#Sera OC | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

beckyninja · 4 days ago

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Defiance

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x FemReader

Warnings: some suggestiveness, a certain Chaplain being creepy

Description: Sera wakes up in Leandros's clutches. Meanwhile, her friends realize she's gone, and starting putting two and two together.

Creepy Chaplain is creepy. But never fear! Vesta, Chairon, and Gadriel are on the case!

Read the chapters leading up to this point on my Masterlist. And don't forget to ask if you'd like to be added to/removed from the Taglist!

Icy water shocked you awake. Your eyes snapped open onto… darkness. Cold, wet darkness, the only sounds your own gasps as your lungs struggled for air.

Oh, Emperor… no….

It hadn’t been a nightmare.

“Kneel.”

The distorted voice stabbed through you and you froze like a prey animal. Your fingers clutched at the metal grate beneath you. Water dripped into your eyes and you squeezed them shut, curling in on yourself.

“Disobedient.”

An armored hand grasped the hood of your sodden robe and yanked. The material constricted around your neck as you struggled to enforce some kind of order on your shivering limbs, finally managing to settle on your knees, grating biting into your skin. The hand released and you desperately gulped air.

You kept your eyes shut.

“Look at me.”

The voice came from somewhere in front and above. You recognized it, though your mind fought to deny the terrible truth. Your body shook with more than cold.

“Look at me.”

The hand took your jaw in its iron grasp, forcing your head back until your neck screamed. Against your will your eyes sprang open.

Glowing red lenses in a white skull glared down at you. The face that had haunted your steps and your nightmares. You tried to scream, but only a weak whimper came forth.

“Silence.”

The hand forced your jaw closed. You bit your own tongue and tasted blood.

For an eternity the skull helm stared down at you, silent, judging. The hand held you pinned like an insect. Your dripping skin burned with cold. Your knees ached, your jaw throbbed, and any moment you felt your neck would snap beneath that awful strength.

“You stand accused.”

Your heart stopped. The voice continued.

“As Chaplain of the Second Company, I find you guilty of perversion. Guilty of sullying the honored role of ‘serf’ by indulging base instincts. Guilty of corrupting the holy warriors of the Emperor with your feminine seductions.”

I am going to die here.

You only prayed it would be quick.

Then, to your shock, the Chaplain sank to one knee before you with a clang of ceremite on metal. He released your jaw and you sank forward onto your hands.

His voice dropped to a rasp. “In any other case, the punishment would be instant servitorization.”

Throne, help me!

A sob tore from your throat. “P-please… no….”

“But I am not without mercy.”

You dared glance up through your lank hair.

“I know the corruption did not originate with you, but is a foul result of your service to the heretic Demetrian Titus.”

The raw hatred in his voice stunned you.

His hand returned to your jaw, this time almost gentle as it tilted your head back. “Your soul may still be saved. Denounce him, and be redeemed.”

Your mind spun. A small, snivelling part of you whimpered.

No one will save you now. Spare yourself the agony and do as he wills!

But a larger part of you recoiled at the very suggestion.

Demetrian….

Kind eyes. Strong arms. Hearts that burned with compassion beneath his stoic exterior. Courage. Honor. The will to endure against all odds.

Love.

You felt his laurel leaf around your neck still.

Your shaking subsided. Slowly, you sat back on your knees, folding your hands in your lap. Lifting your chin, you spoke your defiance.

“My Lord is no heretic.”

The kneeling Astartes before you shook his head, something that sounded almost like a sigh coming from within his helm.

“As I feared, the corruption is deeply embedded.”

Quicker than your eyes could follow, he struck. The armored hand curled around your throat, lifting you off your feet, and slamming you against the wall. Your head bounced against the metal, sparks flashing behind your eyelids. You clawed at his fingers.

Can’t… breathe…!

The helm drew close to your face. So close, you could hear deep, chugging breaths.

“I will cleanse you.”

***

“Vesta.”

The medica groaned and wiggled deeper into her blankets. “S’too early, Uncle.”

“Vesta. Now.”

She knew that tone of voice. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she sat up and stretched. Above her the Apothecary loomed. Or tried to. The cramped space of her closet-turned-sleeping chamber was not meant to contain the bulk of a fully armored Astartes.

She yawned. “What time is it?”

“Did the Lieutenant’s serf come here last night?”

“Sera?” Vesta looked around.

The cot pressed against hers remained as it had been when she’d gone to bed, alone, after checking on Sera in the Apothecarion one last time. The sedative had still been in effect, though her friend’s sleeping face had not looked exactly peaceful.

“No… I, I don’t think so, Uncle. Is something wrong?”

Without a word, Callistus turned and left the room.

After throwing on her robes, Vesta hopped into the greater chamber, struggling to tie the laces on her sandals and nearly face-planting in her hurry. The chrono embedded into the wall told her the day cycle had just barely begun. Her uncle stood by the row of baseline-sized beds on one side of the Apothecarion.

The row of very empty baseline-sized beds.

“Where is she?” Vesta trotted up beside the Astartes.

A low humph. “If I knew that, would I have awakened you, girl?” His habitual frown had deepened. “She is not in the lavatory, either.”

Vesta’s stomach flipped, but she pasted a smile to her face. “I’ll check the refectory, and the serf baths. Perhaps the sedative wore off earlier than expected, and her insomnia returned.”

“Hmmm.” He glanced down at her. “You thoroughly examined her skull when the Sergeant brought her in yesterday.”

“A nasty bump but,” she caught his meaning, “I swear I didn’t see any sign of concussion! And Lord Gadriel said she lost consciousness before she struck the-”

“I remember.” The Apothecary glared at the empty bed as if it had offended him. “Go.”

Vesta spent several hours searching everywhere she could think that her friend might have wandered. None of the refectory or bath serfs had seen her. Nor had any of the cleaning crews, or candle-lighters Vesta encountered in the corridors.

Anxiety roiled in her gut as she paused next to a candle-lit shrine. She felt beads of sweat forming at her hairline.

She couldn’t be suffering from concussion. I checked!

Still, thoughts of her friend, confused and disoriented, wandering the ship’s corridors made her heart pound. Tears of frustration gathered in her eyes.

“You look distressed, Medica.”

Vesta whipped around with a shriek. Brother Chairon stood there, eyebrows raised, the barest hint of a smirk playing across his lips.

“I may not have the Sergeant’s fine features, but I did not think my face quite so repulsive.”

She fell back against the wall, hand pressed over her fluttering heart. “M-my Lord! Forgive me.”

“Forgiven, Medica.” His faint chuckle faded as he searched her face. “Not even a smile at my poor attempt at levity? Something must be troubling you, indeed.”

The words burst out like atmosphere through a blown airlock. “Sera is missing!”

His face stilled. “Explain.”

Vesta told him all she knew, listing every place she’d searched, and searched again. “The only other place I can think to look is the Chapel. But Sera doesn’t-” She bit her tongue.

Shut up, you idiot!

“She does not what?”

She gnawed her lip, hesitating. Since the day she was assigned to the Apothecarion, Sera had avoided the Chapel like the plague, preferring to perform her devotions at one of the many smaller shrines scattered throughout the ship. When Vesta had questioned her about it, she’d visibly paled and changed the subject.

Vesta hadn’t given it much thought, until now.

Chairon seemed to study her. “Did the little one avoid the Chapel, Medica?”

“I….”

The Astartes suddenly turned and began striding away. “Come.”

Vesta rushed to catch up with him. “My Lord? Where are we-”

“I would have a word with the Chaplain.”

***

“Woe to those who hold themselves in high esteem, forsaking holy humility for shallow vanity. Woe to those who relish the false pleasures of the flesh… for they will… they will- ah!”

You gasped as the blind servitor tossed another bucket of icy water over your back. The shock tightened your already aching muscles, yet you welcomed the moisture, desperately lapping at the droplets pouring over your lips. Your dry throat burned.

What time is it? How long have I been here?

It felt like hours.

You knelt before a little shrine on legs that had long since gone numb. A single candle placed atop the altar illuminated your little cell. Merely a box of metal containing the shrine and the servitor, dripping faucet on one side and a barred door on the other.

Through the bars, a familiar voice intoned. “Again.”

Again, you repeated the words he’d spoken to you. This time, the chattering of your teeth caused you to slur the scripture, resulting in yet another frigid deluge. You felt more than your legs going numb.

“Again.”

Another try. You repeated three full verses before tripping up this time. Another bucket.

“Again.”

Two verses. Another bucket.

“Again.”

One verse. Another bucket.

The muscles in your lower back burned. You gritted your teeth.

“Again.”

“W-woe… woe to….”

With a sob, you felt your body give out. Your back spasmed and you gasped in agony as you collapsed to your side. The servitor soaked you again… and again… and again. Covering your head with your arms, you fought for breath.

“Enough.”

You heard metallic creaking and glanced up to see the servitor step back against the wall, sightless white eyes staring from its ruined wreck of a face.

Was he… she… it… once the occupant of this cell? Is that my future?

If you had anything left in your aching stomach, you would have vomited.

The cell door opened and he entered. For a moment there was heavy silence. Then, a ceramite-clad boot hooked under your ribs and flipped you onto your back. Lightning bolts of pain shot through your ravaged muscles.

The emotionless helm stared. Somehow, you knew the hidden eyes did not rest on your face.

A glance down made you gasp.

The thin material of your sleeping robe, made near-translucent by water, clung to your form like a second skin. It outlined every curve and divot. And the chill had hardened your nipples to defined points.

You struggled to turn onto your side and cover yourself. Tears of shame pricked the backs of your eyes.

“Be still.”

You froze, exposed and vulnerable.

Stop looking at me. Stop. Please, stop!

He didn’t stop. He stepped closer until he towered over your prone form.

His voice lowered to a whisper. “Harlot. Even now, you seek to tempt me?”

Realization rolled over you in waves colder than the water you’d been soaked in. “No-”

“Silence.”

He bent down. Terror brought life to your numbed limbs and you frantically pushed yourself back along the floor, sobbing when the grating tore cloth and skin alike. Your shoulders finally met the wall.

You cowered. “Please-”

“What is this?”

A hand darted out and you felt a sting at your throat as-

“No!” You lunged forward. “Please, don’t! Please! Please!”

Your nerveless fingers slipped from his armor as he straightened, a golden laurel leaf dangling from his clenched fist.

“He gave this to you.”

“Yes!” You whimpered. “Please, give it back! I’ll do anything!”

“You already know what you must do.”

A despairing cry left your lips as you collapsed back to the floor. “No….”

He dangled the leaf before your face. “Denounce him.”

You shook your head, even as he dragged the laurel leaf over your cheek.

“Submit to me.”

Deep within, a spark of defiance still smoldered. “I won’t!”

A vicious blow flung you against the far wall. The last thing you saw before slipping into darkness was the Chaplain’s retreating back, the shining token of your lover’s devotion still clenched in his fist.

Demetrian, forgive me….

***

Tumultuous thoughts filled Chairon’s mind as he marched toward the Chapel. Chief among them was the memory of the Lieutenant’s departure. Finding the Chaplain looming over his serf, practically pinning her to the railing. The stench of fear rising from her, the pathetic relief in her eyes when she saw him and Gadriel, the way she all but hid behind them.

The sound of panting behind him made him pause. “Medica.”

“Yes, my Lord?” She hurried up, chest heaving.

He tempered his gait, allowing her to maintain her position beside him. “What do the serfs think of the good Chaplain?”

Immediately, the scent of stress. Glancing to one side revealed the tension in her shoulders.

“He is greatly revered and respected, my Lord.” Her voice was carefully neutral.

“But not loved.”

“Please, my Lord!” He watched her eyes dart about the corridor, even though few people were about at this early hour.

“Speak freely, Vesta.”

She bit her lip, a sight he found oddly appealing.

“My Lord Callistus and I have not been on The Resilient long, my Lord. But… in that time… I’ve learned most of the serfs stay out of the Lord Chaplain’s path, if they can help it.”

Chairon frowned.

The Codex had strict regulations regarding the treatment of serfs. Many were former aspirants, after all. Others were part of families that had served the Chapter for generations. Still others, like the Lieutenant’s little one, had been taken under the Astartes’ protection for one reason or another. All deserved to be treated with respect.

Now, a creeping suspicion grew in his gut that this tenet he held close to his hearts was being violated.

Do not jump to conclusions. What evidence do you have? Why would the Chaplain…?

The great gilded doors of the Chapel rose before him. The aroma of incense welled from within, along with the droning of hymns. A cherub fluttered by, mechanical voice box muttering benedictions. He paused in a rare moment of indecision.

“My Lord?” The medica whispered at his side. “What will you do?”

“Chairon?” Gadriel pushed through the Chapel doors, brows slightly raised. “I thought you had already completed your morning prayers.”

Well, this saves me having to track him down.

“I had, brother. But something has happened.” He relayed what the medica had told him.

“Warp, damn it.” Gadriel snarled. “Can the Apothecaries not keep track of one little female?”

“Would you have had us tie her to the bed?” The medica snapped, then paled. “Forgive me, my Lord.”

Chairon huffed a laugh, even as his sergeant’s scowl deepened. “What matters now is that we find her, brother.” He hesitated. “Or who took her.”

Gadriel’s eyes snapped to his, even as the medica gasped. “You suspect abduction?”

“I think we discounted her fear too readily.” He searched his brother’s face. “You saw someone, when she ran to you.”

The sergeant looked away. “As I said, it is irrational.”

Chairon stepped closer. “Was it the Chaplain? Do you remember how we found her, the day the Lieutenant placed her in our care? The Chaplain seemed to take an undue interest-”

“For the love of the Emperor, Chairon! Do you know what you suggest?” Gadriel glared at the medica. “Leave, woman.”

She turned to Chairon with a beseeching look in her eyes.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Lord Apothecary Callistus sent her to find the little one, brother. And she has told me the serfs fear the Chaplain.”

“As they should.”

“That does not mean he has the right to-”

“Your fondness for baselines is clouding your judgement, Chairon.” Gadriel stepped back. “I will hear no more of this.”

Chairon’s temper frayed. “You were quick enough to accuse the Lieutenant.”

“That was entirely different!”

“At least accompany me to speak with the Chaplain. I swear, I will make no accusations.”

Gadriel hesitated.

Chairon pressed. “The Lieutenant honored us with this responsibility, brother. Would you shirk it?”

The sergeant glared at him. “Very well.” He glanced at the medica. “But the woman stays behind. And should she ever repeat what she has heard here today….”

“I won’t, my Lord!”

***

Gadriel led his brother into the sanctuary of the Chapel, cursing his foolishness with every step.

What am I doing? This is insubordination, at best!

An image of the Lieutenant’s face flashed through his mind.

What will he say when he returns and finds we have failed?

Shame burned in his chest. Failure. It was intolerable, unthinkable. They must do everything in their power to find the missing female. Follow every tenuous lead.

Even if it leads to a rot at the very heart of the Company?

They moved among the pillars and candelabras, toward the platform at the front of the chamber. Only minutes before he had knelt here, repeating his prayers to the Emperor. Prayers for victory, glory, and honor he’d said a thousand times.

The Chaplain was not present. That is… unusual.

The niggling doubt in the back of his mind was growing louder. It had begun weeks ago, when they first began taking turns escorting the Lieutenant’s serf, when he’d caught glimpses of a distinctive figure who always seemed to be just moving out of sight.

And then, yesterday, when the girl charged into him in blind panic, he could’ve sworn he’d seen that same figure standing at the end of the corridor. Watching.

But why?

They reached the platform and paused.

“Is he not usually here at this time?” Chairon looked around impatiently.

Before Gadriel could respond, the scraping hiss of an opening door reached their ears. A few moments later the Chaplain seemed to materialize out of the shadows behind the platform, in that eerie way that could strike unease into the most stalwart Ultramarine’s hearts.

“You completed your prayers, Gadriel.” He rumbled, almost sounding annoyed. “Why do you remain? And you,” his helm pivoted toward Chairon, “you are late for your devotions. Do I need to ascribe penance?”

Wonderful. We have caught him in a foul mood.

“We have something we would ask of you, Brother Chaplain.” He found himself saying.

“It can wait.”

Gadriel blinked at the abrupt dismissal. True, the Chaplain had never been the friendliest, never one to mingle with his fellow Astartes, but he had always made time for questions.

Out of nowhere, Chairon spoke. “What do you know of Lieutenant Titus, brother?”

Gadriel watched the Chaplain pause mid-stride. “You have come to ask me this?”

He glanced at Chairon, then spoke up. “Forgive us if we overstep, but when you spoke to each other there seemed to be some… familiarity.”

Chairon again. “Did you know him before his service in the Death Watch?”

A long moment of silence, save for the droning of hymns sung by unseen serfs and the flapping of cherub’s wings.

Why are we even asking this? He will not-

“I did.” The sheer venom in the words took Gadriel by surprise.

How had he not noticed before? The scorn in the Chaplain’s voice whenever he spoke to the Lieutenant. The undercurrents of hatred.

Why? What happened between you?

“Have your doubts about the Lieutenant awoken once more, brother?” The Chaplain addressed him directly, a strange eagerness in his manner.

Gadriel noticed him fiddling with something in his right hand. Something that shone in the candlelight.

Distracted, he stumbled. “I… I do not….”

“Should they?” Chairon stepped in.

“Hmmm.” The Chaplain fell into silence once more.

Unease pooled in Gadriel’s stomach and he found himself scrambling for words. “I… only ask because, when he departed, he requested we look after his serf. And since she has disappeared-”

The Chaplain stiffened. “You intrude upon my meditations with news of a missing serf?”

“Brother Chaplain, we only-”

“I have better things to occupy my time. As do you.”

“Brother-”

“Leave. Now.”

Chairon looked as though he would argue, but Gadriel placed a hand on his shoulder. “Forgive our intrusion, brother.”

He all but shoved his fellow Ultramarine out of the Chapel. Once outside, Chairon rounded on him.

“Did you witness his reaction? His hatred of the Lieutenant? Call my suspicions unfounded now, brother!”

“I saw.” Gadriel’s mind spun. “And I saw-”

“My Lords!” The medica bounded up from her place standing by the doors. “Did you learn anything?”

“Woman,” Gadriel gripped her shoulder in one hand. “Did the serf, Sera, wear any,” he flailed for the correct word, “baubles? Trinkets? Around her neck, perhaps?”

Chairon gave him a quizzical glance, which he ignored.

The medica’s eyes widened. “A necklace. I saw it often when she changed her clothing.”

Chairon spoke. “Brother, what are you on about?”

“A golden laurel leaf hung on a string, yes?”

The medica bobbed her head. “She told me the Lord Titus had given it to her. She never removed it, not even when she bathed.”

“By the Warp!” Gadriel’s snarl drew startled looks from a few passing serfs.

Chairon gripped his arm. “Brother-”

He turned to face him. “I saw it, Chairon.”

“What? Where?”

Gadriel forced the words through clenched teeth. “Held in the Chaplain’s hand.”

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#warhammer 40k #space marines #space marine x oc #ultramarines #leandros #chairon #gadriel #demetrian titus #demetrian titus x reader #poor sera's ordeal is just beginning

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raeinyourdreams · 6 months ago

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'call it what you want.' | l.h x reader

pairings: logan howlett x sway!reader

tags: fluff, no established relationship but.. there's something there, mutant!reader (they call her sway due to her mutation.. i love her i wanna talk ab her someone PLEASE ASK AB HER), AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, no specific petnames for reader (just bub and her hero name.. gets called kid like twice), no use of y/n, written with x1/x2 logan in mind... sigh... save me x2 logan.. anyway, he gives reader his dog tags before a mission in case he.. you know.. so maybe angst? but only til the very end.

wc: 2k!!

a/n: OKAY SO BOOM! this is my first actual work that's not a drabble and i'm so anxious to post AAHHH, i got the inspo from a post i saw a while ago while fried as fuck from someone requesting a fic ab logan giving reader his dog tags, pref fluffy and angsty so i hope i did ur vision justice OP!! tysm for inspo, my reqs are always open 🫶🏻 also i know this is a very burnt card but if something in the wording is off lmk PLEASEE english isn't my first language 😭 anyway enough yapping plz enjoy!! any type of interaction is appreciated

'just know these are yours now.'

you've never seen him without his dog tags, he never took them off, not ever since the first time he came into the mansion. you'd been there the first time, you were a teacher in the school, and you'd seen him occasionally roam the halls and stay by the door, listening in on your class, quietly. but very rarely interacted otherwise, just a simple nod or a 'good morning' that he'd return out of good manners, but he'd mostly keep to himself.

you're a teacher. you're the fun teacher. at least that's what your coworkers seemed to agree upon, seeing how your students appeared to leave your classroom more cheerful than they entered. you'd be lying if you said you didn't use your mutation as an advantage in this situation, being able to read your students' moods every day, how they were feeling and why came insanely handy, especially when it came to giving each student the type of care they needed. which is why you were also a student counselor.

on the days you didn't teach, you'd put that psych degree to work and counsel. in your classroom filled with drawings and fairy lights and stained glass that looked straight from a fairytale, and a door you'd lock for privacy as a student came to confide in you.

obviously despite your title, it wasn't only students who'd come to your office to let a feeling go, teachers too, needed a space to blow off some steam, cry a little sometimes, because they knew you'd soothe them in the end, touch your hand feel the pain dissipate, make it seem as if they'd never felt that way.

up until now, only teachers and students seemed to come to you for help. teachers. and students.

so it did surprise you when the wolverine started showing up in your office after coming back.

"must be tiring. to handle others' emotions like your own all day." he'd say, sitting down on a chair, to which you'd playfully roll your eyes and shake your head. "i don't treat them as my own, i just do what i have to do so they feel better." you'd reply, walking towards the door to lock it out of policy. figured that he was here for counseling as well.

"you treat everyone with so much care it seems like it." he said, which made you stop in your tracks, turning heel to face him, your hair cascading on your shoulders and moving ever so softly as you spun. before you could speak, stunned, he asked again.

"don't you get tired? i mean mentally. it must take a toll on you to be around so many emotions all the time." the way he seemed to read you stunned you, he seemed like a very gruff, cold person from the brief interactions you'd had with him before. truth be told, this was the closest you'd been to logan since he came back to the mansion. it's what other people thought of him, anyway.

but you weren't other people, you were different.

the feeling in your body when you perceive others emotions is strange. you could never put it into words. your mutation was mostly contact based, a small brush of the hand was enough to let you know that person's feelings, the reason behind them, what they needed to feel better and it made it easier to help everyone. you could, however, see and feel the emotions, sometimes even smell them if they were too strong, no need for contact necessary.

with logan, you almost didn't need to be in the same room as him to feel the amount of physical, mental, emotional strain he was constantly under, his superhuman body subconsciously tuning it out, making him oblivious to it. once, after a very dangerous mission, he isolated himself in his room for days, his expression cold and unfazed, but every time you'd walk past an area he was in, the emotions hit you like a truck. so strong you even cried over pain that wasn't yours, a life you hadn't lived.

you looked at him sympathetically, taking a deep breath to concentrate less on the seemingly invisible fog around you two as you sat on the chair, your expression calm and collected. "i'm okay, i promise. thank you, logan."

"like hell you are." "neither are you."

he stays quiet at your retaliation, a weak smile forming on his lips, letting you understand that you were right, not that you needed confirmation.

sometimes, when emotions overpower you, you feel compelled to speak, give words of reassurance, even if you didn't quite know if they'd help or not. "logan, you should let people into your heart, stop living in fear.." you blurted out, unsure of why you were telling him this, but you'd learned to not question it and just speak, because it helped to just hear the words sometimes. it certainly did get you a reaction from logan, as the overbearing feelings you were perceiving faded.. briefly, before they slowly crept back into vision.

it was the faintest of reactions, but a reaction at least.

he nodded, taking in the words silently, as if he were contemplating. you remained stoic, analyzing his demeanor out of pure habit. "did.. you come here for counseling?" you asked, suddenly aware that you were still working, and you weren't even sure if he was here for another reason, or if he did need your help. instead, he shook his head, looking at you as if he were conducting an analysis of his own.

"nah, just came to see you.. sway."

a knock on the door interrupted the brewing tension, a gloomy, childlike presence behind the door, to which you looked at logan apologetically. "i'm sorry logan, i have a student to attend.. but think about what i said." you spoke softly, your warm voice reverberating in his ears like a hug.. something he longed for but couldn't bring himself to ask.

you started seeing him around the classroom more, or rather, he started seeking you out more. in between breaks, before his training, during counseling. it got to a point where your children started greeting him hello and goodbye if he was in the classroom, interacting with him, playing with his hair, always styled like kitty ears. the way he just smiled and let them made something in you bloom, a feeling you couldn't recognize in yourself, but it was pink and warm and fuzzy all over. you couldn't help but wonder if he felt about you this way, too.

slowly, you noticed how, little by little, the gloomy cloud surrounding him would go away when he entered the classroom, how it would be replaced with a pink haze when he looked into your eyes, or made you laugh.. it would quickly fade away, but you'd notice, and noticed how much it resembled that feeling inside you: pink and warm and fuzzy all over.

as time went by, you got used to seeing him around, swinging by your classroom as if it was his haven, a small break from the world he knew, because you were in it. you'd be lying if you said he didn't make you day too, the gloomy atmosphere that once came along with him every time he entered your classroom slowly changing into a lilac haze.

one day, he showed up as the kids were leaving for the day, no colored cloud, but something seemed off. you invited him to sit down as he locked the door after getting in, his expression serene. before you could even speak his hands were on you, pulling you close to him in a hug, and you swore you could feel him shaking slightly. the realization hits you like a bucket of cold water and you just hold him tighter to you, since it feels like the only correct thing to do.

"you're scared."

"no one gets to see me like this, so feel special." said he, almost as if he was confiding a secret in you, which he was.

"oh, trust me, i feel quite special." you replied jokingly, which caused him to let out a chuckle, though it was dull and almost no feeling was tied to it.

you two let go and you asked him what was wrong, and he opened up like it was routine.

"i leave tomorrow. there's a mission out of state and they're asking me to go.. might be off the grid after that for a while." he explained, his voice remained calm but his eyes seemed to reveal to you more of how he was actually feeling.

"i dunno.. thought someone should've known in case.. things go south." your expression changed at that, and logan noticed. "ah, c'mon bub, change that frown, it's just reality. sure, i might be a piece of work to kill but it doesn't mean i can't die."

the silence that fell upon the classroom as you two finished speaking made the words fall with more weight into your heart, it did little to nothing to comfort you as you came to terms with what he said. it shouldn't have been hard - he was just stating a fact -, but it didn't mean that it didn't cut deep for you. you opened your mouth to speak, unsure of what you were even going to say, but he quickly cut you off.

"logan-" "listen, bub, you told me to start letting people into my heart.. i'm letting you in."

slowly, his hands went to unclasp the chain that always dangled on his neck, dog tags adorning his neck with his names, his identities. you looked in awe as he held them out to you. "gimme your hand, kid." and surprisingly, you did as you were told, holding your hand out as he placed the piece on your hand, feeling the cold metal clink softly as it fell and heat up under the temperature of your palm. you looked up at him, unsure of what it meant, of what this changed between you two, but it felt undeniable, even if unspoken.

“now, these.. they’re very special, bub. a reminder of everything that happened that led to here.. and it’s leading me to you right now.” he explained. “feels right for you to have them, i guess.. keep them safe, kid.”

the silence that fell between you two again was more comfortable, filled with a newfound tension that left much to question, but it didn’t feel right to interrupt with all that noise yet. the only sound filling the room was the breathing and a faint humming of the white noise machine you kept in your room, next by the door. you opened up your mouth again, your mind utterly blank and filled with thoughts and questions at the same time, unsure of which one was going to breach through your mind to materialize out in the cold, tense air.

“.. why me? trust me, i’m flattered, but i’m no one special, logan..” you questioned, and it made him frown.

“you are special. you're special to me.” your eyes widened at the confession and you watched as a soft smile settled on his face, one that made your heart flutter with the sheer tenderness he held in his gaze. “call it what you want.. just know these are yours now.” he said it so calmly, you wouldn't have tought he was handing you his heart, placing it in soft, tender hands and pleading you to not break it, not change it, and instead embrace it and accept it as it came, rough around the edges.

with that, he stood up from the chair, took your hand to squeeze it briefly, and walked out of the room, not before looking back at you one last time, the heaviness that he carried as he entered the room seemingly gone, all that you could perceive was a haze, all too familiar, one that left as quick as it came as his eyes met yours.

pink, warm, and fuzzy all over.

additional author's note: BOOM SHAKALAKA I POSTED FINALLY!! i think it's a little rushed BUT!! it's cause i have a (smutty) part 2 planned for this HEHEJEHE i don't like writing (or reading) series bcs i get sad when they end but i just might.... hehehe... anyway pls lmk what u think!! or i kill off logan 🥰🥰 your choice 🥰🥰

taglist: @allen-444

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