#and i think that makes people find me easier

[deadlyhimbo]

This makes a lot of sense, and I wonder if there isn't also a biological component to men's different perspective on crying.

I'm a trans man who started taking testosterone in his 30s, which means I had a solid baseline for how my adult brain and body operated pre-transition.

I used to cry at the drop of a hat. It was super frustrating -- especially because I worked in a macho industry where crying was derided as weakness. I started using the phrase, "I'm not that upset, my face is just leaking" to help calm other people who thought I was way more upset than I was, or who saw my tears as manipulative. When I was having a hard time (due to stress or even just fatigue), crying a little every day wasn't uncommon.

T has changed this to a degree I still find startling. I just... don't cry. The emotions are the same. I still experience the same stress and still feel the same feelings that used to trigger tears, but my eyes stay dry. I might feel a little pressure around my tear ducts, but that's it.

I've gone from being A Cryer to crying maybe a handful of times a year. I've heard similar accounts from other trans men who go on T.

And now that my baseline is "I almost never cry", I've noticed that crying feels like a much bigger deal. It's such a rare experience for me that the most recent time I cried kinda freaked me out. It hadn't happened in so long that I saw this incident as a much bigger deal. I must've been really, really upset to cry, right? A few years ago, the tears would've been entirely unremarkable.

And I think that, if you're someone for whom crying is a rare and dramatic response even before we layer socialization on top of it, it's gonna be disorienting to see someone cry frequently, or over things that feel minor. And one of the ways that you might interpret this weird "overreaction" you don't understand is as an exaggerated performance or manipulation.

That's not to say that it's cool and reasonable to view crying that way, but I think the gap in experience of crying makes it easier for those sexist stereotypes to take hold.

Everyone is so weird about people who cry easily. Fellas, is it evil and manipulative to *checks notes* have an involuntary stress response?

[artsymeeshee]

Been in a weird headspace lately and I wanted to put my thoughts and feelings out to give a better idea of what's been happening. Putting under a read more/feel free to ignore.

I've talked about my struggles mentally on and off for a while and this one has been an ongoing thing for me and it's one I feel has begun to stick out more as time goes on.

I don't see myself as a good person. Most of the time I feel like I'm a bad person. And there's a lot of factors that play into this. One, is the things that I draw, which sounds absolutely crazy. Even I think it is as well.

It's no secret that my main priority has always been familial/platonic themes because that's how I've always viewed Gravity Falls as. And I know a lot of people do as well. It's one of the main themes of the show for crying out loud. And it's not to say I'm getting tired of it. That's a thing that has never crossed my mind, ever. It's more so along the lines of thinking it's too boring or falling back to that feeling of feeling bad because I don't make ship art. And I know I shouldn't feel bad about it and there's plenty of others that gladly do it. It's just one of those things that I'm not sure I'll really accept. And I'm always always grateful for the ones that tell me they appreciate all the family bonding/themes in my art. I guess the feeling of loneliness plays a part in that as well. I'll still make all the family things as long and as much as I can, but I won't deny the feeling of loneliness I get sometimes.

I do have that strong feeling that I am made to do something more and actually be someone and not the usual husk of a terrible individual I fall back on so many times. I won't deny anxiety and fear has taken a big hold on me lately. And it's also driven me to isolate myself in a sense and made me a cold person. I was so much more open years ago and now I've closed a good part of me away because... maybe I realized my "correctness" of myself being a bad person and who would even want to be around someone like that, so it's easier to hide. And I'm always afraid that one day I'll do or say something to no longer make me feel like I'm safe to approach. I've gone through so many people I've found that I've grown to like only for them to be an awful person and it sucks. I never want to be like that.

It's also been hard to not fall back to up and leaving. Whether that be online or real life. Last year was a time I fought with staying or leaving and it was always hard to decide to stay because leaving seemed like the only option I deserved.

I'm aware my ongoing battle with depression has hindered me a lot and it's a main factor for all of my negative feelings and thoughts about myself. And I don't want it to always resort to being the final say of who I am. I would like to find and show that part of me I feel people deserve to see.

I'm going to be honest, putting my raw emotions and thoughts like this is always scary. I'm sorry for the unexpected and serious post. I hoped I didn't make it too annoying or bring the mood down, but I needed to clear an ongoing struggle I've had for a long while. Thank you all for the constant support. Thank you for liking my silly, dumb, wholesome, sometimes feelsy art. Wanted to state another serious thing because life is so unexpected and you never know what will happen, but if something were to happen to me, I really can't explain how grateful I am for the love I've gotten from my time sharing my art. Thank you. Truly. 💜

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 2003 - who are we to fight the alchemy?

chapter summary: Things are back to normal at the X-Mansion, other than the new, permanent addition of Logan. But he's not here for anything other than you.

word count: 18.1k+ (total 36.6k+)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: honestly, i got carried away with the slow burn, and i genuinely mean that cause how is this just 36k+ words of pure fluff?? i think i just clogged myself up with so much pain and angst that i needed nothing but happiness???

also, this is only part 1, it was meant to be one chapter but since it was 36k+ it didn't fit in one post, so go read the next chapter for the full story!

(if you want easier access, you can read the chapter on ao3)

warnings/tags: fluff, reader is a mutant with time manipulation powers, reader wears glasses, shy!reader, logan pining, soft!logan, slow burn (like... slow. burn.), one bed, brief sickness, brief insecurities, almost too much fluff holy sh-, reader has slight backstory, mention of twirling hair, brief injury

series masterlist - chapter 7 → chapter 8.5

The students walked out of the classroom, chatting amongst themselves until there was only you and the sound of you straightening the stack of papers in your hands before walking out yourself.

You stepped out of the classroom, the chatter of students fading behind you as you turned right, eyes down on the stack of papers in your hands. Only to bump straight into someone, the impact making you look up, surprised to find Logan standing right in your path.

“Whoa there,” he murmured, catching you by the arms just long enough to steady you before letting go, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Guess you’re still not watchin’ where you’re going.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you mumbled, “Sorry, Logan. Lost in thought, I guess.” You gave a small, self-conscious smile, unsure whether to meet his gaze or look anywhere but at him.

Logan’s eyes softened as he took in your flushed expression. “Not a problem,” he said, his voice unusually gentle. He nodded to the papers you were holding. “You really take this teaching thing seriously, huh?”

“Well, yeah,” you replied, shrugging with a shy smile. “I’m kind of… the physics teacher, so I have to.”

A low chuckle escaped him. “Right. Wouldn’t want to let the kids think they could slack off, now would ya?” His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, something warm and thoughtful in his gaze. “Never took you for the shy type, though,” he said, almost to himself.

The comment caught you off guard, and you raised an eyebrow, trying to make sense of the meaning behind it. “Is that a… problem?”

“Nah,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “Actually… kinda nice.” His voice softened as he added, “Makes you different. But in a good way.”

For a moment, you stood there, unable to quite find the words to respond. Logan didn’t often compliment people, and even if he did, it was usually with a dry remark and a half-smile, not this almost tender edge. You felt your heart skip, but the butterflies in your stomach were quickly interrupted as a few students walked by, nudging each other and glancing at you and Logan with barely disguised amusement.

Logan seemed unfazed by the sudden audience, though. He just glanced at them with a raised eyebrow, making the students scurry off with stifled laughs.

“They’re onto you,” you said, amused despite yourself.

“Oh yeah?” He tilted his head toward you, his smirk widening just slightly. “And what exactly are they onto?”

“That you’re… softer with me,” you admitted, a bit nervously. “I mean, you’re usually not, well, nice.”

Logan let out a small huff of laughter. “Maybe I just don’t see the point in givin’ you a hard time. ‘Sides,” he leaned in just a fraction closer, “I’ve got my reasons.”

You couldn’t hide your flush this time, the intensity in his gaze making it hard to form any coherent response. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but then Jean’s voice rang out from the hallway, breaking the moment.

“Y/N! Hey, do you have a second?” She sounded friendly, as usual, but there was a flicker of something else in her tone—an undercurrent of urgency that made you glance over.

You cleared your throat, stepping back from Logan. “I should… probably go.”

Logan nodded, but you noticed the way his hand brushed against yours, lingering for a moment longer than necessary before he finally let you go.

Jean approached, offering you a warm smile that turned curious as she looked between you and Logan. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she teased lightly, though her expression wavered slightly. Her eyes seemed darker somehow, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite name.

“No, no, you’re not interrupting,” you said quickly. “Logan was just… giving me a hard time.”

Logan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Yeah, sure, make me out to be the bad guy.”

Jean laughed, though it sounded slightly forced. “We all know that’s not true, Logan.” She turned to you with a softer expression. “Walk with me? I had a question about one of the classes.”

You nodded, giving Logan a small, shy smile before walking off with Jean. You could feel his gaze lingering on you as you walked away, though you didn’t dare look back.

Once you were out of earshot, Jean sighed, a thoughtful look in her eyes. “You know, he’s really different around you,” she observed quietly. “I mean, he cares about all of us, but… it’s different with you.”

You felt a pang of curiosity mixed with uncertainty. “Different how?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Jean said, pausing for a moment as she thought. “It’s like there’s a part of him that comes alive only when you’re around. A gentler side.”

“Logan? Gentle?” you asked, laughing a little despite yourself.

Jean’s expression turned somber. “You’d be surprised.” Her gaze flickered with something that seemed… almost ominous, though it passed quickly. She offered you a reassuring smile, but there was still a hint of tension. “Just… be careful, okay?”

You frowned, taken aback by her shift in tone. “Careful of what?”

Jean shook her head, waving off the question. “It’s nothing, really. Just… I think he cares about you a lot more than he lets on.” She hesitated, then squeezed your hand lightly before heading down the hall.

You stood there for a moment, trying to piece together her words, her cryptic expression, and the tension that seemed to hang in the air, almost like a storm was waiting just beyond the horizon.

---

Logan hadn’t stayed long enough before to know what normal days were like at the mansion. Now he did. After classes, students filled the halls with laughter and chatter, some rushing off to the next thing, while others wandered outside. He watched as they sprawled across the lawn, huddled over comics, or playfully sparred with their mutant powers, while others claimed the common room and TV with that strange, easy camaraderie that he hadn’t known in a very long time.

And, he realized, it wasn’t so bad.

He was leaning back against a wall in the hallway, lost in thought, when he spotted you walking toward him, papers and a thermos tucked under one arm, your focus somewhere else entirely. His lips quirked up as you grew nearer, completely oblivious to his presence until he let out a low whistle, causing you to stop short, looking up at him with that small, startled smile he’d come to recognize—complete with a glossy shine to your lips.

“Deep in thought there, aren’t you?” Logan’s voice was a mix of teasing and warmth as he raised an eyebrow, watching as you took a quick, steadying breath.

You gave a shy laugh, a flush heating up your cheeks. “Sorry, I was just… thinking about today’s class.” You shrugged, gaze darting away briefly, only to return to his with a shy, half-curious look that gave him pause. “The students had questions about particle physics, and I… well, I didn’t expect so many, honestly.”

Logan’s smirk softened as he watched you. “Not surprised they keep you on your toes. You get all animated when you’re in teaching mode.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to that low, familiar tone that always seemed to linger just for you. “Must be why the kids don’t skip your classes.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Oh, sure, I’m just the highlight of their day.”

“Yeah, don’t sell yourself short, Y/N.” Logan tilted his head, his gaze holding yours just a moment longer than necessary. “You’re kinda the highlight of mine.”

Your heart skipped, and for a split second, you couldn’t quite meet his eyes. You mumbled, “You’re… not so bad yourself, Logan,” giving him a soft smile that seemed to settle his expression into something gentler than usual.

Before either of you could say more, Kitty zipped past, phasing halfway through the wall and glancing between you two with a cheeky grin. “Just passing through! Don’t mind me,” she called over her shoulder, sending a wink your way.

You felt your cheeks heat up, but Logan just shook his head with a slight, bemused smile. “Kids,” he muttered.

Still flustered, you cleared your throat. “So… got plans for the rest of the day?” you asked, attempting to regain your composure.

“Thought I might head down to the Danger Room,” Logan replied, eyes twinkling slightly as he glanced at you. “You’re welcome to join me. Unless you’re too busy grading.” He nodded at the stack of papers under your arm.

Your laugh was soft. “Grading or Danger Room training? Such a tough choice,” you said, your voice teasing. “Guess I could spare an hour.”

Logan’s smirk turned into a full, almost mischievous smile as he straightened up, giving you a nod. “Good answer.” He turned and started walking toward the elevator, his stride easy and sure, and you followed, still clutching your papers but already half-forgetting about them.

As you both walked through the main hall, a few younger students glanced at you and Logan, exchanging knowing glances and whispers. The whole mansion seemed to have picked up on this unspoken…something between you and Logan, and though no one dared say it aloud, you couldn’t quite ignore the amused glances.

In the elevator, you finally dared a glance at Logan, noticing the faint grin on his face. “I think the kids are starting to make bets on us,” you murmured, half-embarrassed.

Logan raised an eyebrow, giving you a sideways glance. “Oh, yeah? What’re the odds?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I’m not sure, but I have a feeling they’re rooting for you.”

“Smart kids,” he replied with a wink.

Your heart gave an involuntary flutter at the easy way he teased you now, each small interaction charged with a warmth and a familiarity that you were still getting used to. Yet, there was something else too—an intensity in his gaze that lingered, something that spoke of memories and past lives you didn’t know you shared. It made you wonder, in quiet moments, just how long he’d felt this way, as though you were a mystery he was determined to keep close.

When you arrived at the Danger Room, he shot you one last playful glance before stepping inside, holding the door open for you like it was the most natural thing.

You hesitated at the door, glancing over at Logan with an uncertain smile. “I’m not sure if I’m the best partner for this,” you said, shifting your weight as you adjusted the stack of papers in your arms. “I don’t really know how to fight.”

Logan shrugged, his lips curling into an easy smirk. “Well, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To teach you.” He stepped inside and gave a nod for you to follow, his expression softening as he watched you. “Besides, with that time-bending power of yours, you don’t really need to know how to throw a punch, do you?”

You chuckled, shyly pushing your glasses up on your nose. “Yeah, but it’d be nice to do more than just freeze people in place. You know, in case I need it someday.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you, warm and a bit amused. “Good point. Never hurts to be prepared.” He walked over to the center of the room, beckoning you forward with a slight tilt of his head. “Alright, Y/N, let’s see what you’ve got.”

You hesitated for a second, clutching the stack of papers and your thermos, until he chuckled and reached over, taking them from you. “I’ll hang onto these. Can’t have you distracted,” he said, setting them on a nearby bench. His hand brushed against yours, and the warmth of his touch sent a shiver up your spine. You looked up, catching his eye, and felt the now-familiar flutter in your chest as he held your gaze, a slight smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Alright,” he started, gesturing for you to follow him to the center of the room. “First lesson in not gettin’ hurt—learn to dodge.” He flashed a quick grin. “Figured we’d start there, since, y’know, might keep that pretty face of yours from getting bruised up.”

You couldn’t help but smile, nervously adjusting your glasses as you let out a soft laugh. “Dodging sounds like a safe place to start,” you agreed, glancing around the room, which hummed with potential energy, screens and obstacles waiting to spring to life at Logan’s command.

“Good.” He took a step closer, his gaze flickering over you with a warm familiarity, one you couldn’t quite place but found oddly comforting. “Just follow my lead.”

With that, Logan gave the signal, and a few small projectiles began to emerge from hidden panels along the walls, firing in your direction. They weren’t dangerous, just enough to test your reflexes. You shifted, trying to move away from them as they came, but missed dodging a couple, barely able to sidestep in time.

Logan let out a low chuckle, stepping in to help as he guided you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’re overthinkin’ it,” he murmured. “Trust yourself—move with the flow of things.”

The warmth of his hand sent a jolt through you, but his words were steady, grounded, like he was trying to give you a part of himself that made all of this seem so natural to him. You nodded, focusing on his voice rather than the projectiles, and found that dodging them came a little easier, your body moving in sync with his instructions.

“Good,” he praised, his voice softening as he stepped back to give you space. “See? You’ve got it. Just takes a bit of trust.”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “I… guess it helps to have a good teacher,” you said, your voice quiet, but he caught the shy smile on your face, and his eyes softened, almost as if he was seeing something more than just you standing there in the Danger Room.

“Yeah,” he replied, that lingering look in his eyes returning. “Been waitin’ for this, believe it or not.”

Your brow furrowed, confusion tugging at you. “Waiting for what?”

He didn’t answer right away, just held your gaze, something unspoken passing between you both before he finally shook his head, breaking the tension with a smirk. “For you to stop bein’ so serious in class,” he teased, lightening the moment. “Takes a bit to get you to relax, doesn’t it?”

You felt your face heat, and you laughed softly. “Guess I’m still getting used to… all this.” You motioned to the Danger Room and then to him, and Logan nodded, his expression unreadable for a second.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he said softly, that nickname slipping out as naturally as if he’d used it a hundred times before. “We’ve got time.”

Before you could ask what he meant, the Danger Room doors opened, and Scott stepped inside, eyebrows raised as he took in the sight of you and Logan standing close, with you looking flushed and Logan wearing a rare, softer expression.

“Didn’t know you were takin’ up teaching, Logan,” Scott remarked, a hint of a smirk in his voice.

Logan just shot him a lazy glare, but you could feel the warmth of Logan’s lingering gaze on you even as Scott’s teasing drew your attention. "Someone's gotta keep ‘em on their toes," he replied, his voice gruff but playful.

Scott nodded, giving you a smile. “Well, keep it up. We could use more of that around here.” He nodded to Logan before leaving, leaving you alone with Logan again.

Logan let out a small chuckle, glancing at you. “Guess word’s out I’m takin’ the ‘soft’ approach with ya,” he said, his voice a bit lower as he took a step closer, his gaze settling on you with a steady intensity that made your heart race. “But maybe they don’t need to know everything.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you felt something pull you closer to him, something you didn’t understand but couldn’t deny. And Logan’s expression, a mixture of longing and patience, made you feel like he was waiting—waiting for a moment only he understood.

---

Logan had been looking everywhere for you—your room, the library, your office, your classroom, but he couldn’t find you. He finally walked into the kitchen, Scott was rummaging through the fridge while Jean and Ororo talked by the island.

“Have you seen Y/N?” He asked.

Ororo glanced out the window, “it’s raining,” she stated.

“And?” Logan frowned at the window, watching the rain trickle down the glass.

He barely caught the hint of a smile Jean gave as she said, “She’s outside in the back. Probably reading.”

Of course you’d be out there. He nodded a quick thanks, stepping through the back door and into the soft drizzle. A few steps down the porch, he spotted a faint light coming from the field. He walked across the grass, the rain matting his hair and soaking his clothes.

Logan stopped a few feet away, taking in the scene. You were sitting cross-legged on the damp grass, a book open in your lap, oblivious to the world around you. Above, raindrops hung frozen in the air, suspended like tiny prisms under the glow of your lantern. It was like you’d created your own little world, untouched by the rain.

“Interesting reading spot,” he said, his voice low but with a hint of a smirk.

You glanced up, startled, but relaxed when you saw him, pushing your glasses up. “I just… like being outside,” you mumbled, glancing away. “It’s quiet.”

He stepped closer, hands still in his pockets, the rain parting above him as he entered your time-slowed bubble. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, a hint of that rough charm lacing his tone.

You nodded quickly, shuffling over a bit. Logan sat beside you, his broad shoulders just inches from yours. He looked up at the still raindrops around you and let out a low chuckle. “Nice trick. Keeps the rain out and all.”

You bit your lip, glancing down at your book to hide the small smile creeping onto your face. “Just… didn’t want the pages getting wet,” you murmured. “Or my glasses fogging up.”

“Guess I’d never thought of glasses as somethin’ that needed their own bubble,” he replied, amused.

You finally dared to look up at him, meeting his gaze for just a moment before shyly looking away again. “You’re drenched. I didn’t… I mean, you didn’t have to come out here.”

���Didn’t have to,” he agreed, leaning in slightly, his shoulder brushing yours just enough for you to notice. “But I wanted to. Figured I should see what’s so important about readin’ out in the rain.” He glanced at the title of your book. “What’re you readin’?”

You held it up, realizing he was genuinely interested. “The Da Vinci Code,” you said softly, almost embarrassed. “I don’t really like it.”

He raised an eyebrow, “you’re more than halfway done.”

“I don’t like not finishing books.”

Logan gave a soft chuckle, glancing from your face to the book. "Guess that makes you pretty stubborn, huh?”

You shrugged, fiddling with the corner of the page. “It just feels… wrong to stop halfway. Like I’d be giving up on it.”

"Giving up, huh? I don’t see you as the quitting type.” He leaned back, resting his hands in the damp grass, completely unfazed by the rain still dripping off his hair. “So, what’s got you so unimpressed?”

You hesitated, then sighed. “I think it’s trying too hard. Like it wants to be smart, but it just feels… obvious.”

“Guess it’s good I didn’t pick that one up.” His lips curled into a grin. “You always pick out books you know you’ll hate?”

A quiet laugh escaped you. “No. But sometimes I get curious, and it doesn’t always pay off.” You glanced sideways at him, pushing your glasses up again. "Not like I expected you to be much of a reader, though.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“I don’t know…” you trailed off, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “You just seem like the… outdoorsy type?”

He gave a low chuckle, leaning a bit closer. “I’m full of surprises.” The warmth of his gaze lingered on you, holding your eyes just a second longer than you expected.

You looked away quickly, biting your lip. "Maybe you can recommend me something better next time," you said, feeling your cheeks warm under his stare.

“Oh, I’ve got some ideas,” he replied, his voice soft but teasing. "And maybe I’ll bring you a book worth readin’ in the rain.”

You hid another smile, turning back to your book. But Logan didn’t seem in a hurry to leave, just sitting there beside you, letting the quiet settle between you both.

---

“I rewired them and added a few more breakers. I think you should be all good now,” you said, standing up from the floor and dusting off your hands. “Jean?”

Jean looked up from the workbench she’d set up in the corner, an appreciative smile crossing her face. “Thanks, Y/N. I swear, some of this equipment’s older than I am.”

“Just needed a bit of extra care,” you shrugged, glancing at the exposed circuits. "Or maybe some serious replacement," you added with a grin. "Hopefully, that’ll keep it from sparking every time someone uses the projector.”

Jean chuckled, brushing her hair back as she leaned against the bench. "We’ll see. You’ve got the touch, though—half the mansion would be out of power by now if it weren’t for you.”

“Oh, come on, I’m sure Scott would’ve figured it out eventually,” you teased, earning a snort from her.

“Scott knows how to flip a light switch, but you?” Jean shook her head. “It’s like you speak machine.” She tilted her head, a hint of curiosity glinting in her eyes. “So… reading in the rain again?”

“Um… yeah,” you replied, pushing your glasses up self-consciously. “I like the quiet.”

“That I understand,” she said warmly, but then, for a brief second, her gaze flickered. Her smile stayed, but something in her eyes looked distant, almost… wary. The change was so subtle that you almost thought you imagined it.

“Jean?”

She blinked and the moment passed. “Hmm? Sorry, I spaced out for a second. Must be all those late nights.”

“Yeah, you’ve been pulling a lot of shifts,” you said, watching her closely. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Oh, you know… just the usual.” She waved a hand, brushing it off with a small laugh. “Professor’s been on my case about resting, but there’s so much going on.”

You offered a soft smile. “Maybe he’s right. You can’t be everywhere at once, Jean.”

Jean’s expression softened, a hint of something wistful touching her features. “Sometimes it feels like I have to be, though.” She looked down, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the workbench. “With all that’s happening… it feels like I need to be ready. Prepared.”

There was a quiet intensity in her voice that gave you pause. “Prepared for what?” you asked gently.

She glanced up, her eyes meeting yours with an almost searching look. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly, but her tone had an edge of urgency. “Sometimes it’s like… there’s something inside of me, something I can’t quite understand. And it’s growing.”

You hesitated, then reached out, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to face it alone, Jean. You’ve got me, the Professor… all of us.”

Her expression relaxed, and she covered your hand with hers, giving it a grateful squeeze. “I know. I’m lucky to have you, Y/N.” Her gaze softened further. “Sometimes I think you’re the only one around here who isn’t constantly asking if I’m okay, like I’m some fragile thing.”

“Well, you’re not fragile,” you said firmly, earning a grateful smile from her.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Jean said, her voice a little lighter now. “And if you ever want to get away from Logan’s constant staring contests, I’m always around.” She raised an eyebrow playfully.

You blinked, your cheeks instantly warming. “Logan? Staring?”

“Please,” she teased, laughter dancing in her eyes. “He’s been all over you since you got here. I mean, he’s not exactly subtle, is he?”

You tried to shrug it off, though you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of warmth in your cheeks. “I don’t know… I guess I just thought he was… friendly.”

Jean laughed softly, nudging your arm. “Friendly? Y/N, I think he’d growl at anyone who tried to interrupt your time-bending reading sessions.”

“I’m sure he’s like that with everyone,” you replied, though the thought made you feel unexpectedly flustered.

“Sure, everyone,” Jean said with a smirk. “Except… you’re the only one he follows into a storm just to sit beside in silence. I’d say that’s more than ‘friendly.’”

You bit your lip, looking down as you tried to stifle a smile. You’d always thought there was something about Logan that made him linger around you, but hearing it from Jean made it feel… different. Like maybe you hadn’t imagined the little moments he stayed close or the way his gaze seemed softer when he looked at you.

---

You didn’t like meetings, and while you preferred being in the Professor’s office with everyone else over a one-on-one, it didn’t mean you liked it. The Professor was going over a mission debrief, his gaze sweeping across the team. You sat a little toward the back, trying to keep a low profile. Logan, who had come in just a few minutes before, took a seat close to you, his usual habit of hanging back subtly pulling him toward your side of the room.

As the Professor continued, you felt Logan's eyes on you, but every time you dared to glance his way, he looked like he was concentrating on something far away. It was small things like this that always made you wonder—little, lingering looks or quiet moments in the hallway where he’d pass by just close enough that his presence was hard to ignore.

You did your best to focus on what the Professor was saying, but after a while, you felt Logan shift slightly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, relaxed yet distinctly attentive. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him watching you again.

Finally, you dared to meet his gaze, giving him a small, shy smile.

“What?” you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear, still moving your pen back and forth between your index and middle fingers.

“Just wonderin’ what’s goin’ on in that head of yours,” Logan murmured, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Caught off guard, you blinked, feeling your cheeks warm as you continued twirling the pen in your fingers. “Um… just… listening,” you stammered quietly, not meeting his eyes.

Logan chuckled softly, his gaze steady. “Sure ya are.”

His tone held that familiar teasing edge, and you could feel him watching you even as you tried to refocus on the Professor’s words. The others in the room were paying attention to the debrief, but you had the odd sense that Logan’s attention was entirely on you, as if he could see through the quiet, reserved front you tried to put up.

Logan's teasing smirk lingered as you tried, and failed, to redirect your attention to the Professor's debrief. But as you continued twirling your pen, he leaned closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Y’know,” he murmured, “that pen-twirlin’ of yours is makin’ me a little anxious.”

You stopped mid-twirl, blinking up at him, feeling a surge of embarrassment. Before you could apologize, he wordlessly reached over and took the pen out of your hand. But he didn’t give it back. Instead, he held onto it, letting his fingers linger on yours, and then, almost casually, his hand slid down to hold yours under the table.

You tensed at first, your eyes darting around to see if anyone noticed. But everyone else was absorbed in the Professor’s talk, completely unaware. Logan’s hand was warm, grounding, and despite your nerves, you felt a small surge of comfort. Slowly, you relaxed, letting your fingers curl around his.

He glanced sideways at you, a small smirk still tugging at his mouth. “Better?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, though you could feel your heart racing. Without your pen, you found yourself nervously tracing little patterns in the palm of his hand, letting your fingertips wander over the rough lines of his skin, tracing the knuckles and the faint scars along his fingers. You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first, just lost in the simple, steady motion.

Logan’s thumb brushed gently over your hand in response, his hold tightening slightly, and you swore you felt a quiet, satisfied hum rumble in his chest. Despite your shy nature, you couldn’t ignore the way he seemed to soften in these moments, as if he was just as reluctant to let go.

For the rest of the meeting, his hand stayed around yours, his thumb grazing lightly over your knuckles in a rhythm that was both reassuring and subtly flirtatious. You weren’t sure if he knew what his touch was doing to your already racing pulse, but from the quiet satisfaction in his expression, you suspected he did.

As the Professor wrapped up, some of the other team members glanced your way, but no one commented. Logan's usual stern exterior was unmistakably gentler, and a few of the younger mutants exchanged knowing looks, though they quickly looked away, perhaps sensing that it wasn’t something to tease you about.

When everyone started to disperse, Logan finally released your hand, slipping the pen back into your fingers with a slight, almost reluctant brush of his fingertips. He gave you a smirk, one eyebrow raised. “See? No need to keep spinnin’ that pen around.”

Your cheeks warmed as you fumbled with the pen, and you looked away, managing a shy smile. “Maybe I just need more practice.”

Logan chuckled, his gaze lingering on you as he pushed himself up. “Well, you know where to find me,” he said, his tone holding just a hint of something more. Then, with one last glance, he turned and headed toward the door, leaving you feeling like he’d stolen more than just a few minutes of your time.

---

Jones continued blinking, changing the channels on the small TV, until he landed on the nightly PBS station. Theresa huffed and folded her arms as you guided both of their focuses back to the cookies they had asked you to make with them.

"Okay, so, you take a little bit of the dough and roll it into a ball. It doesn’t have to be perfect," you said gently, showing Jones and Theresa the process with a small smile. Both kids looked on, wide-eyed and eager, Theresa’s fingers already sticky with dough, while Jones seemed more interested in sneaking bites than rolling.

“Like this?” Theresa asked, holding up her dough ball, which was more lopsided than round.

“Exactly,” you said, giving her an encouraging nod. “They’ll all taste the same anyway, even if they look funny.”

Jones looked from his misshapen dough ball to Theresa’s, smirking. “Mine’s better,” he teased.

“Oh yeah?” Theresa challenged, nudging him playfully. "We’ll see whose tastes better!”

You chuckled softly, gently placing both of their attempts on the tray. “Alright, let’s focus on making a few more before you eat all the dough.”

In the background, you caught a glimpse of Logan lingering by the doorway, half-hidden in the shadows. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, watching the three of you with a quiet, almost nostalgic expression. You caught his gaze and gave him a small, shy smile, which he returned with a faint nod, his eyes softer than usual. It was a look you had started to notice more and more—a silent warmth reserved only for you, one that was almost protective.

Logan’s gaze stayed on you as you guided Theresa’s hands, helping her with another dough ball, and encouraging Jones to try shaping one like a star. You were so good with them, Logan couldn’t help but remember all the other times he’d seen you with kids in your past lives. You had always been gentle, patient, the type to make them feel safe and seen.

“Think they’re ready for the oven?” you asked, brushing flour from your hands.

Theresa and Jones looked from each other to you with eager nods.

“Yes!” Theresa chimed in.

“Finally,” Jones added, stifling a small grin as he looked at the tray.

You carefully put the cookies in the oven, setting the timer before turning back to the kids. “They’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes, so no peeking!”

Jones pretended to be exasperated but nodded, and Theresa let out a small, delighted squeal, her mind already on tasting the finished cookies.

Logan watched the scene quietly, noticing how natural this was for you. This wasn’t just kindness—it was something deeper, a warmth that drew people to you without you even realizing it. He could see why the kids adored you, why others in the mansion sought you out for comfort, and why his own instinct was always to protect you, to be near you.

As you turned to put away some ingredients, Logan finally stepped forward, his presence a little more obvious now.

“Didn’t know you were such a baker, Y/N,” he said, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

You jumped slightly, not realizing he’d come closer, and turned to see him just a few steps away. “Oh! Um… I’m not, really,” you replied, glancing down. “I just… Theresa and Jones wanted to make cookies, and I didn’t want to let them down.”

“Well, from what I saw, you did pretty good. They look like they’re havin’ the time of their lives,” he added, his gaze softer than usual.

Theresa, noticing Logan now, grinned up at him. “You’re just in time to taste them, Logan!”

Logan chuckled, crouching down to her level. “I wouldn’t miss it, kid.”

Jones, though pretending to ignore the adults, cast a knowing look between you and Logan. “Yeah, right. You’re just here to watch Miss Y/N.”

You felt your cheeks warm immediately as Logan gave Jones a look of amused surprise, lifting an eyebrow. “Watchin’ her bake isn’t as fun as watchin’ you two mess with the dough, kid.”

Jones didn’t look convinced, but Theresa gave a giggle, pushing her little fist up to her mouth. “Miss Y/N’s the best at baking.”

“Oh, really?” Logan said, his voice laced with humor, eyes back on you. “Didn’t know I was dealing with an expert here.”

You bit your lip, flustered by the attention and not quite sure how to respond. “I’m just… I’m just helping them. Nothing special.”

Logan stepped a little closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Seems special to me.”

You quickly looked away, busying yourself with wiping down the counter, feeling your pulse race under his gaze. The way Logan looked at you was different—intense, as if he could see right through every shy attempt to brush things off. And though his usual gruff tone was still there, there was a gentleness that only seemed to surface when he was around you. It was impossible to ignore how your heart jumped a little every time he was near, or how his subtle flirtations left you more flustered than you cared to admit.

After a few minutes, the timer beeped, and Theresa and Jones jumped up in excitement.

“They’re ready!” Theresa squealed, bouncing on her toes.

You smiled, moving to pull the tray out, but Logan was faster, reaching over your shoulder to grab the oven mitts, his arm brushing against yours as he did so. “I got it,” he said, his voice low and close enough that it sent a shiver down your spine.

He pulled the tray out effortlessly, placing it on the counter with a smirk. “Better be good. Don’t wanna waste time tasting any duds.”

Theresa shot him a mock-scowl as Jones reached for a cookie. “You’ll love them, I bet,” he said confidently.

You watched as Logan took a cookie, biting into it with a skeptical look that quickly melted into a smirk. “Alright, kid, not bad.”

The kids cheered, and you couldn’t help but smile as Logan glanced your way again, a knowing look in his eyes.

---

Dinner was quiet, though technically an understatement with kids running around, to Logan it was. You were nowhere to be found, and although you occasionally came to dinner late, never this late.

Logan leaned back, eyes scanning the crowded dining room for any sign of you, brows furrowing slightly when he didn’t see you among the younger kids or the teachers.

“Maybe she’s asleep,” Ororo said, noticing Logan’s expression. “She was up half the night after Artie had a nightmare.” She rounded the table, pulling a reluctant Jones back to clear his plate while Theresa ran to help with the dishes.

Logan grunted a reply, shifting his gaze down the empty hallway outside. You were dedicated—more than most. You made sure the kids felt safe, even if it meant running on little sleep. He considered waiting it out, letting you get some rest, but something made him push back his chair and step quietly out of the dining room, deciding to see for himself.

After a few knocks on your door and no response, Logan checked the usual places but still didn’t find you. Finally, he spotted you in your office, forehead resting on your arm, glasses crooked as you lay slumped over your desk, papers scattered beneath you. The light cast a soft glow over the room, illuminating the stacks of student projects and physics diagrams you’d been grading late into the night. He sighed, leaning against the doorway for a moment, debating his next move.

With a quiet step, he entered the room and came to your side, noticing how your breathing was soft and even. Gently, he rested a hand on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice low, “time to get you to bed.”

You didn’t stir, and Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. Usually, you were a light sleeper, sensitive to the slightest sound or shift. He tapped your shoulder a little firmer, but still, you didn’t wake. He huffed, a small, amused grin flickering over his face. “Out cold, huh?” he whispered.

At that moment, Jean appeared in the hallway, pausing when she noticed the scene. She tilted her head with a slight smile. “Want me to take care of it?” she asked, her voice hushed as she gestured toward you.

Logan glanced at her, giving a subtle shake of his head. “Nah, I got it.” He shifted his gaze back to you, his expression softening as he carefully slid one arm under your legs and another around your back, effortlessly lifting you into his arms. Your glasses slid a little, and he gently adjusted them, his face inches from yours as he whispered, “let’s get you somewhere more comfortable, alright?”

You stirred faintly in his arms, leaning your head against his chest with a quiet sigh but remaining asleep. Logan carried you down the dimly lit hallway, nodding to a few passing students who shot him curious looks, their expressions a mix of surprise and amusement at seeing him carrying you with such care. He ignored them, his attention focused solely on you.

Reaching your room, he nudged the door open with his boot, stepped inside, and carefully lowered you onto the bed. He removed your glasses, then began taking off your sneakers while glancing around your room. Logan had never been inside before, only ever coming as far as your door, and he was surprised to find it… bare.

There were a few essentials: a neatly stacked row of physics journals, a small, worn plush that looked like it had seen better days, and a tiny hourglass that caught the light in an odd way, giving off a slight, shimmering glow. The space felt like yours in some ways—quiet, orderly—but the walls were nearly bare, with just a single calendar marked with scribbled notes. For someone who had been part of the X-Men for a while, you hadn’t left much of yourself behind in this room, almost as if you were ready to leave at any time.

Logan brushed his fingers over the small hourglass, the delicate grains slipping through it in slow, mesmerizing intervals. It reminded him of you somehow—the way you seemed caught between moments, present yet not fully anchored, as though you were perpetually passing through.

As he adjusted the blanket over you, his hand lingered a moment, thumb brushing softly along your shoulder. You shifted slightly in your sleep, unconsciously leaning toward him, a faint smile ghosting over your lips. Logan felt a tightness in his chest he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge in years, a warmth that reached beyond the fleeting attraction he could brush off. This was something else, something that had lingered across time and lifetimes.

In the dim light, he could make out the subtle rise and fall of your breathing, the way a strand of hair fell across your cheek. It struck him how familiar this all was—the softness of your expression, the quiet trust in your sleep. He remembered a hundred small moments like this, times when he’d watched over you, sometimes even held you like this in his arms. He’d seen you fade away in all those lives before, but here you were, whole and breathing, even if you didn’t remember a single moment of those past lives. He was the only one who did, the weight of those memories settling heavily in his chest.

The door creaked, and Logan looked up to see Jean standing there, a soft smile curving her lips as she observed the scene.

"She works harder than most of us," Jean murmured, her voice almost reverent. “You don’t see her resting very often. Guess she trusts you, though.” There was a look in Jean’s eyes, something Logan couldn’t quite place, a flicker of warmth edged with something almost... distant, like she was there but not entirely present.

“She’d trust anyone if it meant looking out for the kids,” Logan replied, his voice low, glancing down at you before looking back at Jean. “Guess she pushes herself harder than she needs to.”

Jean nodded thoughtfully, crossing her arms, and for a moment, her gaze seemed to turn inward, distant. “She does,” Jean said slowly, “but there’s more to it, I think. She… well, it’s like she feels she has to prove herself, even if she’s already earned everyone’s trust.”

Logan’s jaw tightened subtly. That sense of needing to prove yourself, even when it was clear to everyone else that you’d more than done so, was all too familiar to him. He could see it in the way you volunteered for every duty, looked after every stray kid with barely a complaint, and stayed up late grading assignments, wanting to do right by everyone in the mansion.

Jean’s eyes softened as she took in the way Logan still watched you. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said softly, lingering in the doorway for a moment. She tilted her head, an almost curious look in her eyes. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Jean’s words lingered as she walked away, her footsteps fading down the hall. Logan let out a breath, looking back down at you with a mixture of tenderness and frustration. You’d been lucky in so many ways and tragically unlucky in others—dying each time he found you, leaving him with nothing but memories of those fleeting moments.

He brushed another stray lock of hair back from your face, his thumb lingering near your cheek as he spoke quietly to you, “One day… maybe one day, I’ll get to keep ya.”

After a moment, Logan gently placed the small hourglass on the bedside table, right where you’d see it when you woke up, before rising and heading toward the door. He cast one last glance back at you, reluctant to leave you alone even now. But he knew you needed the rest more than he needed to stay. Besides, he’d be just down the hall if you needed him.

---

There was one thing Logan had been wanting to know for some time—something that at times kept him up at night.

That damn glossy lip of yours. He knew it was either cherry or strawberry flavored, but other than that, he was clueless. It didn’t help that one of your nervous ticks, other than twirling your pen in hand, was rolling or biting your lip while in thought. Sometimes you bit your lip to try and hide a smile or laugh, like now, as he watched you and Jean walk down the hall.

“Empire Strikes Back is the best sequel ever made!” you declared, nudging Jean as you strolled down the hall together. “It’s everything you want in a sequel—a better story, more character development, actual stakes…”

Jean laughed, her eyes sparkling. “You do realize it’s just a movie, right?”

“Jean, please,” you said, feigning offense. “This is Star Wars. ‘Just a movie’ doesn’t apply.”

Jean held her hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine,” she said, suppressing a smile. “But A New Hope started everything! You have to respect the original.”

“I do,” you insisted, adjusting your glasses and smiling up at her. “But just because it came first doesn’t make it better. Empire has that… well, darkness. It’s iconic.”

Logan was a few paces behind, arms crossed, a subtle smile tugging at his mouth as he watched the back-and-forth between you and Jean. The way you grew animated when you were comfortable, your enthusiasm spilling over in debates like this, wasn’t something he saw often. There was a quietness to you, a gentleness—qualities that seemed to draw people in without you even trying.

It was no wonder the kids gravitated toward you, or why Jean looked at you like a sister she’d known her whole life. Logan found himself watching you more than he’d ever let on, his attention caught on those small, unexpected things.

“Fine, Empire wins, A New Hope second,” Jean conceded. “But I draw the line at Return of the Jedi. Those Ewoks were pushing it.”

You laughed, giving her a playful nudge. “I’ll give you that.”

Logan shook his head, stepping a bit closer. “Gonna let me in on this debate?”

You jumped slightly, turning to look at him with a surprised smile, cheeks coloring faintly at how close he’d gotten without you noticing. “Oh! Um… Well, we were just arguing the merits of Empire Strikes Back over A New Hope.”

Jean rolled her eyes. “Arguing is putting it lightly.”

“Some of us just have good taste,” you teased, looking at her before glancing back up at Logan.

Logan smirked. “Good taste, huh? Alright, which one’s your favorite then?”

Without missing a beat, you answered, “Empire. No contest.”

“Smart choice,” he said, his voice lower, eyes lingering on you a second longer than usual. There was a softness in his expression, an ease that wasn’t there with most people, like he was letting a bit of his usual guardedness fall away when it was just you. And it didn’t go unnoticed; Jean caught the subtle exchange, a knowing smile slipping onto her face, though she kept quiet.

“See?” you said to Jean, feeling a little surge of confidence with Logan’s agreement. “Logan gets it.”

Jean gave a mock sigh. “Well, I guess I’m outnumbered,” she said, looking between you two with a slight smirk. “I’ll just have to wait until I find a couple of people with my taste.” She shot you both a teasing look before starting down the hallway.

“I don’t think you’re gonna find any,” Logan called after her, making you chuckle.

You and Logan fell into step together, and you felt a little flustered, not entirely sure what to do with the silence that followed. Logan’s attention was a bit overwhelming—yet strangely comforting at the same time. He had a way of looking at you, like he was noticing details even you hadn’t paid attention to, and it left you a bit tongue-tied.

He gave you a sidelong glance, his expression softening. “Didn’t think you’d be into sci-fi movies.”

“Oh, I—well, yeah,” you said, giving a small, bashful smile. “I guess I’m full of surprises.”

Logan chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that somehow made you feel warm inside. “Yeah, guess so.”

The hall was quieter now, most of the students already heading to their rooms or the common areas for the night. You pushed your glasses up, looking down as you fiddled with the strap of your watch. “I guess it’s just, I don’t know, nice to get lost in a different universe sometimes. It’s a little easier when there’s lightsabers and the Force involved, I guess.”

Logan nodded, his gaze drifting over your face, as if he was trying to memorize every detail. “You ever feel like you’re still in a different universe when you’re here?”

You thought about it, then nodded. “Sometimes. It’s… hard to explain.”

“Don’t need to,” he said, voice soft. “I get it.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the understanding in his tone. He held your gaze, his expression uncharacteristically gentle, almost as though he was sharing in that quiet space with you. There was something in his eyes that felt like familiarity—a feeling of being seen that made you shift nervously, warmth blooming in your cheeks.

“Thanks,” you said softly, a shy smile touching your lips.

“Anytime,” he replied, the words seeming to carry a weight you couldn’t quite place.

---

Some of the kids were training with Ororo and Scott in the Danger Room, while you sat on the sidelines, observing intently. The kids were sparring, testing their powers in controlled scenarios, but it was more intense than you’d expected. Even from the sidelines, you felt a little thrill from watching their dedication.

You’d learned to dodge and block a bit from Logan about a month ago, but that was the extent of your training. Though your time-manipulation abilities offered you certain advantages, you still felt unprepared when it came to hand-to-hand combat. After all, a time freeze was helpful, but it couldn’t teach you how to throw a proper punch. You adjusted your glasses, watching as Scott demonstrated a move for Jones, who was trying to keep up, determination written all over his face.

“Ya look like you’re itching to join ‘em,” Logan’s voice came from behind you, low and teasing. You hadn’t noticed him enter, but his presence felt natural by your side. You looked up, feeling your cheeks warm as he met your gaze with a familiar glint in his eye, one you’d come to recognize as playful but warm—especially when it was directed at you.

“Well,” you admitted, shyly tugging at your sleeve, “I feel like I should know more. I mean, just in case.” You glanced back at the training session, feeling a little vulnerable for admitting it, especially to him.

Logan gave a small chuckle, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall beside you. “In that case, why don’t I show you a thing or two? You’re not gonna get there just watchin’.” His gaze softened. “If you want to, that is.”

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.” Your voice was quieter than you’d intended, a little unsure, but there was something reassuring about the way he looked at you that made you want to try.

Logan led you to an empty part of the training area, away from the others. “Alright, first things first,” he said, taking your hands and guiding them into fists, his touch careful. “A punch isn’t just throwin’ your fist forward. You want to aim with your whole body—so start by grounding your feet.”

He placed his hands on your shoulders to adjust your stance. His fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary, and your heart skipped a beat. He guided your arm into position, his touch steady and sure as he moved your arm, ensuring your wrist was aligned.

“Now, try to punch me,” he instructed with a small grin, stepping back and raising his hand to form a target.

You glanced at him, nervous but determined, and took a swing. Your punch landed, but he didn’t even flinch. Instead, he raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Not bad for a first try. Try again, but this time put your weight into it. Use your hips,” he suggested, moving closer to guide you through the motion again.

Taking a breath, you tried again, focusing on his advice. This time, you felt the force of your punch increase, though he still didn’t seem fazed. Logan nodded approvingly. “There ya go, that’s it. Now, keep practicing that. Remember: control, not just power.”

As you kept practicing, Logan’s focus remained on you, his gaze warm and encouraging. You caught Ororo and Scott exchanging glances, a knowing smile on Ororo’s face, though neither said anything. You brushed off your flustered thoughts, managing to hold Logan’s gaze with a shy smile.

Eventually, after a few more attempts, Logan put his hands up in a surrendering motion. “Alright, I think you’re ready to take on the universe,” he joked, his eyes crinkling with that soft smile that seemed to be reserved just for you. “Now, don’t go punchin’ the wrong people, alright?”

You laughed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll try not to.”

As you both headed out of the training area, Logan walked beside you, his shoulder just barely brushing yours. His tone was playful, but there was a tenderness in his gaze, and you felt a connection you couldn’t quite explain—something you couldn’t put into words but could feel, lingering between you.

---

You zipped your suitcase, a small carry-on for your few-day trip to California. The upcoming Quantum Information Science conference had you both nervous and excited, though you'd never been all that eager to travel alone.

Jean poked her head in, her expression soft but amused as she saw you standing by your suitcase, taking a breath before the journey. In her hands was a wide-brimmed sun hat, clearly out of place for the mansion but perfect for a California trip.

"Since you're heading to sunny California, I got you this," she said, plopping the hat onto your head with a grin. “Just because you're going to a conference doesn’t mean you can't look like you’re on vacation."

You adjusted the hat, laughing softly, though the nervous energy still lingered. “Thanks, Jean. I’m sure it’ll come in handy,” you replied, a little shy, but you knew she was only trying to lighten the mood.

Just then, Logan appeared at the doorway, crossing his arms as he leaned against the frame. His eyes held that familiar glint as he took in the scene, though there was something else—a flicker of protectiveness, one you’d come to recognize. Logan was rarely this obvious about it, but when he looked at you like that, it was hard to ignore.

“So, all packed?” he asked, his tone light but his gaze serious.

“Just about,” you nodded, glancing at the suitcase before looking back at him. There was a strange ache in your chest, almost like you were about to leave behind something important. But it was only a short trip. You didn’t expect to feel this way.

He gave a quick nod, then shrugged as if trying to brush off a thought. "Mind if I tag along?" He asked it casually, but the tension in his posture said he wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.

“Oh—uh, well, I mean, if you want to,” you stammered, caught off guard. “But, Logan, don’t you have training and—”

“Y/N,” he interrupted, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Wouldn’t sit right with me, you crossin’ the country all alone.” His voice softened. “Call it me lookin’ out for ya.”

Jean smirked, rolling her eyes as she slipped past him. “Well, you two have fun in California,” she said with a wink, clearly in on the unspoken connection between you and Logan.

As she left, you tried to push down your shy smile. “You know, I’ll be in a conference room most of the time,” you teased him. “Not sure it’ll be much fun.”

Logan just shrugged. “Yeah, well, I can think of worse ways to spend a few days.” He bent down, hoisting your suitcase up with ease, then gestured with his head for you to follow him.

---

The flight was uneventful, but you found yourself hyper-aware of Logan's presence beside you. Each time he glanced your way to check in, your heart skipped a beat. Eventually, you arrived at your hotel, a sleek conference venue just a short walk from the beach.

Logan was grabbing the bags from the cab as you checked in.

"Yep, a single room—" the woman began.

"Oh, uh—actually, I called earlier and upgraded to a double," you interrupted.

The woman at the front desk popped her gum, gave the computer screen a flat look, and then glanced back at you. "Yeah, the single is the only room available," she said, unfazed by your surprise.

You bit your lip, stealing a glance at Logan, who had just entered with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. His expression didn’t change—casual as always—but you could sense a flicker of discomfort beneath the surface.

“Guess that means we’ll be getting cozy,” he said, deadpan, though there was a mischievous glint in his eye.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks. “Uh, yeah,” you managed, offering the desk clerk a smile before accepting the key. Logan followed you to the elevator in silence, though you could practically feel him smirking beside you.

Once you got to the room, you stepped in and took in the minimal space: one bed, no couch. A tiny table with one chair was pushed against the wall. Logan set his bag down by the door, glancing around before turning his attention to you.

“Looks like I’ll be takin’ the floor,” he said, already half-kneeling to lay out his bag.

“Wait,” you protested, shuffling closer and folding your arms. “You can’t just sleep on the floor. It’s… well, I don’t know what’s been on it,” you finished with a grimace, barely resisting the urge to pull a face.

Logan chuckled softly, his eyes meeting yours, and something softened in his expression. “Couldn’t let you sleep there. Besides,” he added, with a faint smirk, “I’ve slept on worse.”

You hesitated, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “We’re both adults. We could… share.” You kept your gaze on the floor, hoping he couldn’t see the flush creeping up your cheeks. “I mean, just sleep,” you added quickly, regretting the bold suggestion the moment it was out.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, but he didn’t make a joke at your expense, which you appreciated. “Sure, if you’re comfortable with that.” His voice was softer, reassuring even, which only made your heart pound a little faster.

You gave a small nod, not trusting your voice to stay steady, and took a seat on one side of the bed, facing away from him. You could hear the soft rustling as Logan removed his boots and jacket, settling onto the other side of the bed. The silence was almost tangible as he lay beside you, and your senses were suddenly on high alert—aware of every small shift he made, the warmth of him radiating just inches away.

After a few moments, Logan’s voice cut through the silence. “Nervous about this conference?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, grateful for the distraction. “It’s… a lot of pressure. Presenting in front of so many people. I know I’m prepared, but it’s hard to shake the nerves.”

He was quiet for a moment. “You’ve got nothin’ to worry about. You know your stuff better than anyone, from what I’ve seen. Besides,” he added, his tone softening, “you got me around if you need backup.”

You smiled, glancing over to meet his gaze. “Thank you, Logan. Really.”

He shrugged, but there was a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “S’what I’m here for.”

The two of you lay in silence after that, but you could feel the faint pull of sleep starting to settle in.

---

He shouldn’t have been surprised when he woke up like this—his arm draped loosely around your waist, your hand resting on his, and your back pressed against his chest. Logan’s breath was steady, brushing against the crook of your neck as the early morning sunlight filtered faintly through the hotel curtains. For a moment, he just lay there, motionless, taking it all in.

It wasn’t the first time he’d woken up tangled with you—not in this life or the ones before it—but it still hit him differently every time. That same ache, deep and persistent, stirred in his chest. The sense of déjà vu was almost unbearable, made worse by the fact that you didn’t remember any of it.

Logan’s thumb brushed the back of your hand, and he let his gaze drift down to where your fingers loosely curled around his. Even in your sleep, there was trust in how naturally you leaned into him, as if some part of you, deep down, remembered too.

“Darlin’, you’ve got no idea what you do to me,” Logan murmured softly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. His voice was low, almost a whisper, as if saying it out loud would make it too real. He knew you couldn’t hear him—not like this—but the words still felt heavy on his tongue.

“You’re always slippin’ away from me. Feels like I’m just chasin’ ghosts,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “But not this time. Not this time.”

He pressed a feather-light kiss to your neck, just above your shoulder. The gesture was fleeting, tender, but it made his chest tighten. It was a moment he couldn’t allow himself to linger in—because if you woke up like this, he knew it would mess with your head, and the last thing he wanted was to throw you off before the conference.

Carefully, Logan began to shift, untangling himself from you with slow precision. He froze as you stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent, but your breathing evened out again, and he exhaled quietly in relief. Once he was free, he moved to the other side of the room, his footsteps barely making a sound on the hotel carpet.

Leaning against the dresser, Logan ran a hand through his hair and let out a soft sigh. He glanced over at the bed, watching as you turned onto your side, still deep in sleep. You looked peaceful, content even. It was a rare sight, and he found himself unwilling to look away for a long moment.

The guilt clawed at him, as it always did. You didn’t ask for this—for him to carry around the weight of all your lives while you got to start fresh every time. He wondered if you’d even want to know if you could, or if you’d see him as just another piece of baggage tying you down.

Shaking off the thoughts, Logan turned his attention to the clock on the nightstand. It was just past 7 a.m., and the day would start soon enough. If he wanted to make sure you were ready for it, he needed to keep his distance—for now, at least.

He grabbed his jacket and stepped out onto the small balcony, letting the cool California air clear his head. The streets below were already bustling, the morning hum of the city a sharp contrast to the quiet of the room. Logan lit a cigar, taking a slow drag as he leaned against the railing.

No matter how many lives you lived, some things about you never changed—the way you tilted your head when you were lost in thought, the soft curve of your smile, the determination in your voice when you talked about something you were passionate about. It was those small consistencies that kept pulling him back to you, no matter how hard he tried to stay away.

When he finally reentered the room, the sunlight had grown brighter, filtering through the sheer curtains and spilling across the bed. You were starting to stir, your hand brushing against the pillow where his head had been moments earlier. Logan sat in the chair by the small table, keeping a casual distance as he watched you slowly blink awake.

“Morning,” he said, his voice low but warm.

You stretched slightly, rubbing at your eyes before adjusting your glasses. “Morning,” you mumbled, your voice still laced with sleep. You glanced over at him, your cheeks flushing faintly when you noticed how closely he was watching you.

“You ready for today?” he asked, his tone deliberately casual. He leaned back in the chair, the cigar long gone, but the faint scent of smoke still lingered around him.

You nodded, though there was a flicker of hesitation in your eyes. “I think so. Just… need a little coffee first,” you added with a shy smile.

Logan stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “I’ll get us some,” he offered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You just focus on getting ready.”

You watched him as he moved toward the door, your smile growing a little softer. “Thanks, Logan.”

He paused, glancing back at you with that familiar warmth in his gaze. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

---

You took another glance at Logan, who was seated beside you, looking ahead at the stage where Roger Koch was going to talk about dc SQUID Qubit’s.

“You didn’t have to come with me to see these talks,” you said, tilting your head slightly to look at Logan.

The two of you were seated toward the back of the conference room, a relatively quiet spot where Logan could stay unnoticed while still keeping a clear line of sight on everything. Not that anyone here would recognize him—he doubted quantum physicists ran in the same circles as mutants with claws and anger issues—but old habits died hard.

He leaned back in his chair, legs stretched out in that effortless, Logan way, arms crossed. His eyes flicked to yours, a hint of something unreadable in his expression. “Didn’t seem right, lettin’ you fly cross-country alone,” he replied, his voice low, just loud enough for you to hear over the murmur of the crowd.

You blinked, a little surprised at his candor. “It’s not like I haven’t done things on my own before,” you said softly, adjusting your glasses out of habit.

Logan shrugged. “I know that.” His lips curved into a faint smirk, the kind that always sent a little flutter through your chest before you could tamp it down. “But maybe I didn’t feel like sittin’ around the mansion while you were out here. Figured someone oughta keep an eye on you.”

You raised an eyebrow, fighting the small smile tugging at your lips. “Keep an eye on me? Logan, this is a science conference, not a battlefield.”

“Still plenty that could go wrong,” he said, the smirk fading as his voice took on a softer, almost serious edge. He didn’t elaborate, but the meaning lingered between you.

For a moment, you hesitated, unsure how to respond. You weren’t used to this kind of protectiveness—it wasn’t overbearing, exactly, but it felt... personal. A little too personal for someone you’d only known for a few months.

“Well,” you said finally, keeping your tone light, “I hope you don’t regret it. Physics lectures aren’t exactly your scene.”

Logan gave a short, quiet laugh. “I’ll survive.” His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before drifting to the front of the room. “Besides, not like I’m here for the science.”

Your cheeks warmed at the implication, and you quickly turned your attention back to your notebook, pretending to jot something down. Logan didn’t need to know how those little comments of his threw you off balance.

The lights dimmed slightly as the speaker, Roger Koch, took the stage. You straightened in your seat, trying to focus on the introduction, but it was hard to ignore Logan’s presence beside you—the subtle way his shoulders shifted, the quiet rhythm of his breathing.

It wasn’t fair, really, how easily he unsettled you. And yet, somehow, it felt... familiar, even if you couldn’t place why.

As the talk went on, Logan didn’t make a sound. But every so often, out of the corner of your eye, you could see him glance your way. It was subtle—nothing anyone else would notice—but it sent a quiet thrill through you every time.

By the time the presentation ended, the room buzzed with quiet chatter as people began to stand and stretch. Logan leaned closer to you, his voice low. “You catch all that?”

“Most of it,” you said, closing your notebook and giving him a small smile. “You?”

His smirk was back, teasing. “Not a damn word.”

You laughed softly, the sound surprising even you. “Why’d you even come, then?”

Logan shrugged, standing and slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. “Told you. I’m not here for the lectures.”

You shook your head, but the warmth in his tone lingered, chasing away the awkwardness.

“And the next one is…” he looked down at the pamphlet but didn’t say anything, his brows furrowed as he tried to comprehend the words on the paper.

“Rabi Oscillations in a Large Josephson Junction Qubit,” you said, a hint of amusement in your voice. Your eyes flickered back to Logan, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “You really don’t care about that talk, do you?”

Logan just shrugged, unfazed, his lips curling into a grin that made your heart skip. "Nah," he said simply, as though that was all there was to it. "Not my thing."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a soft warmth in your gaze as you looked at him. You had to admit, it was hard not to be aware of him, even in the middle of a room full of physicists discussing things you could barely wrap your head around. It wasn’t just that Logan had a presence that drew attention. It was the way he made you feel seen, even in a crowd.

Still, you tried to refocus on the upcoming lecture, shifting in your seat and tapping your pen against your notebook. The faintest flicker of discomfort crossed your mind as you realized you had no idea why you were even thinking about him this much, especially when you needed to be thinking about work.

Logan, meanwhile, seemed to have a permanent attachment to his casual indifference, but you noticed his gaze flicker to you again as you adjusted your glasses. His smile, small and knowing, stayed just at the edges of his lips, a quiet contrast to his usual stoic demeanor.

"So," Logan began, stretching his legs out even more, "what else is on your little agenda for today?"

You raised an eyebrow, amused by how interested he seemed in your plans, despite the fact that he'd already admitted this wasn’t his idea of a good time. “You really want to know?”

“Why not?” He gave you a small shrug, making it clear he wasn’t just asking out of courtesy.

You hesitated. Your typical habit was to keep things close to your chest, but for some reason, you felt a little more open with him. Maybe it was the fact that you’d been awake for the better part of the night on the flight out, or that Logan, for all his gruffness, wasn’t like most people you met. And it wasn't just because he was a member of the X-Men—there was something more. Something you couldn’t quite put into words.

“I think there's a session on quantum coherence in the afternoon," you said, glancing down at your schedule. "And then the poster session afterward. You’re probably gonna get bored quickly with all of that."

A slight laugh rumbled in his chest. "Guess I’ll have to keep my eye out for any... interesting distractions," he said, his voice low and just enough to send a shiver up your spine.

You pretended not to notice the way his words lingered in the air between you, but you couldn’t quite hide the slight flush that creeped up your cheeks. It was... impossible not to notice him when he spoke like that.

The conversation drifted back to the talk as the lights dimmed once again, signaling the start of the next presentation. Logan’s eyes never fully left you, even as the speaker began his complex talk on quantum information systems. His gaze, though, was softened now, absent of the usual intensity. It was as if, in the span of a few moments, he'd gone from being the aloof, silent protector to someone who just... wanted to be near you.

The thought crossed your mind unbidden—Could he be like this with anyone? Or was it only you?

But before you could chase the thought any further, the speaker’s voice became the focus of the room again, and you pushed the lingering thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand.

---

After what felt like hours—though you knew it had only been a couple—you were finally able to slip out of the conference hall. The speaker had wrapped up, and you both decided it was time for a break. The session wasn’t your favorite, but you couldn’t help but feel relieved to step out into the cool California air.

“You don’t need to keep me company, you know,” you said, a little sheepishly, as Logan followed you down the hallway, close enough that his shadow loomed over yours.

His hand brushed against yours lightly, almost absentmindedly. “Figured it was the least I could do.”

“Least you could do?” you chuckled, giving him a teasing look over your shoulder. “You’re already here. What more could you possibly do?”

Logan’s lips curled into a faint smile at your teasing tone, though there was something different in his expression. "Maybe I just like being close to you."

Your heart skipped a beat. You quickly turned your gaze forward, your cheeks warming despite your best attempts to hide it. “You sure it’s not just the coffee you're after?”

“Could be," he replied, his tone low but warm, almost as if he didn’t mind the teasing. "Could be.”

There was something in his voice, a hint of something unsaid, but you didn't push him on it. Instead, you focused on the coffee stand ahead of you, grateful for the distraction.

---

The week was over, and you both made it back to the mansion late in the evening. You stepped through the double doors of the X-Mansion, feeling the warmth of familiarity wrap around you after days of being surrounded by unfamiliar faces. Logan trailed behind, carrying both your duffle and his, despite your protests on the ride back.

“Seriously, I can carry my own bag,” you muttered as you pushed your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

“Don’t mention it, darlin’,” Logan replied casually, his lips curling into a faint smirk. He didn’t bother to look back as he headed toward the main staircase, your bag still slung effortlessly over his shoulder.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you, pulling into a small, amused smile. It was hard to stay annoyed at him when he insisted on doing little things like that.

“Jean’s in the rec room,” Logan said as you both turned toward the hall.

“How can you possibly know that?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He just tapped his nose in response, grinning in that way he always did when he knew something you didn’t.

When you walked into the rec room, Jean was exactly where Logan had said she’d be—curled up on one of the couches with a book in her lap. She glanced up as you entered, her eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

“Hey! You’re back!” Jean closed her book and stood, crossing the room to pull you into a warm hug. “How was the conference?”

“Pretty great,” you said, grinning as you reached into the bag Logan had just set down. You pulled out a navy-blue baseball cap embroidered with the words Quantum Information Science in bold white letters and plopped it onto her head.

Jean laughed, adjusting the cap so it sat properly. “Oh, wow. I feel smarter already.”

Logan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a quiet smirk on his face as he watched the two of you.

Jean’s eyes flickered to him briefly before settling back on you. “Did Logan behave himself?” she teased, raising an eyebrow.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, your cheeks warming slightly. “He was fine. Kept me company during some of the talks, even if I don’t think he understood a word of them.”

“I understood plenty,” Logan said, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. “Like how coffee’s the most important part of any conference.”

Jean laughed softly and shook her head. “Sounds about right.”

You reached into your bag again, this time pulling out a small, neatly wrapped package. “Oh, and I got you this,” you said, handing it to her.

Jean’s eyes lit up with curiosity as she unwrapped the package to reveal a sleek pen with her name engraved on the side. “This is beautiful. Thank you, Y/N.”

“It’s nothing,” you said quickly, brushing off her gratitude with a shy smile.

Logan watched the exchange quietly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary before he turned toward the door. “I’ll let you two catch up,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll be in the garage if you need me.”

As he disappeared down the hallway, Jean turned to you, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “He’s been hanging around you a lot lately.”

You busied yourself with unpacking, trying to ignore the faint heat creeping up your neck. “We were just at the conference together. It’s not a big deal.”

“Uh-huh,” Jean said, her tone teasing but not pushy.

“Don’t start,” you muttered, though there was no real bite to your words.

Jean laughed softly, giving you a look that said she wasn’t going to let this go so easily. But for now, she dropped the subject, slipping the cap off her head and setting it on the coffee table.

“Alright, I’ll let it slide—this time. But only because I want to hear about all the science stuff I missed.”

You smiled, settling onto the couch beside her and launching into a recap of the conference, doing your best to keep the focus on the lectures and not the way Logan had stayed by your side through it all.

---

You were sitting on the bed with Jean when the first sneeze happened. You had just been telling her about how you were up with Jubilee last night since she caught a cold from Kitty, and now you hoped you weren’t getting sick.

Jean raised an eyebrow from her dresser, where the soft glow of a candle flickered against the room’s walls. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her expression shifting to mild concern as she turned to face you.

“Y/N, don’t tell me you’re catching what Jubilee had,” she said, folding her arms as she leaned back against the dresser.

You sniffled, rubbing at your nose with the back of your hand. “I don’t know. Maybe? She sneezed on me last night, and I don’t have a healing factor like Logan.”

Jean grimaced in sympathy and gestured for you to sit. “Well, you’re not about to suffer alone. Sit. Let me check.”

“Jean, I’m fine. It’s probably just a tickle.” But you obediently perched on the edge of her bed, watching as she crossed the room with her usual calm precision.

She pressed the back of her hand to your forehead, her cool touch a stark contrast to the faint warmth radiating from your skin. You crinkled your nose at the sensation, and she laughed softly. “You’re warm. Not quite a fever, but you should rest. I can cover your classes tomorrow if it gets worse.”

You started to protest, but she waved you off. “Don’t argue. If you’re sick, the students will survive one day without you explaining quantum mechanics.”

Your lips quirked up in a small smile. “Thanks, Jean. I owe you.”

“Always,” she replied lightly, moving back to the dresser. As she fiddled with the candle wick, she glanced at you. “Do you need anything? Tea? Soup?”

You shook your head, but just as you opened your mouth to respond, another sneeze caught you off guard. Jean sighed dramatically. “I’m taking that as a yes to tea.”

Before Jean could head to the kitchen, there was a knock at the doorframe. Both of you turned to see Scott leaning casually against it, arms crossed as a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t tell me you caught it now,” he said, nodding toward you.

“Caught what?” you asked, sniffling as you dabbed at your nose with a tissue.

“Whatever Jubilee had. She’s been sneezing all over the place like it’s her mutant power,” Scott replied, stepping into his and Jean’s shared room. He glanced at Jean. “Is it serious?”

Jean shook her head, giving you a playful yet sympathetic look. “Not yet. She’s warm, but I don’t think it’s a fever. Just a little rest and tea, and she’ll be fine.”

“I’m fine now,” you muttered, though another sneeze betrayed you mid-sentence. You groaned softly and dropped your head into your hands. “Okay, maybe a little tea wouldn’t hurt.”

“I’ll get it,” Scott said, surprising you. He glanced back at Jean, giving her a small smile. “You stay. I can handle tea duty.”

Jean raised an eyebrow. “You? Making tea?”

“I’ve watched you do it enough times. How hard can it be?” he shot back, his tone light. Without waiting for a response, he disappeared down the hall, leaving the two of you alone again.

You leaned back against the bed’s headboard, glancing at Jean. “Is it just me, or was that oddly thoughtful?”

Jean shrugged, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Scott can be thoughtful when he wants to be. He’s just not great at showing it all the time.” She perched on the edge of the bed, studying you. “But enough about him. What about you? When did you start feeling off?”

You shrugged. “Probably this morning. I thought it was just because I didn’t sleep well. Jubilee was up half the night, and I didn’t want to leave her alone.”

Jean smiled gently, nudging your arm. “You’re too nice sometimes, Y/N. It’s okay to put yourself first every now and then.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time a student sneezes directly into my face,” you replied dryly, earning a soft laugh from her.

---

The soft clink of glass against your nightstand roused you from sleep. Blinking through the haze, you squinted at the figure in your room. Even in your half-conscious state, there was no mistaking the broad frame, the wild hair, or the quiet, almost protective presence.

“Logan?” Your voice was hoarse, barely more than a croak, as you shifted to prop yourself up on one elbow.

“Yeah, darlin’. It’s me,” he said, keeping his voice low. He straightened, setting down the glass of water and the small plastic cup with pills inside. “Figured you could use these.”

You blinked at the items, then at him, confusion mixing with an embarrassing sense of gratitude. “How did you know I wasn’t feeling well?”

He shrugged, his eyes scanning your face briefly before resting on the nightstand. “Jean mentioned it when I ran into her. Said you might need some downtime.”

“Oh,” you murmured, sinking back against your pillows. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to—”

“Didn’t say I had to,” he cut in, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Wanted to.”

That simple statement left you momentarily speechless. You weren’t used to this—the small, subtle gestures that showed he cared in his own quiet way. Finally, you managed a faint smile. “That’s... really nice of you.”

Logan chuckled, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Nice, huh? Don’t let that get around. Got a reputation to uphold.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound dissolving into a cough that you quickly muffled with the crook of your arm. Logan’s brow furrowed, the teasing edge slipping from his expression.

“You sure you’re alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured him, though your voice wavered just slightly. “Just need some rest. And maybe a hazmat suit next time Jubilee gets sick.”

That earned a low chuckle from him, and the sound sent a strange warmth curling in your chest. He pushed off the wall, his boots heavy but quiet against the floor as he approached your bed.

“Take the meds, Y/N,” he said, his tone soft but insistent. “And drink the water. No arguing.”

“Yes, sir,” you muttered, though there was no bite in your tone. Reaching for the cup, you downed the pills with a grimace and a sip of water. When you glanced back at him, his gaze hadn’t shifted.

“Better?” he asked.

You nodded, setting the glass back on the nightstand. “Better.”

Logan lingered for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if to make sure you weren’t bluffing. Finally, he nodded, stepping back toward the door.

“Get some sleep,” he said gruffly, though his voice held an unexpected warmth.

“Logan,” you called softly before he could leave. He paused in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the soft light spilling in from the hallway. His head turned slightly, his sharp eyes flicking back to meet yours. “You can… stay if you want—or, uh, can you stay?”

The words tumbled out of you, shy but sincere, and you weren’t entirely sure what you expected. Logan hesitated, his fingers flexing slightly as they rested on the doorframe.

“I don’t wanna bother you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind.

“You won’t,” you said quickly, the corners of your lips curving into a small, nervous smile. “I mean, unless you snore.”

That earned a faint chuckle from him. “You’re the one who’s sick, darlin’. Sure it’s not the other way around?”

You laughed softly, the sound fading into a sniffle. “Jean says I get cuddly when I’m sick,” you admitted, fiddling with the hem of your blanket. “Last time, she stayed in here with me instead of with Scott.”

Logan’s brows lifted at that, a mix of surprise and something else flickering in his expression. He stepped fully into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. “Alright,” he said after a long moment. “But if I’m stayin’, you’re restin’. Deal?”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to the bed as Logan pulled up the chair from the corner of the room. He turned it backward, settling into it with his arms crossed over the back.

But the sight of him there—close, but not close enough—made you hesitate. Gathering your courage, you patted the empty space on the bed beside you. “You could sit here, you know. It’s more comfortable than that chair.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to the spot, then back to you. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

Logan studied you for a moment longer before nodding. He rose from the chair and approached the bed, the mattress dipping slightly as he sat on the edge. When he didn’t move further, you reached out and tugged lightly on his sleeve.

“You don’t bite, do you?” you teased, the shyness in your voice tempered by a touch of humor.

That coaxed a smirk from him. “Not unless I’m provoked.”

You rolled your eyes but shifted to give him more room. What he didn’t expect—what surprised him to his core—was the way you shifted closer, curling into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your head rested on his shoulder, and one of your hands lightly gripped the fabric of his shirt.

“Jean was right,” you murmured sleepily, the warmth of him lulling you into comfort. “I do get cuddly when I’m sick.”

Logan swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing as he glanced down at you. His arm, tentative at first, came up to wrap around your shoulders, his hand resting lightly against your arm. His heart, which had weathered over a century of battles and losses, seemed to ache in a way it hadn’t in decades. Not since the last time you’d smiled at him like that—lifetimes ago.

“You’re fine, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a rumble. “Get some rest.”

You hummed in response, already half-asleep, your breathing steadying as you settled deeper into his side. Logan leaned his head back against the headboard, the faint scent of your shampoo lingering in the air between you.

He couldn’t remember where he was born. Couldn’t remember the faces of his parents, or the details of any life he’d had before them. But he remembered you—every life, every smile, every loss.

And as you rested against him, Logan vowed silently that this time, he’d do everything in his power to protect you. For as long as he could, for as long as fate allowed, he’d stay by your side.

---

Logan opened the kitchen door, his palm resting against it until it clicked open fully. You walked through without hesitation, balancing a pile of graded papers in one hand and a steaming mug of tea in the other. Your focus was elsewhere, likely on your day’s agenda, leaving you unaware of the small effort he made to keep the door steady for you.

“Thanks,” you murmured absently, not looking back as you continued into the hallway.

Logan followed behind, his boots a quiet, steady rhythm on the floor. He didn’t respond, didn’t need to—you’d said the same thing a dozen times this week alone, and each time, you hadn’t quite noticed who you were thanking. His lips tugged into a faint smirk as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

The hallway was bustling with students heading to classes, some chatting animatedly, others juggling books or laptops. Logan stepped closer to your side, subtly adjusting his pace to match yours as the two of you navigated the crowd.

One of the students, a wiry teenager with goggles perched on his head, nearly stumbled into you as he fiddled with a small gadget in his hands. Logan’s hand shot out, a firm but careful grip on your elbow guiding you out of the boy’s path.

“Eyes up,” Logan said, his tone gruff but not harsh.

“Sorry, Mr. Logan!” He called back, clutching his gadget and scurrying off.

You glanced up, startled for a moment, before flashing Logan a small, grateful smile. “That kid’s going to accidentally build a time machine one day.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh. “Probably already did. Just hasn’t figured it out yet.”

You shook your head, your smile lingering as you shifted the papers under your arm. Logan stayed close as the two of you weaved through the remaining students. When you reached the door to your classroom, you paused, glancing at him as he leaned against the frame.

“You’re not my shadow, are you?” you teased, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

“Guess you’d know if I was,” he quipped, the corner of his mouth twitching in a half-smile.

Rolling your eyes, you nudged the door open with your shoulder, juggling your tea and papers. Before you could get too far, Logan’s hand darted out, steadying the door before it could swing back against you.

“Thanks again,” you said, the words automatic as you made your way inside.

This time, Logan didn’t reply, watching as you set your things down on your desk and began sorting through them. You were focused, your brow furrowing slightly as you pulled a red pen from the pocket of your blazer and began marking something on one of the papers. He didn’t interrupt, but he didn’t leave either, leaning against the doorframe and letting his gaze linger just long enough to notice, once again, the faint sheen of gloss on your lips.

Logan clenched his jaw, willing the thought away as he straightened and stepped into the room. “You eat anything yet?”

“Hm?” You glanced up, your pen pausing mid-sentence. “Oh, uh, not yet. I’ve got a granola bar somewhere.”

Logan raised a brow, unimpressed. “That’s not breakfast, Y/N.”

“It’s close enough,” you argued, though your voice lacked any real conviction.

“C’mon,” Logan said, jerking his head toward the hallway. “Kitchen’s still got pancakes out.”

You hesitated, glancing between your papers and the door. “I should really get through these—”

“They’ll wait,” he cut in, his tone firm but not unkind. “And so will the kids. You’re not gonna teach ‘em anything on an empty stomach.”

You sighed, relenting with a small smile. “Alright, alright. Lead the way.”

Logan smirked, stepping aside to let you pass before falling into step behind you. As the two of you walked, he couldn’t help the faint sense of satisfaction that crept over him.

You might not have noticed the small things—the doors, the guiding hand, the way he made sure to keep you in his sight in a crowd—but he did. He noticed everything, because every moment with you, no matter how ordinary, felt like a fleeting gift.

And if there was one thing Logan had learned in the countless lifetimes he’d lived, it was how to savor the things worth remembering.

---

You sat on the bench in the Danger Room, the kids, Rogue, Bobby, Peter, and Kitty, had just left, Jean and Ororo behind them.

You let out a deep sigh, looking down at your water bottle, clutched between your hands.

Jean leaned against the bench beside you, her expression calm but thoughtful as she took in your posture—the hunched shoulders, the downturned gaze on the water bottle cradled in your hands.

"Rough session?" she asked gently, her voice breaking the quiet.

You exhaled slowly, barely lifting your head. "Not rough. Just... pointless."

Jean frowned, shifting slightly to face you more directly. "Pointless? You’re one of the smartest people here, Y/N. I’ve seen the way you handle yourself in simulations. You’re anything but pointless."

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. "Simulations are one thing. But in real life, what can I do? Everyone else has powers that actually help in a fight. Logan, you, Ororo... even Bobby. And then there’s me—slowing down time but not actually stopping anything from happening. It’s like... I’m just a delay button, not a solution."

Jean tilted her head, her brows knitting in concern. "You don’t think slowing time is a solution?"

"Not when it’s all I can do," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can’t fight. I can’t stop an attack. I can’t... save anyone. Not really."

Jean was quiet for a moment, her gaze softening. When she spoke again, her tone was steady but full of warmth. "Y/N, the reason so many of us are still here—why we’ve survived the fights we’ve been through—is because of people like you. People who think ahead, who create opportunities for the rest of us to make it out alive. Slowing time isn’t just a delay; it’s giving us a chance to breathe, to act, to survive."

You didn’t look up, but her words seemed to reach you, making your grip on the water bottle loosen slightly. Jean shifted closer, her hand resting lightly on your arm.

"You’ve saved people more times than you realize," she continued. "It’s easy to think that because you’re not throwing punches or shooting fire, you’re not contributing. But the truth is, without you, a lot of us wouldn’t have the chance to do those things in the first place."

You blinked, swallowing hard against the lump forming in your throat. "I just... feel like I’m not enough. Like I’ll never be enough."

Jean’s hand squeezed your arm gently, grounding you. "I’ve known you long enough to know that’s not true. And I think, deep down, you know it too. It’s not about being like everyone else, Y/N. It’s about being you—and using what you have to make a difference. And you do make a difference."

Her words hung in the air, settling in your chest like a quiet reassurance. You nodded slowly, still unsure but comforted nonetheless.

"You’re not alone in this," Jean added softly, her gaze turning slightly distant as if searching for something she couldn’t quite grasp. "We’re a team, and we’ve got your back. Just like you’ve got ours."

You managed a small, grateful smile, finally looking up at her. "Thanks, Jean. Really."

She smiled back, but there was something in her eyes—a flicker of something not quite Jean. It passed quickly, but not before you noticed it.

"You’ll see," she said, her tone steady again. "You’re stronger than you think."

And as she rose from the bench, her hand briefly brushing against your shoulder, you couldn’t shake the feeling that her words meant more than she let on. As if she knew something neither of you could quite explain.

---

You were making a simple pasta dish for yourself for dinner, it’s not something you do often, but since you didn’t have anything to do this Saturday night, you thought ‘why not?’

The pasta was almost done, the garlic and onions were caramelized in the pan, and now all you needed was the small can of tomato paste in the cupboard, way above your head.

You got on your tiptoes and reached up, your fingers grazing the can but unable to fully grasp it. You let out a huff as you stood back on your feet, frustration bubbling.

“Fine,” you muttered, glancing at the counter. Climbing up was starting to look like your only option.

You grabbed the edge of the counter and were just about to boost yourself up when a low voice from behind startled you.

“Need a hand, sweetheart?”

You spun around so quickly you nearly lost your balance. Logan leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He looked like he’d been there for a moment, just watching.

“I—uh,” you stammered, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Logan pushed off the frame, walking toward you in that unhurried way of his. “Not my fault you’re so focused on... whatever it is you’re makin’ over there.” His eyes flicked to the stove before landing back on you. “What’s goin’ on? You stuck?”

You folded your arms, trying to mask your embarrassment. “I can get it. I was just about to—”

“Climb up there like a squirrel?” Logan teased, one brow arching. Without waiting for your reply, he stepped closer, his hand settled on your lower back as he reached over your head. Logan held the can of tomato paste out to you, the smirk still lingering as his eyes scanned your face. “There. Easy enough, yeah?”

You took the can from his hand, feeling the warmth of his fingers brush against yours. “I had it under control,” you replied, though your tone lacked conviction.

“Sure, sweetheart.” His voice was low and teasing, but not mocking. “Looked like you were about to break out a ladder for that one.”

Your cheeks flushed as you turned toward the stove, trying to focus on your cooking rather than the way his presence seemed to fill the room. “Thanks, though,” you muttered, keeping your back to him.

“Don’t mention it.” Logan didn’t move away, instead leaning against the counter beside you, watching as you added the paste to the pan. “So, this what you do for fun on a Saturday night? Whip up a fancy dinner for one?”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. “Not exactly. Just didn’t feel like the dining hall tonight.” You stirred the mixture, trying not to let his teasing tone get to you. “Besides, it’s not that fancy.”

He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Smells pretty damn good for ‘not that fancy.’”

You felt your lips twitch into a small smile despite yourself. “It’s just pasta.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still impressed.” He nodded toward the pan. “You always this good in the kitchen, or is this a one-time thing?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Definitely not a regular thing. Usually, I stick to coffee and toast.”

“Figures.” Logan reached over, snagging a piece of garlic bread from the plate on the counter before you could stop him. He took a bite, his smirk deepening. “Not bad, though. You might be sellin’ yourself short.”

“Hey!” You playfully swatted at his arm. “That’s supposed to go with dinner.”

He held the bread just out of your reach, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’m just helpin’ you taste-test. Gotta make sure it’s up to standard.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Fine. Just don’t eat all of it.”

“Scout’s honor,” he said, raising his free hand in mock sincerity before taking another bite.

You turned your attention back to the stove, but you were acutely aware of Logan’s lingering gaze. It wasn’t uncomfortable—if anything, it was grounding, like he was anchoring you in the moment. Still, it made your stomach flip in a way you weren’t entirely prepared for.

“So,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter, less teasing. “What’re you doin’ with the rest of your night?”

You shrugged, keeping your eyes on the bubbling sauce. “Probably nothing. Maybe read a little.”

“That Physics of Time book you’re always lugging around?”

You blinked at him in surprise. “You noticed that?”

“Hard not to.” He leaned a little closer, his voice dropping to that rough, intimate tone that always seemed to make your pulse quicken. “You carry it like it’s part of you.”

“Well, it’s... interesting,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “And, you know, kind of relevant.”

Logan chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Guess it is, huh? Still, doesn’t sound like much of a Saturday night. You ever think about takin’ a break? Havin’ some fun?”

Your lips parted, caught off guard by the question. “I... guess I just don’t think about it much.”

He tilted his head, studying you with a look that felt uncomfortably close to knowing. “Maybe you should. Life’s short, darlin’.”

You couldn’t help the small, ironic smile that tugged at your lips. “Coming from you?”

His expression softened, something almost wistful flickering in his eyes. “Even for me.”

The moment hung between you, quiet and heavy, until the sauce began to hiss and pop, snapping you back to the present. You turned to the stove, giving the pot a quick stir. “You staying for dinner, or was this just a drive-by teasing?”

Logan smirked, stepping back and crossing his arms. “Depends. You invitin’ me?”

You hesitated, then glanced at him over your shoulder. “Maybe.”

His grin widened, and for a moment, you saw something behind it—a flicker of something deeper, something he wasn’t quite ready to say. “Guess I’ll stick around then.”

You turned the burner off before going to a bottom cabinet and pressing the wall inside, revealing five wine glasses and a bottle of wine. You grabbed two glasses and the bottle before placing them on the counter.

Logan raised an eyebrow, “so there is alcohol here.”

You chuckled, “it’s mine and Jean’s secret. We had Scott build a secret compartment a while ago for us.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a smirk as he reached for the wine bottle. “Scott, huh? He’s got a soft spot for his favorite students, I take it?”

You rolled your eyes, pulling a corkscrew from the drawer. “More like Jean batted her eyelashes, and he caved. I’m just lucky to reap the benefits.”

“Smart move.” Logan opened the bottle with ease, the cork popping with a soft thwip. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You blinked, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Logan poured two glasses, sliding one toward you. “Don’t sell yourself short. A secret wine stash, cooking skills you claim are ‘basic,’ and a brain that can bend time—pretty damn impressive if you ask me.”

You laughed softly, taking the glass. “When you put it like that, it sounds cooler than it is.”

Logan lifted his glass, his eyes meeting yours over the rim. “Trust me, it’s cool.”

For a moment, you were caught in his gaze, the easy confidence in his expression making your pulse quicken. Then you shook your head, breaking the moment. “Okay, well, to secret wine stashes and mediocre pasta.”

Logan clinked his glass against yours. “I’ll drink to that.”

You both took a sip, the smooth wine adding a warmth that settled over you as the night unfolded. Logan leaned against the counter, watching you plate the pasta and sauce. You felt his presence like a magnet, steady and impossible to ignore. When you finally handed him a plate, he took it with a nod of thanks, heading toward the table without being asked.

“You always this much of a gentleman?” you teased, carrying your own plate to the table.

“Depends who I’m with,” Logan replied, pulling out your chair. His voice was casual, but there was a weight behind the words that made your breath hitch.

You settled into your seat, trying not to overthink it. “Guess I should feel special then.”

“You should,” Logan said simply, taking the seat across from you. He didn’t elaborate, but the look he gave you said plenty.

The two of you ate in companionable silence for a moment before Logan spoke again. “Jean know you’re hiding wine from her boyfriend?”

You nearly choked on your pasta. “She’s the one who helped me hide it! I’m not about to risk her wrath by spilling the secret.”

Logan chuckled, his grin wide. “Good to know you’ve got a rebellious streak.”

“It’s not rebellion,” you said, twirling your fork. “It’s... strategic resource allocation.”

He laughed, a low, rich sound that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The conversation flowed easily after that, ranging from light teasing about your cooking to him recounting a story about a bar fight he once got into over a bad jukebox selection. You found yourself relaxing, the usual shyness that often held you back melting away under Logan’s steady, easy presence.

After dinner, you leaned back in your chair, sipping the last of your wine. “Thanks for sticking around. It was... nice.”

“Nice, huh?” Logan leaned back, resting his arm on the back of his chair. “High praise.”

You laughed softly. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” His tone softened, and his gaze lingered on you a moment longer than necessary. “You’re good company, Y/N. Don’t sell yourself short on that either.”

You ducked your head, hiding your smile behind your glass. “Thanks.”

Logan stood, gathering both plates before you could protest. “I’ll get these.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he cut you off gently, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You watched him move to the sink, his broad shoulders a comforting presence even as he washed the dishes. A warmth settled in your chest that had nothing to do with the wine.

For the first time in a long time, the quiet of a Saturday night didn’t feel so lonely.

And Logan had to ignore the faint pink stain on your wine glass in the shape of your lips.

remember to go read the next chapter for the full story!

[unteriors]

Why is France in particular so much worse off than many of the other Western countries on this blog? It looks like some of these places haven't been updated in 100+ years to be safe or liveable, and somehow have evidence people still occupy them. I know poverty is the main answer, but it surprised me. I know their buildings are old but some of these people are still using oil lamps.

I'm not completely sure, there are definitely a lot of centuries-old buildings for sale on French listings that look as though they haven't been updated in about as long. Part of it may be cultural and specific to France - it has a huge number of small settlements, most of which date back hundreds of years, with their original housing stock intact. But it probably has something to do with the confluence of a few different factors that affect the kind of listings you find for each country. One factor is how regulated and (relatively) free of corruption the real estate sector is in each country. In the US, for instance, it's regulated enough to make it possible for aggregate websites like Realtor and Zillow (and Redfin, etc.) to exist. I'm not totally clear on the specifics, but I think it has to do with having centralised agencies that track and provide data for sales prices, dates of sale and other property details that ensure a certain level of quality control. This means that listings tend to be more standardised and easier to navigate (for people like me interested in the imagery for reasons outside of the boring, instrumental original function from which they emerged). One thing I've noticed looking through sites from developing countries is that there tend to be a lot of obviously-fake listings, which re-use the same images and which make it a lot harder to find genuine ones. I'd guess having a substantial proportion of real estate transactions taking place in the grey market probably contributes to this (putting less pressure on these sites to be transparent and functional). If it seems like most of the imagery of this blog comes from western (or western-ish) countries that's one of the reasons why.

Cultural and regionally-specific factors are also important. France has a well-regulated housing sector, but so does Australia, which has a totally different feel in terms of the real estate imagery it generates - generally much more polished and artificial. If I had to guess, this probably has to do with how well-oiled the propaganda arm of the real estate industry in my country is; the idea of buying and renovating and speculating on housing as an investment is deeply embedded in the culture here, you see it all over the place on TV, in books, the kinds of things people talk about. Doubtless it has a lot to do with how structurally deep the housing crisis runs and how intractable it seems. I'd guess that it's also directly related to the kind of aesthetic you find: bright, evenly-lit photography using expensive cameras that make shitty overpriced houses look like offices, standardised camera angles (there must be some kind of style guide that like half the realtors here follow), etc. I've spoken to people who criticise real estate listings - which they have no personal stake in - that don't follow these conventions, as though following and reproducing these corporate aesthetic values is somehow virtuous. I'm not familiar with the cultural context in France, maybe it isn't as bad as ours. Some countries just seem to produce more real estate imagery independently of these factors though. I haven't found much in Germany, for instance, which you would think would have a similar housing stock to France. I've found a ton from Georgia and Hungary. Japan, which has a well-regulated housing sector (and presumably an enormous amount of housing being bought and sold), is much harder to find imagery from, partly due to the language barrier, but also to the way in which its main aggregate websites are designed. And maybe cultural reasons come into it as well. Italy has a lot of imagery, though a lot of it is covered in watermarks and other branding, so you have to hunt around. Spain is similar. When I do find imagery from continental Europe it seems like, outside of Germany, most countries have a lot of rough, older housing stock that people still seem to somehow live in, like you described. I haven't found much like this from the UK; I have from Ireland though.

I'm open to the idea that there's much of this sort of imagery from lots of different countries and I just haven't been proactive enough to find it; if anyone has any suggestions on where to look for any country please send them to me. I'm not just interested primarily in decrepit older housing stock, I think it's more of a project of looking for imagery that has aesthetic or artistic or cultural or whatever value and liberating it from the constraints of its work-institutional-instrumental context, and recontextualising it in a setting where those qualities can be drawn out and appreciated. There's a history of artists doing similar things (probably playing on the relationship between art and work), from Gustave Courbet to Andy Warhol to Tracey Emin. If anyone's interested send me an anon and I'll write more about the rationale here.

[loremonster]

Not only would that give an honest to goodness Coming Of Age event to folks turning 18 when they register Their Name after thinking about it and trying out names and helping friends try out names and maybe swapping names with their bestie as a joke but then it stuck. I can imagine the excitement of the day. Bonus points; first contact with a government office besides the DMV being Celebratory and Affirming Of The New Adult's Agency means that adult won't be so nervous or avoidant should they need to do something there in the future.

That said, it introduces some issues. School systems rely on government records of kids existing and where they exist so they know where to mail registration materials when the kiddo turns 5. The government needs to know which kids enrolled and which ones did not to check in and see if folks moved, if tradgedy struck and the death cert didn't ping, or if the guardians decided to homeschool but didn't file their papers properly / didn't know they needed to tell the local school district so the district can send them materials to provide equivilant curricula.

Granted, the kiddo could be registered to a portmanto of their caretakers' names, but then any kid registered to a single name is instantly flagged as the kid of a single parent, and harmful assumptions may be acted upon. The Social Security Number is already a huge gd mess that means some folks turn 18 and find out someone stole their identity years ago and their credit score is irrecoverable with a lawyer. Like seriously the USA didn't want a citizen ID card cause NOOOOO ITS THE DEVIL TO NUMBER PEOPLE so instead we got a 100% UNSECURED, NOT AN IDENTITY CARD, NO PICTURE, NO SECURITY, NOTHING. And the banks took one look at that and went "Oh! ID Numbers! This will make predatory loans so much easier!"

Because when one half of America screams "No!" It means we're gonna do it the Dumbest Way Possible so the people who said no can point at it and say "Look how crap this is! We should go back to how it was before!" -- the whole song and dance being to keep better options off the table while everyone is too tired and fustrated to keep fighting the stubborn ass hat who only knows how to scream No.

Salty? Me? Shhhhh

change your name

[dangaer]

would your muse be better shopping for holiday and/or birthday gifts in a group or shopping alone?

[holylulusworld]

Every Breath you take (22) - FIN

Summary: There is a shadow following you. He doesn’t know what he got himself into.

Pairing: Stalker!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: a man out of time, secret admirer trope, “crazy” reader, fluff, domestic life

A/N: You all made me do it! Here’s the series to this random idea: Stalker Bucky & Crazy Reader

Catch up here: Every Breath you take (21)

Every Breath You Take Masterlist

After some ups and downs, small fights (mostly about his bad taste in movies), and lots of make-up sex, you and Bucky are going steady.

Not only are you one of those couples finishing each other’s lines, but you are also crazy for each other. In any way. If you don’t cuddle and snuffle, you scare Alpine with your active sex life.

“Bucky!” You call for your man, impatiently tapping your foot. “Bucky, you promised we’d look for Christmas decorations at the market.” You huff. “Bucky, don’t forget about the tree.”

“Just a minute, doll. I’m feeding Alpine,” Bucky calls from the kitchen. “I’ll be right there. Maybe we should get our tree from the wood on our ground. We can look for the nicest.”

“Bucky, I want to buy one.” You pout when Bucky walks toward you. Putting your hands on your hips, you huff. “Do you want to keep it a secret that I’m living with you? Bucky, we talked about this. No one knows who you are.”

“You never know,” he reluctantly admits his fear of people recognizing him. Bucky fears that someone will hurt you to get back at him. “Doll, I swear this has nothing to do with trust issues. I’m scared to lose you, is all.”

“Buck,” you sigh and cup his face, “I love you and want to be with you. Nothing can change my mind. I won’t leave you. We are both adults and decided to live together. No one will steal me away from you.”

“I know,” Bucky murmurs and wraps his arms around you. He buries his face in your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. “What if your colleague won’t leave us alone? They will accuse me of kidnapping you.”

“Bucky, no,” you gasp and wrap your arms around him. “I quit my job and my apartment. I can make my own decisions. No one can accuse you of a crime if there is no victim. If I want to live with you, that’s none of their business.”

He nods against you, still clinging to your body. “What if Sam finds out? What would he think after I told him we never saw each other again? He’ll hate me, Y/N.”

“What if I tell him he wanted to keep our relationship a secret? I could tell him that it was my idea. Everything else is not of interest to your friend.”

“That would be another lie.”

“No, it’s not a lie, Bucky,” you sternly say. “I wanted you to take me away. I encouraged you and packed my stuff to make it easier for you. Bucky, I wanted to be with you. The details don’t matter.”

“Details, hmm…” He hums and pecks your neck. “You’re right. We both wanted to give our relationship a chance. Sam can’t talk me out of this, nor judge us.”

Bucky inhales sharply. He takes deep breaths and tries to sort his thoughts. “What if we invite Sam and his sister for Christmas? She’s got kids too.”

“Oh.” You look at each other, considering Bucky’s suggestion. “I like kids, and Sam was nice. I remember him from the park. I didn’t know that he was your friend back then.”

“You didn’t fall in love with him, right?” Bucky quirks a brow, making you chuckle. “Right?”

“I don’t know,” you giggle and slap his chest. For a moment, you look serious and fall silent. Wrinkling your forehead, you pretend to think hard. “Now that I think about it, he could’ve stolen my heart back then.”

“Doll!” Bucky warns. “Don’t make me chase you around the house again.”

You lick your lips. “What if I want you to chase me?”

Bucky’s features darken, and he grips your upper arms roughly. “Don’t tempt me, doll. If I chase you, we won’t get a tree or the decoration you wanted to buy.”

“How about we buy the tree tomorrow? We can think about the food we want to make for Christmas and—” you smirk at Bucky. “You can chase me around the house…”

Bucky laughs when you push against his chest to get a head start. You giggle and run off, daring him to capture you.

“One, two, three,” he counts, giving you the chance to hide. “Four, five, I’m coming. If I find you, I won’t let you out of bed for the whole night…”

FIN ... for now.

Tags in reblog.

[beawhatchumean]

IT IS HE!!

back to shimeji making and with the white hons himself

LMK AO LIE SHIMEJI VER 1.0!!

Just click on the big words and ya can download, ye :D Contains 2 zipfiles: The normal version and less frames version

Read down below for explanations on that

if got any problems launching and stuff, dont be afraid to message me, i'll try to help ya out :>

OR you can join my Discord server for easier help (will explain more down in the post)

but as seen in the quick lil poster i made there, it says extra animation + more, more info about that underneath the read 👇

from the top,

EXTRA ANIMATION

like my previous Shimejis, this one has unique frames for each action of the Shimeji. best example is the walk, run, dash actions seen below

there are other actions that have unique frames like these, but that's for you to find out yourself sksks

CUSTOM ACTION NAME

As per usual, some actions are renamed to better fit the character. Here is a guide for what they do:

Fall Over = Ao Lie falls down in a silly way and sits up again

Suprise From Behind = Shimeji breeding 1

Invite In = Shimeji breeding 2

disclaimer, I still have not done the full action guide list but I have listed a few renamed actions in guide.txt for referencing. Stay tune when I finally make that ref list

CUSTOM ACTION

Just like SWK & Mackie, petting is enabled here too!! So pet Ao Lie's little head to your heart's content hehe (credit to Kilkakon for the original script)

ALSO, the pet action is now fully animated!! However, the animation will keep playing even after you're done petting him

as seen in this gif :3

Steps to do this action is as followed:

Make the shimeji sit down (any surface is okay, ie work floor/window top)

Move the cursor to the shimeji's head

Make sure it is a hand cursor and not an arrow cursor

Pet away!!

If you want to pick up the shimeji without prompting the pet action, just move the cursor lower until it turns into the arrow icon

NON-SYMMETRICAL SHIMEJI

Like Macaque, Ao Lie also has non-symmetrical frames. So his collar will always shape a "Y" anywhere he goes!

Same as before, Ao Lie needed much more frames than he needs to get this effect to work. But, it may make some devices lag me thinks. So, there's 2 versions to download. One with symmetry and one without

PLEASE DOWNLOAD THE LESS FRAME VERSION TO NOT FRY YOUR PC'S!!

COLORED SETTINGS

Oh yea one thing I am excited to announce. The settings for the shimeji are now coloured!!

this has been a feature since long ago in the program but there was a bug. But now, it is fixed and now I can customize the colour scheme whenever and whatever I choose so >:3c

If you would like to change the colours yourself, just head into the "Theme" tab and change the colours there.

ALTERED SOME ACTIONS

There are now a few actions that will happen by itself, without you needing to choose in the "Set Behaviour" list.

Like the previous dash action, and now the daggling legs action that can happen when he sits down.

UPDATES WILL HAPPEN!!

Like the rest of my shimejis. UPDATES, UPDATES, UPDATES!! honestly, for Ao Lie I cant think for much updates besides software updates. For features and what not, he probably is going to have the least features update. But if yall have any suggestions, drop me a message or in my discord server

oh yea

I HAVE A DISCORD SERVER NOW!!

So after releasing the Shadowpeach Shimeji, so many people messaged me questions and needing help on how to work the shimeji and other stuff. So far, people only contacted me through dm's on tumblr, instagram, and just using Patreon's comment section.

Honestly, worse way to communicate since some issues I needed pictures and long messages to help out. So, discord server it is. Here's what ya can expect

Shimeji stuff (questions, wips, FAQ, etc)

Alerts on my posts and streams

Space for arts (any arts, not just drawing :>)

Share anything ya want (shitposts, current fixation, info, etc)

Just socialize and make friends :D

Ya can read more info in the rules & directory channel when ya join

So if ya interested, just click the link below

DISCORD SERVER: BEA'S CHILLAX HOLE

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

but for now that will be all for ver. 1.0

many thanks to anyone interested in this project and of course

BIGGEST THANKS TO THOSE THAT HELPED BETA TEST THEM

for privacy reason they shall stay anonymous but

❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤ >:3

PLUS EVEN MORE HEARTS!! ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

ACCEPT MORE HEARTS HHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

okay bye

[satureja13]

As a story teller, what advice would you give to fellow Simmers who want to start a story but struggle?

For example: How did you start story telling and which obstacles did you have to shove out of the way to finally start? What made it easier for you to put yourself out there? Did you gain any personal rewards/benefits by telling your stories? How do you set up a story post? Pics first or plotting the episode? Where do you find inspiration? What did you wish you knew earlier? Or anything else that comes to your mind that could be of any help. I see quite a lot of posts from struggling future story tellers and I thought it would be nice to collect a few tips.

Questions are very welcome too!

(My answers below the cut)

How to actually start:

I do read quite a lot and also watch series and movies - and what really turns me off is an infodump at the beginning. So I try to avoid that. And that also makes it easy to start. All the lore and background stories can happen later and you don't have to plot that out before you start. (Our current story started as a playtest and hundreds of episodes later, we have a lore as deep as the Mariana Trench ö.Ö') So don't let it stop you. It all evolves over time, when you ask yourself: Why did x have to move and go to a new school? Why is y restraining himself to hit on the cute guy? Why is z so annoyed of y and why is he the only one who thinks like this? How do they cope with stuff that happens to them? Why does x react in another way than y on the same event? ... There is a plot behind literally everything if you just take your time and look closely. Like a three year old child: "Why do we eat cute animals?" ö.ö' Showing your character's feelings and why they are who they are also helps you and the reader to form a connection to them. It never ceases to amaze me when story tellers are able to create characters that grow on you even though they are annoying and vulnerable and have flaws. (Like Terry Pratchett for example, or the characters in The Big Bang Theory.)

Which obstacles did you have to shove out of the way to finally start? I have a few obstacles to overcome putting my stories out there. ADHD often keeps me from concentrating and getting things done. It's hard to stick with something when you're distracted all the time. And I have a weird way of thinking. I'm also autistic and writing about feelings and how others think and stuff, is so, so hard for me. My stories are weird because of all of that and I know it. But I think they are quite unique and fun because of that and I wouldn't want it any other way :3 Plus my english isn't very good. Writing in a different language is quite an obstacle to overcome ö.Ö' But I can't write anything in my native language, I even take my notes in english. I have no idea why. Just sounds wrong to me.

What made it easier for me? - starting slowly I started this tumblr over ten years ago to post about my builds. Only a few people saw and liked my stuff so I got bolder and also shared gameplay pics and, after a while, a few stories. - passion I love my Sims, I think that helps a lot. After all these years, I'm still eager to see what they are up to and to tell about their shenanigans and adventures. - keeping expectations low Of you and your audience. It does not have to be perfect and not everyone will like what you do. That's just a fact. You'll get better at your own pace. I think tumblr is the perfect place to start a story, because if someone doesn't like your stuff, they don't have to follow you. - it's an outlet for my creativity. My ADHD brain is running on warp speed. Sitting down and putting some of these ideas and thoughts in a shape and make them real is relieving for me - and exciting! What rewards/benefits did/do I gain? - learning new stuff: I'm still learning english and just a few days ago, I shed tears of joy because I could finally understand an american series without subtitles! Also Photo editing. I kept looking for better ways to edit my screenshots and I learned so much! My Sims even inspired me to craft some stuff in RL ^^' - changing my point of view Telling about 6 different charcters is quite a challenge. Things that happen to them affect them in different ways and they have their own way to cope with stuff. They helped my autistic me a lot to make me see what's going on with people around me and to understand them.

- healing Seeing how the characters in my story cope with hardships and following them through difficult times helped me a lot. I could never express how glad and grateful I am I started all this. But I am. - fun I'm having fun doing what I do. And I think that's the motor that runs this whole thing. I think the readers can feel if you're commited to what you do.

How do I set up a story post? I have a rough idea where the story is going and what's supposed to happen next. Then I go ingame and take the screenshots, my Sims add a few ideas themselves - and I go with it. I write the post around the screenshots and what happened ingame. Like this, it's still surprising and thrilling - even for me, the story teller.

Where do I find inspiration? My brain goes without filters and I need a lot of time to get back on track after challenging days. But this sponge in my head also soaks up so many ideas! I get inspired by anything. Music, series, things I see... Sometimes, that sponge gets squished and I get to see glimpsesof future episodes and I just think 'whoa!' and take notes.

What advice can I give? Use the things that keep you from starting to your advantage - to make your story special and unique. Don't worry too much. Other people don't see things as serious as you might think. Write for your own healing and growth. There are mutuals who will like what you have to tell. You don't have to please everybody. Read others' stories, watch movies/series you like and note what you liked or disliked. That gives you a rough direction of where your story could go (that was a great advice from youtuber Grayson Taylor, link is below).

What I wish I knew earlier? That there are great youtube channels for writers! I know, that's kind of obvious, but I don't feel like a writer. I barely managed to finish school. And I thought those channels might be too sophisticated and dry, you know? But there are aweome ones. Like Grayson Taylor (who is an author) and Bookfox, (who is editor and author), for example.

You'll never know where it leads. Our current story started when I made four of my favourite adult Sims teenagers to check out the Highschool Years pack. That was ~ 2 1/2 years ago - and I hated school from the bottom of my heart, so I was very sure this wouldn't take long and we could go back to our ongoing story (spoiler: we didn't...). And: the first chapters the Boys spent at school were truely healing for me. I didn't plan anything of it ^^'

Don't be afraid. I'm here on tumblr for over ten years and I never got any hate on my stories or the other stuff I post. Though, I turned anon off. You decide what you see on your dash, that's the great thing here on tumblr. You just get as much drama as you invite in. For me, tumblr is my save place and I still say this is one of the best communities I've ever been part of (on and off line). Thank you <3

[helluverse-rewrites]

Rewriting I. M. P.

So let's talk about how I would rewrite the Immediate Murder Professionals, shall we?

The show really tries to gaslight us into thinking they're found family when we hardly see them interact. Vivzie please stop trying to gaslight us :(

👏 Anyways

Blitzø

I don't really have that much to change about Blitzø tbh. He's perfect just the way he is <3

Well, that's a lie but I want to keep the premise the same. Guy who did have people care about him but he keeps pushing them away due to self-hatred is a really interesting concept and I want to work with that. His arc stays relatively the same, where he eventually makes amends with the people he's hurt (or doesn't because you're not obligated to forgive someone who has hurt you) and learns to love himself and all that jazz

With that said, we definitely have to do something with him stalking M&M. I hate how it's portrayed as lighthearted and how Millie doesn't even care that he records their intimate and private moments that are just supposed to be between the two of them. Are we gonna forget that he followed them to Ozzie's?

So he's not stalking them anymore, but he is deeply jealous of the seemingly perfect relationship his two employees have. So when he sees the two being couply in the workplace he tends to lash out and state that whatever happens outside of I. M. P. is their business, but whenever they bring that stuff in the building and on missions, that's a no

In Blitzø eyes, they're rubbing their relationship right in his face and are trying to make him jealous. In the rewrite he also has BPD and ADHD so that kind of contributes to his lashing out, as does his rejection sensitivity. Keep in mind that those things are an explanation, not an excuse

But that stalking thing is kind of the only thing I wanted to fix. I'll get to his relationships with other characters (including a certain owl) in a different post

Millie

Millie is still relatively the same. I wanted to get her and Blitzø out of the way because Moxxie and Loona are the ones I really wanted to change

Yeah, she grew up in Wrath to a very loving family and eventually got hired by Blitzø in the same way as is shown in Ghostfuckers.

I want to keep in her insecurities of being important and only being the brawn of the group and actually have them explored god dammit

Like Blitzø she also has ADHD because I want more neurodivergent characters. She's very much the happy-go-lucky type and doesn't let anything bring her down. The entirety of hell could be on fire and she'd just be like :)

Sorry Millie fans but worry not! For I will eventually be talking about M&M and their dynamic. Which is kind of just me playing a game of who many ship tropes can I fit in here so far I got three

Moxxie

The boy!!! The lad!!!

Moxxie has always been my favorite Helluva characters along with Millie, Octavia, and Striker (favorite Hazbin character being Angel Dust)

So Moxxie, being a child in the mafia, is a very quiet, cold and calculated, and easily annoyed imp. He doesn't talk much and prefers to keep his thoughts to himself most of the time. He likes to use brains instead of the usual desired brawns.

When he first joined I. M. P. he just kept to himself and only spoke when spoken to. You would usually find him organizing or polishing all the weapons. He's never one to express his emotions but a way he found it to be easier is by music. His father had never let him play music or even let him look at a guitar. So he started to get into music ever since he started a new life for himself and even wrote some of his own! Of course he would never show anyone and would rather die than have someone read it, but it's always nice to dream

Since he doesn't really say all that much, I. M. P. (and almost anyone who knows him) hang on to his every word in the rare chance that he does speak, and usually it's the most insightful shit they've ever heard

He does, however, have quite the ego and always thinks he's right, and sometimes he is. But other times he would rather die than admit he was wrong. Mozzie is also quite the know-it-all which ends up annoying other people. If he's mad at you, he'll be extremely passive aggressive and insult you in sign language, but you need to really piss him off if you want him to get confrontational. Which is never

Moxxie is autistic, and uses sign language as a way to communicate when talking is just too hard. He is rather blunt and takes things literally most of the time. He is convinced Millie's family hates him even though Millie thinks they like him more than her (that's not the case but goddam does it feel like that)

Sure, he may seem cold on the outside, but on the inside he's the nicest person you'll ever meet

Loona

First things first, no more fat jokes directed at Moxxie. That man is the skinniest bitch alive. Also no fatphobic undertones either

Instead of being an adult, Loona is in her late teens. She's either sixteen or seventeen in here, but was fourteen when Blitzø adopted her. Yeah, she's been severely abused back at the adoption center so when Blitzø took her home, it took her awhile to open up and become comfortable around

She's not as much as an asshole as in the show, but she still has her angsty teen moments from time to time (which is honestly pretty understandable) if anything she's pretty shy and just likes to stay behind the desk as the receptionist, she feels pretty out of place among the three imps since she doesn't know much about weapons and is the only non-imp in the group

Don't get her wrong, she loves Blitzø and Millie is... alright. But they do tend to be a bit too loud for her taste and she likes it quiet, so she actually found quite a liking to Moxxie after realizing that he almost never talks. So they kind of have a mutual respect for each other

Now let's talk about Loona being bi, in some official art for pride month it shows most of the cast with their sexualities, which includes Loona being bi, which we literally never see, we only see her crush on Vortex and that's it, it kind of feels like the staff just put that in for extra brownie points. So, I think it would be pretty nice if Vortex and Bee was her awakening, it was kind of like Squidward's "OH NO HE'S HOT!!!" but Loona about Bee. Of course since Loona is a teenager in this, it doesn't go anywhere and is mostly just a puppy crush, but she does end up being pretty good friends with the two of them

[cowgirls-blues]

Sometimes I think about Jawbone and Tracker, werewolf uncle and niece, who weren't doing so hot in their life when we met them (especially Jawbone, but hey Tracker was a teenager in a seedy club at night with said not-doing-great uncle, so maybe not a very stable life either). I think about how both their names sound like they're new identities they gave themselves after contracting lycanthropy rather than their birth names. (Again, I don't think we know if they weren't just born into a family of werewolves, but the whole vibe really is giving me "got turned, then estranged from family and former friends, life falling apart, changed names to reflect that + maybe it's nicknames they got living and working in the poorer/shadier parts of Elmville.)

I think about how they're the only family each other have when we meet them. We don't even know if they're blood family or if Jawbone just adopted this little werewolf girl like he would adopt a bunch of other teens later on. Or if her parents just rejected them both, left them to fend for themselves.

I love the father figure and counsellor role Jawbone has with the Bad Kids, but sometimes I think about how that kind of deprived Tracker of having him be that for her, at times. How him counseling Kristen interfered in their relationship. How she found her purpose in getting Galicaea back to her more primal form and renewing her church, found a path for herself and decided to go on this voyage by herself (+ Ragh, bless him). It probably made it easier to leave that he was doing so much better, in a big house with a stable job, sober and surrounded by a loving chosen family. It can't have been easy knowing that while she left he was being a parent to her ex, and less so to Tracker (but then again, maybe she found solace (ha!) in the idea that the two people she loved most would take care of each other while she was gone).

Anyway all this to say, I often think of the backstory we didn't fully get, of this addict werewolf who was struggling to keep work and get his life back together but also caring for his also-a-werewolf teenage niece the whole time. Taking her to underground clubs she's too young to be in but also keeping her fed and clothed and housed, and taking care of her. Them going to punk concerts together and learning to live as werewolves together and being family to each other and finding ways to make a new life together. I really love them and I'd love to hear more about them from Brennan one day.

[beelinx]

jason grace boyfriend headcanons

a/n: migraines have been killing me lately 😭 free me

Biggest gentleman ever

But that’s common knowledge I fear

Everyone and their mothers know Jason’s absolutely perfect.

He’s very traditional, so he’d want to ‘court’ you properly before dating you.

That sounds corny I’m sorry but like

He’d get you flowers constantly, open every door for you, pay for your meals…

You get it.

When he confessed and asked you out, you best bet he also went all out.

SO many flowers

And it doesn’t stop there.

You better be prepared to be gifted flowers constantly.

Honestly it’s gotten to a point where you don’t even think you have space for any more flowers.

Your room looks like a fucking greenhouse at this point.

He’d stop immediately if you mentioned disliking them, and would find a cute alternative to give you.

Jason is the type of guy to always text you to make sure you’re okay, and to let you know what he’s up to.

If he’s in a quest, he’d send you constant Iris messages to keep you from worrying about his safety.

In other words, he’s the sweetest, most attentive bf ever <3

Since I’m pretty sure it’s canon: He’s a big hugger!!

I do wholeheartedly believe he wouldn’t be the biggest fan of PDA, preferring those types of moments to be done in private.

He would hug you in public, but only if he felt comfortable with the people around.

BUTTTT if there’s one thing he would never do, is drop your hand.

Only act of affection he is 10000% comfortable with doing publicly.

He loves holding your hand in his always, and he’s a big fan of kissing your hand, too.

Actually, he loves your hand a concerning amount…

You and Jason would read quietly next to one another <3

He’d let you wear his glasses if you asked.

AND if you already wear glasses (like me) then you two would definitely go shopping for new glasses together.

It is so much easier when you have someone helping you out tbh

He’d always be prepared with anything you need.

Jason keeps a bag full of stuff just in case you find yourself needing one of them.

He also reserves a place in his room for you to place your stuff in.

THAT mostly because he wants you to be able to casually sleepover, but he gets bashful admitting that.

Related to all the before mentioned but I fully believe Jason would want to take things slow.

He wouldn’t jump into something if he knew he didn’t have serious feelings and wanted to pursue the relationship further.

In other words, he’s a date to marry type of guy.

AS THEY ALL SHOULD BE !

Wholeheartedly believe that, if he felt you were the one, he would immediately buy a ring.

But — if he felt as if it’d be more proper to wait until a certain time to propose, he’d refrain from doing it for a while.

Instead, he’d get you a promise ring.

He would want you to be as committed to him as he is to you.

It’s because of his abandonment issues and stuff…

Anyway if you moved in with him then trust me he is ON IT

Those TikTok men are a disgrace in his eyes okay

He will help you out constantly

Except he doesn’t consider it “helping out” because it’s his job, too.

Honestly nevermind boyfriend headcanons he should straight up be HUSBAND headcanons

Because there has never been a man more husband material than Jason Grace.

I need him.

[penascigarette]

My first wip wednesday

omg im so excited to be tagged for this. ty @joelmillerisapunk lettuce see what's cooking. ch 2 of smooth operator and my first ever javi fic - dbf javi one shot dbf!javi x reader

“You’ve got no idea what you’re doing to me, do you, cariño?” His voice is low and rough, like a whisper laced with danger.  

Your breath hitches, your lips parting as if to answer, but nothing comes out. The intensity in his gaze keeps you pinned in place, your heart is pounding as heat blooms in your chest.  

“Stealing my shirt, walking around, smelling like me,” he murmurs, stepping closer. His hand skims up your arm until it settle on your shoulder. His fingers curl into the fabric there, tugging it just enough to make you feel the weight of his hold. “Were you hoping I'd catch you? Hmm? That I’d come in here and do something about it?”  

“Javi, I—”  

“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupts, his tone sharp but laced with a heat that makes your knees feel weak. He leans in, his breath ghosting over your ear as he growls, “You know exactly what you’re doing, princesa.”  

Your hand finds his chest, your fingers touch the bare skin just peeking out from the unbuttoned top of his shirt. He’s close now, so close you can feel the warmth radiating off of him. You can smell the faint mix of cologne and cigarettes that cling to him like a bad habit

“You want me to lose control, don’t you?” His lips brush your temple, soft and fleeting, before trailing down to the corner of your jaw. “You want me to pin you down, show you just how dangerous this game you’re playing really is.”  

Smooth Operator pt 2

"I have to say, I've been thinking about you all damn day. Do you have any idea how hard it is to walk around with a near-constant boner?"

You’re already gushing down below, squeezing your thighs shut at the image he’s just given you. With a breathless laugh, you respond, "Can’t say I have, but I know what it’s like walking around with a fountain in your panties all day long."

His laugh is dark, a promise of what’s coming. "A fountain? Sounds like someone’s been thinking naughty thoughts."

 "More than one, actually.

 "Mm," he hums in approval. You hear a rustling in the background, like he’s getting comfortable. "Tell me one of 'em."

"Yeah, so, you're the teacher, and I'm the student." Christ, you can't believe you're actually saying this. You feel stupid and embarrassed. It's so much easier to talk about other people's fantasies than your own. "I have detention, and it's just you and me in the classroom. You're looking over the schoolwork, and since you're distracted, I decide to, you know." "Say it." The command is firm.

"I play with my pussy," you say, scraping your teeth along your bottom lip. "I slip my hand down my panties and find my clít. I pinch it and rub it, holding back my moans because I don’t want you to hear." Your eyes fall shut without you realizing, and your hands wander down your body, acting out the fantasy. You’re already wet—you know that—but what surprises you is just how wet you are. You feel it on your thighs, soaking into the sheets.

"Fuck," he drawls, drawing the word out. "You think you're bein' quiet, but you're not, Princess. And your pussy is so fucking wet I can smell it from my desk."

npt and sorry if you're tagged and I missed it. idk who to tag lol still figuring this whole thing out: @sanarsi @pedgito @elflutter @baronessvonglitter @joelsrose

@slowdivinqs @gothcsz @slimybeth69 @80ssong @magpiepills

[chasedeys]

hello again i have another fic concept and am very curious about your thoughts

sooo seeing ja’marr with his kid (cutest thing in the world btw) made me think about him, for whatever reason, asking joe to babysit for him one day. and joe is good with kids but probably doesn’t have a lot of experience taking care of them? idk. i just think he’d panic a bit at first and then he’d realize it’s not that bad

but what i was really thinking about is when ja’marr comes back he finds both joe and the kid asleep on the couch and they aren’t even together at this point but it makes ja’marr fall even more in love bc he sees his two fav people together like that and it’s just such a soft sweet moment <3

GRAHHHH the way im still trying to reply to your last reply to the fwb au 😭 but i adoreeeee the image of them with kids so much thank youuu for giving me the chance (yet again) to yap about this oml i ran with this i apologize in advance:

joe and ja'marr both love kids sooooo much you can see it every time they interact with them!! but the thing is I've never seen joe actually hold up a child which is kind of impressive tbh considering how.....extensive joe's archive of pics is here lmao. has he never once in his life been photographed holding a baby or. have i just not come across any.

ja'marr is totally the type to swing children around by their legs and fling them around in a circle as they climb him like a jungle gym etc etc just 100% comfortable and secure in himself that he can catch any kid if they fall or never even getting them to that point in the first place. just clocked that this is maybe because of his wr training lmao. or just a case of extremely good dad reflexes who knows! i don't actually know what point i wanted to make here i just wanted to say something about this 😭.

joe doesn't know how to interact with children below the ages of 5. no like he'd be good at it of course but if you squint your eyes you can see him visibly sweating from the entire exchange 😭 but he loves it!! loves meeting little kids who idolize him!! he does not know how to carry babies without having his entire torso and limbs (both upper and bottom for some reason) stiffening up. ja'marr once handed him junior without thinking much of it to fuss over the baby car seat and when he turned back 10 minutes later after a losing battle it's to the sight of joe frozen in time staring blankly at ja'marr junior who is doing him absolutely no help just staring right back entranced at his face. they might be locked in a staring contest. they're definitely locked in a staring contest because ja'marr has called both their names repeatedly and has been ignored the entire time. cute stuff. snapped a pic to share to his parents, sister, tee, joe's parents and brothers, the entire wr group chat etc etc.

but!!! he has an amazing ability to just....exist in the same space with the quieter children, the nonverbal ones. even manages to take them out of their bubble sometimes and bond over the most obscure shit you can think of (neurodivergents solidarity tbh). if it's the more enthusiastic outspoken ones he's happy to just let them lead the convo, always so accommodating and fascinated by their way of thinking! he just adores kids just as much as ja'marr he loves talking to them and hearing their thought process and current obsessions and when ja'marr jumps in he loves seeing them light up even more because ja'marr always knows the right words to get them to loosen up and start snort-laughing, when to tease and poke, when to be firm and admonishing. joe's more of a pushover i guess lol he lets them walk all over him and has no backbone to speak of. when they meet little fans on the street who get a bit overbearing don't know when to knock it off ja'marr's usually the one who successfully gets them to back off and let joe breath. this might also be because his boundless energy matches the kids more easier hmm.

BUT you're asking abt joe babysitting ja'marr jr sorry got incredibly side tracked over them with children 😭

maybe it's a little wr training thing where ja'marr has to go for idk 3 days and the baby mama can't take junior for the whole week and his parents are having an anniversary cruise vacation and his sister is on the other side of the country and his usual babysitter (neighbor's teenage kid lol) is having an exam season and sure he could ask any of his friends who would go the extra mile for him but!! the number one person in his mind and soul who he would feel absolutely 100% comfortable and safe leaving the beloved piece of his heart outside of his body with is one joseph lee burrow. who might possibly think that taking care of junior primarily involves him staring directly and piercingly at the little kid watching lion king for the whole two and a half hours of runtime. all without taking a single eye off of him. like at all. which is. well.

joe manfully says yes to ja'marr's sincere plea and is handed junior and his entire baby bag with some fanfare because ja'marr is always one for dramatics. joe is staring bemusedly down at the one year old child who had somehow ended up in the circle of his arms drooling on the fabric of his old faded acid wash tee while ja'marr is fussing over setting up a little toy station in the middle of joe's living room and stocking up joe's kitchen with all the meals and snacks and milk he brought for junior. he's also yapping in his usual endearing way over all the things joe has to look out for, allergies, times for meals and snacks, what to do when junior starts crying, when to let him just run around and when to get him to sit the fuck down, what some of the baby babble junior likes to blurt out mean, etc etc just baby essentials and everything that joe would usually very easily sort through but he's kind of. completely overwhelmed here on the pending sole responsibility over a one year old baby—his best friend's actual living breathing mini version of him—for the next 72-ish hours and tries very hard not to freak the fuck out.

in the end ja'marr is just standing in front of joe holding his son so carefully like he's something so precious while baby ja'marr is slowly blinking awake to the sight of joe's own blue eyes looking wide-eyed down at him and feeling something so right and warm when junior immediately reaches out an arm to press against an enchanted joe's cheek and start laughing when joe flinches and weirdly fumbles around. god the image of joe with a little kid i can't do this. ja'marr snapped a pic ofc had to immortalize the first ever lone babysitting gig with joe. little baby ja'marr album <3

love the idea of this being pre-relationship with ja'marr enthusiastically stepping forward all up in joe's space and hugging junior via hugging joe and blowing raspberries all over his son's cheeks in his usual goodbye-routine while joe's staring wide-eyed because wow this is. an incredibly close view of—of all this. all within his reach. of a sort. and then ja'marr turns his bright baby-ja'marr-special-smile upwards towards joe and dumbly (dumb-of-ass-ly!!) smooches joe's cheek too on. like. autopilot (or is it!) and blusters through the immediate oh-my-god-i-just-did-that leaving like a whirlwind through the front door yelling to just call him if he has questions. and joe's just. left standing there stupefied beyond belief and can't even reach up a hand to press against his warmed cheek because he's terrified of letting go even a single hand from carrying junior. who is clapping his hands in delight, already in love with joe from the first time they met long before and beyond delighted that he gets to hang out with the nice blond man with the warm hands who makes his daddy laugh like that. didn't even cry getting left alone by his dad!! which is a Very Important and Heartening thing to note when left with a baby not your own but joe doesn't know that (yet)!! anyway.

then follows a wonderful lovely saga of joe learning how to take care of junior and it's!! ja'marr's kid!!!!! he literally cannot do anything wrong to fuck up junior even if he tried because that's ja'marr's blood and soul over there in pint-sized form. it took a whole minute for him to fall completely in love the first time they met and with them being left alone for the first time it takes barely an hour for him to learn literally everything there is to know about the kid (proverbially of course. junior's first time asking to go potty nearly made him breakdown. called his mom in distress, got laughed at for a full minute, before she helped him the best she could through face time and then spent the next hour cooing over an equally enamored junior through the phone) because he's literally an extension of ja'marr, who he knows better than the back of his palm!!

anyway when ja'marr comes by to pick him up again bringing a shit ton of food as a little thank you also—he easily barges through the front door with his own key, not not worried exactly because the last time joe texted him was to snap a pic of junior trying on one of his custom glove (tiny hand in big glove!!) which was a whole hour and a half ago and didn't reply to any of the texts ja'marr sent asking if he wanted gross junk food A or B for dinner.

came to the truly heart melting sight of moana playing on 20% volume while joe is stretched out on his couch in one of his eccentric t-shirts and grey sweats, hair rumpled beyond saving, baby ja'marr settled on top of him in a tiger onesie with his head tucked right on top of joe's heart snuggled up under one of the fluffy blankets ja'marr got for him that's barely covering joe, both dead to the world asleep. ja'marr instantly brings out his phone and takes a whole bunch of pictures from literally every angle AND several videos of the 1 minute and over variety. immediately shared to everyone he knows that matters within the hour. the very first pic of them both snapping awake to stare up at him leaning over the couch in groggy shock looking weirdly alike is for him and him only though. the next pic of them with smiles starting to bloom through staring right at him is made into his phone's background that night. joe has the pic printed on polaroids one for each of them and they each keep it in their wallets. wow this is corny as hell sorry but.

sooooo compelling if this was like. THE feelings realization for him like—'oh. ohhh my god. oh no. oh wait a damn fucking second this is not that. i am not in love with him. i do not want ja'marr jr growing up with him as the other half of his parental unit no. no. oh god.' yeah.

had a little family dinner afterwards on the couch watching the jungle book <3 junior usually chooses to sit on ja'marr's lap but he's sticking close to joe and it makes ja'marr feel all fuzzy and dizzy. little kid tucked between these two whose bodies are turned to one another caging the kid so he won't fall. laughing together playfully smearing sauce all over baby ja'marr to make him shriek and laugh. spending the night there anyway because it's midnight all of junior's stuff is still there enough for an extra day or several and ja'marr can just use joe's stuff anyway and really ja'marr doesn't think junior is ever letting go of joe's shirt so.

this is just incredibly self-indulging 😭 and i don't actually know what to call ja'marr jr wkwkk

ending this with a little screenshot of ja’marr and ja’marr 🥰🫶 they're sooooooo cute

ok bye!!

[pinksikhewei]

A blue blanket and a gentle guide back to yourself.

Spencer wasn’t exactly sure how much time he’d wasted trying to work himself down from a meltdown, but it wasn’t working and there was just never enough time and he just wasn’t ever good enough anymore.

“I’m not good enough,” he repeated like a mantra.

Word count: ~2300

Content: NO reader, very much centered around Spencer being autistic, mention of him stabbing himself lowkey, angst/comfort, idk what to put here bro im used to Ao3 tags 😭 basically Spencer not coping with having so much freedom after prison but it’s basically just him having a meltdown, JJ and Garcia being real ones, and I guess if you really look close Jeid is there but that wasn’t my intention so it’s up for interpretation💕

A/n: ahhhh this is my first fic on here, and also my first Spencer fic so this is exciting :))) if you see anything misspelled don’t look at me 💀 it feels a little disorganized but that’s just cos I haven’t written in MONTHS for anything other than my novel 😭 ALSO DISREGARD THE TITLE I LITERALLY PONDERED ON IT FOR LJKE THREE HOURS AND COILD NOT COME IP WITH ONE BUT THAYS OKAY

Sometimes, Spencer surprised himself by how odd he could be. Even more so by the twists and turns his life gave him on top of that. Sometimes he wished he could take a good, long look at the woven blanket that was his soul, his personality, his qualities, and decide exactly what to rip out.

But, he supposed that a blanket needed all its threads to keep from unraveling. So when it fell down to smother him, he learned to crawl his way out.

He’d been stronger than he expected himself to be in a lot of situations in his hectic life. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, he knew deep down he had courage. Sometimes it was simply a little difficult to find.

He’d found a lot of it while in prison, reaching deep into the dark depths of his soul to grasp onto whatever he could muster. Did that mean stabbing himself to stay protected, losing his best chance for survival in an attempt to make another one? Yes. Did that mean spending sleepless nights wondering if he was really going to get out? Too many times, yes. Did he let that kill him? Almost.

One thing Spencer Reid hated, in truly the most private ways, was change; loss of routine, loss of structure. When he found himself trapped in a cage with people he didn’t know and trust, he lost all of those values that often held him together just as his team did.

He lost his team those days, too.

He lost himself.

Luckily and not so luckily, it didn’t take long to find new routines, built upon him by ruthless guards and rules and blood-boiled inmates with pasts and inevitable futures rougher than his own. He was embarrassingly easy to mold into the rough shape of submission, going where they told him when they told him.

Spencer swore up and down some of those cold nights that if he could have killed himself, he probably would have, but ultimately his team and the promise of freedom were what kept him alive.

When he was finally released, that same team was the one to coax Reid back to who he was; however, none of them expected the damage that would’ve been done in those long six months.

It was almost as if his release did more bad than the initial imprisonment. He couldn’t focus, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t do things himself.

Independence was always important to him— his team knew that— but they couldn’t ignore the way he stood still in front of doors waiting for them to open, the way he sometimes forgot his own bedroom doors were unlocked, the way he was overwhelmed by the amount of choice he had so suddenly. They couldn’t ignore the way he got overloaded so much easier, meltdowns coming much quicker than even JJ had seen in their decades working together.

Everything was just so much for Spencer. Too much. And who did he turn to? Anyone he could carve gentle hands into; anyone he hoped could fill the Spencer-shaped hole in his heart. Of course, there were canyons of those he couldn’t have that embedded in his gut, too; ravines with little cabins where Gideon resided and soccer fields for Hotch to coach on and homes for Derek to make his own with little red doors.

He was grasping at straws trying to fix himself, and that was how Spencer had ended up in his current situation. Pacing the length of the round table room when he should have been getting ready to leave for a case.

But that was just it, they had just closed a case— an especially grueling one at that. It had been less than an hour before Emily had announced with a heavy sigh that they needed to depart from home again. By god, Spencer had never hated her more for saying ‘wheels up in 30’ when it usually made him surge with curious anticipation.

He wasn’t exactly sure how much time he’d wasted trying to work himself down from a meltdown, but it wasn’t working and there was just never enough time and he just wasn’t ever good enough anymore.

“I’m not good enough,” he repeated like a mantra. “Too much; calm down before you bother them.”

JJ, who had been making a last round to grab a cup of coffee before they left, was quick to notice him through the humbling glass wall of the room. Her face turned to one of pain, and she turned on her heel to find Emily.

Once she finally ran into the woman, her sincere voice struck Emily with surprise.

“Spence can’t go on this case. At least not in the field. He’s on the edge of a meltdown and I’m sure the second I go near him he’s going to fall off that edge. I’m gonna make him stay with Garcia.”

Emily nodded, flashing that face of concern JJ had seen many times before, saying, “Don’t you think that’ll set him off more? The change in plans.”

“I think it already has. He knows he’s not going to get through his case without a meltdown, I think he’ll be a little less upset about things this time around.”

“Alright, go,” Emily urged, staring softly into the round table room where she too saw Spencer’s frazzled state.

JJ all but stumbled into Garcia’s cave, tearing her precious blanket from her go bag and snagging a few more from Garcia’s hoard of them in the little basket behind her door.

“You’re gonna have company for the case, that okay?”

“Reid?” Garcia replied with a knowing look.

JJ nodded.

“Can you make him a little cozy place to sit down here? I think this one’s bad, I have no idea how long he’s been pacing.”

Garcia smiled sympathetically, immediately going to work creating a little nest of blankets and decorative pillows she could find around her cave, placing them neatly underneath her desk.

Meanwhile, JJ found herself outside the room that held Spencer and all his emotion. She took a deep breath before opening the door, met with Spencer sitting on the ground and rocking back and forth.

She took a quick motion in moving a couple of the rolling whiteboards in front of the window since sometimes the blinds got stuck and took minutes to work out.

“Spence? It’s JJ— is there anything I can do to help?” She tried softly, not confident she would get an answer.

Spencer didn’t even look at her, holding his knees to his chest and hugging them tightly. He knew by then she wasn’t going to let him in good conscience go in the field, and was working through that, too.

He brought a hand up to his mouth and started biting at his index finger’s knuckle, not really caring how stupid and childish he looked.

“Can you hear me, Spence? Just look at me for a second, so I know you hear me.”

Spencer’s beautiful brown eyes flicked in her direction before returning to the cold floor in front of him, and JJ sighed in relief.

“Great, thank you. I know you probably already know this but you aren’t going in the field, you’re gonna stay with Garcia. Remember you are still working the case if that’s what you want, okay? The only change in plans is location.”

Spencer hummed in a feeble attempt at a response before pulling his hand out of his mouth and wiping it on the fabric of his pants, embarrassed. JJ didn’t mention it, knowing it was the absolute least of their concerns.

“Do you want a hug? It’s okay if you don’t. I can just stay here with you until you’re ready.”

Spencer seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, and JJ let it happen. Then, he nodded, giving JJ a bath of pride in his improvement during the last five minutes.

She sat down beside him and leaned toward his trembling body, wrapping arms around Spencer’s frame in a way that made him feel inexplicably at home.

“God, Spence, you’re about to shake out of your skin.” JJ said absentmindedly, addressing his trembling.

Spencer thought it was silly, but he supposed he really was shaking like a leaf, trying desperately to hold onto its branch against the violence that was the bitter wind.

So, they sat like that until JJ’s phone started to beep more than Spencer knew was casual conversation. He felt the need to apologize, but wasn’t feeling particularly verbal, so he just picked his mop of curls up off her shoulder and wiped his tears with the back of his hand.

“Duty calls,” JJ sighed, then tried to lighten the mood a little. “Ten minutes wasn’t even that long, heaven forbid Emily says ‘wheels up’ and we don’t leave on the exact time she says to.”

Spencer silently mouthed fragments of what JJ had said, but JJ didn’t fuss as she’d grown used to his echolalia based habits over the years.

“You ready to head over to Garcia’s cave? She’s got a little pillow fort all set up for you, I’m sure.”

A snake of guilt slithered it’s way into Spencer’s cramped head, curling up around the static ball of overwhelm. He tried not to take too much time steadying himself to stand up, his balance and coordination slightly off from the meltdown. JJ stood with him as soon as she realized what he was trying to do, and helped him up.

“Doing great, Spence. I bet Garcia’s probably already grabbed your bag from your desk, so we can just head on down there.”

On the slightly wobbly and slow walk to Garcia’s cave, Spencer squinted against the lights and mentally cursed his too-tight tie. Once he finally made it, JJ broke off with a small apology and a good luck.

It took Garcia all of three seconds to open the door and immediately fawn over the man, and even if it made him feel burdensome he had to admit it also let him feel cared for.

“Hey, boy genius. I made you a little nook, and I also got you a cookie from my snack desk and a bottle of water,” Garcia smiled widely at him as she always did.

Spencer mustered up a small grin back, and looked down to where she motioned underneath her highly decorated desk. He recognized JJ’s prized blanket she took on every case with her and then his favorite soft blanket Garcia kept in her cave. His heart warmed and he grew a little more calm in knowing he had a safe place to stake out for the majority of the day.

He brought a hand up and adjusted his tie, tugging it off slowly as he tried to think of a way to thank her.

“Go, sit,” Garcia urged him, gently shooing him with her hands as she sat back down on her rolling chair and scooted in to the desk. “You need to drink some water and chill out before I do any sort of debriefing on this case.”

Spencer mimicked her shooing motions before he sat down, a little shamefully, and opened up the bottle of water.

Honestly, the small space made him feel safe, and the gentle light from Garcia’s fairy lights and monitors was just little enough that his eyes didn’t feel like exploding, and his mind settled a little bit.

He reached down and untied his shoelaces, resisting the urge to remove them all together, and then pulled the blanket up over his lap as he leaned against the wall. He looked up at countless little stickers and stars Garcia had planted there, wondering when and why she even put them in a place she couldn’t see.

“Better?” Garcia asked softly, and Spencer could hear the clicking of her keyboard.

Spencer, without really realizing what he was doing, quietly repeated her while he fidgeted with a little plush Garcia had put in the nest of blankets.

“Better?”

“Ah, so we’re mimicking today. Good to know,” she chuckled back.

“Good to know.”

She laughed a little, not surprised he’d been able to copy her voice to a T, but rolled back a little anyway.

“Alright, well, the case file is here but only if you want it and you’re ready,” Garcia tapped the desk above his head.

“Only when you’re ready.”

And so, Spencer sat there for the remainder of the day, occasionally laying down on his back if his legs started to fall asleep, surrounded by the soft energy of Garcia’s cave.

When he was ready— even if he was still a little stuck in repeating what was said to him— he gave Garcia input on the case and said hello to the team over the phone.

He was more than grateful for his team, his friends who cared about him. He knew that this was exactly where he was meant to be, even if it was missing a few of his favorite people. He knew this was where he belonged, this was what would fill that Spencer-shaped hole in his heart and let it overflow.

He just had to let it happen.

[ruporas]

asking and receiving (bonus below readmore)

[ID: A black and white, digital Trigun comic of Vash and Wolfwood. In the first panel is a close up of Wolfwood's mouth as he says, "Vash". Accompanying it is a close up shot of Vash's eye, widen and cheeks flushed. Wolfwood presses a knee against the open space between Vash's legs and says, "Tell me everything you want from me." Wolfwood's face is equally as flushed. He continues to say, "I'll give it to you. Everything." As he talks, a wide shot shows the both of them in white space. Vash is sitting, leaning a little back with both hands pressed against the surface he's sitting on. Wolfwood is in his white dress shirt, stripped of the blazer. He's still leaning in with one knee in between Vash's spread legs, his right hand touching Vash's lips and his left hand behind his back.

The shot closes in on Vash's mouth and Wolfwood's hand against it, pressing down on the lower lip as he says, "You have to ask though. Go on." His hand moves down to Vash's chin, gently holding it. With a shy and uncertain expression, Vash hesitantly asks, "Um... K... Kiss... Please?" Wolfwood, without wasting a second, leans in and kisses him and indulges by pressing deeper, eliciting a small noise of surprise from Vash.

Wolfwood moves away from Vash first and with a smile, asks, "What else?" Vash tugs on Wolfwood's left sleeve, wordlessly budging Wolfwood to give him his hand that was still behind his back. In the next panel, Vash utters, "Hold me..?" He's holding Wolfwood's left hand with his own while his right hand is reaching for his waist. Wolfwood complies, moving his left hand to Vash's shoulder and his right hand continues to touch Vash's cheek. Wolfwood asks again, "What else?"

More comfortable now, Vash leans in to kiss Wolfwood. Wolfwood catches him immediately, pressing his thumb against Vash's lips to stop him before demanding, "Hey. Ask." Vash looks back in surprise and Wolfwood meets his eye with a quiet, insistent look. They're quiet for a moment before Vash leans in again and curtly requests, "Kiss. Me." Wolfwood says "Good", smiling as he lifts his hand away, and meets Vash's lips. In the next shot, Wolfwood had adjusted his position, sitting on Vash's thigh. The hand that was once on Vash's cheek has moved its way to Vash's nape, pushing away the collar of his jacket with his pinky. His other hand continues to grip on Vash's shoulder. Still kissing, Wolfwood asks again, "What else?"

In the next shot, Vash is starting to turn, moving Wolfwood with him. Vash asks, "Let me on top of you?" Wolfwood says, "Mhm" before asking again, "What else?" The next panel shows a close look of Vash's face. He's looking down, flushed and shy just as he had been at the beginning, but now, more decisive. Vash asks, "Wolfwood... Let me have you..?" A panel of Wolfwood taking Vash's hand into his, pulling it towards his chest. The next panel shows Wolfwood lying down where Vash had laid him. Vash's hand is on Wolfwood's chest, covering the cross of his rosary while Wolfwood's hand lingers against his, loosely pressing Vash's hand in place. He looks up at Vash with a shy smile of his own, flushed cheeks. He says, "All yours."

A panel shows a close up of Vash's tender gaze before he leans down to be closer to Wolfwood. The final shot is a front view of their positions, Vash's face turned away from the viewer; Vash is leaning over Wolfwood who's lying down with his right leg draped over Vash's legs. Wolfwood's left hand holds onto Vash's left arm. With finality, Vash says, "...Mine." End ID]

[ID: A follow up bonus comic in a looser, sketchier style. They're laying comfortably in bed when Vash asks, "What was that earlier?" referecing to the start of the previous comic. Wolfwood glances away and says, "To get you used to it. Asking. And getting what you ask for. Since you're alwasy hesitant about it." Vash's eyes widen, tight lipped. Wolfwood continues, "Knowing you, it'll be a tough habit to break..." When he says this, Vash can't help but laugh, unable to deny it. Wolfwood slowly brings a hand to Vash's cheek and continues to say, "So I'll keep trying -- whatever ways I can... to get it through your thick skull." Vash takes Wolfwood's hand with his, kissing the the palm gently. Wolfwood's eyes soften and holding onto Vash's cheek, he leans in to try for a kiss. Vash says, "Hey..." before stopping Wolfwood's lips with the back of his hand, a smug look on his face, "Ask." Wolfwood's embarrassed and with little irritation, asks, "Really?" Vash smiles, saying, "You're in need of practice too." They pause for a moment, Wolfwood looking contemplatively, before he's leaning in again, asking, "May I please kiss you?" Vash looks him in the eyes and says, "Yes." The comic ends with a "chu", indicating an off-panel kiss. End ID]