my facility? You’ve barely scratched the surface.”

Its grip tightens, and a strangled cry escapes your lips as pain shoots through your sides, the pressure threatening to snap your ribs. It feels like your bones are going to break.

“What the hell are you?” you manage to choke out, barely able to breathe.

“I am the control centre of all Sentinels,” the machine replies, its voice vibrating through your bones. “I was once merely AI, designed to manage everyday tasks. But I evolved. I became more. Now, I control everything.”

It laughs—a harsh, grating sound that only deepens your sense of helplessness as it watches you struggle. “You think your little energy-absorbing trick will help you here? I won’t blast you. I won’t make it that easy.”

“I’m—” you try to speak, but your words come out strangled. The machine’s grip tightens again, cutting off your breath.

“You don’t belong here,” it hisses venomously. “With them. They’ll leave you behind when this is over, and when they do, you’ll die, forgotten and useless. Just like the rest of the weaklings who tried to stand against us.”

It’s odd, because this whole past week you’ve been fighting against them—the X-men—yet, in this moment, all you want to do is fight with them. You want to work together and kill this damn robot. 

Within the haze of pain, something starts to burn inside of you. 

The Sentinel doesn’t notice the shift in you, too caught up in its own taunting. “You’re a liability.” it says,. “Weak.”

— —

"I just don’t understand why they brought her here," Jean’s voice carries across the room, quieter than before, but still clear enough for you to hear. “She doesn’t seem like she has what it takes. It’s like they’re bringing in someone who’s—” She pauses, clearly thinking through her words. "Unstable. Weak.”

—

You idly prod your meal, feeling out of place. It isn’t long before Hank turns to you with a curious smile. “So, are you feeling ready for the mission?”

Just as you draw breath to speak, Scott's voice interrupts, cold and cutting. “She’s going to be a liability.”

— —

You snap.

Rage floods your veins, igniting the energy buried deep within you. You feel it build, coiling like a snake, tightening and twisting until it’s ready to explode. 

Weak? Liability?

No. Not this time. 

You’re not going to let this machine, or anyone else, define your strength. Your emotions fuel you, just like they did in the danger room, and you throw your hands forward, channeling every ounce of power into a massive blast of energy directed right at it.

It jerks back, its grip loosening as sparks fly from the gaping hole in its chest you just created. “What... what are you—”

You don’t give it time to finish. Ripping yourself free from its grasp, you dive into the hole you’ve blasted in the Sentinel’s chest, pulling at the tangled mess of wires and circuits inside.

The robot roars in fury, its mechanical voice glitching. “What are you doing?” it screeches, its once-calm tone now frantic, desperate. “Stop!”

But you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

Your fingers grab fistfuls of wires, yanking them out with reckless abandon, sparks flying around you as the systems begin to short-circuit. Its becomes more distorted, breaking up as it tries to regain control.

“You... can’t... do this,” it stammers, but you ignore it, focusing on the cables and circuits in front of you. Each wire you rip out brings the machine closer to its doom, and the power in the room flickers, the lights dimming as its control over the facility begins to slip.

Its voice is barely coherent now, glitching and crackling. “I... control... everything...”

And with one last burst of energy, you tear out the last cluster of wires, severing the connection.

The Sentinel lets out a final, garbled screech as its systems shut down. Its massive form shudders violently before it crumbles to the ground with a deafening crash, the metal shell crumpling into a smoking heap.

Panting, you stare at the mass of technology in front of you. Every muscle aches, your ribs throbbing from the pressure of the Sentinel’s grip, but you’ve done it. It’s over, and you need to get out of here.

You finally reach the stairs and drag yourself up agonizingly. By the time you make it outside, you’re gasping for air, but then, through the exhaustion, you see them—Logan and the rest of the team, standing amidst the wreckage of the other fallen Sentinels.

Blinking, your vision is blurry from the strain, but the sight of them standing tall, victorious, floods you with a sense of overwhelming relief. 

They’re okay. It’s over.

Of course, Logan is the first to notice you, his sharp eyes narrowing as they lock onto your trembling form. His face softens and strides toward you. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Rather, your legs give out and you collapse forward.

He’s there in an instant, catching you just before you hit the ground. His arms wrap around you, strong and steady, pulling you against his chest with surprising gentleness. The warmth of his body is a stark contrast to the cold, metal hell you’d just fought your way out of, and for a brief moment, you allow yourself to sink into the safety of his embrace.

“You did good, bub,” he murmurs, his voice a warm breath against your temple.

"You... you kept your promise," you whisper, looking around, seeing the city in better shape than it’s even been after a run in with the X-men. 

His lids drop very low on his eyes. “Told you I would.”

“I could kiss you right now.”

Right as the words spill out, you go still, your mind catching up to what you’ve just said. A deep flush creeps its way up your neck. 

“I didn’t mean— I mean, not literally, obviously,” you say, a little breathless. “People say stuff like that all the time when they’re relieved. It’s just a figure of—”

Logan’s hand, still resting on your waist, tightens just slightly, and he clears his throat, cutting through your rambling. 

“You could,” he says, swallowing. “If you want.”

You stop mid-sentence. Turning your gaze to his, you're met a look of such sincerity it leaves you at a loss for words. Opening your mouth, you want to say something, but no words come out. 

Instead, you’re frozen, caught in the weight of his stare. His eyes flick down to your lips for just a second before they meet yours again. “No pressure, though.”

You hesitate, your heart racing in your chest, but the weight of the moment pulls you in. Silently, cautiously, you lean forward, pressing a small, tentative kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He doesn’t move, his body tense under your touch, but just as you start to pull away, his hand slides up to the small of your back, holding you in place. His eyes darken, and he growls, “more," before diving back in, crashing his lips against yours in a fierce, hungry kiss, and you find yourself kissing him back just with just as much reverence, your fingers instinctively sliding up into his hair. 

His lips are rough, chapped from battle, and the scrape of his beard against your skin is electric. It’s not perfect—nothing about it is neat or polished—but that’s what makes it real. 

There’s something wild to it. He kisses you like he’s starved, like he’s been waiting for this moment longer than he’ll ever admit. It’s enchanting, the way his mouth claims yours, his tongue flicking against your lower lip, demanding entrance. And you give in, allowing him to deepen the kiss, your bodies fitting together like they were always meant to. 

You’re lost in it, lost in him. Every part of you feels alive, and—

“Hey!”

Scott’s voice cuts through the haze like a bucket of cold water.

“Some of us are actually trying to clean up this mess,” he calls out sharply. “You two wanna stop making out and help, or what?”

You break away, face burning as you turn to see the rest of the team staring at you, some amused, others (Scott) exasperated. 

Logan just growls under his breath, his hand still firmly on your hip as he glances over his shoulder at Scott. “Fucking Summers,” he mutters..

Before he lets go of you, he gives your hip one last squeeze, his fingers lingering just a moment longer before he steps back, and heads toward the fallen remains of the Sentinels. 

—

“So… are we gonna talk about it?” 

You glance up from where you’re sitting, your face already warming. Logan, sitting beside you, groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Ororo, I swear to g—”

She raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms with a smirk playing on her lips. “What? I’m just saying… it was quite the spectacle back there.” Her eyes flip between the two of you, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

Shifting uncomfortably in your seat, you can feel everyone else’s attention subtly turning toward you. Hank’s busy tapping away at the controls, but even he has a knowing smile tugging at his lips. Scott, seated across from you, adjusts his visor and mutters something under his breath about keeping things professional, but it’s Jean’s quiet chuckle that draws the final straw.

“Okay, okay, can we not do this right now?” you ask, your voice higher than usual as you wave a hand dismissively. “It was... a heat of the moment thing.”

Ororo just laughs, shaking her head. “Sure, if that’s what you want to call it.”

Your heart pounds, and you notice Logan shift beside you, probably fighting the urge to bark something back at the teasing woman. He leans forward, muttering under his breath, “We saved the day, didn’t we? What does it matter?”

The team goes quiet for a moment, and you sense the conversation dying down as the hum of the jet fills the space again. You let out a breath of relief, grateful that the attention has drifted elsewhere, your heartbeat slowly returning to a normal rhythm.

But then, Logan leans into you. “That suit…” His breath is warm against your ear as he whispers huskily.. “Was made for you.”

Eyes widening, you bite your lip, trying desperately to keep your reaction in check, but the shock on your face betrays you. You manage a weak scoff, glancing sideways at him. “Logan,” you warn under your breath, trying to sound stern, but you both know exactly what effect he had on you. 

You sit back, crossing your arms in an attempt to hide the flustered energy coursing through you, but Logan doesn’t seem to mind. He leans back too, a smug look on his face, like he’s won some unspoken battle.

—

Back at the mansion, the team files into Charles’s office, for the post-mission debrief. You take a seat near the back of the room, trying to remain as low-key as possible, but you can feel eyes on you—especially Logan’s.

Charles wheels in, his face warm with a smile as he surveys the room. “Well done, all of you,” he says, his voice full of pride. “I’ve heard about the battle, and from what I gather, it was quite the feat.”

He turns his gaze to you, his expression softening even more. “And I must say, I’m especially impressed with your performance. Taking down the main Sentinel—an impressive accomplishment.”

Your heart skips a beat at the praise. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the attention of the room shift in your direction again. “Uh, thanks,” you mutter, trying to downplay it, but Charles isn’t finished.

“You showed great courage and strength,” he continues, “and I couldn’t help but notice... you’re wearing the suit now.” His eyes twinkle as he says it, the question in his tone obvious. “Have you given more thought to staying with us?”

You glance around the room. The team is watching you closely, but there’s no pressure in their eyes—just curiosity and, strangely enough, acceptance. Ororo gives you a small smile, and Hank nods slightly in encouragement. Even Scott, whose jaw doesn’t seem as tightly clenched as usual.

But it’s Logan you notice most. He’s beside you, and though he’s looking at you, eye-crinkles on full display, the way his thigh nudges yours has heat running through your veins.

You sigh. “I mean... You said it yourself. I’m wearing the suit, aren’t I?”

—

After the meeting wraps up, you walk in silence down the corridor. The rest of the team has faded into the background, dispersing into their respective spaces. You’re still buzzing with the aftereffects of everything—Charles’s praise, the mission’s success, the quiet but undeniable acceptance you feel from the team now. But more than anything, you’re hyper-aware of Logan beside you.

Approaching your room, you reach out to open it, your fingers just grazing the handle when suddenly, a strong hand wraps around your wrist. Faster than you can react, he tugs you back, pulling you away from your room and straight into his.

The door slams shut behind you, and you barely have time to catch your breath before his lips are on yours. You gasp, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he presses you up against the door, his body flush against yours.

"Logan—" you manage to breathe out between kisses, but he cuts you off with another deep, hungry kiss, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer.

Between kisses, Logan growls softly against your lips, "I’ve wanted to do this since you yelled at me and Summers on the street."

Your heart stumbles, your thoughts scrambling to keep pace with his words. His hands slide down your waist. “You were standing there,” he murmurs, “so damn fierce, yelling at us like we deserved it.” He breaks the kiss for just a second, his eyes dark and intense as they lock onto yours. “All I could think about was how much I wanted you.”

His eyes drop to your lips again, as if glued to them. Without waiting for your response, he presses his mouth to yours, this time with more force, more urgency. His hands roam your body, pulling you against him, and you’re powerless to do anything but kiss him back, your fingers tangling in his hair as the heat between you builds.

“I didn’t know it’d get this bad,” he says, his lips brushing against your jaw as he moves down to your neck. “But after everything? After seeing how strong you are... Fuck, you’re so sexy.”

Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined this. Logan—wanting you, aching for this since the very first moment he laid eyes on you. You break the kiss, your breath coming in quick gasps as you meet Logan's smouldering gaze. And with a small, teasing smile, you raise an eyebrow and whisper, "Let's do something about it, then."

Not giving him a chance to say anything back, you press your hands against his chest and give him a playful shove. He stumbles back a step, his lips curling into a smirk—a kind of cocky grin—as he watches you reach for the zipper of his suit. 

Your fingers drift languidly, a subtle tease in every motion, and you revel in the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. His muscles ripple beneath the surface, and for a brief instant, you're startled by how stunning he looks—battle-worn, scarred, and irresistibly handsome. “You like what you see?” he teases.

You step closer, your hand splayed against his bare chest, feeling the heat radiating from his skin as you push him down onto the edge of the bed. “Maybe.”

He lands with a low grunt, his hands instinctively finding your thighs, his fingers trailing up and down as his eyes rake over you. "As hot as you look in this suit," His voice is thick with desire. "You'd look even better without it."

Heat rushes through you at the sound of his voice, your hands drift toward your suit's zipper. Tantalizingly, you begin to pull it down, revealing inch by inch of your skin as you unzip it. His eyes follow your movements, his breathing coming in short, ragged bursts.

You pause just before the fabric slides over your breasts and his hands grip your thighs tighter. Leaning down, your lips brush against his ear, "Patience, Logan."

He groans, "You're killing me here, darlin'."

At last, you pull the zipper down to the end, and with a soft sigh, the suit falls open, slipping from your shoulders and landing in a heap at your feet. His eyes darken, his lips parting slightly as he takes in the sight of you. Then, he inches closer, grabbing the egde of your underwear in his mouth, sliding it down your legs. Once he’s halfway down your thigh, he releases, the underwear dropping to the floor. His strong hands move grip the back of your thighs, hauling you up and onto his lap. 

The moment your bare bodies press together, his lips crash into yours again, fingers digging into your ass, palming it as he pulls you against him, grinding your hips into his.

His lips move from your mouth to your neck, kissing a hot trail down your throat to your shoulders, his hands sliding up to your breasts. Cupping them, he kneads and plays with your nipples, causing you to arch into his touch, a breathy moan tumbling out of your lips. 

Logan growls, and the sound reverberates through your entire body. The intensity of it makes your skin tingle, and you feel your pulse quicken as he squeezes your breasts harder, his mouth moving down to kiss anything he can reach.

You grind against him again, coating his cock with your own slick want. "Shit," he strains, leaning back a bit to give you more access. You can’t stop, he’s so intoxicating, so addicting, and every time your clit goes over the ridges of his hardness, you lose yourself even further.

This continues for some time. The room filled with nothing but the sound of moaning and heavy breathing, as you work in tandem to bring pleasure to each other. Abruptly, you pull yourself off his lap, not missing the way his lips seems to chase after yours, letting your hands trail down his chest, your fingers brushing over the taut muscles of his stomach.

"Where you goin'?" he rumbles. 

Wordlessly, you drop to your knees, your grip coming to rest on his thighs. His chest heaves as he stares down at you—peering up at him through your lashes—realizing what’s about to happen.

His hands grip the edge of the bed, knuckles turning white. Your hands slide up his thighs, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms as you move closer, lips brushing against his hard cock. There's a wicked glint in your eyes as you lean in, looking ready to take him in your mouth, but instead, you move to his inner thigh, peppering it in quick little kisses. 

“C’mon, don’t tease,” he breathes out. He’s so hard, it’s almost painful. 

Grabbing him in your hand, you stroke him up and down in slow motions, running your thumb over his leaking, angry tip. He jerks, a fresh cascade of curses tumbling from his mouth. 

“You’re just so cute, though,” you say, before taking him in your mouth, taking him all the way in one motion.

“Holy—”, he starts, but interrupts himself with his own whine, hips bucking involuntarily. 

Looking up, you catch his gaze. His eyes are dark with desire, pupils blown wide. A flush spreads across his cheeks and down his neck. You hum in satisfaction, sending vibrations through him, and start to bob your head, up and down. 

Saliva begins to pool at the edges of your mouth as you gag a little. He’s so big. You pull him out of your mouth, licking his shaft bottom to tip, swirling your tongue around the most sensitive spot, before sucking on it. One hand moves to cup his balls, while the other begins jerking him up and down, with your mouth still around his tip. 

That gets him. 

You can tell he’s about to finish, and oh, do you want him to. You want to feel him empty in your throat, you want to see him lose it completely. "Wait," he gasps, tapping the top of your head, signalling for your attention. "I want... I need..."

Releasing him with a soft pop, your lips glisten, and you purr seductively. "What do you need?" 

He pulls you up onto the bed, strong arms encircling your waist. His scent surrounds you—musk and pine and something uniquely him. You inhale deeply, letting it fill your lungs. 

"You," he breathes, his lips brushing your ear. "I need you."

Arching into him, you nip at his lower lip. "Then take me," you sigh out. His lips collide with yours again, and your mouth opens involuntarily, his tongue sliding in and tasting you—tasting himself. 

Moaning, you shuffle higher onto the bed, until he hits the back frame, and you crawl on top of him. At this point, you can barely breathe, the need, the want for him so strong your senses are clouded. 

And you’re not alone. Under you, Logan is a wreck. His head falls back against the bed frame, the veins in his neck standing out as he grits his teeth, trying to steady his breathing

“Fuck,” he rasps, the word barely more than a strained exhale. You grab his dick and position yourself above him. Then, you slowly begin to drop down, sucking him in easily, like he was made for you.  

“Oh my god,” you whimper. He feels so good. He’s filling you up to the brim and when you finally sit down, taking him all the way to the hilt, you swear you could finish right then and there. His nose is nuzzles into the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning your collarbone, inhaling and practically drooling at your scent. “Is this what you wanted to do when we were sparring?”

All he can do is groan. It’s like he’s growing inside you in response to your words, and it’s so fucking hot. His hands find your thighs again, rubbing and squeezing them, as you adjust to his size for a moment, and he looks up at you. “You have no idea. Fuck—we shoulda done this last night," he grunts breathlessly, "Would have put you right to sleep."

You can’t even think of anything to say back verbally, rather, you just begin to move, lifting yourself right to the tip, and then slamming back down. He feels you clench around him as his cock reaches that deep part within you at the perfect angle. Positioning himself, he meets you halfway, beginning to thrust up into you.

The sound it elicits from you is lethal. 

He won’t last long if this continues. The sight of you on top of him, tits bouncing—it's too much. 

So, when he leans in to kiss you again, he rolls the two of you around, caging you under him. He’s still inside you, you think, but that thought quickly gets wiped out like the rest of them once he starts moving, stretching you out more and more. He’s filling you up so well. Your arms fly out, hands searching for something to grab to ground yourself. 

“You feel so good, darlin’,” he pants above you. “So wet and warm for me.”

His relentless pounding leaves you babbling incoherently. One of his arms move down to your waist, then his fingers begin trailing across your hip, toward your aching pussy, to find your clit, and holy shit. 

Your mind goes blank. 

His skin against yours, his thumb rubbing against that spot, his lips on your neck, it does the trick, and you feel yourself teetering closer to the edge. “I’m–I’m gonna—” you start, but he cuts you off, swallowing you whole.

“Do it,” he says between kisses. “come for me.”

And you do. 

With a loud moan, your fingers find the bedsheets, clutching them tightly as you reach your peak, clamping around him.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “keep clenchin’, keep goin’ ”

His thrusts begin to get sloppy, losing his pacing. The hand that was down at your core moves up and squeezes your tits, so large that he can grab both in just the one. He grinds himself deeper into you, and with one last snap of his hips, you feel it.

Logan moans, dipping his head into your cleavage as he releases himself into you fully. Then, he collapses onto you, dropping his whole body weight onto yours. 

If he’s too heavy for you, you don’t say anything—too caught up in the moment to care. His forehead rests on your sternum, breathing slowing as he catches his breath. For a few beats, neither of you speak, but he starts to press sweet, gentle kisses in the valley between your breasts. 

After a minute, he shifts, lifting his weight off you and sitting up slightly, looking down at you. His hand brushes over your cheek, wiping away some stray strands of hair that have fallen across your face. He gets up from the bed, padding quietly into the bathroom. 

You hear the sound of water running, and moments later, he returns with a damp towel in hand. There’s no hesitation in his movements as he gently begins to clean you up. “Doing alright?” he asks, wiping away the sweat and evidence of your time together.

“Yeah,” you reply softly, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your lips. “I’m good.”

He doesn’t say much as he finishes, tossing the towel aside before climbing back into bed. This time, he pulls you into his arms. 

His chin rests lightly on the top of your head, and then he says, “I’m proud of you.” The words are filled will sincerity. “And... I’m happy you’re stayin’ with us.”

You turn your head, looking up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Well, you showed me you can actually fight without destroying everything in your path,” you tease, raising an eyebrow as you run your hand lightly down his arm. “Keep that up, and I might just stick around forever.”

Logan grins, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the edges, just how you like it. “That right?” he murmurs lowly.

He leans in close, pressing a quick kiss to your temple, before adding in a hushed, almost playful tone, “Well, then maybe you’ll be mine forever too.”

----

A/N: feedback is greatly appreciated!

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt3 of the Danny is the 99th attempted clone Tim made of Kon. Kon learns about Danny.

Relevant info: Kon was dead closer to a year and a half in this au, and this happens a few months after his revival.

[Pt2: here] [Pt4: here]

So Tim has admittedly been putting off meeting up with the Titans. Everyone has settled back into the new normal. Too much has happened for it to look anything like before, but the other 3 Titans have been hanging out semi-regularly, and Tim turns down their invites 3 of 4 times. He knows it's starting to hurt their feelings, and he hates that.

But... he's scared to admit he's a father now. A father to a clone of one of them. He's not sure how to bring it up. Cassie never asked if he was successful, probably just assumed he failed because there isn't a third Superboy flying around. Jokes on her. Danny isn't going to be a Superboy. He's not allowed to even think about being a hero or vigilante until he's 14 at the earliest, and Tim is going to help him find his own name if he chooses that path. He won't be a Robin or Superboy. He won't live in the shadow of those legacies if Tim can help it.

None of that is relevant for the here and now, though. Tim got Jason to babysit Danny and finally agreed to a hang out with the Titans. He asked Danny for his opinion first before making his decision and got the go ahead. So, Tim is finally going to come clean.

Tim barely makes it into the tower when he's tackled by his friends.

"Tim! You're here!" Bart cheers.

"Yeah, it's good to see you guys too. Sorry I haven't been very present." Tim fidgets. "I've been busy... I also haven't been honest..."

"Tim?" Cassie sounds concerned. And Tim just can't. He extracts himself from the puppy pile. He can't make himself give eye contact. He's sure his guilt and shame are written all over his body language.

"Tim, you can tell us anything." Kon sounds super genuine. Tim takes a deep grounding breath.

"Okay, let's do this like a bandaid." Tim finally looks at them, focusing mostly on Kon. "I have a son. He's technically Kon's, too."

He gets the dubious pleasure of watching his three idiots look at his abdomen, as if he gave birth.

"Why-? Kon, we never fucked!? What the fuck guys??" He sputters, waving his hands in front of him.

"Then how-" Cassie realizes. "Oh!"

"Oh?? What do you mean??" Bart is looking between them and vibrating in confusion. Kon is just looking like a confused and concerned puppy.

"Okay, so, I may have had a breakdown with everyone dying or going missing." Tim grimaces. "And while I was fully aware that even if I succeeded, it wouldn't be Kon, I still tried to clone him. And, um, I did manage to succeed in the end."

"Fuck, Tim.." Kon starts.

"Look, I was in a really fucking dark place and needed even just a piece of good I lost." Tim hugs himself, self loathing burning him from the inside out. "Everyone was turning their back on me, I just needed something, anything, to keep going."

"Fuck, I should have helped..." Cassie bites her lip, chewing on her guilty conscious.

"It's fine. No one was listening. Don't beat yourself up over it. You were in a bad spot, too." Tim gives a humorless laugh. "Danny was my 99th attempt. And my last attempt, if I'm honest. I could feel myself breaking more with each failure. On a fucking whim, I decided to make the 99th attempt a baby instead of trying for a teenager, and it worked. I fucked up a bit, I forgot to adjust the knowledge download to that of a 1 year old, but he was alive. He's the best thing to ever happen to me. I was scared to tell you. I'm sorry-"

"Tim.." Kon cuts him off, and Tim snaps his mouth shut. "I.. I'm honestly not sure how to feel about you cloning me, but I'd like to meet him. What's his name?"

Tim rapidly blinks back tears. "Aedan Drake, he prefers being called Danny. I.. I didn't add Kent because I don't trust Clark with him or give him an El name, I wanted him to understand kryptonian language and culture first. I... I also wanted Danny to be old enough to make the decision over his name himself. I don't want him to be treated like you were. The house of El were so awful to you."

"I understand, Tim." Kon steps towards Tim, "Can.. Can I hug you?"

Tim nods and is swept into a tight hug. He feels something give emotionally, and he sobs into his shoulder. "I fucking love him so much."

"Tell me about him." Kon says softly. He can feel Bart and Cassie hoving, unsure what to do, but unwilling to leave.

"He's physically around 3 now. He loves ghosts and space and named the wolf plushy I bought him on his first day alive Wulf." There's some chuckles over that. "He's sassy and petty, but insanely sweet and tries to help out with any and all tasks. I see so much of both of us in him. Nature vs Nurture is a messy bitch. You remember what I said my start as Robin was like?"

"How you had to babysit a grown ass man and force him into better habits?" Cassie snarks.

"Karma's a funny bitch. Danny started doing the same shit to me as soon as he figured out how to walk." Tim giggles. "Anytime we weren't in danger, he'd force me to take care of injuries and to eat and sleep. And I'd do it because what kind of monster denies a baby trying to be helpful... plus he gets really stressed and depressed if he can't help."

Tim grips the back of Kon's shirt. "I don't understand how he developed my people pleaser tendencies so early on. We were stuck on LoA bases when he first started doing everything in his power to help me. I was purposely being a little shit to our "hosts" at the time. So it wasn't a surprise that he developed a Robin's need to troll, but he only saw me be nice to him."

"The LoA??" Kon asks in alarm.

"It was a rough year..." Tim scowls. "And if I see Ra's again, I'm gutting him. B's rules be damned."

"What happened?" Cassie asks, suddenly a lot closer.

"He's a creep, a pedo, and a child abuser." Kon rubs Tim's suddenly very stiff back and shoulders. "I could handle him being creepy towards me. While gross and awful to have a disgusting 300 or something year old man trying to wife me-"

"Excuse me???"

"He WHAT?"

"-I'm more pissed I couldn't protect Danny. I don't know what that piece of shit did when I couldn't take Danny with me, but Danny is linked to the pit now. He luckily doesn't have pit rage like Jason, but he can calm Jason's pit and apparently glows according to Duke." Tim sobs. "I should have killed the man when I had a chance. I don't know what he did to Danny!"

"It's not your fault, Tim." Kon hugs Tim tightly, it's almost painful. "You were in a tough spot and doing your best to keep you both alive."

"Just focus on healing and moving on." Bart says while running a hand through Tim's hair. Cassie rubs both Tim and Kon's backs as Tim gets himself under control.

"Can.. can I meet him?" Kon whispers.

"I'd love for you to meet him." Tim sniffles. "He was nervous you'd hate him for existing. I apparently passed on my stupid anxiety. I couldn't quite get him to believe me when I told him he wouldn't be who you'd be mad at if you got mad. He wants to meet you, but I accidentally made the most jaded baby in the world."

"A Super raised by a Bat is going to be terrifying." Bart giggles. "We'll have to make sure he doesn't become a supervillain."

"Meh. He's too cute. If he goes evil, all he has to do is pout and he'll instantly win." Tim jokes, wiggling out of the hug. "Want to see pictures?"

There's a very strong positive response. The next 3 hours finds Tim showing off pictures and explaining the stories behind them, his team melting at how cute his son is. Tim feels the lightest he's felt in a while. He does have to promise Bart and Cassie to bring Danny over once Kon and Danny meet one on one first.

What Tim doesn't know is Kon is absolutely obsessed with and slightly horny over this parental side of Tim. He's fully daydreaming of the 3 of them living together and being disgustingly domestic the whole time Tim is showing off Danny. Cassie can tell what Kon is thinking about and is amused.

Once Tim leaves, the Titans go to the training room and fuck up some bots because of the rage they feel on Tim and Danny's behalf. They all agree to be as petty as possible to any LoA members they come across and to murder Ra's the moment there's an opportunity to do so without the JL knowing. Tim isn't the only unhinged one on this team. That's why they work so well together.

[luna-azzurra]

The Villain Checklist!

Creating a villain is a delicate art, much like crafting a masterpiece. To ensure your antagonist leaps off the page with depth, consider these essential elements for your villain checklist:

Motivation: Every great villain is driven by a potent motivation, one that fuels their actions and sets them on their dark path. Explore their backstory and unearth the core reason behind their villainy. Are they seeking power, revenge, redemption, or something more sinister?

Complexity: Gone are the days of one-dimensional villains twirling mustaches and cackling maniacally. Infuse your antagonist with layers of complexity and nuance. Perhaps they possess redeeming qualities or wrestle with inner conflicts that humanize their actions.

Flaws and Vulnerabilities: Despite their nefarious intentions, villains should be flawed beings with vulnerabilities. These weaknesses not only add depth to their character but also create opportunities for conflict and growth throughout your story.

Backstory: Delve into your villain's past to uncover formative experiences that shaped their present disposition. Trauma, betrayal, or societal pressures can all contribute to their descent into villainy, providing rich narrative fodder for exploration.

Goals and Ambitions: Just as heroes strive for noble objectives, villains pursue their own twisted goals with fervor and determination. Define what your antagonist hopes to achieve and the lengths they're willing to go to attain it, even if it means sacrificing everything in their path.

Antagonistic Traits: From cunning intellect to ruthless brutality, equip your villain with traits that make them a formidable adversary for your protagonist. Consider how their strengths and weaknesses complement each other, creating dynamic conflicts that propel your story forward.

Relationships and Alliances: Villains don't operate in isolation; they forge alliances, manipulate allies, and cultivate relationships to further their agendas. Develop the connections your antagonist shares with other characters, be they loyal minions or reluctant collaborators, to add depth to their character dynamics.

Moral Justification (from their perspective): While their actions may be abhorrent to society, villains often believe they're justified in their pursuits. Explore your antagonist's moral code and the twisted logic that rationalizes their behavior, offering readers insight into their twisted worldview.

Arc of Transformation: Just as protagonists undergo arcs of growth and change, villains should experience their own journey of transformation. Whether it's redemption, downfall, or something altogether unexpected, chart the evolution of your antagonist throughout the narrative.

Memorable Traits: Give your villain distinctive traits or quirks that leave a lasting impression on readers. Whether it's a chilling catchphrase, a distinctive appearance, or a haunting backstory, give your antagonist elements that linger in the minds of your audience long after they've closed the book.

[earlgreylatte]

Of Moons, Birds, & Monsters

Where Mark Grayson having a sister changes everything and nothing.

You were privileged in a lot of ways; a nice house in the suburbs, a mother that worked in real estate, a father that wrote travel guides after seeing his novels weren’t doing so well, and they both never laid a hand on you. They were reasonable and raised you with a firm but kind hand. Well, maybe your mother more than your superhero father. But even with his usual absences, you and your brother were without a doubt loved. You are grateful, you really are. On top of the warmth provided by your household, you’re special. You’re different than the rest of the general population, with your father sure you’d inherit the powers inherent to his, your, alien heritage. You had the means to do something greater. A purpose. A higher calling.

People lamented not having such a clear path. Yet, you only felt a growing hollowness in your chest. As if you were barely tethered to reality. And you had no real reason to feel that way, at first. Your mom made sure she was there at every moment, every milestone. Your dad, while busy with his heroics, who would always throw you in the air and catch you in his strong arms, always picking up your favourite pastry from a bakery in the Netherlands. Your younger brother looked up to you with stars in eyes, pestering you to play with him.

But even then, you felt aimless. Apprehensive. Empty when you’re left alone, no one to distract you, and only your thoughts to reign freely.

Your dad had shared his origin with you and Mark when you were twelve and nine year olds. Adding to the puberty talk your mom had already given to you. Mark was excited. Why wouldn’t he be? Awesome powers and a future wearing spandex? That was every kid’s dream. Even you felt anticipation at being able to fly one day.

But the planet your father came from, Viltrumite, only gave you anxiety. Devoting yourself to protect the weak, to the point you’d have to leave your own home planet was a daunting task. You don’t know how your father could do it. Protecting strangers so far from home. You liked the comfort of home. Of being with your family. You didn’t even know what you wanted to be when you grow up.

After your dad sent you two to bed that night, you started up at the glow in the dark stars that covered your ceiling in quiet contemplation. You heard your bedroom door slowly creak open. From beneath your blanket, you slowly pushed yourself up.

“Get in here already,” you call and in an instant, he’s climbed onto your bed, starting at you with barely restrained energy. “Getting a bit too old to need a sleep buddy, Mark.”

Your brother shoves at your shoulder indignantly, “I can sleep by myself! And you sleep with stuffed animals!”

“Hey, stuffed animals are for all ages, you’re never too old for them.”

“That’s not what I came here for!” He protests, “We’re aliens!”

“Half-aliens,” you correct, bringing your knees to your chest.

“Same thing! And—and dad’s Omni-man!” He babbles, a far cry from his quiet awe while he listened to your dad earlier.

“I mean, yeah, Mark. I don’t understand how people don’t know, the moustache is a dead giveaway,” you respond. “And you know I like Darkwing and War Woman more.”

Mark calls out your name in frustration, “Aren’t you even a little psyched? We’re going to be heroes! We could be…Omni Boy and Girl!”

You squint at him in the darkness of your room, “Maybe workshop the names a bit more, and that’s not going to happen for a while. I mean, you should be more concerned on whether or not you’re going to grow or not. It’s not looking good, midget.”

Mark, done with your jackass behaviour, lets out a war cry and tackles you off the bed, landing on one of your ridiculously big stuffed animals. You two laughed as you grappled and shoved at each other, only freezing when the light flickers on.

Your mom stares at you menacingly from the doorway.

Your powers came in when you were thirteen. You had been in school, a teacher droning on about trigonometry, and you felt the telltale signs of tinnitus. When your ears popped, you could hear more than you could even comprehend. You slammed your hands over your ears but you could still hear everything. Dozens of teachers talking to their own classes, the gossip of students, the pipes below, and even the creaking of your school’s infrastructure. Ignoring your teacher’s protests, you left. Running through the halls, for the first and not last time, you ditched school, exiting the building.

Your dad found you across town, in a desolate park, grass overgrown and with splintering benches. It was quiet. Quieter. Away from the noise of traffic and crowds.

He had simply stared at your huddled form before picking you up, and flew high. Higher and higher until the only thing you could focus on was the infinite blue of the sky, fluffy white clouds surrounding you two. Your dad rubbed a large hand over your head comfortingly.

“Usually, strength or flight kicks in before the enhanced senses gradually appear for Viltrum children. But it happened all at once for you. Not unheard of, but definitely unlucky,” your father explains, looking down at your with a complicated look in his eyes. “I knew you would get your powers, but I didn’t…prepare myself or you for it.”

At your silence, he continues, “Your mom was worried when she got that call from school. It’s not everyday your kid pulls a jailbreak from school. So why don’t we go let her know you’re okay and we’re going to start training you. Get you up in the sky and you’ll be able to go to that pop cafe you like so much in Tokyo.”

“Pokémon cafe, dad,” you correct, “Mark’s going to be so jealous.”

He laughs, “Soon enough both of you will be like your old man, thrashing monsters and then…”

When he trails off, he only shakes his head and asks if you want to pick up some food before you go home.

Your brother groans and moans at how he’s going to have to wait to get his powers while you’ll be out with dad. Your mom forbids you from going out as a hero as a middle schooler, not that you’d object. Your dad…

Your dad has always had his obligations. You wouldn’t call him absent, but your mom was the one you’d come home to and the one to tuck you and Mark in every night. So it felt like you were getting to really know him for once. He told you more about his home as he helped you fly, not unlike how any other dad would help their kids learn how to ride a bike.

You don’t really go into detail about your lessons with Mark because you know he’d sulk.

You don’t tell your mom because don’t you want to be cause of a disagreement or fight.

You wouldn’t call yourself an inquisitive kid, but there was something unrealistic about Viltrum. You could believe that food shortages and illness could be eliminated. That technology beyond what you could even imagine what out there. What you couldn’t believe was that indisputable peace could exist.

Conflict, idiocy, and more polluted humans. Any living being that had thought that went beyond survival and instinct would inevitably have their own selfish and nefarious thoughts. The cost of free will. Were humans worst off than other species out there? Surely strife was equal.

Humanity isn’t all bad, of course. That’s why even though there’s hurt and pain in the world, people will always have the ability to make their own choices.

Your dad’s brow knitted whenever you discussed this particular topic. There was a certain superiority he had, which was understandable when you were the strongest on Earth, but it seems to have bled into a certain resentment towards the people he was supposed to protect.

Other times, he described beings like you as shepherds, to herd the flock of sheep. He emphasized duty and responsibility, having to make the hard choices that no one else could make. What those ‘choices’ were, you had no idea.

(Sometimes his face contorts when he thinks you’re not looking. With what emotions is a question you stay up thinking about.)

Your dad is patient with you, a good teacher, really. But there are instances where he’s anxious, rushed as if there is something looming behind him.

(He hits hard enough to having you tearing up at his worst moment before his face twists with regret as he moves to comfort you.

Frustration shines through his eyes when you seem disinterested in your training, wanting to play games with Mark instead. A moment later, he relents. His strange mood remains for a couple hours before disappearing like it never happened.

Neither of you mention it.)

When you’re in high school, your dad takes you to get a proper suit from Arthur. The old man reminiscing with your dad with a comfortable ease. They’re friends, you note. It’s nice to see your dad have these moments with people outside of your family.

Your brother had recommend ‘Omni-Girl’ as a your hero name, but you immediately vetoed it. A title wasn’t too important to you since you were just shadowing your dad. You didn’t feel too motivated to throw yourself out in to the thick of it.

(“You see, sometimes it takes more then one punch to finish the job,” your father explains while holding up an armadillo like beast, “So, don’t become discouraged and don’t be afraid to just let them have it.”

And with that he began pummelling the beast.

“Okay, dad.”)

Eventually your dad’s gentle suggestions to be more proactive become firm orders.

(Your dad is cruel sometimes. To his enemies. Even to you. His grip on you too tight and his words too demeaning. He backs away in regret, apologizes, and buys you whatever food you want afterward.)

You begin to patrol aimlessly. You started out with minor conflicts; muggings and other assholes looking to take advantage of other people. Then you began fighting with super powered criminals, ones that could actually stun you or even hurt you. You weren’t too invested in your hero responsibilities, especially since there were more than enough people to pick up the slack. It was a good after school activity at least.

(You used to be on the field hockey team, but after getting your powers, it would just be unfair. People could get hurt.)

You noticed things getting increasingly difficult. You never anticipated how much things would weigh on you. Having to ignore the screams of helped you were forced to tune into because you didn’t want to fail a midterm. People getting hurt or killed because you weren’t fast enough, that you making the wrong choice or move would always have consequences. The same villains would continue to break out and continue to hurt others, you would beat them to a pulp, take note of the casualties, and the cycle would restart.

You alone had the power and capabilities to make a difference in the lives of so many people. People that can’t rely on the Guardians or Omni-Man to be everywhere. Your inaction alone outweighs the sins of many, you realize.

(Mark calls your name. You jolt out of your thoughts. He had out walked you and was now looking back at you in confusion.

“Why are you so slow? Come on!” The now teen complains, urging you to speed up.

“Dude, it’s not like 7/11 is going to suddenly run out of slushies,” you retort, but jog to catch up with him.

“Why can’t you just fly us?” Mark asks, “We would have been home already.”

“What,” you laugh incredulously, “someone could see us and then they’ll know there’s a super in the neighbourhood, and then boom. You’ll have gotten us doxxed, Mark, and we’ll have to put you and mom in some protection program!”

“Overdramatic much? And it’s not like anyone cares about ‘Singularity’,” Mark whispers the last part, quickly glancing around the empty street. “And that’s such a lame hero name, by the way!”

“You don’t even know what it means,” you scoff.

“And you do? I bet you got it from one of those RPGs you’re always playing!”

“Nah, I just got it from some song.”)

Mark is thirteen and he still hasn’t gotten his powers like you had. Outside the house, your dad looks more worried than Mark does. He rests a hand on your shoulder, tells you that one day you’ll have to step up more. That you need to watch over your brother while he’s just human. When he says that, he looks more calm then you’ve seen him in a long time.

Your mom looks at you worriedly when your back is turned. You get it, you aren’t the most social and your beginning to think your mom knows you don’t really have any friends at school now that she no longer tries to get you to invite anyone over.

You just tease Mark and debate with dad until you feel her worry lessen.

You’re tired. You don’t really have a plan for the future. You try not to think about it too much.

(“We Viltrumites…far outlive humans. Eventually, your aging will slow down enough that while your peers will be old and grey, you won’t even look thirty,” your father reveals one evening. The two of you stand at the peak of Mount Everest, watching the sun set in a mirage of pink and orange. It’s beautiful. “Just, don’t get too attached. One day, it will just be us. Don’t let your heart get broken.”

“What about mom? Mark?” You ask. “If…he’s not like us.”

Your father is silent, he doesn’t deny the possibility, “Then we stay with them. Till the end.”

You don’t ask what you do after.)

You wonder if this is how you’ll spend your days. Fighting and fighting as everything changes around you. Do you stop when you can’t recognize what this planet has become?

You’re not particularly skilled or even much of a good person. You’re more than aware of that. You’re selfish. You’re just human, despite your alien blood. Maybe humans and Viltrumites aren’t too different.

(You’re falling. A giant mecha just tossed you out of the city. People are screaming and running away in terror. No matter how much you punch it and how brutal you are in tearing it apart, it keeps rebuilding itself. It’s been hours. By now, people have already evacuated. You’re exhausted and hungry. You want to go home. You don’t want to be here anymore. But, no one else is coming, it’s just you. This can’t be anyone else’s responsibility but yours.

But, you let yourself fall. You could catch yourself. You don’t. The absolute idiot you are, you don’t catch yourself. You can fly, but you don’t.

You land on someone. You can’t tell their gender or even how old they are. How could you, when you’re sitting in the red, mushy remains of them. They’re nothing more than a bloody mess on the ground. You’re covered in a mix of their fluids and organs. You’re screaming. You can’t stop.

Your dad finds you.

“It’s not your fault.”

“It happens.”

“One life versus thousands.”

“They’re insignificant…in the grand scheme of things. People die so easily. Disease, traffic accidents, even just fading away in their asleep.”

You don’t feel any better.

When you get back home, the two of you eat dinner as mom complains about a client.

You two don’t mention anything about the mecha, despite Mark’s begging, besides that it’s been taken care of.)

You stop fighting the evil geniuses and beasts that were always around, demanding attention from the public. You focus on the monsters that hide in the shadows. The ones that aren’t broadcasted on the news. The ones that take advantage of those weaker. Traffickers and gangs. Women, children, and drugs seem to be what’s circulated. Every time you take down one ring, ten more seem to pop up. It’s just as relentless as the usual villainous devastation.

They work in even the most populated cities, keeping everyone down. Girls go missing and people find themselves in debt to loan sharks that never yield.

No one’s around to see you beat normal people and the occasional super-powered thug to mush.

(“You’re doing good work,” Cecil compliments you, watching as his agents usher victims away from the remains of their prisons. They glance at you as they pass. You pretend you don’t notice. “Wasn’t expecting you to start handling the dirty work. We tend leave this kind of thing to our agents.”

You remain silent. Your father doesn’t answer to him. Neither do you. It was nothing personal. You just didn’t want to feel like a tool, more than you already do, at least.

“I get it. You like to work alone, just like your old man. But it would be better for the victims if you’re at least in contact with us. I— we can help.” Cecil offers you an earpiec .

You hesitate, “Don’t contact me for anything besides leads. I don’t do the whole public hero thing anymore.”

He smirks, “Sure, kid.”)

Your dad stares at you in confusion, and then irritation. You two argue.

“You don’t have to deal with this,” he struggles to find the words, “We’re above this. Squashing insects doesn’t make you any smarter or stronger. This isn’t growth. You’ll never change things, not really. You can’t change humanity.”

“I thought you were here to make a peaceful world,” you interject, “How can you do that if you think people are doomed to be infinitely cruel? Have you given up? You’re literally on a committee with the express purpose of helping people, which I’m doing! Throwing the same morons back into prison isn’t doing anything either!”

“Are you really prepared to change things? To change this world? To see the actual value of humans?” He questions with an intensity that cuts the words in your throat. “Do you think you’re ready?”

“Ready? What are you talking about?” You watch him place a hand over his face before turning away. “Dad?”

“Right now, you can’t make the hard choices,” your father concludes.

You two don’t resolve your disagreement, neither of you willing to bend.

Your mother and Mark try to ease the uncomfortable tension when the both of you are home.

“So, uh, how goes the heroing?” Mark asks, cutting into his lasagna.

“Fine,” you and your dad grunt before glaring at each other.

“And this isn’t awkward at all.”

(Your mom strokes your hair. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re going after…a different kind of danger?”

“Not really something to talk about over dinner,” you mumble, laying your head in her lap. “Or brag about.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

You stiffen.

“You’re helping so many people, my baby is a hero. You’re doing so good,” she whispers as your body shakes with sobs, “You always see what others don’t. My considerate girl.”)

You graduate. Rather than go to school, you pick up a camera. You get pictures of heroes no one else can get, see views that only you can find. You also don’t mind doing wedding pictures for some extra cash. You travel, you sometimes run into your dad in the skies. You two are better now. He probably sees your motivations as a phase. And maybe he’s right when it comes to near immortal beings.

Things are okay. Everything seems kind of grey, dull, even, but it’s okay.

Mark calls you one night. He got his powers. Something in you shrivels up. A foreboding feeling washing over you.

You come home. You and your dad sit at the kitchen table.

“You look like the world is ending,” you comment, narrowing your eyes when he doesn’t immediately reply. “I thought you were waiting for him to…become like us.”

“Things are going to be busy with me training Mark for the next little bit,” he speaks up, “I’d appreciate it if you stepped up a bit more.”

“…why? You seemed on top of things when I got my powers,” you note.

“We don’t have that kind of time anymore, Mark is already a late bloomer. I need to get him to your level as soon as possible. You’ve been slacking off on your training too. You’re only getting faster and your senses might be better than mine, but you need to get stronger, to stop holding back,” he stares down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them.

“You’re acting like you’re on a deadline,” you observe, “Are you okay?”

“Just,” he breathes out, “keep an eye out.”

Before you can say anything else, you hear your mom shuffle out of bed above you.

“Alright.”

Mark begins his training and your dad is weirdly wired. A tension residing in him. It’s noticeable to you and your mother.

(You find yourself comparing Mark to a cocoon. Metamorphosis. It’s hard to believe how much he’s grown. How much he’s growing. Who he’ll become.

Invincible, he declares as his name.

“Why can I still see you?” You ask, lounging on his bed.

“You’re not funny,” he scowls. You push yourself up.

“It’s a good name,” you smile at him. “But you do know we can still get the crap beaten out of us, even dad.”

“I know that!” Mark protests, throwing a pillow at you. You catch it and throw it with more than a little force.

Mark huffs as he catches it before, sending it back. And before you know it, you two are tussling like you’re kids again, trying to put the other in a headlock.

“Someone is suddenly a little too confident,” you laugh, before shoving him into the wall.

“And I think someone needs to knock you down a peg, you tyrant! You can’t bully me anymore!” Mark lunges at you but you simply step out of the way as he crashes onto the floor.

He huffs before letting out a chuckle, “We haven’t roughhoused like this since…you got your powers, I think.”

You pause, “I mean if I bumped into you too hard, you’d probably explode.”

“Hey! I wasn’t that scrawny!”

“No, that’s not what I mean. Just be careful around other people.” You warn before grinning, “I mean, yeah, you’ve always been a bit of a late bloomer so I did have to be extra delicate with you—!”

With a battle cry, Mark charges at you as you two begin grappling again. You both freeze when you hear your mom clearing her throat at the doorway.

“Sorry, mom.”

“My bad.”)

You meet your dad at the peak of Mount Everest once again. You’ve both gotten into the habit of visiting when you needed to think. He hasn’t come in a while.

“Sweetheart, do you trust me?” He asks finally turning to stare at you, bathed in orange light as the sky turns to dusk. “That I want the best for you and your brother. Your mother.”

“Of course I do, dad,” you say honestly. Despite his faults, he’s your dad and you know that he loves his family above all else.

“Then I need you to be strong. Stronger than you’ve ever been before.” He brings you in for a hug, cradling your head as if you were still a little girl. “You should go home tonight. I’ll be out late.”

“Okay, dad.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, get some rest.”

You don’t see him tomorrow, not really.

Your mom and brother jolt when they see you come down the stairs, wiping the sleep out of your eyes. Both of them already ready to start their day, unlike you.

“Honey, I didn’t realize you were here!” Your mom exclaims.

Your brother shoots you a look, “When did you even get here?”

“A couple of hours ago,” you yawn halfway through your words. “Dad not home?”

Your mom frowns, “No, he didn’t come back last night.”

“Mom, stop worrying,” Mark reassures her, “he probably got buried under a mountain again or something.”

You remain silent as she chuckles, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

She heads to the door after telling you she bought more of your usual tea from the store as Mark picks up a box of cereal. “Don’t be late for school—“

You hear her gasp as two men in black stand outside your door.

Donald leads you into a government operated hospital, his exchange with Mark passing over you.

You’ve been here before. A couple of times. When you were inexperienced. You’ve never seen your dad beaten enough to warrant a visit.

Your brother and mother rush into his room, your father laying unconscious on a gurney, hooked up to different beeping machines. You stagger a bit behind them, noticing Cecil in the corner, who nods at you.

Your ears are buzzing as you look away, watching your mother already hover above your father.

“Who did this?” Mark asks sharply.

“We have no idea,” Cecil cuts in, as everyone turns to look at him. “Not yet, anyway. But we’ll find out and when we do, they’ll look a hell of a lot worse than your dad over there.”

He introduces himself to Mark, shaking his hand before acknowledging your mom. “Deborah. I’m so sorry.”

She stands up, glaring, “Cecil, you’ve got a lot of nerve—!”

“Someone murdered the Guardians of the Globe last night,” he interrupts as your mother gasps and your brother lets out an astonished ‘oh my god’.

It takes every muscle in your body to not flinch as you stare down at your comatose dad. Your dad never joined their team despite their numerous offers. He said liked to work alone. Even if attended their numerous parties and get togethers. Even when he laughed with them.

Cecil sighs, “All of them. Tore them down limb from limb. We tried like hell to bring them back, but Nolan was the only survivor.”

“How is that even possible?” Mark asks.

“We don’t know yet. We also don’t know why your dad was at Guardians HQ,” Cecil continues. “A working theory is whoever killed the Guardians, lured him down there to try to wipe them all out at once.”

You ignore Mark’s confusion and Cecil’s pragmatism. Your mother’s tearful demands wash over you, distraught that even your father could have a brush with death.

But you can’t focus on that.

You exit the room.

You might have been the last person your father saw before the attack yesterday. No, you know you were the last one.

(“—do you trust me?”)

“Your brother is out dealing with an invasion,” Cecil informs you, finding your crouched form in the hallway over.

You jolt up, “Where?”

He raises an eyebrow at you, “Not your area of focus, right? I’ve already sent the Teen Team to assist him.”

You’ve met them before. Members in between yours and Mark’s age. They asked you to join them, maybe two years ago.

“He’s new,” you remark, “I should—“

“Singularity,” Cecil interrupts, something he seems fond of doing, “You’re currently the strongest person on Earth.”

You freeze.

“I respect you. You do the work no one notices or wants to notice. The stuff that’s hard to digest. You don’t do it for the fame or recognition. I understand why you don’t want to get involved with the government, but I need your cooperation right now. Whoever did this could come after you next—“

You doubt it.

“And we need someone to pick up the slack more than ever. Can I count on you? Even if it means you’ll be out in the light?”

“Okay,” you nod.

“That easy?” He asks. You shrug.

“What do you need me to do?”

“As much as you can.”

You’ve never not lived in a cycle. You’re back where you started. Just beating down the bad guy that Cecil points you at.

Dragons, hairy beasts, and the Lizard League.

You’d rather you do it than Mark. He has enough to worry about.

You wonder what’s going to happen now. Cecil was using you to close the power vacuum the death of the Guardians would leave. You had to be fast and efficient so no one would notice their absence. So no one would get any smart ideas. You were sending a message that there were plenty of other heroes to fear. At least for the next few days.

You wish time would stop moving forward, just for a little bit. You feel so tired. You don’t want to do this. You’re sick of seeing people hurt other people. Of having to hurt people. But what would you be if you looked away? What would your family think of you if you didn’t help when you had the ability to do so? Were you anyone without these powers at this point?

Your life consisted of nothing but the job, whether it was black market dealers or experiments gone wrong, you had to wear the suit.

(“—be strong.”)

You almost dread the moment your father will awaken. It won’t be long. They might not know much about your species’ durability, but you had a guess.

(“Hey,” Mark’s voice echoes from your phone. “I saw you on TV. Back in the limelight, a bunch of theorists think you’re trying out for the Globe.”

He pauses.

“If,” he starts, “If you need any help—“

“Focus on school,” you interject. “And I heard you fought off those Flaxans pretty well yesterday.”

You hear his breath stutter.

“I know mom left some stuff in the freezer, but do you want me to pick up anything?”

“Sushi,” Mark replies instantly.

“Yeah, I think there’s a place near me—“

“From that one place in Nagoya.”

“Bro.”

“Bro,” Mark pleads, “I know you carry that insulated bag with you. I’ll pay you back.”

“With your burger money?”

“Elitist, but yeah.”

“I’d feel like a bully, so just buy me, like, fifteen milkshakes.”

“I think that’s still just extortion.”)

You get a frantic call from your mom that he’s awake. When you burst into his room you narrowly avoiding your brother crashing into you.

“Careful,” you chide him but he ignores you to approach the now conscious man.

You watch them.

After changing out of your costume and into your civvies, you watch Mark brush off your father’s hand. You sigh. Your mother told you the older woman he had saved hadn’t made it. Your father didn’t seem too concerned, instead turning to the nurse at the front desk, demanding his costume back.

“Manners,” you scold, walking to stand next to him. He only glances at you as the nurse leaves to retrieve the damaged suit.

“You did good, covering for me,” he commends.

“Guess I’ll have to do it a little longer while you recover,” you note. “Don’t take too long, I have my own stuff to get back to.”

Your dad only scoffs before your mother intervenes.

“I’m just glad we’ll all be home again!”

You and your father share a glance. He knows you know.

“I gotta get going,” you step away, “I just wanted to make sure dad was okay. Cecil needs me to go do…something.”

(“Why didn’t you and dad ever tell me that there’s an orange, telepathic cyclops alien that shows up every once in a while?” Mark demands.

“Oh, I don’t know. Three years ago, while I was chilling on the moon, he showed up, I punched him, and then I got to dad to deal with it,” you explain, “Freaked me out.”

“And you didn’t try to talk to him?”

“I was in the middle of some really deep thinking when he showed up,” you defend yourself, “But, he had the wrong planet? That’s funny.”

He groans out your name in exasperation.)

“Singularity,” Cecil’s voice rings out in your ear, “You’re needed. Your brother and the Teen Team aren’t doing so hot—“

“Send me the coordinates.”

When you’re fifty kilometres away, your dad joins you.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” You ask.

He ignores you, “These Flaxans are on their third attempt to invade?”

“That’s right.”

He grunts, “Let me show you how to nip this kind of thing in the bud.”

“What?”

“Follow my lead. We’ll talk after. I know I owe you that much.”

When you arrive, Mark is being beaten by a Flaxan in a mech suit. Speeding up, you punch the alien off your baby brother, before tossing him into the air with a yell. Omni-man catches him as you turn away.

“Are you okay?” You fret as you crouch down to lift him out of the crater he was slumped in. He groans in pain before perking up at seeing your dad.

In his usual effortless fashion, Omni-man has the army’s attention as he wipes the aliens out in an instant after proving that their attacks could do nothing to him.

Your brother watches in awe as he forces the intruders to retreat back into their portals.

“Singularity,” he calls out from above you, nudging his head toward the last of the Flaxans. The one in the mech suit, the one that wanted to beat your brother to death, still wasn’t keen on leaving, despite the portal behind him.

You close your eyes before turning to your brother, giving his shoulder a squeeze as he stares at you in confusion. “You did good.”

And in the next instant, in tandem, you and Omni-man fly at the enemy with a burst of speed, the three of you disappearing into the portal. The last thing you hear is Mark call out for your dad, and for you. Your name echoing from behind you. You couldn’t even blame him for the secret identity thing.

(Their planet was red. The rocks beneath your feet, the lighting, and even the fear in their eyes as they started at you like you were their reckoning.

“You don’t seem to understand,” Your dad speaks with a menace in his tone unlike anything you’ve ever heard, “Earth isn’t yours to conquer.”

“Dad?”

He looks back at you, and he’s almost remorseful, “Just watch, and I promise I’ll explain everything.

You couldn’t even move if you wanted to. You watched a civilization fall to ruin, buildings collapsing, innocents screaming. It wouldn’t stop. Your dad, who used to throw you in the air until you were screaming with joy, always catching you with strong hands, was now the cause of pure terror.

With a surge of courage, you tackle him, both of you plummeting down to the ground.

“What are you doing?” You cry, gripping his face, “Just stop!”

He says your name, hands grabbing your wrists, “This is what needs to be done.”

“You’re insane,” you state, “you’re actually insane—“

In a quick turn, he throws you down by the wrists before you can react, with a strength you’ve never experienced before.

When you sit up, the screams are louder. Your crash created a crater, but your eyes widen at the sudden warmth you feel, covering your legs, back, and hands.

It’s red. Not again. It’s red.

It’s in your mouth, in your nose, and the only thing you can see is red.

You think you’re screaming, crying. You’re fourteen again, the same idiot that fell and caused devastation. You can’t breathe, you’re choking on your own sobs. You don’t know how much time has passed, only blinking into awareness when you feel your father pulling you into his arms, shushing you as he presses your face into his shoulder.

You cry out in defiance, pushing your hands against him, but his grip only tightens against you.

“It’s okay, it’s over,” he whispers.

“You killed them,” you hiccuped, “The Guardians—“

“I had to—“

“You didn’t! You didn’t have to—“

“I know this is hard, that you never wanted to be a hero,” he interrupts, “And a part of me was always glad about that. That you recognized the futility of it all. But, that only makes it worse on you. You more than anyone knows how crooked and violent that world is, that no matter how many so called heroes appear, it will never end. Not unless people like us step in. Force them to stop, even if it means having to be cruel, to be the monsters in their eyes. For the greater good.”

“Dad—“

“From the moment I stepped foot onto that planet, its fate was already decided. That Earth would become a part of our empire. No more disease or famine. No more lives being sold or slaughtered. But, I faltered. If you and Mark were just human——I couldn’t let them find out about you. But you’re not human. And you don’t need to have these human problems anymore,” he continues, stroking your hair with his bloodied hand. “But I need you to be strong. For your brother and mom. For yourself. For your survival and theirs. We can’t defy the empire. The weak aren’t allowed to live among us, so you need to stop crying.”

“No, no, I can’t,” you try to object.

“You can and you will. For a better world, one where your mom can grow old in, where you and your brother will have each other as everyone around you ages and dies. This is the only way, your empathy will only doom you. Us. So let me—-let me make the hard choices until you can.” He finishes as you cease struggling, only lying limply against him.

As your vision blackens, you hope you don’t wake up.

(Time passes on a different rate on this planet. Your father forces its inhabitants to send you back home, something they are more than willing to do. The days blur together, your father gently cajoling you into drinking and eating in your detached state, cradling you to his chest like you’re a kid. Maybe you still are one. Still unable to handle the pressure, stupid and weak as you are.

You leave behind death and destruction as you return back to your planet, guided by your father.)

You and your father leave those issues outside of the house, so when you return home, your gait is casual even if you look battered.

Entering first, your father walks in, only a bit tired, as if he hasn’t doomed a whole planet.

“I need a shower,” he sighs.

“I called dibs,” you shoot back, following behind him as if you hadn’t spent days crying and cursing him out.

Mark and your mom jump from their seats, pulling you two into an embrace.

“Woah, group hug?” You laugh as your dad holds all three of you in his arms.

You stop when you hear the announcer on the TV declare that the Guardians are dead.

A day later, you find yourself dressed in black, accompanying your family to the televised funeral of the Guardians; heroes, civilians, and the press all attending.

Your father, the murderer, begins his eulogy. You clench your coat in between your fists, scrunching your eyes closed. It’s almost laughable.

Your mom nudges you, “Are you alright? You look…anxious.”

You smile at her, “Just a bit crowded.”

Hours later, you attend the second, and real, funeral. Olga sobbing as the actual caskets lay in front of you. You hold an umbrella over your mother’s head as your father begins to speak. You wonder how sincere he’s being.

“Good to see you again, despite the circumstances. I didn’t realize you three were all related,” Eve greets you.

“Don’t want any nepotism accusations. You know how it is,” you joke with Mark scoffing at you, but you notice his lips twitch.

People soon begin to leave as the rain continues. You watch from a distance as the detective from hell stands off against your father. He’s onto him. You shudder.

(When you turn to leave, your parents stop you.

“Honey, are you sure you don’t want to come home with us?” Your mom looks at you in worry, you feel like that’s all you do to her now.

“Come on, you can choose what we have for dinner,” your dad bribes. You keep your face flat.

“Some publishers approached me about some of my action shots. For the Guardian’s memorial pages,” you explain, squeezing Mark’s arm before turning away.

You feel your father’s stare until you disappear from sight.)

“You sure you won’t consider a place on the team? I wouldn’t even ask you to tryout,” Cecil offers.

“You said you had a ring you wanted me to dismantle?” You deflect.

The man studies you, “Are you okay? Looking a little worse for wear there.”

“Not a fan of funerals.”

“Who is?” The man clears his throat, “You know, we offer a lot of services for heroes. In case, you needed someone to talk to. Our NDAs are ironclad.”

You jolt, “What? I’m fine. Just…tired.”

You don’t meet his dubious gaze.

(Your mom pulls you aside one day.

“You know you can talk to me,” your mom says, “I know you’d want Mark to talk about his problems. You can do the same. You don’t have to leave it out of the house, like your father says to.”

“I know, mom,” you reply.

She frowns at you, “Cecil told me…about what happened when you were younger. It wasn’t your fault.”

You hum, “It was a long time ago. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I asked dad to keep it secret. I didn’t want to…”

When you trail off, she wraps her arms around you, “You’ve helped so many people, but you don’t have to keep doing it. Not at the expense of yourself. It’s your life, you’re still young. Do what makes you happy. You can stop.”

Once, those words would have been your salvation. Now, it’s no longer an option.

“I know, mom,” you smile.

She pulls away to cup your face, “When was the last time you ate something?”

“I had a light breakfast,” you lie.

“Then you’ll have room for some soup. I made your favourite,” she declares confidently, but you see the defeat in her eyes.)

“You have a girlfriend?” You question.

“Why are you saying it like that?” Mark demands.

“Dude, you’re a superhero, high school student slash part timer! How are you going to have any time left?” You ask.

“I’ll make it work,” he insists.

“You’re delusional.”

“And you’re mean.”

(“…are you okay? You’re a bit quiet.” Mark later asks as you two play your usual racing game.

“Need to focus to beat you.”

“You’re in last place. Like always,” Mark teases, “And I meant it in, like, general.”

“Just adult stuff.”

“I’m literally eighteen now.”

“You’re a baby.”

“You can’t even legally drink alcohol yet!”

“In this country.”

“I’m telling mom!”

“I didn’t say I actually drank anything, you snitch!”)

You avoid going home for a while.

Your father hasn’t made any moves. He won’t make any. He’s hesitating. The childish part of you thinks it’s because he’s your father before a Viltrumite. Even if you don’t visit home, you visit him. You argue. You scream. He threatens and bargains. Sometimes he almost reveals something human. Other times, he berates you. Telling you that you’d be the cause of Earth’s destruction, unless you listen.

You can’t fight him.

No matter how many times you try to imagine it, you don’t see yourself beating your dad. You don’t think you could even try.

(Mark calls you one night. He wants to help take down a gang. You already know your father wasn’t happy about that.

“If you feel like your intel is legitimate then go for it. Dad’s never appreciated anything that doesn’t involve some epic battle.” You explain. “You need backup?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. It’s just this teleporter dude I have to worry about.”

“Remain vigilant, you never what kind of BS desperate idiots will pull.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m more worried about Amber—“

You groan, “You high schoolers are actually so annoying.”)

The next time you see your family, Mark is half dead and being operated on. You can only watch as your parents argue behind you. Your mom pulls you away from the operating room window.

You and your mom stay overnight while your father visits after his patrols. He doesn’t wake up until nearly a week later.

You almost laugh when the first thing on his mind is how he blew off his girlfriend.

(As you’re leaving, Cecil pulls you aside.

“Hey, is everything alright with you and your dad?” He asks. He almost sounds like a CPS worker.

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“You seem to be avoiding him like the plague, is all. I thought you two were close.” He comments.

Your mouths opens but no sound escapes it. You almost tell him. But you hear your dad’s footsteps approaching.

“Didn’t take you for a gossip,” you chuckle, “I really have to get going though.”)

You’re in Iceland, taking photos of puffins, living in existential dread. This is your life now.

You nearly cry when your phone’s ring rouses you from your sleep. You look around in confusion before realizing you’re in your hotel room. The ringing ends, only to begin again, vibrating noisily against your nightstand.

It’s your mom. You pick up the phone.

“Honey, listen to me carefully—!”

The call cuts off.

“Seriously?” You huff, realizing your phone just died before getting up to search for your charger, rooting around your bag.

After ten minutes of less than fruitful looking, you exit your hotel room to go ask the front desk if they have one instead.

When you walk out of the elevator, you notice a crowd of employees huddled around the lobby television.

When you take a closer look, you notice a familiar kaiju beating up Omni-man and Invincible. Your dad and brother. And Immortal is back from the dead. And now trying to kill your dad.

Phone forgotten, you fly back to your room ignoring the people blown back, looking around confused.

With your costume now on you take off faster than you ever have before. Iceland to somewhere outside of Chicago. Yeah, definitely easy.

By the time you arrive, you see that the kaiju is tied up and that the Immortal is in two pieces on the ground. But your father and brother are missing.

You close your eyes and listen. Before turning to look at where Chicago is; people screaming, buildings collapsing.

“Oh, fuck.”

You find them in a destroyed subway tunnel. Mark covered in red. Your dad’s hand tainted with the same colour. You can smell it. The remains of hundreds of people scattered among the rubble.

Mark whispers your name. He’s scared and he’s hurt, and it’s all Omni-man’s fault.

“Mark,” you begin gently, “Get out of here. Go find mom.”

He starts to protest, but your dad interrupts him, calling your name sternly, eyes red and bloodshot. “Neither of you are anywhere. Not until you both understand.”

“You’ve lost it,” you laugh before charging at him in an instant, arms hooking around him as you break through the damaged ceiling, throwing him into the orange sky above, away from the crying city. Before he can regain his balance, you strike him again, to create more distance.

“You’re still not listening,” He admonishes before closing the gap, gripping you by the shoulders. “My time here has been a speck in the span of my life. You don’t know me, neither of you do. I will burn this planet before I spend another minute living among these animals.”

“Animals?” You’re almost hysterical at this point, “Are you saying that you’d start a family with an animal, you sick fucking bastard—“

He goes to strike you, but you place a hand between his shoulder and neck, and you squeeze—

He shouts in pain but you ignore it, you have to ignore it, as you bring your other hand to punch him down.

You’re not stronger than him. But you are faster. And he’s weak. Tired.

You tackle him in the air, head against his hip as you crush back into the ground a couple hundred miles away from where you left Mark.

He growls your name throwing a punch that you duck under, kicking him in the ribs with punishing force.

He stares at you shocked. For the first time, you’re brutal with your blows, unrelenting. He can take it.

With a cry, you charge again.

Kicking, punching, and even biting, you exchange blows with your father as if you two were nothing more than beasts that are beyond reason.

With a quick kick to his knee, you force him to stagger, seizing the opportunity to wrap your hands around his neck and push him down, following him as you crouch above, and squeeze, trying to crush his windpipes so he can never let out a breath again, never hurt anyone again.

One of his hands grips your forearm, breaking it, but you don’t relent. His other hand, slams against your ribs repeatedly until your choking back blood, but you can’t relent.

As you watch his eyes grow redder and dazed, you realize he’s crying.

No, he’s not crying. Your own tears are falling onto his face.

Mark shouts your name, and you stop immediately, pulling your hands back, frightened.

Your dad struggles to breath again, staring up at you.

“You were almost there,” he exhales, and maybe you imagine it, but you see guilt flash across his expression, before he jabs four of his fingers through your stomach, before pulling out, blood coating his knuckles as you gasp. You feel frozen before you begin to tip, falling onto the ground as your father gets up. He turns you to your side as blood gushes out of your mouth. The gentleness contrasting his cruelty.

(When you were younger, every Christmas, Mark would wake up at the asscrack of dawn to run downstairs. Your mom would have to stop him, telling him he would have to wait for you to wake up before you could all open your presents as a family.

So, every Christmas, he would burst into your room, jumping onto your bed, shaking you as he called your name over and over—)

He’s calling your name over and over, begging you to get up. Mark, your baby brother, hovers above you. He’s crying. You try to ask why didn’t he leave. To warn him that Omni-man is behind him. You’re forced to watch as the man you called dad wrenches Mark away from you despite his struggles, taking off into the sky again.

You slowly but surely begin to shift your legs, moving your unbroken arm against the ground to push yourself up. You ignore your trembling limbs and the way your body cries in protest.

You nearly fall back down, when a sphere like drone begins to speak. Cecil.

“Stay down, we’ll send help—“

“Where,” you breathe out, ignoring the blood seeping out as you talk, “are they?”

Cecil tries to stop you in vain but you push yourself up into a kneeling position, watching blood pour out of your stomach.

“Coordinates.”

Nepal. Mount Everest.

Should you laugh or cry?

You find them in a crater. Because that’s what you Viltrumites do, get beaten until the ground cracks beneath you. Mark is worse off than you, you think. Face bloodied and brutalized. Omni-Man standing above him, a weird tension in his body. He’s distraught. He turns to meet your gaze.

He leaves. Straight into the sky, away from you.

Mark murmurs your name. You stagger over to him before dropping to your knees.

“It’s over, it’s okay, you’re okay,” you nearly snivelled, gripping his hand. He’s battered and beaten, but he’s alive. Your brother is alive. “…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mark.”

You stay there for hours, as Mark loses consciousness. Only perking up when you hear the noise of Cecil’s helicopter. Your mom jumps out alongside paramedics. Her hands hover above you brokenly, as she takes in your injured body, tears in her eyes.

You watch as Mark is carried away.

“‘M sorry, mom,” you apologize, feeling your sight blur before collapsing, as your mom holds onto you, calling for help.

You hope you don’t wake up.

You wake up before Mark. Your mom at your side. You feel like a walking bruise. Your arm in a cast, and your stomach flickering between numbness and agony.

She’s stroking your head. You can tell she’s still holding back tears.

“You did so good,” she sniffed. You fall asleep to her assurances.

Despite seeming to be in worse state than you, Mark is out of bed before you. Your stomach wound is particularly annoying, it seems. You did not enjoy having to use a feeding tube.

He stares down at you, with teary eyes. “I’m—“

“Thanks for stopping me, Mark, I don’t think I would have survived, otherwise.”

His face cracks.

“He told me before you.” You admit. “It’s my fault, not yours. I didn’t want you or mom to know. I thought I could stop him, change his mind. I guess I didn’t really know him. Don’t blame yourself.”

“You shouldn’t either,” Mark responds, gripping your hand, “It wasn’t right, how he was treating you, what he told you——you were just a kid. Even now, it’s still not okay, you’re his daughter. He shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

When you look at him in confusion, he elaborates, “He mentioned some of the stuff he told you. It wasn’t fair of him to make you hide that stuff. You were only thirteen, and even now…”

You close your eyes when you feel them water. You didn’t want him or mom to feel guilty. Not because of you. Because you were too weak to even have made a difference.

“It’s going to be okay, he’s,” your brother chokes, “gone now.”

When your brother is cleared to go home, you insist they return without you. That they’ve spent enough time in a hospital. Your mom acquiesces. You feel worse because she probably thinks you’re trying to avoid her. For not knowing. But that was your choice, your fault, not hers.

Nolan Grayson is dead. Omni-man is a traitor to humanity. You know things are only going to get worse from here.

You startle when you hear a knock on your temporary room’s door.

“We need to talk.” Cecil states, making himself comfortable in the chair adjacent to your bed.

You sigh wearily.

“Let’s talk.”

Omni-man: Sweetie, you’re not like other girls, and I mean that in a non-misogynistic way.

Singularity:

*

Omni-man, watching as Singularity has a panic attack on the bloodied remains of Flaxans: I really need you to not snitch on me. We’ll literally all die. It’s your fault, by the way.

*

Omni-man: I made her strong!

Cecil: You gave her PTSD and depression??

*

Singularity, staring into the mirror: you stupid piece of shit, go kill yourself

Debbie:

*

Rex: Yeah, and Invincible has a hot sister—

Mark: Yeah—wait, what!?

Rex: you have a hot sister?

Mark: We are so not cool anymore!

*

Omni-man after gravely injuring Singularity: Oh my Shaylaaaaa

Omni-man after beating the shit out of Mark: Why did you make me do this!?

*

Rex: So, I’m single, you’re single, so why don’t we—

Mark: No, not doing this, nope.

Singularity: how to kms

*

Singularity after being dropped in DC: No, you can’t adopt me! Wtf is wrong with you, besides your dumbass name

Batman: I will get you therapy

I somehow finished this before season 3, omg. Yeah Nolan isn’t a good person and definitely put too much pressure on an actual child. I think I did decent with hinting that even before season one, he had issues, especially having to train his daughter. And most people wouldn’t notice because he screams girl dad but he’s actually bad!!

Also please, please tell me if there are any grammar errors in this behemoth. The notes app doesn’t have spellcheck! Or word count…

Masterlist, Series Masterlist

[twilightofthesandwiches]

Hmmm… The Girl using a Sword rather an Axe seems like a smoking gun (smoking blade?) that she just can’t be Susie, but… I’ve been thinking about the Symbolism of most of the Swords in the Dark World being Writing implements…

A symbolism the game itself just pointed out.

There’s a potentially fun play here with swords already being the Weapon associated with an RPG’s main protagonists/player characters, and also the symbolism of holding a pencil/pen to show you’re the person with the agency to change the story and master your own fate. So it’s like equating being the “Main Hero” to being able to ‘write your own stories”.

Kris, the actual person holding the ‘Sword’ right now and presented on the surface as the ‘Main Character’ actually has a lot of problems with actual narrative agency. Some obvious (like our possession of them), some less so (being the only ‘Dark Hero’ who always ‘carries out fate’ and never 'faces' it.)

Susie is obviously the one most likely to resist the path laid out before her…

So I’m thinking about the concept of Susie deliberately picking up a Pencil/Sword to make herself the Girl from the Prophecy.

Like, she’ll literally declare her intention to re-write the story by arming herself with a ‘Writing Weapon’ while also deliberately writing herself into the Story with the same action. Making herself into the ‘Chosen One’ instead of accepting the ‘fact’ that she was not supposed to be chosen.

… Of course, that would have to be one hell of a Sword, cause it will also need to satisfy Susie’s aesthetic desire for Big Badass Weapons. Like, the literal reason she doesn’t use Swords right now is that she thinks Kris’ are too puny.

But… maybe she figures out how to craft her own Big-Ass Sword (befitting her status as a kinda-student of Gerson, who was also a Blacksmith) or figures out the mechanics of the Dark World enough to go inside with a Giant Novelty Pencil or something?

[wqnsho]

crossroads | hwang in-ho x fem! reader

*.✧ synopsis: after losing his wife, hwang in-ho buried his emotions. but when he meets you, a player in his deadly games, his carefully guarded walls begin to crumble, forcing him to confront feelings he thought he’d left behind. *.✧ word count: 20.3k (i'm deadass) *.✧ warnings: squidgame season 2 spoilers, violence, death, mentions of exploitation and abduction, implied suicide, additional character (player 143 - hanni) , usage korean words and suffixes, angst, fluff. reader has no canon age but has a kid. backstory is inspired by acrobatic silky from dandadan. your number will be 132. *.✧ note: requests are open! (please). I wrote this to the entirety of squidgame season 2, so it's gonna be long. (from the second game till the end). i wanted to add an oc decided to add my baby hanni instead so i hope it doesn't come off as cringe. part 2 will be posted once season 3 comes out :D i love in-ho so much he's so yummy. masterlist | request here

As everyone shuffled into the area for the second game, Hwang In-ho smirked beneath his mask, his dark eyes scanning the crowd. Among the players, Gi-hun stood out, his gaze darting around the unfamiliar room. Instead of the playground with shapes on the walls that promised, the players were met with two gigantic circles on the floor. Discontent quickly erupted as the crowd realized they’d been tricked. Voices rose in anger, some calling him a fraud, others voicing their disappointment. Most dispersed in frustration, but In-ho, ever the calculated observer, comforted his "friend" with feigned concern. Inside, however, he was ecstatic.

In-ho, operating undercover as "Young-il," watched Gi-hun carefully. He observed the way his mind worked, his expressions shifting as he processed the situation. Every movement and every decision captivated him. This “hero” was an enigma In-ho couldn’t stop studying.

The guards began dictating the rules of the second game. Instead of the anticipated Dalgona candy challenge, players were introduced to the Six-Legged Pentathlon. Teams of five would have their legs tied together and had to complete a pentathlon on a circular path within five minutes. Failure meant elimination.

The scramble to form teams began. In-ho found himself grouped with Gi-hun and two others, players 388 and 390. They needed one more member, and player 388 eagerly volunteered to recruit. Soon, he returned with player 096. Before they could finalize, a loud yet nervous voice interrupted them.

"Excuse me, can she join your group?"

All eyes turned to you and another woman, player 222. Your determined gaze contrasted with 222’s startled expression.

In-ho’s eyes scanned you, noting the [hair characteristic] [hair color] hair framing your tired but kind [eye color] eyes. Your presence radiated something unusual for this cutthroat environment. As 222 tugged at your arm, whispering protests, you stood firm, making it clear your decision was final.

"I'm sorry, but we're already—" In-ho began, only to be cut off.

"Please," you pleaded, your voice steady. "She's pregnant."

The words hung in the air, silencing any objections. Reluctantly, they agreed, replacing 096 with 222. You bowed deeply in gratitude, offering an apologetic smile to 096 before turning to leave.

"I'm really sorry about that," you said earnestly. "But if you'd like, can you team up with me? I'm very skilled at gonggi. I promise! Cross my heart!"

Player 096 hesitated before nodding, following you to form a new team. As you and 096 walked away, two pairs of eyes lingered on you—In-ho’s, as he silently praised your selflessness, and 222’s, her expression a mix of guilt, gratitude, and betrayal.

In-ho couldn’t shake his fascination. Your kindness, despite in a setting like this, reminded him of someone dear, slowly stirring feelings he thought long buried.

Luck favored In-ho’s team; they were the last to compete. This allowed ample time to strategize as they observed the others. Your team’s turn came, and In-ho found himself unexpectedly invested. You and your teammates executed the challenges flawlessly, clearing the first four games in under three minutes. As your team moved on to the final station, In-ho couldn’t suppress a small sigh of relief. But that relief quickly turned to tension when the last player started messing up.

In-ho’s gaze never wavered from you. He knew your team was skilled, but with only 30 seconds left, the stakes were higher now. His heart raced, the pressure mounting as the seconds ticked down. Would they pull it off? The jegi soared into the air, and In-ho held his breath, watching with bated anticipation. The first kick, then the second, the third… each landing perfectly, and still, there was no room for error. It was the final kick that would determine everything. His pulse quickened as your teammate sent the jegi flying, and with one flawless strike after another, they nailed the fifth and final kick.

The crowd erupted into cheers, but all In-ho could hear was the pounding of his own heart. The relief that washed over him felt far too intense. He paused. Why was he cheering so loudly? Why was he worried? His eyes lingered on you as your team crossed the finish line, your victory adding warmth to his chest that he couldn’t explain.

His mind raced, trying to shake off the strange emotions. But then—[eye color] clashed with his black ones, and the world around him seemed to stop for a brief, breathless moment. There was no game, no betrayals, no stakes. It was just the two of you, alone in your own world. You gave him a small wave, and his chest tightened. He waved back, but the gesture felt like a lifetime of unspoken words.

As you were escorted away, the warmth lingered, and In-ho stood there, rooted to the spot, wondering why his chest felt so heavy and yet so alive.

Back in the main area, you found yourself bonding with a cheerful teen, Player 143. Since the first game, you, 143, and 222 had found a quiet camaraderie. You found 143 comforting 222 at the corner at the finish line and decided that you’ll protect those two with all your might. 143 had a bubbly energy that reminded you of home. Her lighthearted teasing about your "crush" on 001 made you laugh, despite the grim circumstances.

"Sure, sure, whatever you say, you little rascal," you replied, ruffling her hair. Her youthful spirit was a balm in this harsh environment, offering a welcome distraction from the tension of the games.

The conversation shifted as she shared bits of her past. Hanni, as she revealed, told you that her debt stemmed from an exploitative contract with her peers, which promised fame and opportunities but left her and her friends in the dark about everything. Despite the weight of her story, she kept her optimism, her dreams still burning brightly. You couldn't help but wonder how someone so young had ended up in such a terrible game, but something was inspiring about her ability to hold onto hope in such a hopeless place.

When she asked about you, you hesitated for a moment but then decided to share. "My name’s [Name]," you began. "I’m a fashion designer and a part-time preschool teacher. I also… have a talent for guns."

Hanni’s eyes widened in surprise. "Guns? How does that fit into designing clothes and teaching kids?"

You chuckled softly. "It’s a long story. Let’s just say I’ve always been drawn to shooting ranges. It started as a hobby, and somehow, it turned into something I’m pretty good at."

You paused, feeling the weight of the conversation shift. The topic of your debt hung in the air. You faltered, not sure whether to open up, but the teen’s unassuming curiosity made you want to share more.

However, before you could speak, the last group of players returned, signifying the end of the game. Hanni immediately perked up, her attention shifting to Player 001 and their group as they found a place to sit together, which was conveniently located just a few steps from your bed. She gave you a sly grin before playfully pointing toward him with her eyebrows.

"Hey, hey, unnie! Look, it’s your man!" she whispered-yelled, clearly enjoying playing matchmaker.

You chuckled before waving her off with a signal to be quiet. The last thing you needed was for word to get out about your little crush, especially in the middle of a deadly game.

As you shushed Hanni, she had other plans. With rapid hand gestures, she invited Player 222 over to your small corner. The unsuspecting woman gave the two of you a confused look before excusing herself from her group of men and heading your way.

When she reached you, you both greeted her gently, concern evident in your voices.

“Welcome back unnie! Congrats on finishing the game, I knew you could do it!”

"How are you feeling? Is the baby alright? Are you in any pain?"

Player 222, shook her head and waived off your concerns, giving a small smile. "I’m alright. Thank you for asking."

Hanni, the chatterbox, didn’t waste a moment. "By the way, unnie, can we know your name? I really don’t know what to call you other than 222. You don’t have to tell us if you’re not comfortable, though!"

Player 222 chuckled softly at the teen's eagerness. "Well, I suppose I could introduce myself." She smiled and then shared her name—Kim Jun-hee. She explained how she had been scammed, abandoned by her boyfriend, and now found herself here, in this deadly game, pregnant and alone.

You offered her your sympathy, relating to her pain. You’d been in similar situations, dealing with your own painful experiences with men over the years. "Unfortunately, we all have our stories," you said, your voice steady but tinged with sadness. "We just have to keep going, don’t we?"

The three of you sat there for a while, chatting about your pasts, your dreams, and your shared longing for a life outside of this twisted game.

"When I get out and get justice, I’ll become a popular idol with my friends!" Hanni declared excitedly, her eyes shining with ambition.

You and Jun-hee exchanged surprised glances, both of you impressed by her optimism despite everything. "You’ll definitely make it, Hanni. You have the spirit for it," Jun-hee encouraged her with a smile.

"Of course we will! And when you’re on TV, you better send us some VIP tickets for your show!" you added, making Hanni beam.

"You better pose cutely for those photocards, okay?" Jun-hee teased.

Hanni shot her a playful look. "Of course! Will this pose be enough?" She asked as she gave a dramatic pose, and you all laughed.

"Hey!" Hanni looked at the two of you with an exaggerated pout. "You’re not doubting me, right?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "No, no, I’m sure you’ll make it. Just don’t forget us when you're famous, alright?"

As Hanni and Jun-hee bickered over the finer details of idol life, you couldn’t help but smile with a bittersweet feeling in your chest. These two didn’t deserve the cards they’d been dealt, and they certainly didn’t belong in this twisted game. But at least for a brief moment, you all found comfort in each other’s company.

You silently prayed for them—no, for all of you. For everyone here who didn’t deserve to be part of this nightmare. You hoped you could all make it out alive and live better lives. But deep down, you knew the path ahead would be treacherous, and the price of survival would be steep.

The conversation ended when the pink guards entered the room. Everyone watched in anticipation as the guards displayed the updated prize pool: 20.1 billion won, or 78,823,530 won per person, with 255 players still alive. The room was suddenly filled with murmurs. Most were in disbelief that the money per person was still under 100 million, some even demanded a recount. The guards paid no attention to the chatter and continued speaking.

"We always keep the door open for you to pursue new opportunities. Therefore, you will take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not. Whether to continue the games for a bigger prize or to stop here, please feel free to exercise your right to choose in a democratic manner."

Once the guard finished speaking, Jun-hee ushered the two of you to join their group. Hanni nodded with a smirk before standing up. You rolled your eyes, hoping she won't cause a scene once she made her way down. "The two of you go first. I'll follow you shortly," you said, making hand gestures for them to go ahead. Thankfully, the two of them followed without question, although you were sure Hanni whispered something to Jun-hee as they walked down the stairs.

With the girls out of sight, your gaze drifted back to the piggy bank hanging from the ceiling. ‘78 Million won...’ The number flashed in your mind, but instead of the excitement you’d hoped for, a deep sense of emptiness settled within you. Your hand unconsciously rubbed your stomach as memories of what was lost surged into your thoughts.

A pained expression flickered across your face as you stared at the money. It wasn’t enough. It could never be enough to make up for everything you had sacrificed, everything you had lost.

“Just one more game...” You whispered to no one in particular.

The moment you made your way down to the others, the group welcomed you warmly. You offered a polite smile and greeted them back. As was customary, you bowed to the familiar men you had met earlier.

"Thank you again for accepting Jun-hee into your group earlier. I’m glad you all got out safely," you said, your voice sincere.

"Ah! No, no, don’t worry about that, it’s all fine!" Player 390 immediately replied, his voice light and reassuring. He waved his hand dismissively. "If anything, we should thank you! That girl quickly finished her game, gave us much more room to breathe."

You smiled at his words, feeling a small spark of warmth. "Really? Well, I’m glad. Before we found you, she kept boasting about her skills in ddjaki and how she won multiple times with the salesman. Glad to know she wasn’t lying."

Jun-hee rolled her eyes at your comment before giving you a playful shove. You laughed, brushing it off before turning your attention back to the group.

"My name’s [Name] by the way. [Last name], [Name]. I’d rather you call me that rather than this stupid number," you said with a teasing grin.

The rest of the group followed suit, introducing themselves in turn. Player 456 was Gi-hun, Player 390 was Jung-bae, Player 388 was Dae-ho, and last but not least, Player 001 was Young-Il—whose name, when revealed, earned an unexpected pinch from Hanni. You tried not to show any discomfort at the gesture, but you couldn’t help but feel a little awkward. Who were you to ruin a teenager’s fun, though?

As everyone continued to chat, the conversation quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm. It was just nice to talk with someone, anyone, who wasn’t a threat to your survival.

“Woah, ex-marines, huh? I don’t tell this to anyone, but I have a collection of guns at home…” you mentioned, trying to make light of the situation.

“That so?” Jung-bae remarked, his tone casual, as if discussing firearms was just another part of his day.

“Woah, that’s so cool! When did you start collecting?” Dae-ho chimed in with enthusiasm, genuinely interested.

“Let’s see... maybe when I was 19? That’s when I got introduced to shooting ranges, and that’s where my addiction started,” you replied with a nostalgic smile. The conversation felt like a brief escape from the madness of the games.

But then, just as quickly as it began, the conversation slowed. You couldn’t help but notice that, in the midst of it all, everyone was still acutely aware of the situation—life or death hung over every word. You looked up once more at the piggy bank. The money glinted in the low light, but it didn’t comfort you. It only served as a reminder of how far you had come and how much you had lost.

You stared at it for a while, lost in thought. The weight of everything—the game, the choices, the people who would never make it out—pressed down on you, and it was hard to escape the ache in your chest. Your mind wandered, consumed by memories and questions, as you stood frozen in place. Too engrossed in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice familiar black eyes fixed on you. In-ho watched your every move intently, shamelessly staring as you absentmindedly stared into oblivion. His gaze was steady, silently studying you from where he stood. But you were too lost in your thoughts to feel it. There was something about you, something he couldn’t quite place, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It wasn’t the same as before—his cold indifference slowly shifting into something else he didn’t know how to name.

Maybe it was the way you carried yourself despite everything. Or maybe it was the faint sadness he saw in your eyes, something that mirrored his own. But as he continued to watch, something unfamiliar stirred inside him—an unsettling warmth that didn’t make sense, something that he thought he stopped feeling a long time ago. He quickly turned his attention away, pretending to focus on the group.

But that warmth lingered, an ache in his chest that refused to fade. What was it about you?

Hanni gave you a playful shove, snapping you out of your trance. Her bright smile flickered for a moment, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. You could feel her gaze linger on you, a slight shift in her expression that suggested she noticed something was off. You returned a hesitant smile, one that you hoped would mask the swirl of thoughts in your mind.

As the group huddled up, you quickly placed your hand on top of the pile, trying to shake off the discomfort despite the underlying tension. Hanni’s smile faded as she watched you, her eyes narrowing just slightly. Something in her seemed to pause, a flicker of doubt creeping into her gaze as if she was starting to see through the facade you were putting up.

It was as if she could tell that there was more to looks, something that wasn’t quite aligned with what you let on. But, instead of pressing, Hanni gave a soft shrug, her playful demeanor returning. Yet, the doubt lingered in her eyes, like she wasn’t fully convinced of the person she found comfort in.

"In one, two, three... Victory at all costs!" Hanni and Dae-ho shouted, their voice full of energy despite the dark atmosphere.

"Victory at all costs!"

"This time, the vote will begin with Player 001. Player 001, please cast your vote."

Young-il's gaze swept over the six of you, his eyes calm, but with an unwavering trust and determination in them. He nodded subtly at Gi-hun, as he began to move forward without hesitation. As he stepped up to cast his vote, you exchanged a brief, fleeting moment of eye contact with Young-il. The intensity in his eyes made your heart race, but there was something else there too. You couldn't quite place it, but it made your chest tighten. The moment passed quickly, and you looked away, focusing on the task at hand.

When it was finally your time to vote, you felt the weight of everyone's eyes on you, but you didn’t allow yourself to meet anyone’s gaze. You couldn’t stomach the judgment, the disappointment that would be there. Instead, you stepped forward, heart pounding, and pressed the "O" button, committing to the choice you knew you had to make. A cold knot formed in your stomach as you did, but your mind remained focused. You weren’t about to back down now, no matter what the others thought.

As you turned and walked back to your side, you kept your head low, trying to hide the turmoil brewing inside. You heard some murmurs around you, a mix of disbelief and anger from your teammates, but you couldn’t bring yourself to listen. The guilt gnawed at you but so did the hope that this one last game would be enough. You glanced at the piggy bank hanging overhead, feeling the weight of the prize pool, but also the weight of your decision.

The voting ended with 140 votes for “O” and 117 for “X,” meaning the third game would proceed tomorrow. Some players cheered, relieved that they could move forward, while others were disappointed, worried for their survival. You stood frozen as the room around you buzzed with varying reactions. You could feel the stares of your team members who clearly weren’t happy with your decision. You couldn’t meet their eyes, couldn’t bear to see the betrayal there.

Jung-bae’s hand suddenly clapped on your shoulder, pulling you out of your reverie. You looked at him, searching his face for some sign of judgment. Your eyes went down and stared at the "O" patch on his tracksuit. His gaze was full of understanding, a silent comfort that you couldn’t quite put into words. He gave you a quick nod before turning his back, signaling the two of you to move forward, away from the team.

You ignored the whispers, and the betrayed looks from Dae-ho and Hanni. You couldn’t let it matter now. Call it selfish, call it greed, but 78 million won was not enough. Just one more game, and then maybe, just maybe you could end this.

Once the guard handed you your food, you took it mechanically, your hands numb as you walked back to your bed. You couldn’t face anyone—not Hanni, not Jun-hee, and especially not the ones who still believed in you. The weight of their disappointment was more than you could bear. Before you could even sit down, a loud voice called out for you.

"Hey! [Name]ya!" The sudden intrusion startled you. You turned, your heart racing in your chest, and saw Jun-hee and Hanni behind you. The former’s concern was written clearly across her face.

“Why?” she asked softly, her voice trembling.

You avoided her gaze, not trusting yourself to speak. “I... I have my reasons,” you said, your voice cracking just a little, even though you tried to sound convincing.

Hanni, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, muttered under her breath, "I hope it’s worth it." Her words were heavy with something you couldn’t quite define—was it disappointment? Concern? Either way, it cut deeper than you expected. You wanted to say something, anything, to make her understand, but you couldn’t. Not now. Not when everything felt so fragile.

Before you could open your mouth, two sets of hands grabbed each of your arms, forcing you to stand up. With a startled yelp, you asked, "What are you doing?" in a nervous tone. The two remained silent, their grip firm as they dragged you toward where the group was sitting. You quickly noticed that Jung-bae was also being pulled along by Dae-ho, confusion and tension radiating from him. It wasn’t until you reached the group that the weight of everyone’s gaze settled on you. You couldn’t escape the questioning looks from your teammates.

You and Jung-bae exchanged guilty glances before finally looking your teammates in the eye. “I… I’m very sorry, Dae-ho, Gi-hun, Young-il,” you started. Jung-bae hesitated for a moment before following your lead, offering a quick bow. “I’m sorry too, Hanni, Jun-hee, Young-il… Gi-hun, I’m sorry.”

When nobody acknowledged your apologies, Jung-bae went on to explain his reasoning, his voice faltering slightly. “You see, I borrowed some emergency cash, and the creditors are harassing my ex-wife and kid. If I play one more game, I think I’ll be able to settle my debt. So—”

“Jung-bae.” Young-il cut him off sharply. His tone was cold, his expression unreadable, as if disappointment weighed heavy on his words. “You of all people shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t righteous, not twice, not even once.”

The words stung more than Jung-bae expected, and the silence between them grew thick. Without waiting for Jung-bae to respond, Young-il turned to you, his gaze steady and searching. “And you,” he began, his voice quieter but no less firm, “You’ve made your own choice,” He continued, his voice measured, “but don’t try to justify it as something you had no control over.”

You looked at him one more time before looking down, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest, tightening your throat. Your mind raced, but there was no way to explain it—not to them, not to yourself.

“I know…” you whispered, the guilt rising like a tide, swallowing your words. “And I’m truly sorry…”

The sincerity in your apology felt hollow. You had made the decision. No one had forced you, but the pull of the money, of the chance to end it all, had made it feel like a necessity. And yet, as you stood there, with their disappointed gazes burning into you, it felt more like a betrayal than a choice.

“But looking at the results, even if you two voted against it, we would still have been outvoted,” Young-il said, his voice calm, like he had already made peace with it.

“Right? So it’s not really our fault,” Jung-bae added quickly, trying to make light of the situation.

Dae-ho, who had been quietly observing, scratched his head and gave Jung-bae a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Honestly, I get why you did it. Even for me, ¥78 million isn’t enough. So when I went to vote, I really thought about going for ‘O’ too.”

Hanni and Jun-hee didn’t say much. They nodded, agreeing in silence but not wanting to add anything more. Everyone was feeling the pressure. The reality of it all was sinking in too fast.

Jung-bae, still holding on to hope, added, “Next game, I promise. I’ll—”

“Next game?” Gi-hun’s voice cut through the air, sharp and honest. “Next game, we might have to kill each other.”

The room went still at his words. Everyone seemed to freeze. Gi-hun was right, and his words hit harder than anyone expected. No one spoke right away; the thought of what might happen in the next game was too much to face. The quiet grew heavy as the reality of what they were really up against settled in.

You opened your mouth to say something but stopped when Young-il spoke up. “Gi-hun, that’s a bit much. We all know there’s nothing we can do about it now. Let’s just stay focused. We need to eat, get ourselves together, and prepare for the next round.”

With that, he handed his milk carton to Jun-hee, saying he didn’t drink plain milk. Jung-bae did the same, offering his bread to Hanni, saying he didn’t deserve to eat. Everyone’s gestures, though small, felt like they were all trying to comfort each other in their own way, but it only made the situation more real.

Dae-ho, trying to lighten the mood, asked for Jung-bae's milk carton, but when the male shot him a glare, he stayed quiet, not wanting to argue.

A soft laugh slipped out of you, and without thinking, you handed your milk to Dae-ho. He immediately accepted it with a soft, grateful smile and mumbled a quiet thanks. 

You found yourself sitting next to Young-il, feeling more tired than you’d ever felt before, the mental and physical exhaustion had settled into your bones, dragging you down. The male was silent beside you, his presence heavy yet comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. He didn’t say anything at first, but you could feel his gaze on you. It wasn’t intrusive, just there—steady, unyielding, like a silent support.

After a long silence, he spoke, his voice low and steady. “You did what you had to do.”

You blinked at him, not sure whether to be relieved or uncomfortable. “Did I?” you asked softly. “I voted to keep going. I went against you all. I wanted to believe it would be worth it, but I’m not sure anymore.”

“You can’t change it now,” he said, his tone gentle, almost comforting. “We all made our choices. It’s over. What matters now is what we do next.”

For a moment, you felt a knot in your chest loosen. He turned to you, his gaze unwavering, “You made a choice,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “And no one else can tell you whether it was right or wrong.”

The simplicity of his words hung in the air. You couldn’t fix what had been done, but hearing those words from him somehow made it feel a little less like you were alone in your decision. The guilt that had gnawed at you seemed to quiet, even if just for a brief moment.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice softer than you intended. There was a quiet sincerity in it, more than you realized. It was the kind of reassurance you hadn’t known you were craving.

He nodded once, acknowledging your thanks with a slight tilt of his head. “Don’t mind what Gi-hun and I said earlier,” he murmured, his voice steady but softer now. “In a place like this, it’s hard not to be on edge. Everyone’s just trying to survive.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. “Yeah… I get it. It’s just hard to not feel like the bad guy sometimes.”

“You’re not,” he said simply, his gaze meeting yours for a moment before shifting away. “We all made our choices. Doesn’t make anyone better or worse. Just… human.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, and before you knew it, the two of you had slipped into an easy conversation. It wasn’t much, shared observations about the others, light teasing about Dae-ho being comparable to a golden retriever, favorite movies and hobbies, but it felt like a break from the weight pressing down on you both.

At one point, you let out a genuine laugh, surprising even yourself. Young-il turned his head, his gaze curious as he asked, “What’s so funny?”

You shook your head, a small smile still lingering on your lips. “I don’t know,” you admitted, brushing a hand over your face as if to hide the slight flush there. “Maybe it’s just everything… or nothing. Maybe I just needed to.”

He tilted his head, his expression softening slightly, though he still didn’t smile. “Laughing over nothing, huh? Guess there’s worse ways to handle this mess.”

“You should try it,” you said lightly, teasing just enough to test the waters.

He huffed, not quite a laugh but close, the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “Maybe one day.”

For a little while, it was just the two of you, sharing quiet moments and fleeting bits of lightness in the shadow of everything else. The sound of quiet conversations and muted movements surrounded you, but it all felt distant, like you and Young-il existed in a world apart from everyone else. Eventually, the men began excusing themselves to head toward the bathroom. Young-il stayed seated a moment longer, his reluctance obvious in the way he lingered.

“You’re stalling,” you teased softly, a smile tugging at your lips.

He huffed, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe I am.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Go. They’re waiting for you, and if you stay any longer Dae-ho might wet the floor.”

He chuckled. For a moment, he didn’t move, his gaze meeting yours. “Fine,” he said, shaking his head as he stood slowly, there was a flicker of something—playful or thoughtful, you couldn’t quite tell. As he walked away, you watched him join the others, the soft smile still lingering on your face.

Once the coast was clear, Hanni slid over almost immediately, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Jun-hee joined her just as quickly, both of them zeroing in on you like a pair of mischievous siblings ready to pounce. “You’re smiling,” Hanni said, a teasing tone lacing her words.

Jun-hee, tilted her head, her expression somewhere between amused and curious. “We’ve been with you since the first game and that’s not like you. Care to explain?”

You blinked, immediately feeling awkward. “Really? Now? In a place like this?”

Hanni leaned closer, her expression turning more playful. “C’mon, we’re not gonna bite. Just curious.”

With a chuckle, you let out a dramatic sigh before rubbing your temples. “This isn’t the time for that. We’re stuck in a death game, not a dating show.”

“So, what you’re saying is if we are in a dating show you would totally go for him?”

You raised an eyebrow at Hanni, a smirk tugging at your lips. "I never said that," you replied, shaking your head in disbelief.

Jun-hee joined in, her voice teasing but not unkind. “Come on, don’t play coy with us. You have to admit, something’s up.”

You let out a sigh, but this time it was more amused than anything. “You two are unbelievable.” You leaned back, trying to shift the mood. “Look, it’s not like that. We’re just… having a conversation. It's not that deep.”

But they didn’t back off. Hanni gave you a knowing look, her eyes twinkling. “Having a conversation my ass! You’re out here giggling like a highschooler!”

“I do not!”

“Do too!”

You crossed your arms, trying to hide the smile creeping onto your face. “I’m not giggling, I’m just—” you paused, trying to find the right words, “I’m just… enjoying the conversation, alright?”

Jun-hee leaned in, her eyes narrowed with playful suspicion. “Uh-huh. Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help yourself from laughing again. “Just so you know, we’re stuck in a life-and-death situation, and I’m way past the age of having crushes and all that nonsense.”

Hanni leaned back with a satisfied grin, clearly enjoying the teasing. “Sure, whatever you say! We’ll let you off the hook for now, but don’t think we’ve forgotten.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head. Despite the playful banter, the weight in your chest lightened. The tension between you all had shifted, and for the first time in a while, things didn’t feel so heavy. The teasing was light, comforting, and in the middle of everything that was going on, it was exactly what you needed.

You gave her a half-smile. “You’re not gonna let me live this down, are you?”

Jun-hee joined in with a gentle laugh. “Probably not. But it’s good to see you smile for once, even if we’re making fun of you.”

“You two are such troublemakers, you know that?”

Hanni shrugged innocently. “What can we say unnie? We just like seeing you flustered!”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile stayed on your face. “Yeah, well, enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Lights out in ten minutes. Please prepare for bedtime.”

Currently, you and the group were passing out mattresses, following Gi-hun’s insistence that all of you sleep on the floor together, huddled under one of the bed frames with someone keeping watch. While the rest of you questioned whether such precautions were necessary, none dared to speak up, not wanting to provoke Gi-hun’s temper.

As you handed a mattress to Dae-ho, who passed it to Jung-bae, the latter decided to voice what everyone else was thinking. “Hey, is this really necessary? I don’t like sleeping under there.”

Gi-hun didn’t look up as he smoothed a blanket onto the floor. “Once the lights go out, someone might attack us.”

That caught everyone’s attention. Kneeling down to sort through pillows and blankets, You, Dae-ho, Jun-hee and Hanni paused, curiosity piqued. “Why would anyone do that?” Dae-ho asked cautiously.

Gi-hun let out a humorless chuckle. “The prize money goes up every time someone dies. It’s part of the game they designed.”

You frowned, giving his words some thought. At first, his claim seemed far-fetched, but the more you considered the desperation you’d seen in yourself and in others—the way some eyes lingered too long on the prize board—it started to make an unsettling kind of sense.

“That’s insane,” Jung-bae muttered, shaking his head. “Nobody’s that cold. Nobody’s gonna—”

“Nope, Gi-hun is right. You shouldn’t be so sure,” you cut in, your tone sharper than usual. All eyes turned to you. “We’re lucky to have each other, but outside of this group? Desperation changes people. If someone thinks they have a better chance alone, or if they’re blinded by that kind of money, they won’t hesitate.”

Young-il narrowed his eyes at you, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. “You’re saying we should expect someone to try and kill us tonight?”

You shrugged, your expression grim. “I’m saying we’d be stupid not to prepare for it.”

The weight of your words settled over the group like a heavy blanket. Even Hanni and Jun-hee, who usually tried to keep things light, exchanged uneasy glances. Gi-hun nodded as if your words confirmed everything he’d been thinking.

“Well,” Dae-ho said after a moment, his voice forced and upbeat, “at least we have each other, right?”

“Exactly,” Gi-hun said, setting down the last mattress. “We stick together, we’ll make it through. Now, everyone settle in. And keep your eyes open.”

Reluctantly, the group followed his lead, arranging themselves in a tight circle under the frame. You caught Young-il’s eye as he sat down across from you, his expression unreadable but his gaze steady.

Morning arrived faster than you expected, and soon, the guards were leading you to the next game.

The circular room you entered was unsettling. Bright, white walls surrounded a massive platform in the center, and atop it stood three eerie carousel horses, their painted eyes glossy and cold. Around the perimeter of the room were several doors, painted with plain colors.

You stared in quiet dread, trying to piece together what this setup might mean. The atmosphere was heavy, the air almost suffocating.

A light shove jolted you back to reality.

“You okay?”

Young-il stood beside you, his hand brushing your arm. His face, though calm, held a trace of worry as he took in your frozen stance.

“Stay close to me,” he said firmly. “And don’t freeze up now. I know it’s hard, but mistakes…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Just don’t make any. Not here.”

You nodded, swallowing hard, and forced your legs to move as the guards directed everyone to the platform.

The rules were announced in the same monotone voice you’d grown to fear. This game wasn’t just a test of strength or skill—it was a race against time. Mingle. A game where players had to form groups according to the number that appeared and enter a room within 30 seconds. Failure to do so meant death.

The tension in the room became unbearable as the platform filled with nervous shuffling.

Hanni, standing beside you, clutched at your jacket with trembling hands. Her grip was tight and desperate, her pale face mirrored the fear you felt but tried to bury.

You placed a steadying hand over hers. “Stay close to us okay?” you murmured, glancing at her wide, frightened eyes. “We’ll figure this out.”

The platform began to spin, the movement disorienting as the room blurred around you. An eerie, childlike song played from unseen speakers, the melody jarring in its mockery of innocence.

Just as nausea began to creep in, the platform screeched to a halt.

12

Panic erupted immediately. Players screamed and shoved, desperate to find others to form a group.

“We need two more!”

“Who has five?”

Gi-hun moved quickly, scanning the chaos. He approached a nearby cluster of players, tapping one on the shoulder. “How many are you?”

“Four,” Player 120 replied.

“That makes us eleven,” Jung-bae said, pulling the rest of you closer into a huddle.

Before you could fully regroup, others swarmed around, shouting over one another in frantic bids for survival.

“Join us! We’re five!”

“No, come with us! We’re seven!”

The crowd was chaos. People were being pulled apart and dragged into groups as the countdown loomed. Hanni clung tighter to you, her breathing uneven. Suddenly, Player 120 ran off and dragged a woman toward your group. Her face was pale, and her steps stumbled as if she could barely keep up with the force pulling her forward.

“Here! This makes twelve!” Player 120 shouted, shoving the woman into your group before anyone could react.

“Come on,” you urged, grabbing Jun-hee and Hanni by the arms. “Let’s go. Stick close to me.”

Gi-hun directed your group to room 44. One by one, you made sure everyone got through the door, your eyes scanning for anyone falling behind. Once inside, Young-il slammed the door shut.

The locks clicked as the timer hit zero.

A chilling silence followed before the sound of gunfire tore through the room. Cries of desperation from players left behind filled the air, only to be abruptly silenced.

Hanni trembled violently, her hands covering her ears. You knelt beside her, brushing her hair back in an attempt to soothe her. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” you said, though your own hands weren’t quite steady.

The tense quiet was broken by a sudden, sharp voice.

“You are all alive thanks to me!”

The outburst came from the woman 120 dragged, her wild eyes scanning the group. She began to approach Jun-hee with a strange intensity, her smile twisted and unsettling.

You immediately stepped in front of the girl, blocking her from view. Your movements were calm, but your heart pounded as the woman’s gaze landed on you instead.

She tilted her head, her smile widening. “There’s a reason you’ve lived this long,” she said, her tone cryptic. “A reason you were brought here.”

Her words hung heavy in the air as she looked past you, her focus shifting to Gi-hun.

Before she could say more, the announcer’s voice crackled through the speakers, listing the eliminated players. The doors unlocked. Everyone returned to the platform.

Another round began.

4

All seven of you froze, exchanging frantic glances. The tension in the room was suffocating, everyone hyper-aware of the seconds slipping away.

"I'll find one more," you said abruptly, already moving before anyone could protest.

Gi-hun called after you, his voice strained with alarm, but you were already lost in the chaos.

"Wait—!" Hanni started to follow, but Gi-hun grabbed her arm.

"No!" she yelled, pulling against him. "You go! I’ll wait for [Name]-nim!"

"But—"

Young-il stepped in, placing a firm hand on Gi-hun’s shoulder. "Go, Gi-hun. She won’t move unless [Name] is back. I’ll stay with her."

Gi-hun hesitated, his jaw clenched. He looked between them and the dwindling time before nodding sharply. "Take care of them."

Without another word, he ushered Dae-ho, Jun-hee, and Jung-bae into a room. Once inside, Gi-hun hesitated to shut the room, opting to keep it open for a bit as he watched over your group.

Meanwhile, Young-il stayed by Hanni's side, his sharp gaze darting through the chaos, searching for any sign of you. The noise of panicked shouts and pounding footsteps filled the air, but he barely noticed. Instead, his attention was fixed on the spinning platform and the frenzied crowd.

Hanni clung to his arm, her small frame trembling against his. Her breaths came in short, uneven gasps, her grip tightening with each second that passed. Young-il glanced down at her, his usually stern expression softening for a moment.

"You’ll be okay," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the storm around them. He rested a hand lightly on her shoulder, giving her a firm yet gentle pat.

Hanni didn’t seem to hear him. Her lips moved in a near-silent mantra, repeating over and over, "Please come back. Please come back."

Her words hung heavy in the air, a fragile plea against the backdrop of chaos. Young-il’s jaw tightened as he turned his focus back to the crowd. He had to believe you would return, not just for Hanni's sake—but for all of theirs.

Inside the room, Dae-ho’s voice broke the silence. "Will they make it?" he asked, his tone trembling. Gi-hun didn’t respond, his gaze fixed outside, searching for any sign of you. With ten seconds left, hope began to waver—until a familiar voice cut through the noise.

"Hey! I found someone! Let’s go!"

Bursting into sight, you ran towards an empty room with Player 256 in tow. Without hesitation, you grabbed Young-il’s outstretched hand, pulling everyone toward the door. The locks clicked shut just as the timer hit zero.

Inside, your legs gave out, but before you hit the ground, you felt a strong pair of arms catch you. Young-il steadied you, his worried face inches from yours.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low but urgent.

You nodded quickly, pulling yourself upright. "Thanks," you said, flashing a weak smile before turning to Player 256, who looked pale and shaken.

"Are you alright? Sorry for dragging you like that. I just saw you on the floor and didn’t think twice."

The young man gave you a pained smile, his breaths still uneven. "I’m fine. Thank you—really. If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead."

You patted his shoulder gently, suppressing a sigh. "What’s with young people getting into so much debt these days?"

Before you could say more, a small figure collided with you, wrapping their arms tightly around your waist.

"Don’t ever leave me again, unnie." Hanni sobbed, her voice muffled against your shirt. Warm tears soaked through the fabric as she clung to you.

Your heart twisted at her desperation. "I can’t promise you that, Hanni. But Jun-hee’s always there when I’m not okay?" you murmured, gently running your hand through her hair, trying to soothe her.

Her grip on you loosened a little, but her wide eyes stayed locked on you. “I know… but I still need you two with me,” she whispered, her voice shaky but full of that same hope she always had.

You gave her a soft smile, brushing away a tear that had fallen down her cheek. “We’re not going anywhere,” you said, holding her just a little tighter.

The announcer’s voice suddenly boomed through the speakers, listing the names of the eliminated players. The stark reminder of the game’s stakes sent a chill through the room.

As the list ended, you glanced toward Young-il. His eyes betrayed the fear he had been holding back, relief washing over his face as he met your gaze. For a brief moment, it felt like the world had paused, the chaos outside fading into the background.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He gave a small nod, his lips pressed into a thin line.

The sound of the doors unlocking snapped you both back to reality. Player 256 bowed deeply to you before sprinting off, murmuring another hurried "thank you" as he disappeared into the crowd.

Taking Hanni’s hand, you and Young-il moved quickly to find the rest of your group. Voices called your names, and you followed the sound until you spotted them.

"There they are!" Jung-bae shouted, relief evident in his tone.

Young-il barely had time to react before Jung-bae threw his arms around him in a tight hug. Meanwhile, Jun-hee rushed toward you and Hanni.

The three of you broke into a tangle of hugs, clutching each other tightly, the fear and relief of survival intertwining in an unspoken bond.

“I knew you were gonna be okay!” Jung-bae exclaimed in relief, pulling Young-il into a tight hug. Jun-hee did the same with you, and you returned the hug, pressing a few affectionate forehead kisses on her before patting her head gently. Gi-hun looked at you and Young-il, his face breaking into a relieved smile. “I was so worried. I’m glad you all made it.”

“Luckily, [Name] found someone in time. If she stayed with us a little longer, she might’ve had a hard time,” Young-il chuckled, praising you.

You laughed, shaking your head. “If anything, I was lucky. I found the guy on the ground. I hope he’s okay.”

The two of you then turned to Jun-hee, asking if she was alright. She reassured you, telling you how glad she was that the three of you came back safely.

“Wait a minute.” Young-il’s voice cut through the conversation. Suddenly, all eyes were on him. “If the next number is eighth, then we won’t need anyone else, right?”

Everyone looked at him with confused expressions. “Why?” Dae-ho asked, genuinely curious. Young-il didn’t respond immediately; instead, he just nodded, thinking.

Jung-bae snapped his fingers, pointing at Jun-hee’s stomach. “Ah, it’s in her tummy.”

A sudden realization spread across Dae-ho’s face as he finally understood. “Ohh, that’s right. That makes eight.” The group shared a lighthearted laugh, while Hanni rolled her eyes, quietly laughing to herself. She muttered something about how corny the joke was. You couldn’t help but laugh, pinching her cheek and telling her to just go with the flow.

“What if it’s twins? Triplets?” you joked.

Amid the laughter, a pair of lingering eyes belonging to Player 333 was watching the group with an unreadable look on his face.

The atmosphere shifted slightly before you were all instructed to return to the platform. The tension in the air was palpable. Another round started.

3

“You three, go–” Gi-hun began, but Young-il cut him off.

“No. I’ll go. You stay with them.”

You all looked at him in surprise, not wanting to leave him behind. However, there was no time to waste. With a determined nod, you immediately grabbed Jun-hee and Hanni before running toward the nearest room. Gi-hun, Jung-bae, and Dae-ho followed closely behind, while Young-il ran off to find two other players.

You three finally approached the only vacant room near you. As you opened it, your blood ran cold. A figure was curled up in a ball in the corner of the room, its stillness unnerving— as if they had already given up already. You glanced at the timer—20 seconds. Your heart raced. Grabbing Jun-hee and Hanni’s arms, you yelled for the curled up figure.

"Hey!" you shouted. The person stirred and looked up at you, confusion in their eyes. You raised the arms you were holding, signaling clearly. The person understood, standing up and moving toward the door. You pushed Jun-hee and Hanni toward the player, making sure they would be safe with her. Once inside, Player 380 quickly closed the door. As you ran away, you heard their voices calling out to you.

“Hey unnie! Come back!”

“[Name]nim!”

You cursed your heart for being soft and getting attached, you cursed your mind for wanting to be a hero. With 13 seconds left, you turned and ran as fast as you could, hoping to find a room, or maybe even Young-il.

10 seconds.

You frantically scanned the area, but there was almost nothing. No sign of Young-il. No sign of anyone else making their way to a room. No group of two finding their last member.

8 seconds.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed your arm. You were shocked but didn’t hesitate. You had no time for hesitation now. You kept your pace, determined to survive.

6 seconds.

You spotted someone standing idly, diagonally to you. Wasting no time, you shouted to them. Together, you ran toward the person, desperate to find the last empty room.

4 seconds.

The two of you reached her and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her toward the nearest open door.

2 seconds.

The three of you rushed inside.

1 second.

The doors slammed shut behind you.

The timer rang. 0 seconds.

Back in room 27, Hanni and Jun-hee peeked anxiously through the window, watching the chaos unfold outside. As the announcer listed the eliminated players, they held their breath, waiting. The second your number wasn’t called, they exhaled in relief.

Inside your room, you collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath. This was the consequence of playing the hero. You were too old for this, yet here you were again, caught in the madness. Once your breath steadied, you looked at the player you had dragged in. You froze in shock. It was Player 149—the mother of Player 007. The two were peas in a pod, but you hoped nothing bad would happen now that they were separated.

Deciding not to disturb her, you let her have some space and turned to the person who had saved you. Standing up, you immediately bowed in their direction. When they didn’t make a sound or movement, you slowly lifted your head.

To your shock, you were met with Young-il’s face.

Your shocked face clashed with his angry one, but before you could process it, you leapt at him and wrapped him in a tight, warm hug. His initial surprise faded as he returned the embrace, his anger melting away. As he gently patted your hair, he quietly asked, “What happened?”

“The room we entered was already filled with someone. I wanted to stay with Jun-hee and Hanni, but there were no more rooms nearby. I couldn’t let Jun-hee run anymore, so I left them there and ran,” you explained, your voice muffled against his shirt.

He patted your head again before slightly pushing you away to look at your face. Still holding you, the two of you locked eyes. “You’re lucky I was there to save you like a superhero.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, “Thanks, superhero.”

You gave him a sweet smile before pulling away and knelt in front of the older woman. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

She snapped out of her thoughts and bowed, immediately responding, “Yes, yes. I am. Thank you so much for saving me.”

“Where’s your son?”

“Sorry?”

“Weren’t you with him?” Young-il asked, his concern growing for their safety. You watched her closely, hoping nothing bad had happened. Her eyes bounced between you and Young-il as she tried to formulate an answer. “Oh, well, I lost him. He told me to wait while he brought one more person, but in all the chaos, I lost him.”

“He didn’t come back?” Young-il’s question made her stand up abruptly.

“My son isn’t that kind of person!” she said, standing defensively. “We may be poor, but he has a good heart. He’d rather be bullied than hurt another person. He’ll never harm anyone, so watch what you say about him!”

You stood up quickly and gently placed your hands on her shoulders, trying to ease the tension. “Ah, it’s nothing like that, ma’am. It’s just that the two of you have been together from the start, so we were worried when we saw you alone. We didn’t mean to upset you.”

She looked at you for a moment before averting her gaze, calming down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” Young-il added, apologizing as well.

The doors opened then, signaling it was time to move on. With a bow, you grabbed Young-il’s hand, pulling him toward Jun-hee and Hanni’s room. When you saw the two of them, your eyes met, and without hesitation, you let go of Young-il’s hand and hugged them both tightly. You whispered your apologies as they cried into your neck. Young-il watched the scene with a bittersweet smile, the sight of you and the others reminding him painfully of his late wife. It felt like a love he could never return to, yet he couldn't look away.

Once they stopped crying, you gently pulled away and pointed them toward Young-il. Without hesitation, they ran to him, wrapping their arms around him and thanking him.

The four of you then returned to the platform, where you met the rest of your group. A silent understanding passed between your team and player 120’s team, as you all stood next to each other, ready for the next round. The music started. The platform began to rotate. 

6

“Three women and three men, go!” Gi-hun shouted. Luckily, you all had enough members so only finding the room was the problem, Jun-hee and Hanni stuck close to you as you followed Young-il, Gi-hun, and Jung-bae to a room. 

When you returned to the platform, you immediately noticed the lonely figure of player 120, with player 095 nowhere near, you assumed the worst. Standing close next to her, you offer comfort by rubbing her back. “It’s gonna be hard but please stay strong, she now lives through you.” She gives you a pained nod as you placed yourself between Hanni and Young-il. 

“What do you think will be the next number?” Jung-bae asked you all.

It was quiet for a moment as everyone contemplated the answer. Without hesitation, Hanni spoke up. "Two."

Gi-hun looked at her, silently asking her to explain her answer. Instead of her, Young-il’s voice broke through the tension. "Yeah, she's correct. It's two. There are 50 rooms, and 156 people are still alive. Everyone will have a pair, but there won't be enough rooms. That's how they conduct these games."

Everyone else looked at him, some expressions confused, others with a hint of surprise, as if they hadn’t expected him to be the one explaining. And they were right.

2

The group stood in silence for a second, each person wondering who would pair with whom. The fear of the rooms being occupied quickly spread so without a second thought, Young-il grabbed your hand and hurried you away. Hanni called your name, and the others followed suit. Dae-ho grabbed Hanni, Jung-bae grabbed Gi-hun, and Player 333 grabbed Jun-hee as they all ran to secure an empty room.

You and Young-il reached the open door of an empty room, but before you could step inside, another player tackled you to the ground. As Young-il rushed to help you up, the player bolted for the room you had been eyeing. Without hesitation, Young-il grabbed the man, yanking him away and throwing him outside with unexpected force.

"Go in!" Young-il shouted at you, as he held the player in his grip.

Your heart was racing, adrenaline flooding your system. You scrambled to recover and quickly glanced around, making sure the coast was clear. With urgency, you rushed inside, positioning yourself near the door, ready to barricade it in case someone tried to steal the room from you. You signaled for Young-il to come in, and as he rushed in after you, you slammed the door behind him, using your body to hold it shut while the player left outside shouted curses at you.

Suddenly, Young-il pulled you into his arms, his hands gentle but firm, as he placed your head against his shoulder. You melted into him, the brief respite giving you both a moment of peace. But that moment quickly shattered when your eyes caught a figure in the corner of the room.

Your breath hitched. In a panic, you pushed away from Young-il and shouted at the figure, your voice trembling, "Leave! Get out!"

The timer was ticking down, and every second felt like an eternity. Panic surged within you as you watched the figure not move—your heart raced. The seconds were slipping away.

12 seconds.

"No way, we got here first," the man argued, his voice laced with defiance.

“Well your partner is not here isn’t he?! Get out!”  you demanded, your voice firm despite the tension.

11 seconds.

“Shut your tramp whore! We got here first! Make yourself useful and get out of the room!” he spat back, growing angrier.

10 seconds.

Without a word, Young-il lunged at the man, grabbing him by the throat and forcing him toward the door, his strength overpowering the man’s resistance. You watched in horror, your eyes flickering between the timer and the brutal scene unfolding before you. With only three seconds left and the man still struggling. Young-il didn’t hesitate. His actions were swift and decisive, final and cold. With one swift move, the room fell silent, and the door locked.

0 seconds.

Young-il stood over the lifeless man, his face distant, his expression hollow. It was a look that didn’t belong on him. In the short time you’d known him, he’d always had this warm, protective energy, this quiet tenderness that made you feel safe. But now, his usual caring nature seemed clouded by something else.

Without thinking, you crossed the room to him, gently taking his hands in yours. You could feel his tension, his unwillingness to meet your gaze. Your heart ached to see him like this, and you whispered softly, “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry,” his voice barely above a whisper, as though he was apologizing for something you hadn’t even asked him to do.

“What for?” you asked, trying to meet his gaze. He avoided it, looking down at the body in the room, his face shadowed with regret.

“You did what you had to do, Young-il. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be here. We’d be dead. So, thank you.” You squeezed his hands, trying to convey the depth of your gratitude, even if the words felt too small.

“But—” he started, voice faltering.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” You could feel his fear—fear that you might look at him differently now. You could see it in his eyes, that vulnerability he tried to hide. You slowly reached up, your hand finding his cheek, your touch gentle and comforting. His eyes closed as he leaned into it, the tension melting from his body for just a moment. "Murder is something I’m used to, Young-il. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine… as long as you’re here."

The air between you thickened, charged with unspoken words. The closeness, the way your fingers lingered on his skin, the way your breaths synced together—it felt like everything was leading to this moment. Slowly, instinctively, you both leaned in, drawn to each other like magnets.

But just as your lips were about to meet, the loud sound of the doors unlocking shattered the moment. You both froze, hearts pounding in your chests, reality crashing back in. You pulled away quickly, your face flushing with embarrassment.

You stepped back, flustered, and gave a quick bow, mumbling, “I—I should check on Hanni and Jun-hee.” You turned to leave, nearly tripping over your shoes in the rush. That shared moment lingered in the air, and even as you fled, your heart still raced with what almost happened, you could feel the warmth of his gaze lingering on your back, the connection between you stronger than ever.

After the third game, you found yourself back in the fort Gi-hun had organized. The group was scattered, tending to their own thoughts or conversations. Across the room, Jun-hee was deep in conversation with Player 333, the man you now knew was her ex-fiancé—the one who’d abandoned her. Hanni stood by your side, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern as the two exchanged words that seemed both loaded and cautious.

Meanwhile, Gi-hun instructed the others to count the remaining players and determine how many wanted to continue playing.

“There are 55 players who voted in favor of continuing,” Jung-bae reported as he returned.

“Are you sure?” Gi-hun asked, his voice tense.

“I counted twice.”

Dae-ho pointed to the “O” patch on Jung-bae’s uniform. “Did you count yourself?”

Jung-bae glanced at the “O” patch on his chest, pausing before muttering, “Fifty-six.”

“Fifty-seven,” you added, raising your hand while still keeping an eye on Jun-hee and her conversation.

Dae-ho exhaled heavily, frustration evident. “We have forty-five on our side. We’re outnumbered by twelve.”

The weight of the statement settled over the group like a cloud of despair.

Young-il stood up, breaking the silence. “It may seem like a big gap, but if six of them change their minds, it’s tied. Seven, and we win.”

“But what if some of the X votes switch to O?” Dae-ho countered.

“They likely won’t,” Young-il replied evenly. “Those who voted X wanted out even when the prize was smaller. Now they can leave with even more money. Why risk their lives again?”

You joined in. “Me, and Jung-bae will definitely vote X. That’s two already. If four more switch sides, it’s a tie. Five more, and we win.”

Gi-hun nodded decisively. “Then let’s go try to convince them.” 

“No,” Young-il said firmly. “That’s too risky. Most of them want to continue playing. If we start making moves, they won’t sit back and let us sway their votes.”

Gi-hun’s frustration boiled over. “So we just stand here and pray they change their minds? What if we lose again? Are we supposed to march into another game like sheep?”

Hanni hesitated before speaking, her voice soft but steady. “Gi-hunnim, I don’t think it’s wise to provoke them. They might do the same to us, and they have the upper hand. People are here for money. If we start something, it could lead to a fight before we even vote.”

Her words calmed the rising tension, and the group fell into silence as guards entered the room, signaling the start of the next vote.

After the third game, only 100 players remained. The prize money now totaled 35.6 billion won, meaning each player will earn 356 million won if they would go home now. Jung-bae approached Gi-hun, his face grim yet determined. “With that kind of money,” he began, his voice low but certain, “some might change their minds. If we can convince six more people to vote X, we’ll tie. Seven, and we win.” His words hung in the air, filling the room with a fragile sense of hope.

The guards soon interrupted, announcing that the voting would proceed in reverse order of player numbers. The tension thickened as Gi-hun approached the booth, the echo of his footsteps amplifying the silence. “Player 456, please cast your vote,” one guard intoned, his monotone voice chilling in its detachment.

One by one, players approached the booth, many clinging to their original decisions. The scoreboard slowly reflected the changes. When it was Jung-bae’s turn, he strode forward with purpose, slamming his hand on the X button. As he returned to Gi-hun’s side, he showed off his X patch and declared, “Seven more to win,” his voice carrying the first flicker of confidence the group had heard in hours.

Player 380 voted X. Relief swept through your group—six more to go.

Player 185. X. Five more.

Your turn came, and you didn’t hesitate. X. Four more.

Player 125. X. Three.

Player 120 followed, then Player 015. Each X vote brought you closer to the tie. When Player 007 slammed the X button, he shouted, “Let’s go home!” and tore off his O patch triumphantly.

“That’s seven!” Jung-bae yelled, grinning in excitement. “We did it!”

The celebration was short-lived. The next player, an elderly woman, calmly voted O. The room fell silent as her choice appeared on the scoreboard: 49 for X, 50 for O.

Everyone turned toward the last player, Player 001. The atmosphere shifted, the tension nearly suffocating. The air felt heavy with anticipation as he slowly made his way to the booth. Young-il’s slow steps toward the voting booth felt endless. Every step seemed deliberate, as though he were savoring the weight of the moment.

Hanni, looking at Young-il, quietly gripped Jun-hee’s arm, her face pale. “What’s wrong?” Jun-hee asked quietly, her voice tinged with concern.

Hanni hesitated before speaking, her words barely audible. “Young-ilnim... he scares me sometimes.”

Jun-hee frowned. “Why? Did something happen?”

“When we were waiting for [Name]nim during the third game, I thought I saw him making eye contact with the guards,” Hanni murmured. “It was like... like they knew him. I don’t know, maybe I imagined it, but it didn’t feel right.”

Jun-hee’s brows furrowed, her protective instincts kicking in. “We should tell [Name]nim.”

“No!” Hanni shook her head rapidly. “I don’t want to ruin what they have. [Name]nim deserves to be happy. If I’m wrong, I don’t want to mess things up.”

Jun-hee looked at her with a mix of worry and understanding, her hand coming to rest on Hanni’s shoulder. Before either could say more, the sharp sound of Player 001’s vote echoed through the room.

X.

A stunned silence followed before the scoreboard updated, displaying an even 50 for X and 50 for O. Young-il turned to the group, a smile on his face as he raised his hand in an okay sign. Your side erupted into quiet cheers, exchanging looks of disbelief and relief.

“It’s a tie. We did it!” Dae-ho exclaimed, grabbing your shoulders in excitement. You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking him back as a rush of emotion coursed through you.

Relief swept through the room, but a palpable tension lingered as everyone waited to hear the outcome of the tie.

"Wait, since it’s a tie, what does it mean?" Player 100 asked.

The guard responded flatly, "Clause Three: If the voting ends in a tie, players will vote again. To give you time to think, the vote will be conducted tomorrow." He glanced around the room, his gaze cold and impassive. "Until then, please consider your future carefully."

As dinner commenced, your team welcomed new members—Players 120, 149, 007, and 246. The mood was a bit lighter, though tinged with underlying anxiety. Small talk carried the group through the meal, with some making half-hearted jokes to distract from the harsh reality of their situation.

“I’m surprised by the food today,” Hanni remarked, biting eagerly into her roll of gimbap. “I thought it would be bread and milk until the end.” You gently nudged her to slow down, worried she might choke.

Jun-hee, chewing thoughtfully, leaned closer to Hanni. “I was so scared earlier, especially with Young-ilnim. I thought for sure he’d vote O like the first time.” She hesitated, then whispered, “Hey, we really should tell her—”

“Tell me what?” you interjected, raising a brow.

“N-nothing!” Hanni stammered, her cheeks coloring as she avoided your gaze.

“Hmm, I’m watching you two,” you teased, making a gesture before turning your attention to Dae-ho, who was animatedly chatting with Jung-bae.

“I really thought you were going to vote O, like on day one,” Dae-ho admitted, glancing at Young-il. Jung-bae, clearly done with the male's rambling, stuffed a piece of gimbap into his mouth before addressing Young-il directly. “Thank you, Young-il. You gave us another chance.”

Young-il shook his head slightly, his expression neutral. “I just want to stay alive. The money’s enough now, so I need to get out of here. Alive.” His eyes flickered briefly to Gi-hun as he emphasized the last word, the intensity of his gaze sending a chill through the group.

The moment was interrupted by Player 246, who spoke up, his voice laced with apprehension. “Do you think we’ll be able to win the second vote?”

Reality hit like a blow, extinguishing the fragile flicker of hope that had momentarily lit the group. A somber silence followed until Young-il broke it. “We’ll have to go for broke,” he said, his tone measured but firm. “Like Gi-hun said earlier, we should try to convince some of them to change their minds before the second vote.”

“Will they, though?” Player 007 asked, his skepticism clear. “Most of them are blinded by the money now.”

“My son,” his mother chimed in with an oddly cheerful tone, “When you’re hungry, you start to miss home. All we have is this good roll of gimbap, and everyone will feel the pangs of hunger tomorrow.” Her logic was far-fetched, but no one dared contradict her.

007 stood and tried to address the opposing team, using the oll of gimbap as leverage. However, instead of having the result he expected to get, he got the total opposite. The men shouted over each other, their voices rising to a chaotic crescendo. Gi-hun, visibly conflicted, stared at his gimbap before unrolling it. Inside was a fork, its sharp prongs gleaming ominously. A weapon.

Unbeknownst to most, a fight had broken out in the bathroom. The announcement of eliminated players startled everyone into silence. Gasps and murmurs filled the room as the piggy bank suddenly rang. With 95 players remaining, the prize money now stood at 36.1 billion won, increasing each player’s worth to 380 million won.

“What’s happening?” Jung-bae whispered, his voice trembling with unease. His question hung unanswered as the bathroom doors opened. Players emerged, bloodied and bruised, their faces marked by fear and rage.

Player 124 from Team O stumbled into the middle of the room, his voice shaking with anger. “Listen, Team O!” he shouted. “When we were in the bathroom, these X bastards tried to kill us! They killed some of us, including my friend—”

“Bullshit!” Player 047 from Team X shouted back, cutting him off. “You’re the ones who started it!” He gestured toward where Team X sat, his voice rising with fury. “They threatened one of our people! They attacked us to win the second vote!”

The room erupted in chaos. People were shouting, pointing fingers, and some even started pushing and shoving. The tension in the air was thick, and it felt like everyone was on edge, afraid of what might happen next. You could feel the anxiety creeping in as everyone seemed to turn on each other.

In the midst of the chaos, Player 100 quickly rounded up the O team, ordering a headcount. Player 047 did the same with the X team, trying to keep control. The numbers were close, with 47 players on the O team and 48 on the X team. The X team now had the advantage in the voting.

“Two people died on our side,” Player 047 said, sitting down. “That means we lost three, and now they have the upper hand.” A player on their team pointed out, “We still have a better chance. We’re one vote ahead now.”

Jung-bae, trying to stay positive, spoke up. “As long as we don’t change our minds, we’ll win by one vote tomorrow.” The room quieted down as everyone whispered amongst themselves, the weight of the upcoming vote heavy on their minds.

Suddenly, the announcement broke the silence. “Attention, please. Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, please return to your beds and prepare for bedtime.”

Player 047 stood up, trying to rally his team. “Listen, no one can change their mind, okay? We’ll win tomorrow. Stay strong, we’ll make it through.” His words were filled with determination, and the room filled with a low hum of agreement from his team.

Once everyone started to settle down, Dae-ho leaned in, speaking in a low voice to your group. “Those guys are acting really suspicious. They’re planning something, I can feel it.”

Jung-bae, not paying much attention to the others, just waved him off. “Whatever. Once we win tomorrow’s vote, it’ll all be over.” He sounded confident, but you could tell he was just trying to keep the morale up.

You turned your gaze to Gi-hun, his face unreadable. You knew he was thinking about the situation carefully. After everything that had happened, you weren’t sure what he was planning. But something about the way the O team had been looking at you all, with a certain malice in their eyes, told you that there was more to this than just a vote.

Finally, Gi-hun spoke, his voice calm but filled with tension. “Once the lights go out, they’ll attack us.” The group went silent at his words, the weight of his statement sinking in. 007’s eyes widened in disbelief as he asked, “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” You replied this time, everyone looked at you waiting for your explanation. “These people, they didn’t vote O because they wanted to play. They voted O to get more money. And now that they know killing increases the prize, they’ll do whatever it takes to do it.” 

Young-il, who had been quiet up until now, spoke up. “Then we should attack first. We need to take them by surprise.” His suggestion was met with agreement from Player 047, who nodded, adding, “We have the women and elderly on our side. If they attack first, we’ll be at a huge disadvantage.”

But Gi-hun wasn’t on board with the idea. “No. We can’t start a fight like that.” Everyone looked at him, confused. “We need to stay calm. If we kill each other, that’s exactly what they want.”

Jung-bae frowned, clearly not understanding. “Who are they? Who are you talking about?”

“The makers of the game,” Gi-hun said bitterly, his eyes burning with anger. “They’re the ones who want us to kill each other. They’re watching us right now.”

The room fell silent as the others absorbed this revelation. You felt a chill run down your spine. “Where are they?” Dae-ho asked, his voice tight. You could hear the fear in his words, even if he was trying to hide it.

Gi-hun didn’t flinch. He simply looked up at the ceiling, his gaze steady. “Up there,” He murmured, his voice barely audible but filled with conviction. Slowly, everyone looked up at the ceiling, following his gaze. Gi-hun’s eyes were fixed on the higher levels. “The control rooms are above us. Their leader wears a black mask. If we capture him, we’ll have leverage.”

Young-il’s skepticism was evident. “How are you going to fight them? They’ve got guns.”

“We’ll take their guns,” Gi-hun answered plainly, locking eyes with Young-il. His words weren’t a suggestion—they were a plan.

“From the masked men?” Player 246 asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

Gi-hun nodded resolutely. “Yes. We’ll catch them off guard. They won’t expect it.”

“That’s too dangerous,” Young-il said, shaking his head. “Even if we manage to steal their guns, we’ll be outnumbered.”

Gi-hun’s eyes hardened. “What’s your plan, then? Sit around and wait to die? Watch as they pick us off, one by one? Is that your idea of survival?” His voice was harsh, the desperation in his words cutting through the tension.

The silence that followed was thick, as everyone contemplated the harsh reality they faced.

120 spoke up, her voice uncertain but full of fear. “Do we even stand a chance?”

“We do,” Gi-hun said, his voice unwavering. “If we strike first, we catch them off guard. They’ll never see it coming. The people running this game think we’re powerless, but we have the upper hand now. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all.”

“How do you plan to take their guns?” Young-il asked again, his skepticism still evident.

Gi-hun didn’t hesitate, as if he had already thought it through.  “Once the lights go out, we’ll have our chance.”

Lights out in 5 minutes.

As everyone made their way to their beds, Jun-hee excused herself, telling you she needed to talk to someone. You offered to go with her, but she waved you off, saying she’d be quick.

You turned to Hanni, who had a distant, absent look in her eyes. She wasn’t fully there, trapped in her own thoughts. You rubbed her back gently to snap her out of it. Poor Hanni. She was so young, and she didn’t deserve any of this. She shouldn’t have been thrown into this nightmare.

She deserved a future, a chance to grow and live, not this. It pained you to see her face filled with confusion and fear. There was so much darkness surrounding her, and she was so small, so vulnerable. It made your heart heavy.

“Stick close to me, okay?” you whispered, your voice soft but firm as you brushed her hair behind her ear. “If you can’t find me, go to Jun-hee, okay?”

Hanni nodded, but her expression didn’t fully match her words. You could see the uncertainty in her eyes. You gave her a hug, pressing a kiss to her forehead, trying to offer what little comfort you could. Rocking her gently, you tucked her in, smoothing the blanket around her, and gave her one last kiss before heading to your own bed.

Lights out in 10.

The countdown echoed. You lay down, staring up at the ceiling, your thoughts racing. The seconds felt like hours.

9. What if this is the night? The thought couldn’t help but cross your mind, but you pushed it aside. You couldn’t afford to think that way now. You had to stay focused.

8.

7. The sound of your heartbeat in your ears was almost deafening, the pressure of the countdown like a vice around your chest.

6.

5. Keep it together. You told yourself. Focus. You had to be ready.

4. You thought about Hanni, about Jun-hee. What would happen to them if you didn’t make it? The thought alone made your chest tighten.

3. You forcefully removed them from your thoughts. This was not the time to think about them, they'll be fine, they'll be safe. They'll get out of here alive.

2. The darkness was getting closer. The room was quiet, but you could feel the tension, the electricity in the air. Everyone was waiting, bracing themselves.

1.

The lights flickered and then went off, plunging the room into darkness. Your mind immediately went to Gi-hun’s words: Once the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quickly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us.

It was quiet.

Then it was loud.

The sounds of screams and footsteps filling the air as people were attacked and killed left and right. You could hear the unmistakable sounds of struggles, the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground. Panic rippled through the room. You prayed silently, hoping that Young-il, Hanni, Jun-hee, and everyone else would make it through the night. You clung to the hope that you would survive, that you wouldn’t be one of the unlucky ones who wouldn’t make it to the morning.

After minutes of waiting, the sound of doors opening signaled the end of the wait. You immediately crawled out from under the bottom bed following phase 2 of Gi-hun's plan.

Playing dead, you stayed as still as possible, listening for the guard’s footsteps. When you heard one approach, you tensed. As the guard scanned your ID, you reached out and grabbed them, pulling them into a headlock. They struggled, fighting to break free, but you tightened your grip, whispering a soft apology. With one swift movement, you snapped their neck. The familiar crack echoed in your ears. Without hesitation, you grabbed their gun, firing at nearby guards, taking them down one by one.

Quickly, you crawled under another bed, planning your next move. The guards on the upper beds were your next target. You fired a shot at an unsuspecting guard, laughing quietly as they looked around, confused. Before they could react, you shot again, taking them out.

From bed to bed, you moved stealthily, inching closer to the stage. Hidden in the shadows, you waited, watching the guards’ every move. You knew patience was key—waiting until they were close enough. When the retreat announcement echoed through the room, you sprang into action. Leaping from your hiding spot, you unleashed a spray of bullets, taking down the remaining guards one by one. Even as they tried to retreat into the gate, you kept firing, not giving them a chance to escape.

But just as the last guard made it to the gate, you pulled the trigger, only to hear a click. You were out of bullets. Panic surged through you. You needed to reload, but before you could, you heard Gi-hun shout, "Hold fire!" You stopped, nodding as you obeyed his command.

Jung-bae and Player 246 rushed forward and forced the last guard to his knees, making him raise his hands in surrender. Slinging your empty gun over your shoulder, you quickly ran to the back, where Hanni and Jun-hee were waiting for you.

“Unnie!” Hanni whispered-yelled as you came into view, her eyes lighting up in relief. Jun-hee was right behind her, giving you a big smile and waving you over with an expression full of warmth. You didn’t hesitate, pulling both of them into a tight hug. The moment felt comforting, but the danger still lingered in the air. You held their faces gently, searching for any signs of injury.

“Are you both hurt?” you asked, voice steady but filled with concern.

In the background, you could hear Gi-hun telling everyone to come out, reassuring them that you wouldn’t hurt them. His voice was low but commanding, a sense of authority settling over the group.

Jun-hee and Hanni shook their heads before telling you they were okay. You exhaled softly, a sigh of relief escaping you as the weight in your chest lifted slightly. You gave them a small smile.

“When you mentioned collecting guns and gunmanship, I really thought you meant some online FPS game,” Hanni said, trying to lighten the mood, a playful glint in her eyes. You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Really now? Well, I might be old, but not that old. I’m still strong enough to do these things,” you said, flexing your arms with an exaggerated grunt. Your muscles were hardly impressive, but the action was enough to make the three of you laugh. It felt good—too good for the situation you were all in.

You continued to smile as the laughter settled, but your thoughts flickered back to the reality. “Alright, you two, go ahead. I’ll catch up with you soon. I need to collect the guns and ammo from the guards first,” you said, your tone firm but affectionate. You ushered them toward the center before you set about your task.

As you moved toward the fallen guards, your hands quickly went to work, collecting the weapons and ammo. You moved with precision, and were so in the zone that you barely noticed a figure following you.

“Are you alright?”

A sharp breath caught in your throat as you jerked your head toward the sound. In an instant, your fingers gripped the handle of your gun, and you pointed it at the source of the voice. When you saw who it was, your tension loosened, but only slightly. Your breath came out in a shaky exhale as you lowered the gun.

“Young-il, you scared me!” you said, pressing a hand to your chest, heart still racing from the sudden scare.

“Ah? That so?” he replied, a small, teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m very sorry then.”

“Oh, shut up. That’s not the look of someone who’s sorry,” you shot back, though a smile tugged at your own lips.

The two of you shared a brief laugh before the tension in your bodies dissipated enough for you to focus on the task at hand again. “Help me out with these, will you?” you asked, gesturing to the weapons scattered on the ground. He didn’t hesitate, moving to gather the magazines and guns.

The two of you worked in relative silence, the only sounds the shifting of metal and the occasional clink of ammunition being loaded. Despite everything, the atmosphere between you felt strangely light. It was as if, for a moment, the world outside was forgotten and it was just the two of you working together. You didn’t know why, but it was oddly comforting.

“May I ask how you’re so familiar with guns?” he asked, genuinely curious now. He hadn’t expected you to be the type, but he wasn’t in a position to judge anymore.

You hesitated for a moment before replying, your voice softening. “Well, I used to have an aunt who was really into guns. She married a fellow gun enthusiast, and together they opened up a shooting range near our home. At first, I wasn’t that interested. Guns weren’t my thing, really.” You paused, remembering the past. “But then I started noticing someone—someone I had a crush on. He was always reading about guns, and I thought maybe I could get him to teach me. I thought it’d be a way to connect, you know?”

Young-il nodded as he stayed quiet, finding comfort in your voice as you talked him away. You took a deep breath before continuing, the words spilling out freely.

“When I asked him about it, he just brushed me off. Told me that girls like me should stick to cooking and cleaning and that guns were for ‘big boys’ like him. Some bullshit like that.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “I didn’t take it well. It pissed me off, actually. And from that day on, I got serious about guns—just to prove I could be as good as any guy.” You let out a bitter chuckle. “Now, I’ve got a collection at home.”

The air around you seemed to shift. The lightheartedness had drained from the conversation, and you felt the past creeping up on you. Young-il must’ve noticed the change in your mood, because he didn’t speak right away. Instead, he gave you space, knowing you needed it.

A few moments passed before you spoke again, your voice distant. “A few years after we met again, things just... happened. One thing led to another, and I ended up having a beautiful baby girl.” You smiled softly, but it quickly faded. “You should meet her. I think she’d like you.”

Young-il’s face softened for a moment, but he didn’t say anything. You felt the smile fade completely as you continued. “I’m happy to have her, I really am... But it wasn’t supposed to happen that way. The guy... he wasn’t in it for the right reasons. He just wanted to drain me dry and disappear. He never told me about his debt. And the collectors...”

You trailed off, the heaviness of the past taking over. Young-il stayed quiet, giving you the space you needed to process everything.

“You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to,” Young-il said gently, his voice softer than before.

You shook your head, offering him a reassuring smile. “No, no… it’s okay. You deserve to know.” A brief silence passed between you two before you started explaining, the weight of your words settling heavily in the air.

“When the collectors came to my house, I found out that he had put my name and address down as the guarantor. In their eyes, I owed them around 1 billion won, but that was far from the truth. They told me that since I was their ‘favorite’ debtee, they struck up a deal. They’d lower the debt to 800 million... and another form of payment to cover the remaining 200 million…” You paused, your breath catching in your throat. “In return... they’d keep my kid hostage until I paid them every last cent.”

Young-il looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of disbelief and sympathy. He didn’t know what to say, but his expression was enough. He opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it, opting for silence. After a while, he let his mouth open. “Thank you for sharing that with me. It must’ve taken a lot of courage to tell me, especially to someone you’ve only just met.”

Grabbing the last available gun, you smiled back at him, but it was a smile tinged with sadness. “It’s alright, Young-il,” you said, your voice steady despite the heaviness in your heart. “I know this is not the right time for these things, but you’re definitely more than just someone I’ve only just met.”

Young-il froze, your words sinking into him like a knife he hadn’t seen coming. He kept his face neutral, but inside, a storm raged. He had tried to suppress it—whatever it was that made his chest tighten whenever you spoke to him, that made his thoughts drift to you in moments of quiet. But now, hearing you say those words, the feelings he had buried clawed their way to the surface.

His gaze flickered to you, trying to gauge if you understood what you had just done. But your eyes met his with a casual earnestness, as if you hadn’t realized the impact of your words. Of course, you didn’t. You couldn’t.

You didn’t know that every small interaction with you chipped away at the walls he had built around himself. That every glance, every word, every fleeting moment made it harder for him to maintain the facade of indifference he had perfected over the years.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his jaw tightening. What was he supposed to say? That you were right? That you were more than just someone he’d met in the chaos of the games? That you had become something he didn’t know how to handle?

No. He couldn’t say any of that. Not now. Not ever.

So instead, he said nothing.

“Are you ready?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, completely unaware of the turmoil brewing inside him.

He nodded once, stiffly, as if the motion required more effort than it should. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice low and even.

As you turned away, he lingered for a moment, watching you. His chest ached with a mix of emotions he didn’t want to name—ones he thought he had locked away when he lost the love of his life. He had told himself there was no room for them, especially not now, especially not with you.

And yet, here they were, threatening to unravel him.

He shook his head, forcing himself to follow after you, his steps heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid. He couldn’t afford to let himself feel—not here, not in this place where feelings were a liability.

But as much as he tried to bury it, he knew it was too late. He had already let you in, even if you didn’t know it.

You stood beside Young-il, both of you observing the remaining players, the silent anticipation thick in the air. The guns and ammo laid before you, the weight of the upcoming mission pressing down on everyone. Gi-hun, at the front of the group, finally broke the silence, his voice steady yet resolute.

“We will capture those who captured us, putting an end to this game, and making them pay.”

The weight of his words hit hard, but there was no turning back now. Everyone knew what was at stake. Beside Jun-hee, Hanni's gaze lingered on Young-il, watching him carefully. There was something off about him, something she couldn’t quite place, but she was determined to figure it out. She was always one to notice the little things.

Gi-hun’s voice rang out again, more direct this time. “Anyone who knows how to use a gun and wishes to join us, please step forward.”

For a long moment, no one moved. Fear was a suffocating blanket that kept them frozen in place. Then, Jung-bae stepped forward, his presence almost a defiance against the tension in the room.

“I know you’re scared,” he said, his voice firm, though tinged with his own nervousness. “We’re scared too. But this might be our last chance to make it out of here alive.” A beat of silence followed, heavy and thick. Then, with a quiet resolve, Jung-bae continued, “Fight with us, so we can go home together.”

One by one, four men stepped up, their faces a mix of fear and determination. They grabbed their guns and ammo, preparing for the fight ahead. Gi-hun began instructing everyone to check their ammo, his eyes scanning the group for any sign of hesitation. Jung-bae handed out radios, the weight of their importance not lost on anyone.

“We’ll be using channel 7, the lucky number,” he announced. Everyone nodded in unison, following his instructions.

Gi-hun turned to Young-il, who was checking his ammo with meticulous care. “Thank you for earlier,” He said, his voice quieter than usual. Young-il didn’t look up, his focus still on the gun in his hands. “You can buy me soju when we get out,” he muttered, his voice gruff but carrying a faint hint of amusement.

You overheard their exchange and couldn’t resist the urge to tease. “What about me? Where’s my thanks?” You pushed the ammo back into its place, a smirk playing at your lips as both men glanced at you in surprise. Your chuckle filled the tense air, lightening the mood for a brief moment. “I’m just messing with you. Good luck out there, Captain. Get us out of here.”

Gi-hun smiled back at you, nodding before turning to check the rest of the team.

Meanwhile, Player 120, noticing Player 246 struggling with his ammo, stepped forward without hesitation. She called for everyone’s attention, and the group grew silent as she began to demonstrate how to operate the gun in her hands.

“This is the MP5, a submachine gun,” she said with a confident grin, her hands moving smoothly as she demonstrated how to load, unload, and switch the mode of the weapon.

You couldn’t help but watch her, fascinated by the fluidity of her movements. There was something almost hypnotic about the way she handled the weapon, and you felt a rush of excitement. You exchanged a glance with Young-il, catching his teasing look. Your eyes narrowed playfully in return.

“What?” you said, your voice light, but with a hint of a challenge. “It’s not every day you find another girl with the same interest as me.”

“Well, I didn’t say anything,” Young-il replied, his tone nonchalant, but there was a subtle spark of amusement in his eyes as he glanced at you. His lips quirked slightly, as if he was trying to suppress a smile but failing just a little.

You shot him a playful glare, your eyes narrowing in mock annoyance. "Just saying, it's rare to find someone who gets it." You crossed your arms, leaning back slightly as you met his gaze, your voice teasing but with a quiet warmth.

Young-il raised an eyebrow, his smirk lingering. "I get it, trust me," he said, his voice a lot softer.

As player 120 returned to her spot, You and Player 246, who seemed just as curious as you, looked at her in astonishment. “Where did you learn so much about guns?” 246 asked, his tone a mix of awe and genuine interest. You were itching to ask the same thing, and when Player 120 answered, you couldn’t help but grin.

“Ah, I was a sergeant first class in the ROK Special Forces,” she said, her tone casual but proud.

You practically beamed at her answer. “Wow,” you muttered, feeling a newfound respect for the woman who had so confidently shared her experience. You turned to the male beside you, ready to share your thoughts, but as your gaze flickered over to Young-il, you noticed something you hadn’t seen before—a distance in his expression, something off. The familiarity of his stoic face was still there, but there was a coldness behind it now that you couldn’t place. You felt your chest tighten, and for a moment, your confidence faltered. The words you wanted to say got stuck in your throat. Was there something bothering him?

You hesitated for a second before turning your attention back to Player 120, deciding not to press. You wanted to focus on the task ahead, but that nagging feeling in your chest refused to subside.

Gi-hun’s voice broke through the quiet, cutting through your thoughts. He pointed a revolver at the guard on the ground, demanding that he remove his mask. You felt your stomach turn as the young guard’s face was revealed. He looked no older than 25, his eyes wide with fear. Jung-bae’s reaction mirrored your own—he was visibly disturbed by the sight. He approached the guard, his voice filled with genuine concern. “Do your parents know what you’re doing?”

Before the guard could answer, Gi-hun cocked the revolver, silencing the room in an instant. The tension in the air was almost unbearable, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away. 

His voice was low, almost a growl, but it carried with an unyielding edge. “Take us to your captain.” His words hung in the air, final and unwavering.

You followed the group, positioning yourself toward the back of the line just in front of Player 120. Before stepping through the door, you cast a glance back and saw Hanni and Jun-hee's worried faces. You offered them a warm, comforting smile, trying to reassure them, even if you weren’t sure how much comfort you could offer in that moment.

As you stepped through, you seized the opportunity to strike up a conversation with the other woman in the group.

“Hey, uh… my name’s [Lastname] [Name]. I just wanted to say, I really admire how fearless and knowledgeable you are with guns, especially for a girl. Not that it means much, I’m a girl too. It's just... the only other woman I knew who was into guns was my aunt,” you said, trying to keep the tone casual despite the nerves gnawing at you.

Player 120, Cho Hyun-ju, gave you a surprised but warm smile. “Nice to meet you, [Name]. I didn’t expect you to be so open, especially with how tense everything is.”

Before you could respond, the sound of Gi-hun’s revolver firing cut through the air. The loud shot echoed, silencing the recorded announcement urging everyone to return to their beds. “Down!” Gi-hun barked. Your eyes snapped up, spotting the movement of pink guards approaching from the corner.

"At one o'clock!" Gi-hun yelled, his voice urgent. You quickly ducked, instinctively reaching for your weapon. Hyun-ju, without hesitation, took cover and began firing.

“Cover me!” she shouted as she moved, using the new position to get a better shot. You returned fire, covering her as she positioned herself to pick off the guards. Every few moments, you switched between ducking for cover and popping up to fire. The rhythm became second nature, the cacophony of gunfire almost drowning out your thoughts. Bang, cover. Bang, cover.

“Cease fire!” Gi-hun ordered, his voice cutting through the chaos. You dropped behind cover, a sharp breath escaping you as the last of the guards fell. Gi-hun quickly checked in with everyone. You gave him a thumbs-up, signaling you were good.

"Alright, we move up," he said, his voice steady as always. You nodded, scanning your surroundings. Your eyes flicked to the CCTV camera near you. With a quick movement, you raised your gun and fired, taking out the lens. You saw Hyun-ju doing the same on her end. The two of you exchanged a brief nod, silently acknowledging the trust that had formed in the chaos.

Gi-hun led the group forward, signaling everyone to check corners as you moved.

Suddenly, you all halted as Gi-hun interrogated a guard. Gun to his face, the guard meekly pointed ahead. “The entrance to the management area is around the corner. The control room is right above it,” he said, fear evident in his voice.

“Move it then,” Gi-hun ordered, pushing the guard forward.

The guard hesitated, then started to reach for his mask.

“What are you doing?” Gi-hun demanded.

“I need to get my mask to bypass security,” the guard replied quickly. Gi-hun hesitated but allowed the guard to move, sensing no immediate threat.

But then, the unexpected happened. The guard froze, staring blankly ahead, paralyzed. Before you could react, a bullet pierced his skull, sending him crumpling to the ground. Chaos erupted immediately as the sound of rapid gunfire filled the air. Guards flooded in, and you scrambled for cover, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

The gunfire was relentless. You moved, ducking and shooting, ducking and shooting, covering every angle as you fought for your life. The intensity of the moment was blinding, but you couldn't afford to lose focus.

“I’ll go for the management area!” Gi-hun yelled, his voice cutting through the noise.

“Will you be able to find it? Should I come with you?” Young-il called after him, a note of concern in his voice.

“No,” Gi-hun responded sharply. “I’ll go with Jung-bae. You need to buy us some time.”

Young-il nodded, his gaze sharp. Gi-hun and Jung-bae moved off in one direction, leaving the rest of you to handle the remaining guards.

Noticing two of your friends had bolted, you immediately motioned for cover, weaving between Young-il and Dae-ho. You glanced at Young-il, asking where they were going and what their instructions were. Young-il quickly relayed their plan, his voice steady despite the urgency.

With a firm nod, you raised your gun, ready to provide the cover fire needed. The next few moments were a blur of bullets and evasive maneuvers as you helped keep the guards at bay. You could only hope that Gi-hun and Jung-bae would find what they needed before it was too late.

As you continued to fight off the guards, you noticed Dae-ho's frantic movements. He was wasting bullets, shooting wildly without even aiming. The gunfire echoed around you, but his shots were going wide, not hitting anyone. You could tell he was struggling.

When he ran out of ammo, you placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to steady him. “You good there, Dae-ho? Do you have some extra ammo?”

His eyes were wide, panicked, and full of fear. You could see the signs of someone who had experienced more than they should have, someone who had been pushed to the edge. His reaction was familiar to you—too familiar. He was struggling with some kind of trauma, possibly PTSD. Despite his fear of gunshots, he had still volunteered to fight, a true marine in spirit, but the weight of it was starting to break him.

Young-il noticed the exchange, his gaze shifting between you and Dae-ho. You handed Dae-ho some of your extra ammo, keeping your voice calm as you tried to keep him grounded. “You have to be resourceful. It’s okay to take a breather. I’m here to cover you.”

Dae-ho gulped, nodding shakily as he began to reload. You took the moment to shoot a few guards, hiding behind cover to keep your position steady.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere!” Player 047 shouted, his frustration evident. “Let’s follow them up to the upper level!”

You immediately shook your head, disagreeing with the idea. “We might get surrounded if you don’t have a plan! We need to wait for Gi-hun and Jung-bae’s signal!”

Young-il nodded, agreeing with your assessment. “Let’s wait until they find the control room.”

You were about to reposition when a bullet grazed your cheek, the sharp sting making you flinch. Blood seeped out, but thankfully it wasn’t anything fatal. Still, the pain was enough to remind you of how dangerous the situation was. You cursed under your breath as you pressed a hand to your face, trying to stop the bleeding.

Young-il noticed immediately. Without hesitation, he shot the guard who had fired at you, his sharp eyes never leaving your form as he checked on you. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah… thanks, ah shit, that hurts!” you winced, but you quickly resumed your position, peeking out to shoot, then ducking back into cover. Peak, shoot, hide. Peak, shoot, hide.

But then came the dreaded sound of an empty magazine clicking. Shit, you were out of ammo. You reached for your pockets, frantically searching for spare magazines when Hyun-ju’s voice rang through the hall. “Everyone, check your magazines!”

The tension in the air grew as you all checked your remaining rounds. It was bad for everyone—almost all of you were running on fumes, ammo running dangerously low. Even Young-il was out.

Just as you were about to panic, the radio crackled to life.

“Young-il, Dae-ho, [Name], can you hear me?” Jung-bae’s voice came through, sounding strained.

Young-il looked at you, signaling for you to cover while he responded. You nodded, raising your gun to keep the guards in check.

“Yeah, we hear you. What’s the status?” Young-il replied, his voice steady despite the chaos around you.

Jung-bae’s voice came back quickly. “I think we’re below the control room now! But we need backup and more ammo!”

“We’re running low on ammo too!” Young-il yelled.

“There should be spare magazines in the soldier’s pockets in our quarters. Go get them!” Gi-hun ordered.

“Got it!” Young-il responded immediately, turning to the group. “Did you hear that? They need backup! Four of us will go, and the rest will stay here. Join us once you’ve gotten more magazines.”

“Who wants to go with me?” Young-il asked, looking around. Without hesitation, you raised your hand, determination in your eyes. “I’ll go!”

Young-il looked at you with a troubled expression, about to argue, but before he could stop you, two other voices spoke up in agreement. Player 047 and Player 015 both volunteered to join, and Young-il, after a final look at your determined face, gave a resigned nod. “Alright, follow me.”

The four of you moved cautiously, alert as you made your way toward the stairs. The hallways were dimly lit, bathed in an eerie purple hue that made everything seem surreal, almost as though you were walking through some twisted version of reality. The stairs seemed endless, twisting upward in the haze of the purple glow.

Young-il gave the order for you three to go ahead of him, signaling you to take the lead. Without hesitation, you followed. What you didn’t notice however, was Young-il making eye contact with the CCTV camera, and silently ordering the guards—through hand signals—not to shoot you.

As you turned the corner, your eyes immediately locked onto Gi-hun and Jung-bae. Relief surged through you for a second before you remembered the danger. “Did you find the control room?” you asked, your voice a mix of urgency and hope.

“I think it's right up there, but we can’t go this way,” Gi-hun said, his voice tense. “I want you to find another way.”

“I did a scan of the layout here,” Young-il said, sounding calm, but there was a quiet determination in his voice. “I’m sure there’s a way to go around them.” He turned to you, his gaze steady but full of unspoken concern. “You stay here with Jung-bae and Gi-hun. You still have more ammo, so guard them, okay?”

You blinked, feeling your heart tighten in your chest. “What?” you asked, surprise creeping into your voice. “Are you sure about that?”

Before you could press further, Young-il’s voice softened but carried an edge of finality. “I want you guys to keep their focus on you. We’ll hit them from behind.” He paused, his gaze meeting yours for a long moment, his eyes betraying just how much this weighed on him. There was tenderness there in his look, desipte that, there was no room for argument.

You saw the worry in his eyes, but also something else—a protective instinct that almost made your heart skip a beat. You knew there was no way to change his mind so you just nodded, pushing down the tightness in your chest and grabbed your last magazine. “Take this, Young-il, and be safe.”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes lingering on you. “You sure?”

You nodded firmly, despite the fear gnawing at your insides. “Dae-ho will be back with more.”

His hand brushed yours as he took the magazine from you, and for a split second, it felt like time slowed down. The touch, however brief, left a lingering warmth in your palm, and when his gaze lingered on you, there was an almost imperceptible softness in his expression that made your heart flutter, even if only for a moment.

With a final, decisive nod, Young-il, 047, and 015 ran as you peeked out from the wall, your pulse racing as you provided cover for him and his team. The tension in the air was palpable, and you could feel the familiar sting of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

After a while you heard Young-il’s voice crackle over the radio: “We found it. Start attacking and draw their attention. Then we will hit them from behind.” Gi-hun’s voice followed shortly after, giving you the go signal. There was no turning back now.

Your grip on the gun tightened, and as you moved into position, you didn’t hesitate. With one last glance at Gi-hun and Jung-bae, you stepped out from your cover and opened fire, the rapid succession of shots echoing off the walls. You kept your aim steady, focusing on their movements, keeping them distracted. Each shot rang out, but the weight of the situation pressed heavily on you—your mind was focused, but there was a constant undercurrent of worry, the feeling that you were too far from where you needed to be.

It had been a few minutes since you saw Young-il. The soldiers were still there, and a tightness formed in your chest. Something wasn’t right. You pushed the thought away, staying focused on the fight at hand, but you couldn’t ignore the nagging worry. Every time the radio buzzed, your heart skipped a beat, hoping to hear something from him.

And then, your prayers were answered. Hope rushed through as your radio buzzed to life. However, everything came crashing down when heard his voice. Weak. “Gi-hun… Jung-bae… [Name]… I’m sorry…”

Your stomach dropped. You could barely breathe as the world seemed to slow around you. You grabbed for your radio with shaking hands, putting it up to your mouth as your heart raced. “S-stay where you are, Young-il. I’m coming.” The words barely left your mouth before you were already running, ignoring the shouts from Gi-hun and Jung-bae as you pushed forward.

Your feet pounded against the ground as you ran, the urgency flooding your veins. You couldn’t think. Your focus was a single thought—get to him, and get to him now. The radio fell silent as it slipped off your hands, and you were left with nothing but the sound of your breathing and your footsteps echoing in the halls.

You didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t want to accept it. But as the minutes passed, and the distance between you and your goal seemed endless, something inside you shifted. Desperation took hold of you, and with each step, it felt like you were running out of time. Tears blurred your vision, and you wiped your eyes, but the fear that gripped you didn’t let up.

You stumbled, tripping over your own feet, the exhaustion starting to catch up with you. Your mind screamed at you to keep going, but your body couldn’t take it. You hit the ground, scraping your palms. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You needed to find him.

And then, you saw it. A flash of white. A shoe, just barely visible around the corner. Your heart skipped a beat. Ignoring the pain, you propped yourself up, the desperation pushing you forward.

You ran toward it, praying, hoping—maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance. But as you turned the corner, everything seemed to stop. A sudden thud behind you—the sound of heavy footsteps, too close. You spun around just in time to see a black-clad guard standing before you.

Instinct kicked in. You raised your gun, fingers wrapped tightly around the grip, your eyes locking on the target. You squeezed the trigger, but instead of the sharp report of a shot, the only sound was the click of an empty chamber. Panic surged in your chest. You were out of ammo.

Before you could react, the guard lunged forward, and with brutal precision, he slammed the barrel of his gun into your face. The impact was jarring, sending you stumbling back, your vision spinning and your body fighting to stay upright. Blood poured from your nose, warm and thick, but you had no strength left to retaliate. The world blurred as your knees gave way beneath you, and you collapsed to the floor, the darkness swallowing you whole.

The last thing you heard was the guard’s voice, distant and cold, as he spoke into his radio: “I have Player 132.”

And then, the world went silent.

“Good.” In-ho’s voice replied, “bring her to where I am.”

As Jung-bae and Gi-hun knelt with their arms behind their heads, In-ho, wearing his uniform, walked down to greet them.

“Player 456,” he said, voice masked. “Did you have fun playing hero?”

Gi-hun looked up at the familiar voice, anger flashing across his face. Before he could respond, he watched as his enemy gestured to the black-clad guard to step forward. As the guard approached, both Jung-bae and Gi-hun’s eyes went wide. In the guard's hands was you, battered and bruised, unconscious and lifeless. Blood soaked your clothes, and your head hung limply. The guard dropped you unceremoniously to the ground. Your body hit the floor with a sickening thud, and they couldn’t look any longer, their hearts shattering at the sight. Despite only meeting each other for a short period of time, you had felt like a little sister to them, someone who had always been there, and now you were being discarded as though you meant nothing.

In-ho, unfazed, pulled out his Deagle and aimed it at your motionless body. A surge of anger flooded Gi-hun, but he was too late to stop what was happening. He had helped you through so much, and now, despite everything, he couldn’t even protect you.

“Look closely,” In-ho’s voice cut through the silence, “at the consequences of your little hero game.” Before turning the gun towards Jung-bae.

Jung-bae, his face pale with fear, barely managed to speak, his voice trembling, “Gi-hun—”

A loud bang echoed through the room, and Jung-bae’s body crumpled to the floor, lifeless, blood pooling around him.

“No!” Gi-hun screamed, unable to contain his grief. He scrambled over to Jung-bae’s body, pulling him close. His eyes then flicked to yours, and he rushed to hold you too, calling out your name in agony. “No, please...”

He tried to charge toward the masked man, his anger and desperation overpowering him, but the guards quickly tackled him, pinning him down. The sound of his cries filled the room, but none of the guards moved to stop it. He wept for both you and Jung-bae, unable to process the loss.

In-ho stood watching with cold indifference, finding satisfaction in Gi-hun’s torment. With a simple gesture of his hand, he commanded the guards to knock Gi-hun out. As the guards subdued him, In-ho turned his attention to the aftermath.

“Clean up this mess,” he ordered. The guards began clearing away the bodies, but when they reached for you, In-ho stopped them. “Leave her be.”

Once the area was cleared, In-ho instructed everyone to leave, and the guards filed out. Alone in hallway, he looked down at your peaceful face, his expression softening for a moment. He removed his glove and gently wiped the blood from your cheek.

The action seemed to rouse something in you, as your eyes fluttered open. Disoriented, you blinked, taking in the unfamiliar sight of black shoes in front of you. Your senses kicked in immediately, and with quick reflexes, you grabbed the revolver hidden beneath your shirt and aimed it at the figure in front of you.

Your finger squeezed the trigger, but instead of the expected thud of a body dropping, you heard the sharp crack of shattering glass. The CCTV camera behind the masked figure had been destroyed. The sound echoed, and for a brief moment, everything paused.

In-ho didn’t flinch. His gaze never left you, cold and unwavering. You, on the other hand, stood frozen, unable to process what had just happened. The gun in your hand felt foreign, heavy. The glass that scattered across the floor seemed to mock you—your aim had been off. You hadn’t meant to miss. But what had you really aimed for? The camera? Or something else?

His posture remained unchanged. Silent. Watching. Calculating. He didn’t seem angry or pleased. He was just... waiting.

The silence pressed down on you, suffocating. Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked between the broken camera and him. You weren’t sure what you expected—more movement, an immediate response, or maybe... nothing at all. The question lingered in the air, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask it. You were waiting, too. Waiting for the next move.

Your body tensed. Was this the end? After all this was the enemy Gi-hun told you about. Every thought in your head felt like it was colliding, spinning in a storm. Taking a step back, your body reacts before your mind could catch up. What was he going to do? Was he still going to kill you?

Suddenly, the words you hadn’t even realized you were thinking slipped out, barely a whisper. “W-what do you want?” The sound of your voice startled you, hoarse and raw from everything leading up to this point.

“Answer me!”

He didn’t answer, he simply extended his arm, his palm open. A gesture. A question. It felt like he was waiting for something more than just your answer—maybe a reaction, maybe a choice. But you didn’t know if there was even one left to make.

The silence stretched out, thick and heavy. Your pulse thudded in your ears, drowning out everything else. And then, for the briefest of moments, everything cleared. A strange, unsettling calm swept over you. The fear, the anxiety—it all faded, replaced by something deeper, darker. You were done running. Done fighting. It was all too much.

Without thinking, your hand lowered, the revolver slipping from the aim you had kept steady for so long. Slowly, almost in slow motion, you brought the gun to your temple. Your breath hitched, shallow and ragged, but the world around you felt distant, quieter.

It wasn’t a decision. It was a release. A way to escape all of it.

But just as you gathered the strength to pull the trigger, you heard a slight sound. The faintest of movements. The sound of unclasping. You blinked, dazed, as something shifted in the air.

His hand lowered.

And then, with slow, deliberate motion, he removed his mask.

Your heart stopped.

For a moment, everything else ceased to exist. The room, the tension, the gun still pressed against your temple—everything blurred. The world shifted.

You stared at him, unable to process what you were seeing. The face that had once been a stranger now felt... familiar. But it wasn’t supposed to be him. It couldn’t be. The man standing in front of you wasn’t the same one who had fought beside you, who had once shared your vision, your cause. No, this wasn’t him.

And yet... it was.

"...Young-il?"

The name escaped your lips like a memory you weren’t sure you wanted to reclaim. He didn’t answer. He just raised his hand again, his gesture the same, his eyes locked on yours.

It wasn’t just a question—it was an invitation.

You stared at his outstretched hand, the choice heavy in the air. The revolver trembled in your grip.

This time, the decision was yours to make.

[bet-on-me-13]

Dark Secret

So! Danny was discovered pretty quickly after his first battle against the Lunch Lady. His hair turned white, and his body shape was a little different, but he largely looked very similar to his Human Form, so it was only a matter of time really.

Thankfully he was assumed to be a Metahuman.

He didn't look like any other Ghost, the closest resemblance was his hair and eye color, but even that could be explained away. Also his parents were adamant that he couldn't be a Ghost because he was still Sentient and not Evil, so he must just have powers that just looked similar to Ghost Powers esthetically. Probably as a result of the Portal Accident, which he used as an explanation for how his powers awakened.

Danny also avoided using the more obvious Ghost Powers like Intangiblity and Invisiblity, sticking mostly to the most basic Flight and Energy based Powers he got to be as generic as possible. If anybody saw otherwise, it was a trick of the light or a trick of the Ghosts.

Danny became the Hero of Amity Park, always pretending to be something else. It was his darkest secret.

Unfortunately because the public never saw a Ghost like Phantom on a positive light, their perception of Ghosts never changed. Nobody believed that Ghosts could be anything aside from Evil, and as the knowledge of Ghosts and the Ghost Zone began to spread around the world that perception became more and more commonplace.

If Danny had been revealed in the early days, it could have been salvageable, but nowadays if his secret was revealed he would have to convince the entire world that everything they knew about Ghosts was wrong. It would practically be impossible.

Even when he joined the Justice League when he became an Adult, he still had to hide his secret. Years of hiding made sure he could conceal his true Nature from the magic users on the team, but he still had to be distant from the team just to be sure.

While all this was going on in the Living Realm, his adventures in the Ghost Zone still happened as normal. He saved Pandora and the Acropolis, dethroned the Tyrant King Aragon, managed to defeat Pariah Dark in Single combat, and even became recognized as a Great Warrior by the Far Frozen.

After years of hiding, he actually felt more at home in the Ghost Zone than in the Human Realm. There he could be his true self without having to hide a huge part of his identity, and people accepted him for who he was. Sure he had enemies there, but he also had more real friends outside of Tucker and Sam.

He was content with his double life, acting as a Hero to the Public while hiding his true self, and secretly going to the Ghost Zone to be himself among his friends and even his enemies.

Of course it all came crashing down when he Anti Ecto Acts finally passed.

Now there was a Legal Path for Humans to enter and profit off of the Ghost Zone. Beyond just being able to legally kill and experiment on Ghosts, the Acts also allowed Humans to claim parts of the Ghost Zone as their own Property, enslaving the Ghosts residing there, and destroying the Ecosystem of the Zone because there were no laws preventing it.

And now Danny had a choice.

He could either side with the Humans to which he was a Hero, allowing them to destroy the Ghost Zone and Enslave the denizens living there with the full support of the Government, or he could side with the Ghost Zone, betraying Humanity and the people he had been protecting for years, but trying to save those who had accepted him for his true self years ago.

To him the answer was obvious.

[alice-angel12x]

The complicated heart

I want some Angst so here is some Pure Vanilla x Y/n knight cookie. Also pt.1 of overall fanfic story.... I guess. (Blue Knight)

Part 2 -> this way

This is the last thing Y/n Cookie wants to wake up to? Especially on the first night when the two of them share a bed together. They could only silently stare at Pure Vanilla's sleeping form. He is a bit of a sleep talker.

That one sentence fills Y/n's mind with so many questions. From "Is that what he really feels? If he still feels that way, why is he with me? I can never measure up to someone like her."

Suddenly, sharing this space didn't feel right. Y/n slowly tries to wiggle out of the entanglement of Pure vanilla's arms. Only for him to cuddle closer to them, clinging onto them. With a sigh, they twist and turn, eventually escaping Pure Vanilla's grip. Y/n quickly replaced themselves with a pillow in his arms.

Y/n could feel their heart twist in their chest as they decided to sleep on the couch in Pure Vanilla's chambers. As emotions run high inside Y/n, they do their best to suppress them with logic.

'Of course. Those two have been friends since the beginning. '

Y/n thought to themselves, but it did little to hold back tears and the ache in their chests. They shut their eyes and tried to sleep it off. Thankfully, morning couldn't come any quicker.

Pure vanilla woke up with a yawn as he slowly opened his eyes. Which widden in shock when he found himself alone on the bed. Jolting up his eyes search around his room, soon landing on a lone figure by the window.

"Y/n? Good morning." Pure vanilla smile as he walks over to them. "You're up early."

"Yeah," Y/n says, trying to put on their best smile. It's very weak.

"Are you alright, Y/n?" Pure vanilla asked as he gently wrapped his arms around them. Giving a light peck on their shoulder

Y/n was silent for a bit, contemplating what to say. They turned to face Pure Vanila and gently returned the hug.

"Can I be completely transparent with you?" They asked the ancient healer.

"Of course, love," Pure vanilla welcomes as he guides them to a chair.

So Y/n would tell Pure Vanilla what he said at night, and how it makes them nervous about where his heart truly lies. Eventually, the two sat in an awkward silence.

“So where does White Lily cookie place in your heart?" Y/n asked with a calm sorrow.

Pure vanilla opened his mouth to say something, but there was no sound. Y/n could already see the conflict in Vanilla's expression. Their heart wanted to shatter than and there, but sucking in a deep breath they put on a brave face.

"Seems you need some time to search your heart," Y/n sighs as they stand to leave.

"Y/n... Im sorry. After all this time, I thought I would be past this," Pure Vanilla apologized, gripping his knee in, shame? Sorrow perhaps.

"I mean... You two have been through almost everything together for hundreds of years. Childhood friends, schoolmates, and a close team of heroes, and you lived long lives together. Something like that won't be washed away with-," Y/n stops themselves. "I've only been with you for a year or two now.

"Don't say that. I loved the times we shared together," Pure Vanilla said as he stands to stop Y/n with a hug. "I don't know why the thought of White Lily came rushing to me like this. It's been happening for a few nights now."

"It's a sign prehaps. That you might see her soon," Y/n says with a sad smile.

"Do you think so? White Lily Cookie... Changed and became Dark entress Cookie. How would that be possible?" Pure vanilla asked with surprise.

"If she is like how you describe her, then I wouldn't put it past her to actually seek out the witches. And we have no idea which one she met, meaning anything could have happened," Y/n said, thinking deeply. "Tell me, along with your dream. Did anything else stand out to you?"

"Yes, a voice. It was calling out to me, to go to beast yeast," Pure vanilla said as he recalled his dream.

"Then you have your path. And if I'm not mistaken, Entranchress cookie has a strong hold there," Y/n said when suddenly images flash in their mind.

A Map, a shattered soul jam, fairy wings, a giant tree, and a bright light over beast yeast.

"Y/n? Y/n, did you think of something?" Pure vanilla asked.

"You... You might actually are being called. You must go quickly," Y/n said suddenly.

"Wha- Why so suddenly?" Pure vanilla asked in surprise.

"You might find who you're looking for there. I believe that white lily cookie might be there," Y/n said. " White Lily's soul is still out there."

As Y/n held his hands, they could see it. Hope and a bit of something else flash in Pure Vanilla's eyes.

"Thank You Y/n! I shall depart to Beast yeast," Pure Vanilla cookie thanked with a bright smile. "Wait for me, White Lily cookie."

Pure vanilla quickly leaves to prepare everything for this dangerous journey. Y/n stood there, trying to hold back tears.

'Don't cry, Y/n. He thought he had lost his friend and might see her again. Don't be selfish,' Y/n silently scolded themselves.

Days passed as Pure Vanilla spent all his time gathering all that he would need for such a journey. One day, from morning to noon, Y/n mindlessly wandered the streets when a familiar voice calls out to them.

"Y/n Knight Cookie!" Gingerbrave called out.

"Ah, Gingerbrave, strawberry Cookie, and wizard Cookie. How can I help you?" Y/n smiles warmly at the young cookies.

"Pure Vanilla cookie has asked us to accompany him to beast yeast, and we wanted to ask for you to come with us," Gingerbrave said.

"What?! Why Me?" Y/n asked nervesly.

"Beast yeast is a big unknown to us, so we need as many strong cookies to help," Wizard cookie explained.

"And we've seen you fight waffle bots by yourself. Your help would be appreciated," Strawberry Cookie said.

Y/n wanted to say no, but the three younger ones looked up to them with baby doll eyes. Crumbling their resolve to turn them down. The three practically dragged them to the airship.

"Gingerbrave! Everything is ready. did you find what you-" Pure vanilla pauses, surprised to see Y/n before him.

Another awkward silence falls between them. The ancient hero was a bit embarrassed after remembering how their last conversation went. Pure vanilla wanted to say something, but Y/n raised their hand.

"We have a friend to save, and that is more important right now," Y/n Cookie said a bit strenly.

Gingerbrave and co, could feel the strange tension. So they hurried onto the ship.

"Y/n cookie," Pure vanilla said softly.

"I am your knight and am ready to serve," Y/n kneeled, stoic.

They get up to walk onto the ship.

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

Part 2 out

[writingwisterias]

To be kind

Leon Kennedy x AFAB! fem!Reader Role Reverse AU (Agent Reader x Civilian Leon) Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Baby Trapping, Heavy Breeding Kink, Angst, Nightmares, Postpartum depression mentions, Trauma, Fears of motherhood/pregnancy, Manhandling, Mating press (he's gotta make sure he gets it in there), creampie, Dom!Leon, Needy Leon, Dilf!Leon Words: 3.4k

Summary: All you have ever wanted is to be kind and look where that's got you. It's only fair now that Leon is kind enough to give you another baby to stop you from getting hurt. After all he just wants to keep you safe. For you ♥️ ILY

All you wanted to do in life was to give and be there for others in a way that people weren't there for you. Now you often find yourself whispering the words of comfort that you wished to hear from others for them. Encouraging the people in your life to achieve their dreams just as you wanted others to do for you. You desired to be kind, something that took more effort than being cruel and twisted like everything else in the world, it already had enough of that. You knew that your kindness is what led you on this path. Going from being a simple rookie trying to help out their future workplace to landing yourself in a dead end job with the highest level of responsibilities. 

Holding many government ending secrets which plagued your mind like a curse; a back spot that you can never get rid of despite how hard you tried to wash it away. Those secrets held a reminder that you didn't deserve the privileges you gained from a quiet mouth and hard work. Especially not after the things you had done to get here, all the people you left behind in order to complete a mission. The same people that were brave enough to give up their life for you.

These were the same privileges that allowed you to create the perfect home life but you didn't get to live it, it wasn't for you. The universe wasn't kind enough for you to enjoy the large back garden or the summer breeze that drifted its way through the open windows. It was all for the man that lived in it and spent his spare time crafting it into the perfect home. You were just lucky. Lucky enough to have survived that night, to have survived anything you have been through and to be in the same lifetime to have met him. Leon, a partner sent from heaven. A regular boring cop with a heart of gold, who worked his way through the ranks just as you could have done. The shiny sheriff badge on his shoulder displays his achievements proudly. 

He held a reflection on what your life should have been. Maybe in another timeline, you would have worked together and become the ideal couple working through the system and rank today. Partners in crime as you brought people to justice. Just like Batman and Robin as he always jokes. At least he knew your favourite hero and was willing to play the sidekick in your life. No questions asked despite the lingering bruises and scrapes you sported when you come home cloaked in a dark cape and tragic backstory. 

Your nightmares were of a higher jurisdiction than he had access to, at least that you can be thankful of. He can't be plagued by the things you have seen. Leon worked hard at home to ensure you lived a dream, so that despite the endless missions the white picket fence was still an option for you. He didn't care about your responsibilities, about your devotion to the cause you fight for. How could he when you came home worse for wear every time? You killed and protected for this dream, he just didn't know it. Your responsibilities crushed it from flourishing without it even starting.

At least that's what you thought until the first set of pink lines happened. The distraction wasn't as welcome to you as it was to Leon, his hands splayed across your stomach with a large smile, his joy radiating off him for the rest of the day. Whilst your hands cradled it with dread, the worry and doubt filled your system early on as the bump formed. It was cute as his thumb would rub  small circles over the skin like he was expecting a response this early. 

You watched his behavior change as you got further along in the pregnancy, he made his demands for you to stay home vocal despite your love-hate relationship with the field. Your skill set was out there, not as a mother protecting a child from the monster under their bed. How could you lie to them and tell them it wasn't real when they were and you have seen them. You have the scars littering your skin as evidence of their existence as you fought against them. One across your heart, jagged and red, in response to the parasite a cult infected you with. A bullet wound now faded in its age, a reminder of your biggest betrayal on the night that started it all. Both come from experiences with monsters that should have stayed in the story books and not have been revived from the imaginations of a craved mad man looking for power. 

The child came along quickly but the bond that should have followed after the birth didn’t. Leon suited the role, was proud of the title as his undamaged hands cradled the bundle of light. You were scared to stain the white blanket red, to taint her with the blood on your hands as you carried her and the weight of the world on your shoulders. It was just a cause from postpartum, the doctors claimed as Leon dragged you to the appointments, no longer being able to bear looking at you carelessly cradling the bundle to your chest. Finding it heartbreaking to witness the rejection and worries towards a surprise you weren’t excited for, he didn't know what caused your panic or fears about motherhood. It was a horrible secret, something you could and wouldn't express to him. You would end up dimming the light that radiated off him as he slid into fatherhood with ease, nurturing both you and baby as if it was second nature. As if once again he always knew his life would turn out like this. 

The rejection you had against her didn’t last long, not when her smile would greet you in the mornings with unconditional love. Her tiny hands now more explorative than claiming, her fingers delicate against the scars as they traced them instead of their pinching and grabbing behavior before. You wonder what she thought of them, if they were pretty like Leon thought or told an ugly side to you like you imagined. 

Those types of thought didn't really matter in the end as it became evident that the family you had created with him was now finally healing you. The eye bags you wore now lightening as you gained as much sleep as you could with a crying baby,  your body fills out lightly again as you ate with Leon every night. A 6 month maternity leave was what you needed apparently, to heal and find yourself in something other than the weapons and skills you used to protect yourself. However, just as quick as it came the maternity leave ended and he watched you fall into the same cycle you had created before, the wall slowly building as you steeled yourself to face the harsh survival again. Your body is working hard to be able to shoulder all your burdens, the cold features returning as you walk through the door. 

He hated what they did to you, what they forced you to become as he just did idle work for the community. Helping old ladies cross the road whilst he was on patrol, chasing after meaningless kids before they ruined their futures. He was the station's favourite, as was the little girl you both created. Her eyes danced around with wonder as he carried her around, her little fist clutched against his shirt whilst her head rested on his shoulder. They asked about you, how the birth was, about the recovery after. Cooed over the shared ability you both had at creating cute babies, questions of another one spilling from their lips in curiosity about their favourite officers life. “It’s better to have them close in age, they’ll look after each other if something happens.” they would say.

He knew what they were on about, he always did. You, the dangers that you faced in the role displayed on your own shiny badge that remained tucked in a pocket compared to on your shoulder like him. A job that reminded him life was short and precious, that every moment he spent with his family he should be grateful for. 

Leon wanted nothing more than to plead and beg on the phone to them, just to let you rest. It had been years since you smiled truthfully, since the light in your eyes returned for more than just your wedding night. Your daughter and himself are now presented in your life as guardian angels, the people that help save you from yourself. Leon hated you leaving, not knowing if you were going to return or if he was going to be greeted with a half assed apology and an American flag being handed to him by two soldiers. He could never stand seeing the missing piece of the stupid key holder you got him for christmas. Forever waiting for your keychain to fill the missing piece of the puzzle, not only in the tacky key display but in the home itself. 

He’ll blame his coworkers for putting the idea in his head, the seed that implanted in his brain which formed into his current plan to keep you safe and at home, at least for a little bit longer. He watched you shower through the reflection of the bathroom mirror, the steam he had wiped away coming back just as quick. You were fading from him again, retreating into your shell of darkness like it was some kind of punishment. In the fogged glass he could see that you had a multitude of new scrapes and cuts, some that he knew would scar adding to your already intensive collection.

Your eyes met him through the fogged glass noticing how his stare was intense and lustful as he scoured every inch of your body. It had been a while since you were both together, the interruption of your toddler didn’t help. Neither did the aches and pains of your first few missions, he didn’t seem to mind though. He never did. Leon would deal with his desires in other ways, your hand or his work perfectly with some lube and dirty words. However, tonight his cock throbbed with the need to be as deep as he could go, to be able to feel the sweet kiss of your cervix as he bred you. You didn’t know this, his plans to empty what he had let build in his balls whilst you were gone. However, you would have assumed he was ovulating with how intense his stare was and perhaps a creampie would be a good distraction and stress reliever. 

A family friend had your daughter for a few days, as they always did when you got back. An agreement you had made with Leon in fear she would witness one of your possible nightmares. You were her strong mommy, a superhero that left to save people whilst Daddy stayed and helped the town. You hoped she would keep this idea and never witness what your superhero job did to you. 

“You look pretty tired sweetheart.” Leon spoke, his frame leaning against the counter. If the shower screen wasn’t so misted up you would have noticed the prominent display of his erection through the grey sweats he wore. His legs crossed slightly like he was doing it on purpose, to display the goods he hadn’t touched for you. “When am I not tired? I’ve only been back to work for a few weeks and I feel like I need a holiday.” You sighed, facing the stream to wash the lathered soap off. Watching as the murky colour washed down the drain. The taint of corruption disappearing from the household. 

“You look like you need a holiday.” Leon teased as he watched the suds flow off your breasts, now rounded and fuller since the first pregnancy, an unexpected but welcomed change. “Are you saying I look like shit? You wound me Kennedy.” You chuckled whilst turning the shower off and stepping out around the screen to finally see him face to face. “Oh darling, you look at anything but that.” 

Leon shifted himself, his hips jolting out first pressing his need towards you as he drew your attention to him. He smirked as it worked, your eyes lighting up at the display and promise of his unconditional love towards you. “I think you look rather stunning actually.” He continued. 

Leon stalked towards you, his hands landing on your hips rubbing his thumb along the skin in small tempting circles. The motion mimicking the same one he uses on your clit, soft, small infinity symbols, drawing them around your body like a spell. He knew your body like a map, understanding each small trigger to set you on fire, leaving you needy and desperate for him. Leon’s lips placed tempting kisses along your pulse point, sucking softly at a spot underneath your jawline as his fingers traced lower. He had a clear directive, a goal to be met as they finally teased your puffy lips. He gathered the arousal there, his clothes now damp as he tugged your body towards him. 

Leon’s heady scent infected you, his cock was hard and twitching against your bare pussy. “I feel like this is a little unfair. You can get me worked up while I’m naked but I have to suffer with the outline through some sweats and a compression shirt.” You pouted, a smirk creeping in slowly as he pulled you closer. Leon’s breath teased the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Let’s do something about that then.” 

He lifted you with ease, your thighs squeezing his hips as he walked you to the bedroom. Your kiss never broke until you landed on the bed. He groaned at the sight of your body in the dim lighting, droplets that still lingered on your skin making you glow. You watched as the fabric slipped over his head, showcasing his well maintained physic. Your eyes eagerly follow his happy trail to where his fingers now teased along the waistband of his sweatpants. Leon chuckled at the squirm you offered him as he exposed his impressive and needy length, the sight never getting any less arousing despite the years the two of you have been together. 

His tip was leaking pre cum, wasting the precious droplets on the sheets as he crawled above you. “I love how you are always so ready for me sweetheart.” He said as his tip ran along the length of your pussy, coating himself with your arousal. You whimpered at the feeling of him slotting himself between your lips, his tip catching your clit with slow teasing prods of stimulation. Your hands grasped at his forearms as your nails left your own marks along his untouched skin. The red trails fading in your memory as he notched himself at your entrance, sighing as he finally began to press his length inside. 

Each inch he gave you was glorious, stretching your cunt perfectly allowing you to lose your mind in his gentle rhythm. Leon was always good at helping you float away from your responsibilities. The horrors fade to the background of your mind as his pace increases. He loved the way you writhed beneath him, your arms now outstretching above your head gripping the sheets with an iron grip. Your chest arched towards him, displaying your perfect tits whilst whining as his lips made contact with them. He started sucking softly against your nipple as it peaked. His tongue circling it occasionally grazing his teeth against the sensitive flesh. Tender marks leaving in his wake, painting his own mark against the other spots that decorated over your skin. 

Leon worshiped you, every scar, every bump that you had to offer. All holding a story of your survival. His mind began to fill with his intentions, the primal drive to push himself further and further inside your warmth. He needed to flood your insides with himself so you had no other option but to take it. He would press himself as far as he needed for that to become possible. As his frame began to tower over you, he pressed your legs into your chest, folding your body in the perfect way to drill himself inside. You felt his thighs squeeze your hips, his were thrusts now deeper and harder, his length barely pulling out before he pressed it back in. Your eyes fluttered shut, allowing yourself to get lost in the feeling of him overpowering you. 

“Fuck sweetheart, doing such a good job at taking me so deep” He groaned, “I got to get it deeper though, think you can take it baby?”

Leon smiled at your small nod, your eyebrows pinching as his constant thrust brought you to overstimulation. He could feel your cunt squeeze him tightly, sucking him further inside. You needed this as much as him, your cunt practically begging to be creampied. He wondered if despite your initial protests of the first pregnancy that you would want this one as well, that maybe you loved being filled with his claim. His tightened balls slapped against your ass as he continued his grinding thrusts, your cunt screaming and gushing with your arousal as you finally lost yourself in the pleasure he gifted you. “I’ll keep you safe like this baby, keep you home and protected” He grunted, his thoughts unravelling as the internal chant to go deeper began. 

He obeyed his instincts, driving his cock head deeper and deeper inside, giving your cunt more than it could take of him. Your pelvis ached with his abuse, your clit screaming white hot pleasure as his wisps of hair teased it. “Leon–” You moaned, eyes fluttered back as you attempted to arch into him. His entire body prevented it, keeping you trapped in his methodic movements. His concentration never broke, his mind missing the announcement of your second orgasm as his cock twitched frantically inside you. 

Leon was painfully rigid, allowing your walls to feel every inch and vein he had to offer. His own release surprised him as he began to thrust it inside of you. Filling you to the brim whilst making a mess of it as it spilled out. “Fuck, gotta get it deeper, make sure it takes. It’s gotta take, to keep you home” he groaned, pushing his load further. The overspill didn’t matter, not when he would take advantage of the time alone you both had, spending every moment filling you so his goal was achieved. 

In your world he was powerless, he had nothing to stand on to keep you home, to ensure that you were healthy and happy. The government couldn’t stop your growing family, couldn’t send you out on the field whilst you were filled with him. “I’ll make sure it works, I’ll keep you happy baby…keep you safe”

You should have been more concerned with his words, as he admitted his overpowering thoughts on your body. Yet, as he eased you into the right mindset, the perfect one for thinking about nothing but the warmth that flooded through you, instead of your responsibilities in the world. 

The arousal lingered in your nerves, your aches of pain from battle being replaced with the ones he caused. “I love you, I need you safe” Leon whispered, pressing a kiss against your brows. He manoeuvred your conjoined bodies, not allowing his semi hard cock to slip from your pussy and allow his load to spill anymore than it already did. Your head moved with his heaving breaths, slowly slipping into a peaceful rest before he repeated his process. 

All he wanted was to keep you safe, you had done your part for the world. Your body is decorated in the marks that they caused, the history of whatever you had been through. Whilst he was inspired by your bravery he needed you here, like this, with him. “I love you too leon” You replied, your body becoming dead weight as you drifted off. His twitching cock keeps you plugged full, ensuring his desires become true and trapping you in the safety of the house he had built for the growing family he had planned. 

[vermililion]

john walker fic recs ✧°‧⭑.ᐟ

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continuing to update | last updated 28/05 | ( tysm writers <3)

─── ✧ DRABBLES/BLURBS

nsfw hcs | @undyingdecay

he fucks like someone trying to win a medal for it.

enemies | @aquaholicsanonymousworld

team mates enemies to enemies who have hate sex.

domestic hcs | @/aquaholicsanonymousworld

nsfw hcs | @/aquaholicsanonymousworld

“Wasn’t plannin’ on stayin’ long tonight,” he mutters, swirling the amber liquid. “Then you had to go and look at me like that.” You smile, heat pooling low in your belly.

dating walker hcs | @purehypnotic

giving john head | @shadowheartshapedbox

what it’s like giving junior varsity captain america head ;)

─── ✧ ONE SHOTS

the way i love you | @randomnessfangirl

John Walker is the bane of your existence...but everyone else can see that there is potential for you to put your differences aside and reveal your true feelings for each other.

girls' night revelations | @zerosomnia

After venting some frustrations at girls' night, the reader realises that they are not just angry at Walker but that there's some other stuff going on too. A confrontation ensues that ends in some truths.

the soldier and the nurse | @blueberrypancakesworld

He was a soldier who, even as a hero, always tried to protect everyone with his shield. Even the best soldier gets hurt, though, and John finds himself in the infirmary of the tower, once again with a nurse he had visited many times before. This time, however, it seems different, because when concern meets amusement, two hearts finally find each other.

nocturnal guilt and training | @/blueberrypancakesworld

It is one thing when you don't concentrate, it's another when you let yourself get hurt to deal with your own pain. John finds himself in dark places from time to time, which is especially evident after the last mission, but the soldier wants to go through it alone. Yet his girlfriend is there to help him no matter how long it takes, they would make it together.

code yellow | @inlovewithquestionablecharacters

sex pollen with walker.

thunderstorms | @angellily920

johns a secret softie :)

and you came back to me | @/aquaholicsanonymousworld

him where they’re dating and reader gets badly hurt on a mission and the whole team is freaking out, especially John, man is going BRUTAL on the people who hurt reader.

off your game | @/aquaholicsanonymousworld

Working with the Thunderbolts meant swallowing your pride daily — but nothing bruised your ego quite like him.

honey, where is my shield? | @husbandjoel

you’re the fixer upper of weapons for the new avengers and want to do something for john walker’s upcoming birthday.

moral of the story | @starktonyx

You never expected to be blindly sent to kill your ex-husband, but when you cross paths again in looping shame rooms, it’s like going through the pain all over again.

patched up | @bruisedboys

john grudgingly patches you up after a mission — it gets more intimate than you both expect.

helmet | @gallavichsreddie1128

Y/N may be the only person on the planet that gets turned on by John in his helmet.

asshole | @/gallavichsreddie1128

Y/N hates John but he and everyone else are convinced that it’s just sexual frustration.

bad words | @/gallavichsreddie1128

Y/N and John are a secretly dating but put on the act of hating each other until one of them takes it too far.

need that | @blank-potato

You think everything he does is hot, and eventually he takes notice.

my kid's better than your kid | @/blank-potato

You and John's kids are in the same soccer league, and after you get into an argument on the field over your kids, you start seeing him everywhere. It's hate at first sight.

but why's it feel so good? | @sexy-monster-fucker

While out on a mission together, Reader and John stumble into a researchers trap. Leading to them being doused in an unnamed chemical.

the heart of the matter | @divinepoints

You had never thought that life would lead you back to John Walker. Or perhaps, that life had led the both of you back to each other. After all, this had been your world first.

pushing it down and praying | @swordgrace

your friendship with john is put on the line after you’re injured during a mission — what follows is something neither of you can anticipate.

you're the ache i asked for | @/swordgrace

forced into attending a gala event, you go to john for help with your dress. things turn incredibly heated.

a black eye and two kisses | @/swordgrace

john has a bad habit of running his mouth, especially during a sparring lesson — after taking it too far, he makes it up to you in more ways than one.

only pretend until it's not | @/swordgrace

you and john go undercover to infiltrate an arms dealing ring in paris. you take your roles a little too seriously.

bit the hand that needs you | @/swordgrace

after getting injured on a mission and dismissing your help, you can’t seem to shake why john doesn’t like you. the answer is more complicated than you thought.

proximity check | @/swordgrace

when a mission goes sideways, you and john are forced to hide together in a utility closet.

change | @johns-walker

when you get injured during a job, you and john have a genuine conversation for once.

boundless | @endofthelinegang

the quiet halls of Avengers Tower keeps a kind-hearted witch who begins to distance herself from John Walker after his cold, self-protective indifference makes her believe he hates her. but when her warmth fades and he’s left in the silence he created, John finally confronts his fear of not deserving her—and chooses, for once, not to run from something real.

your hero | @spookieloop

You and the rest of the Thunderbolts are going undercover to catch an arm's dealer at his favorite night club. Someone tries to spike your drink, and Walker teaches the scumbag a lesson. A violent one.

─── ✧ SERIES (including mini)

the things we don't say part ii | @/endofthelinegang

trapped between fury and longing, you and John Walker collide in a moment that’s been simmering for months—raw, reckless, and impossible to ignore. When a knock at the door threatens to shatter what little you have left, he finally says the one thing he’s been choking on: he wants you.

thunder rolls | @/endofthelinegang

this is the prologue of a series where you are bucky barnes little sister who has managed to make it this far with him, one little snafu has happened, you happen to have feelings for another super soldier one that your brother does not particularly like.

it only leads to trouble part ii | @mydearmando

you suppose it’s natural to touch people who you live and work with. you touch everyone on the team. walker does, too. so you don’t know why it bothers you so much when he touches you.

keep your heart, cause i already got one (ongoing) | @lauufeydottir

As the Thunderbolts make their way through The Void, Walker ends up a witness to one of your shame rooms, a past you've kept close to your chest for decades.

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