#because of the lighting of the card it was a bit hard to tell apart parts of his outline in the groovie so it might be a tad wonky

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Helpless ~ Steve's Version

MAIN MASTERLIST / MARVEL MASTERLIST / MUSICAL INSPIRED FIC MASTERLIST

Steve Rogers x Female!Stark!Reader

Word Count: 2,250ish

Request: song request: helpless (hamilton) for steve where f!reader is pining for him (and ofc he pines back)  and the 'sister' in the song is just best friend!tony 😼😼 (but none of the angelica/hamilton parallels! just tony noticing reader's crush and introducing them) love your work!

Notes: I changed the request a bit, but I hope everyone enjoys it!

“Ooh (hey, hey)

I do, I do, I do, I do (hey, hey, hey, hey)

Hey (hey, hey)

Ooh (hey, hey)

I do, I do, I do, I do (hey, hey, hey, hey, hey)”

The Stark Tower was now The Avengers Tower and tonight Tony was hosting the grand opening gala. He was currently following you around your small New York apartment, begging you to attend.

“Come on, sis,” Tony begged. “For me. You haven’t stepped foot in the Tower once and I want to get your thoughts.”

“Tony,” you sighed with a shake of your head. “I thought we agreed that I’m not meant for the spot light, that’s you.”

“This isn’t the spot light. I have a dress for you. Pepper’s going to be there. You don’t have to hit the red carpet or anything.”

“I don’t know, Tony—“

“Please, Y/N.” He reached over and grabbed your hands. “I almost died, remember?”

You rolled your eyes. “Really? You’re playing that card?”

“Come on! I just want my baby sis to have fun with me for once. Please.”

You new that when your brother was looking at you with this big brown eyes, it was hard for you not to cave. “Fine.”

“Yes!” He pulled you into a hug and kissed your cheek. “Let’s go! I can give you a tour and then you and Pepper can get ready together.”

~~~

You were Tony Stark’s half-sister, having been conceived by Howard Stark having an affair with one of this secretaries. Tony was twelve when you were born and immediately was attached to you. The Starks had kept you a secret to the world and Tony continued to do so at your request. Though you could tell that it was beginning to hurt him more and more. He loved you so much and was so proud of you, and he just wanted to share that with the world.

“The Tower is amazing, Tony,” you told him as the two of you waited in the elevator.

“I’m glad you think so,” he smiled as the elevator stopped and opened up, “because this is your floor.”

“Wh—What?”

Tony grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the elevator. “This is all for you. It has an office for your work, three bedrooms, three and a half bathrooms, a kitchen, a dinning room, and a living room. JARVIS has it set up so that only people you approve can access your floor.”

“Tony… I…”

“Y/N, I almost died. You could have died. I can’t protect my baby sis if you’re out there on your own. Please, do this, for me? No one has to know about the floor or you. I promise. But this way, I know that you’re safe and we can even spend more time together and—“

“Yes, Tony. I’ll move in.”

“Yay!” He kissed your forehead. “Also, the movers are already on their way with you things.”

“Tony!” 

He moved away from your playful swat. “Hey! You know that I just love you, right kid?”

“I know. I love you, too. I’ll always be grateful for what you do for me, Tones.”

“Okay!” He clapped, rubbing his hands together. “Your dress for the gala is in your closet and Pepper and I will swing by to pick you up at 7.”

“Boy, you got me helpless

Look into your eyes, and the sky's the limit

I'm helpless

Down for the count, and I'm drownin' in ‘em”

“I have never been the type to try and grab the spotlight

We were at a revel with some rebels on a hot night

Laughin' at my sister as she's dazzling the room

Then you walked in, and my heart went “boom””

The Tower ballroom as full of celebrities and government officials. There were groups dancing to the music and groups chatting while drinking and eating the hors d’oeuvres.  You had never felt more out of place. You were hiding against the wall with a drink in your hand, watching Tony charm everyone who wished to talk to him.

The soft ding of the elevator caught your attention. You lost your breath as a tall, blonde man where black slacks and a navy button down dress shirt stepped out. He looked just as out of place as you felt. His eyes somehow found your gaze and for a moment, no one else was in the ballroom but the two of you. But before either of you could make a move towards each other, the man was pulled in the direction of a group of government officials. 

“Tryin' to catch your eye from the side of the ballroom

Everybody's dancin' and the band's top volume

Grind to the rhythm as we wine and dine

Grab a sister and whisper, "Yo, this one's mine" (ooh)”

You walked along the side of the ballroom, tracking the man. He kept being pulled into different conversations like he was important. He did seem familiar, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Tony eventually made his way over to you, needing to check on you.

“You holding up, sis?” He asked softly as he handed you a new drink.

“Yeah, fine,” you mumbled, still focused on the man. “Uh, who is that?” You slightly pointed.

Tony’s brows furrowed as he looked over to where you were pointing. “Oh, that’s Capsicle. You know? Captain America?”

“That’s Steve Rogers?”

“The one and only. And annoyingly righteous as I always thought he would be.”

You shrugged. “He’s… cute.”

Tony’s eyes widened as his head snapped in your direction. He quickly studied your face. He had never seen that look on you before. In fact, you had never openly admitted to finding someone cute before. Most likely because you were too scared of what Tony might do. He looked back at Steve. There could definitely be worse people for you to find cute. He sighed and began to head towards Steve.

“Wait, Tony!” You quietly called. “What are you doing?”

“My sister made her way across the room to you (ooh)

And I got nervous, thinking, what's she gonna do? (Ooh)

She grabs you by the arm, I'm thinking I'm through (ooh)

Then you look back at me, and suddenly”

“I'm helpless

Oh, look at those eyes, oh (look into your eyes, and the sky's the limit)

I'm helpless, I know

Down for the count, and I'm drowning in 'em

(Helpless) I am so into you

(Look into your eyes and the sky's the limit) I am so into you

I'm helpless (I know)

I'm down for the count, and I'm drownin' in ‘em”

You watched anxiously as Tony made his way across the ballroom to Steve. Tony greeted him with a hand to his upper arm and the two began chatting. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you watched. Suddenly, both of them were looking at you and you met Steve’s eyes once again. They were the most beautiful shade of blue, you could have drowned in them. Right then and there you knew that you were screwed.

“Where are you taking me?

I'm about to change your life

Then by all means, lead the way”

“Elizabeth Schuyler, it's a pleasure to meet you

Schuyler? (My sister)

Thank you for all your service

If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it

I'll leave you to it”

“Where you are leading me to?” Steve questioned as he followed Tony across the ballroom.

“To the most beautiful girl across the ballroom,” Tony commented. “And trust me, I don’t introduce anyone to her.” They stopped in front of you and you were trying not to freakout. “Steve Rogers, meet Y/N Stark.”

“Stark?” Steve was genuinely surprised.

“My sister.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Steve,” you said, shyly, offering your hand.

He took it, shaking it gently. “Nice to meet you, too,” he replied.

“I’m going to leave you two to it,” Tony smirked. “But don’t do anything stupid. That’s my baby sister you’re dealing with.” Then he slipped off to rejoin Pepper.

“I’m sorry about him,” you apologized for your brother. “He’s really protective.”

“I didn’t even know he had a sister,” Steve said. “It’s not in any of the files.”

“Yeah, it’s a family secret. Fury won’t allow it to leak because Tony and I asked him to.”

Steve nodded and then nervously looked around. “Uh… I don’t… well… I can’t dance, but do you want to?”

You giggled. “You can’t dance and you just asked me?”

“Yeah, only if you want to—“

“I’d love to.”

“One week later, I'm writin' a letter nightly

Now my life gets better every letter that you write me

Laughin' at my sister 'cause she wants to form a harem

I'm just sayin', if you really loved me, you would share him (ha)”

You and Steve quickly became inseparable. You would meet for coffee in the Tower and go on walks around the block. The two of you talked about your lives: his before the ice and how he was handling the new century and yours being the bastard Stark. 

Feelings were growing quickly between the two of you but neither of you were confident enough to act on them.

“Two weeks later, in the living room stressin'

My father's stone-faced while you ask him for his blessin'

I'm dying inside as you wine and dine

And I'm tryin' not to cry, 'cause there's nothing that your mind can't do (ooh)”

“My father makes his way across the room to you (ooh)

I panic for a second, thinking we're through (ooh)

But then he shakes your hand and says, "Be true" (ooh)

And you turn back to me smiling”

Steve was nervous, more nervous than he had ever been. He had seen the way Tony protected you in just the little time he had known about you. So Steve felt like he needed to check with Tony before he asked you out. He found Tony in the lab.

“Hey, Tony, can we talk?” Steve hoped that his voice didn’t give off the nerves he was feeling.

“Sure,” Tony mumbled, focused on his suit. “What’s up, Cap?”

“I… Well, I was wondering if it would be okay if I asked Y/N out on a date?” Tony dropped everything he was working on and slowly turned to face Steve. “I— I know that we haven’t know each other very long but I have really enjoyed getting to know her more and I—“

“Stop right there, Rogers.” Tony moved his jaw around as he put his thoughts together. “I need to be honest with you. Y/N doesn’t go on dates. Some of it’s my fault. I’m always worried about her safety and people finding out the truth of who she is.”

“I would never do anything to hurt her, Tony.”

Tony scoffed. “That's what they all say. But… I know that you mean well, Rogers. And I know that I monitor everything that happens in the Tower so I will know if you do, do anything. And I mean, anything! Got that?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Just… treat her good, Steve. She deserves everything.”

“I will.”

“I'm helpless

(Look into your eyes, and the sky's the limit)

I'm helpless (helpless)

Down for the count, and I'm drownin' in 'em (whoo!)

Helpless (that boy is mine, that boy is mine, ooh)

Look into your eyes, and the sky's the limit

I'm helpless (helpless) (whoo)

Down for the count (yeah), and I'm drownin' in ‘em”

“Eliza, I don't have a dollar to my name

An acre of land, a troop to command, a dollop of fame

All I have is my honor, a tolerance for pain

A couple of college credits and my top-notch brain”

“Insane, your family brings out a different side of me

Peggy confides in me, Angelica tried to take a bite of me

No stress, my love for you was never in doubt

We'll get a little place in Harlem and we'll figure it out”

“I've been livin' without a family since I was a child

My father left, my mother died, I grew up buck wild

But, I'll never forget my mother's face, that was real

As long as I'm alive, Eliza, swear to god you'll never feel so”

You could tell that Steve was nervous about something as the two of you headed back to your floor after meeting for coffee. When the two of you reached the elevator, Steve paused.

“Uh, Y/N, I, um… I have a question to ask you,” Steve stammered.

“Yeah, Steve?” You asked.

“Would you… Would you like to go on a date with me?”

You smiled as you inhaled sharply. “Yes, Steve, I would love to go on a date with you.”

“Really?” Steve grinned, so giddy that you said yes. “You want to?”

“I do…. I really do.”

“I do, I do, I do

Eliza (helpless) (I do, I do, I do)

I never felt so (helpless)

Yeah, yeah

Down for the count, and I'm drownin' in 'em (down for a count, and I’m-)”

“Helpless (yo, my life is gon' be fine 'cause Eliza's in it)

Helpless (I look into your eyes, and the sky's the limit, I'm)

Helpless

(Down for the count, and I'm drownin' in ‘em)”

“In New York, you can be a new man

In New York, you can be a new man

In New York, you can be a new man (helpless)”

[twstrenders]

JADE LEECH - Clubwear SSR Renders!

[franike]

COLD LOVE

Thanos x reader

Authors note: I love him sm there is not enough fics about him, also sorry about my english •+• ALSO i added a character I hope yall don’t mind🙏 THIS FIC WILL HAVE MORE PARTS

It was just a normal day. You were taking the subway home after finishing your day at college. It was hard to pay for all college expenses and you already worked two jobs. As thoughts ran through your head someone approached you.

“Wanna play a game?” It was a strange man - he was tall, had short black hair and also wore a neat suit.

“Uh sure why not”

The game was called ddakaji. You get a piece of folded paper and another one is placed on the floor. The goal is to throw your piece of paper and flip the one on the floor to the other side. You played a few rounds and won every single one.

“Congratulations” The strange man told you as he handed you a card. Before you could say anything else he left leaving you confused. You took a good look at the card. The front of the card had a circle, a triangle and a square drawn on it and the back of it had a number. You looked at your phone for a second before calling the number from the back of the card.

“To play the game state your name and date of birth”

…

You were sitting in your apartment and thinking. What did I just sign up myself for….but i need the money. The pickup date is five days from now on. You looked at the picture on your table. It was a picture of you and your ex that disappeared one day, well not really but he disappeared for you. You still saw him on social media but that’s about it because one day he just said he can’t be with you anymore and left. What an asshole…but you still cared about him just a tiny bit. Perhaps if he died you would be a bit sad.

…First day at squid game…

You woke up at a bed in a big room. There were about 400 other beds and about 400 other people. What is this… You thought as you looked around when all of a sudden someone called out your name. You looked back and saw your friend, Claire.

“CLAIRE what are you doing here?”

“Ah i got myself into a debt..” Claire explained while uncomfortably touching the back of her neck. You didn’t mind however, you were also in a debt just for school, not for…. Anyways soon some guards came to the front and started explaining how this works. All of a sudden some people started complaining about literally everything.

“What about my shoes huh? They’re limited edition!”

Oh no…Its him. Its Thanos. Your ex. What the hell was he doing in here? Did he not see you? What a pain…Soon the first game started, it was green light red light. Pretty easy. That was until someone got shot in front of you because they moved at red light. You started to panic. It soon turned into green light but you were frozen. You felt like you were gonna faint and as soon as it was red light your knees gave out. However someone stood in front of you so you wouldn’t get seen. It was green light again and the person who previously stood in front of you took you by the forearm and forced you to run with them. You turned to look at the person and it was him. Thanos. Again.

“You really need to be more careful”

“Shut up freak”

He just smirked at you and continued the game. How unfortunate that you ended up in the same situation as him. Soon the game was over. Thanos approached you and started to talk to you.

“So why are you here?”

“I’m not gonna tell you”

“Wow calm down ice queen, it was just a question.”

How annoying can a person be. Even after you gave him the coldest glare you could he just simply smiled at you.

“So you’re just going to pretend that you didn’t leave me like some trash huh?”

To your surprise he stopped smiling, but only for a second before he was back to his usual self. He tried to wrap his arm around your shoulders but you pushed him away. The audacity of this man. You started walking away and he started to yell something at you.

“This isn’t over Y/N! You can’t run away from me so easily!” He started to laugh and went back to some guy. This is going to be long six days….

TO BE CONTINUED….

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1943 - wounds and whispers

chapter summary: After an attack on the battlefield, Logan wakes up to you as his nurse in Italy during World War 2.

word count: 8.8k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: this one is short, and the ending is a bit abrupt, but i kind of wanted it to be that way- war is unpredictable. also, the ending is a tad bit different from the other endings, you'll see when you read! anyways, next chapter is when things get a little bit more interesting...

warnings/tags: mentions of injuries, fluff, angst, war, character death(s)

series masterlist - chapter 3 → chapter 5

A mere 43 years later and Logan was already in his second war since you died that last time. Part of him almost wished that he could die, maybe then he’d see you and get to hold you forever. But that just wasn’t in the cards for him; not when he had this healing, not when he was already 111 years old.

Logan's mind was swimming in a fog of pain as consciousness crept back in. The last thing he remembered was the deafening blast of gunfire and the sharp, searing pain that tore through his side as he charged forward in the midst of the chaos. War was hell, and he’d been through more than enough of them to know that. But this—this felt different.

His eyes fluttered open, the bright lights overhead blinding him for a moment as he groaned, trying to push himself up. His muscles screamed in protest, his entire body feeling like it had been torn apart and put back together again.

“Easy there, soldier.”

The voice was soft but firm, and it froze him in place. Logan’s heart skipped a beat, recognition flooding through him even though he knew it wasn’t possible. His vision focused, and then he saw you. Standing right over him, your face illuminated by the dim lights of the field hospital.

It was you.

Logan’s breath hitched, his mind spinning. He’d seen you die—he’d held you in his arms not long before everything faded. The memory of that night, the pain in your eyes, the blood pooling beneath you—it was burned into him. He’d lost you again. But now here you were, alive, standing in front of him like nothing had ever happened.

His throat tightened, but he forced himself to speak. “Y/N?” You probably didn’t hear him, given the quiet tone of his voice.

You smiled softly, stepping closer to him, your hands working with practiced care to check his wounds. “You’re lucky, you know,” you said, ignoring the way he looked at you, as if he'd seen a ghost. “The shrapnel didn’t hit anything vital. You’ll live.”

Logan swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving yours. He felt a pull, the same pull he’d felt every time he met you in a different life. But this time, it hurt even more. Because this was the first time he’d seen you since the last time you died, and now, here you were, again, as if the universe had decided to toy with him once more.

“Y/N…” he whispered again, his voice rough with emotion.

You glanced at him, your brows knitting together in confusion. “How do you know my name?”

Logan hesitated, his heart pounding. He couldn’t tell you—not yet. Not about the lives you’d lived before, not about the times he’d watched you die. He had to keep it together. You didn’t remember him, and that was both a blessing and a curse.

He cleared his throat, managing a tight smile. “Lucky guess,” he said, his voice strained, trying to mask the tidal wave of emotion crashing through him.

You gave him a curious look but didn’t press further. “Well, lucky or not, you should be more careful out there,” you said, turning your attention back to bandaging him up. “You’re not invincible, even if you act like it.”

Logan nearly chuckled at that. If only you knew. But instead, he gritted his teeth as you finished patching him up. The pain from the wound was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. He’d spent so many lifetimes with you, always losing you too soon. Always feeling like there wasn’t enough time.

And now, here you were again, standing so close to him, your hands gentle as you worked. He clenched his jaw, his mind racing with memories of you—of your smile, your laugh, the way you’d always found him, no matter the time or place.

But this wasn’t the past. This was 1943, and you didn’t know him. He had to play it cool, keep his distance, even though every instinct in him was screaming to reach out and hold you, to make sure you didn’t slip away again.

“Thanks,” he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady.

You gave him a small nod, satisfied with your work. “Well, you’re still not cleared to leave yet, so you’re not gonna get away from me that easily.” You grabbed a small flashlight from your pocket and leaned in a little closer, shining it into his eyes to check his pupils.

Logan grunted, feeling the warmth of your proximity. It was almost unbearable how familiar you felt, even though you didn’t know him—at least not in this lifetime. His eyes followed your movements, the way you focused on him like he was just another soldier you had to patch up. But to him, you were everything.

“You know,” you started, your voice calm but a little teasing, “you really shouldn’t be throwing yourself into the line of fire like that. Kinda hard for us to patch you up if you don’t have any parts left.”

Logan gave a low chuckle, though his heart wasn’t in it. “I’ll heal,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. His voice was rougher than usual, like the words were struggling to get past the weight of seeing you again, alive and breathing.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Heal, huh? Well, you’re not invincible, soldier. Trust me, I’ve seen men think they’re untouchable, and they don’t last long in a place like this.”

Logan looked away, trying to focus on anything other than the sound of your voice. He didn’t want to make this harder on himself than it already was. “Guess I’ll just have to be more careful, then.”

You chuckled softly, finishing your check-up and tucking the flashlight back into your pocket. “Yeah, you do that.” There was a hint of amusement in your tone, but you were still clearly all business. “Now,” you looked at a clipboard in your hands, “James, you have a different name you’d like to go by?”

Logan grunted, his gaze fixed on you. The name ‘James’ felt foreign now, like a remnant of a past he didn't quite belong to anymore. His eyes flickered to the clipboard, then back to your face. The memories of every life you'd lived flashed through his mind, each one ending the same way, with you slipping away from him.

“Logan,” he said, his voice a bit rougher than he intended.

You looked up, scribbling something down. “Logan, huh?” You nodded, writing it down. “Suits you better than James… I think.”

Logan gave a small grunt, a mix of acknowledgment and the emotions he was keeping buried. He couldn’t tell you how much it hurt hearing you say his name, knowing you didn’t remember him at all. Every time he heard your voice, it was like a punch to the gut—a reminder that no matter how many times you came back, he was always starting over, and you… you were always slipping away.

“Glad you approve,” Logan muttered, his eyes drifting away from you. He was trying hard not to stare, trying not to let the overwhelming rush of memories take over. You looked the same, almost exactly as you had the last time—before George pulled that damn trigger.

You didn’t seem to notice the tension radiating from him, too focused on the task at hand. “Well, Logan,” you said, setting the clipboard aside. “You’ll need to stay here for observation, at least for the night. Make sure your body’s handling the recovery properly. We’ve seen some soldiers who think they’re fine, and then—” You made a gesture, mimicking someone fainting, a half-smile tugging at your lips.

Logan’s eyes flicked to the floor, suppressing the mix of emotions threatening to boil over. That small smile—the one you always had, no matter how many lives you lived—was painfully familiar. Each time, the same softness, the same warmth. But this time, it cut deeper because he knew how this would end. You’d be gone. Again.

“You’re real good at this, aren’t ya?” Logan said, his voice low, trying to sound casual despite the weight of everything between you two, or at least, everything he carried alone.

You shrugged, your smile widening just a little. “I’ve had a lot of practice lately. War isn’t exactly kind to anyone.” Your eyes softened for a moment, like you were remembering someone, but you shook it off, standing straighter. “But, yeah. It’s what I do.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as he fought the urge to tell you everything, to scream at the universe for pulling you into his life only to tear you away. But he couldn’t. Not this time. He had to play along, had to act like this was the first time he’d ever met you.

He nodded, letting out a deep breath. “Guess we’re both used to it, then. War and all.”

You glanced at him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “Yeah?” There was a pause as you sat down on the edge of the bed next to him. “You seem… different from the other soldiers I’ve patched up. Seen a lot, huh?”

Logan leaned back slightly, his hand brushing against the place where the ring still rested in his pocket. He hadn’t taken it out in years. “More than you’d believe.”

There was a quiet moment between you, your gaze lingering on him as if trying to figure him out. “Well,” you said, breaking the silence, “let’s hope you don’t add anything else to that list while you’re here.”

Logan couldn’t help the bitter chuckle that escaped his throat. If only you knew what was on that list already. If only he could tell you how many times he’d seen you die, how many times he’d watched your life slip through his fingers. But instead, he just nodded again.

“I’ll try,” he muttered, though the words felt hollow.

As you stood up, preparing to check on the next patient, you paused, glancing back at him. There was something in your eyes, something almost familiar. But then, you smiled again—kind, unaware of the history Logan held with you—and walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Logan exhaled slowly, the ache in his chest growing heavier. He had to stay strong, had to keep his distance. But deep down, he knew he was already caught, already tangled in the same painful cycle.

He slipped his hand into his pocket, fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the engagement ring he’d never had the chance to give you.

Maybe this time, he thought. Maybe this time, you’d survive.

But Logan knew better than to hope.

---

You checked in with one of the doctors when Sandra, your friend and fellow nurse, put a hand on your shoulder and turned you to face her.

“Does he have a nice voice?”

You snorted, shaking your head at Sandra. "A nice voice? That’s what you want to ask?”

Sandra grinned, unbothered by your sarcasm. “Well, I saw the way you were looking at him. Thought maybe he had some mysterious, deep, soldier-thing going on.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed a clipboard from the nearby desk. “He’s just a patient, Sandra.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Sandra leaned in, lowering her voice. “You didn’t exactly hurry out of that room.”

You shot her a look. “I was doing my job.”

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, clearly not buying it. “So... does he?”

You sighed, unable to stop a small smile from creeping onto your face. “Yeah, okay. Maybe a little. He’s got that gruff, low thing going on.”

“I knew it!” Sandra nudged your shoulder, her expression smug. “You’re into the mysterious types.”

“Oh, come on,” you muttered, flipping through the papers on your clipboard, though none of it really held your focus. Your mind drifted back to Logan’s face—his eyes, the way he carried himself like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. There was something about him, something that felt... familiar. But you brushed it off. That wasn’t possible.

“I’m not into anyone,” you said quickly, snapping back to reality. “Especially not a guy I’ve known for like five minutes.”

Sandra raised her hands in surrender, smirking. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it.” But the teasing gleam in her eyes suggested she wasn’t done with the subject.

You gave her a half-hearted glare before heading off to check on another patient. But as much as you tried to focus, your thoughts kept drifting back to Logan. The way his voice had this gravelly edge to it, how it felt like he was holding something back every time he spoke. And then there was the way he looked at you—like he recognized you, like you were someone important.

But that couldn’t be right.

---

You came to check on Logan later that night before you’d head back to your quarters for some rest. The makeshift hospital was quieter now, just a few murmurs from patients in the distance. Your shift had been long, draining, but something about checking on Logan felt... different.

You pushed the door open, stepping into the dimly lit room. Logan was sitting up on the bed, his expression unreadable as he stared at the floor. His posture was tense, like he was carrying the weight of more than just a few injuries.

“How’re you feeling?” you asked softly, keeping your tone professional despite the strange pull you felt toward him.

Logan looked up at you, his eyes locking onto yours for a moment that seemed to stretch longer than it should. “Better. You know, thanks to you.”

You gave a small smile, stepping closer to the bed. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, his gaze drifting back to the floor. “Still, you’re good at it.”

There was that same heaviness in his voice, like he was holding back more than just gratitude. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something about him felt... familiar. It was strange, like you knew him somehow, but you brushed the thought away.

“You should get some rest,” you said, checking the bandage on his side. Your fingertips lingered on the spot where the bloody wound had been earlier, but there was nothing—just smooth skin, as if it had never been there at all. Your brow furrowed, lips parting slightly in disbelief. You’d seen the gash when they’d brought him in, deep and ugly, impossible to heal so quickly.

Logan’s muscles tensed under your touch, and when you glanced at him, his expression was guarded, like he was bracing for something.

"That’s... impossible," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. "It was bad earlier. There should at least be... a scar."

Logan shrugged, trying to act indifferent, but the movement was stiff. "Guess I got lucky."

You pulled your hand back slowly, still frowning. “Lucky doesn’t cover it. I’ve never seen anyone heal like that.” You tilted your head, curiosity edging into your voice. “How?”

His jaw tightened. "It happens."

“That’s not much of an answer.” Your arms crossed over your chest, and the edge in your tone softened just a bit. “You’ve got to admit it’s... weird.”

Logan gave you a look, one that made you feel like he was sizing you up, trying to figure out how much he could say. Or maybe how little. "Weird, yeah," he muttered, voice low. "Not much I can do about it, though."

You knew a deflection when you heard one, but you let it go—for now. You weren’t sure why you felt compelled to trust him, but there was something in his eyes, in the way he spoke, that made it impossible not to.

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, you shook your head with a faint smile. "Well, however it happened, you’re lucky I didn’t call the doctors in to see this miracle." You gave him a teasing look. “You’d be their new favorite science project.”

A ghost of a grin tugged at the corner of Logan’s mouth, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, I’d rather avoid that."

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence. It should have been awkward, but it wasn’t. There was something strangely easy about being near him, like you’d known each other for years. You glanced at his hands—rough, calloused, like they’d seen more battles than you could imagine—and wondered just how much he’d been through.

"Why do I feel like there’s more to you than you’re letting on?" you asked softly.

Logan’s gaze flicked to yours, something unreadable in his expression. "You ever meet someone and feel like you’ve known ’em before?"

His words struck a nerve, sending a chill down your spine. You swallowed, the strange familiarity between you two suddenly harder to ignore. "Yeah... I guess I have."

Logan nodded, his gaze dropping to his hands. He rubbed his thumb against the curve of his knuckle—a nervous habit, maybe. Or just old memories surfacing.

"You should get some rest," you said quietly, almost reluctantly. It felt wrong to leave, like there was more to say, even if you didn’t know what.

"I’m not good at rest," Logan admitted, voice low.

You gave a soft laugh. "No one is these days."

As you stood up, Logan’s hand moved slightly—just enough that the tips of his fingers brushed yours, barely a touch but enough to make your heart skip. You looked down at him, surprised by how natural it felt, like you’d been standing this close to him a thousand times before.

For a moment, it seemed like Logan might say something—something important. His hand hovered near his pocket, where a small, heavy object pressed against the fabric. But then he stopped himself, his jaw clenching as if he’d changed his mind at the last second.

"Goodnight," you whispered, your voice softer than before.

Logan gave you a short nod, but his eyes followed you as you stepped away, like he was memorizing the moment—like it might slip away from him if he looked away for even a second.

---

The next morning, when you went to check on Logan, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, buttoning up his shirt over his white beater.

“Hey—wait.” You stepped in front of Logan, your hands instinctively finding his forearm as he finished buttoning his shirt. “You’re not cleared to leave yet.”

Logan’s eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, something passed between you—like the echo of a memory, distant but familiar. He gave you a half-smile, the kind that looked more like a grimace, and kept working on the last button.

“Gotta go,” he muttered. “Don’t do well sittin’ still.”

You crossed your arms, not budging. “Doesn’t mean you get to walk out of here half-healed.”

His gaze darkened, jaw clenching as if biting back words. You could tell he didn’t like being told what to do, but there was something more in his expression—something haunted, buried beneath that tough exterior.

“You think I can’t handle it?” he asked, voice low, gravelly.

“It’s not about what you can handle.” Your eyes softened, a hint of frustration slipping through. “It’s about what’s smart. I’ve patched up enough soldiers to know that leavin’ too soon isn’t.”

Logan’s lips twitched, like he might argue, but then he stilled, studying you with a strange intensity. The weight of his stare made your breath hitch for a second, but you refused to back down.

“Stay,” you insisted. “At least for another day. Let the wound close properly.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, like it was more trouble than it was worth to argue with you. “You always this stubborn?”

A smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah. Part of the charm.”

Logan huffed, a reluctant laugh buried somewhere in the sound. He leaned forward slightly, his knees brushing yours where you stood between his legs. The air felt heavier—charged with something neither of you could quite name.

“Y/N...” The way your name left his mouth was different. Familiar, almost reverent, like he was tasting the sound of it after a long time.

Your heart stuttered in your chest. “What?”

Logan’s hand drifted toward his pocket, hesitating just for a beat. He seemed to think better of it and instead leaned back, propping himself on his palms like he was trying to keep his distance.

“Nothing.” His tone was gruff, evasive, but you knew there was more he wasn’t saying.

You stayed where you were, close enough to feel the warmth of him. “You’re not really going to leave, are you?”

Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Shouldn’t stick around too long.”

“Why not?”

He ran a hand through his dark hair, frustrated. “I just shouldn’t.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, like they carried the weight of something unsaid—something important. But before you could push further, Logan shifted on the bed, brushing past you as if putting space between you would make it easier.

“Look...” His voice softened just slightly, almost apologetic. “You shouldn’t worry about me. I’ve been through worse.”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean you have to go through this alone.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to yours, and for a moment, the walls he kept up seemed to crack, just a little. He looked at you like you were someone he wanted to hold onto, but couldn’t—like you’d slip through his fingers if he let himself get too close.

You leaned in just a bit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let me help, Logan.”

The way his name fell from your lips sent a flicker of something through him—something dangerous, vulnerable, like it meant too much. His breath hitched, and for a second, you thought he might tell you whatever he was holding back.

But instead, he gave you a tight smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You already have.”

It felt like the conversation was teetering on the edge of something, but neither of you were ready to tip it over just yet.

“You win,” he muttered finally, his tone rough but resigned. “I’ll stay... one more day.”

You grinned, victorious. “Good. I’ll hold you to that. Maybe I’ll even let ya accompany me to the mess tent for lunch.” You held up a finger, playful but firm. “But only if you’re good.”

Logan gave a soft huff, the closest thing to a laugh you’d gotten out of him all day. “You makin’ the rules now?”

“That’s right,” you said with a smirk. “I am the nurse, after all.”

He shook his head, amused despite himself. “Fair enough.”

You lingered a moment longer than necessary, and Logan didn’t move away. His hand twitched near his knee, like he was thinking about reaching for you. It wasn’t the kind of gesture that strangers made—it felt too familiar, too intimate, like muscle memory.

“See ya at lunch, then,” you murmured, trying to shake off the strange pull toward him.

Logan gave a small nod, but his gaze stayed on you as you turned toward the door. Just as you reached it, you glanced back over your shoulder.

“You better not sneak out while I’m gone,” you teased, though part of you wasn’t sure it was really a joke.

Logan’s lips quirked at the corner, but the look in his eyes was heavy, weighed down with something you couldn’t quite place. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

---

By the time lunch rolled around, you were half-expecting Logan to be gone—off on some stubborn mission to leave the hospital before you could stop him. But when you returned, there he was, sitting up on the bed and rolling the sleeves of his shirt to his forearms.

"Kept my end of the bargain," he said, giving you a crooked grin that was more shadow than smile.

“Guess that means you earned lunch.” You gestured toward the door, and Logan pushed himself off the bed with an ease that didn’t match the severity of the injury he'd arrived with. You gave him a skeptical glance but decided to let it slide—for now.

The two of you walked through the makeshift hospital in comfortable silence. You noticed how other soldiers gave him nods or muttered greetings in passing, even though none of them really knew him. Something about Logan just demanded respect—maybe it was the way he carried himself, or the way his eyes seemed to see right through you.

At the mess tent, you grabbed two metal trays, handing one to him. “Hope you’re not picky. The food’s... not exactly five-star.”

Logan smirked. “I’ve had worse.”

You sat together at a small table, away from the loudest group of soldiers. For a moment, it was almost peaceful, like the war outside didn’t exist. Logan picked at his food absently, and you couldn’t help but study him—how his hands moved, how his jaw clenched like he was always bracing for bad news.

“So... you’ve done this before?” you asked, breaking the quiet. “The soldier thing, I mean.”

Logan glanced at you, something flickering in his expression. “Yeah. A few times.”

A few times. The way he said it made it sound like more than just a couple of tours.

“Must��ve been rough,” you murmured, stirring your soup. “I can’t imagine coming back to it over and over.”

Logan’s gaze lingered on you, and for a second, you felt pinned under the weight of it. Like he knew something you didn’t. “You get used to it,” he muttered, but the sadness in his voice told a different story.

There was a beat of silence, and then you leaned forward slightly, your curiosity getting the better of you. “You ever... think about what you’d do, you know, if you weren’t here? If the war wasn’t happening?”

Logan stared at his tray, his jaw tightening like he was biting back something painful. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Once or twice.”

The way he said it made your chest ache, and before you could stop yourself, you asked, “What would you do?”

Logan’s thumb brushed along the edge of his tray—a nervous habit, like he was weighing whether to tell you the truth. “There’s someone,” he said slowly. “Someone I thought about settlin’ down with... a long time ago.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden vulnerability in his voice. “What happened?”

Logan looked away, his expression hardening like a door slamming shut. “Didn’t work out.”

It wasn’t the whole story—you could tell that much. But you didn’t push. There was something in the way he said it, like the loss was still raw, even if it had happened years ago.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, unsure why you felt the need to say it.

Logan gave a small shrug, like it didn’t matter. But you knew better. It did matter. It mattered a lot.

---

After lunch, the two of you lingered outside the tent, neither of you in a rush to return to the chaos inside. The sun was warm on your face, a rare moment of peace in a world that had been anything but peaceful lately.

“You’re not what I expected,” you said suddenly, glancing at Logan.

He raised an eyebrow. “What’d you expect?”

You shrugged, smiling. “I don’t know. Maybe someone more... closed off. But you’re not as much of a mystery as you think.”

Logan chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “You’d be surprised.”

You bit your lip, studying him. “You feel... familiar,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Like we’ve met before.”

Logan went still, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might brush it off with some sarcastic comment. But instead, he looked at you with that same haunted expression you’d seen earlier—the one that made your chest tighten.

“Maybe we have,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

The words sent a strange chill down your spine. You stared at him, trying to piece together what he meant. But Logan didn’t offer any more answers. He just stood there, watching you like he was waiting for something.

Before you could ask, Sandra’s voice called from the distance, snapping you both out of the moment. “Y/N! Doctor’s looking for you.”

You sighed, giving Logan a small, reluctant smile. “Duty calls.”

Logan nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Better get to it.”

You hesitated for just a second longer, something inside you screaming that there was more to this—more to him. But instead, you gave him one last smile before turning away.

---

When Logan was alone again, he pulled the ring from his pocket, turning it over in his fingers. The weight of it was familiar, comforting in a way that only hurt more now.

He’d carried it through battles, through lifetimes, always hoping—maybe this time. But hope had a way of slipping through his fingers, just like you always did.

Logan clenched the ring in his fist, his jaw tightening. He knew better than to hope. He always did. But still... here you were.

For now, at least.

---

The next day you begrudgingly cleared Logan and showed him to where he would be staying before he got called away for another fight. It was a small quarters, shared with some of the other guys, but it was better than the hospital bed.

You should know. Sometimes you’ve taken power naps on those beds—when the hospital got too busy or you needed a break but couldn’t leave. They were uncomfortable as hell, but after long hours, you didn’t have much choice.

Logan tossed his bag on the bunk, eyeing the cramped quarters. It wasn’t much—just a room with a few cots and a flimsy curtain dividing it from the rest of the barracks—but he didn’t seem to care.

“You’ll be all right here,” you said, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe.

Logan smirked, glancing at the bed like it was just another obstacle in his way. “I’ve had worse.”

You gave him a sideways glance, shaking your head slightly. “Yeah, I’m starting to see a pattern with you.”

He chuckled, low and gravelly, the sound doing strange things to your heart. His presence was so... solid. Like he’d been through hell and back, yet here he was, standing in front of you like nothing could break him.

“Well, don’t get too comfortable,” you added with a smirk. “There’s always a chance you’ll end up back in the infirmary if you’re not careful.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest in a way that made the muscles in his forearms flex under his rolled-up sleeves. “You worried about me, nurse?”

“Maybe I am,” you teased, keeping it light even though part of you was serious. “I don’t want to have to stitch you back up.”

He laughed again, softer this time, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than just casual. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll heal.”

The words hung between you, something unspoken settling in. There was always something deeper with Logan, like the surface of his words barely scratched at the things he carried underneath.

Before you could respond, a couple of soldiers passed by, giving Logan nods of acknowledgment as they went. You noticed the way they looked at him, like he was someone who’d earned their respect without even trying.

Logan pushed off the wall, moving past you toward the door. “Thanks for the room,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “But I could use a drink.”

You laughed. “Well, good luck with that. This isn’t exactly the Ritz.”

He stopped just outside the door, turning back to you. His eyes were sharp, but there was something softer underneath. “You wanna join me?”

You paused, surprised by the offer. “Are you askin’ me out, Logan?”

His lips twitched into a half-smile. “Just tryin’ to be friendly.”

You let out a small huff of laughter, shaking your head as you grabbed your cap and followed him. “Fine. But if you’re looking for whiskey, you’re gonna be disappointed.”

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a while, the sound of your boots crunching on the gravel road filling the air. The base had quieted down a bit as the sun dipped lower, the day easing into a calm that didn’t come often in a warzone.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but sneak a glance at Logan from time to time, trying to figure him out. He was so... different. From anyone you’d met. From any soldier you’d treated. And yet, he felt so familiar.

You found a small spot near one of the mess tents where a few crates had been stacked up like makeshift seats. Logan grabbed a canteen from his jacket, unscrewing the cap before taking a long drink. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“That better be water,” you joked, taking a seat beside him.

Logan handed you the canteen, smirking. “Try it and find out.”

You took a cautious sip, then immediately coughed, the burn of the alcohol catching you off guard. “God—what is this?”

“Something I picked up,” Logan said, eyes gleaming with amusement as you wiped your mouth. “Figured it’d help take the edge off.”

You gave him a playful glare, handing the canteen back. “Next time, a little warning, maybe?”

Logan shrugged, grinning. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re trouble, Logan.”

He chuckled, leaning back against the crate. “Been called worse.”

The two of you sat there in comfortable silence for a few moments, passing the canteen back and forth. The alcohol burned, but it wasn’t the worst thing you’d ever tasted—not by a long shot. And it did what Logan said it would—it took the edge off.

You studied him for a moment, the way he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, even when he was sitting still. “You feel familiar,” you said quietly, your voice almost drowned out by the soft sounds of the base around you. “Like we’ve met before.”

Logan’s expression shifted—just for a second. His jaw tightened, his gaze flickering away from you and toward the horizon. “Maybe we have,” he murmured, his voice so low you almost didn’t catch it.

The words sent a strange, unexplainable shiver down your spine. You opened your mouth to ask him what he meant, but before you could, he stood up, stretching his arms over his head like he was shaking something off.

“C’mon,” he said, his voice lighter now, almost like he was forcing it. “You ready to head back?”

You blinked, still caught in the haze of the moment. But you nodded, standing up and brushing the dirt from your uniform. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The two of you walked back toward the barracks in silence, the air between you feeling heavier now. Something had shifted—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. But you knew it wasn’t nothing.

When you reached the barracks, Logan stopped at the door, turning to look at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice rougher than usual, like he was wrestling with something inside him. “If... if things ever get bad, you find me. Got it?”

You frowned, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. “Logan, what—”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted, his hazel eyes locking onto yours. “You find me. No matter what.”

You swallowed, nodding slowly. “Okay. I will.”

He held your gaze for a second longer, then nodded, like he was satisfied with your answer. “Good.”

Without another word, Logan turned and headed inside, leaving you standing there, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy blanket.

What did he mean? Why did he look at you like he knew something you didn’t?

You lingered there for a moment before finally heading to your own quarters. But even as you lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, Logan’s words echoed in your mind.

You find me. No matter what.

---

The next few days were a strange mix of routine and tension. Logan stayed around the base, mostly keeping to himself, but you found yourself crossing paths with him more often than you expected. Every time, there was that same intensity in his gaze, like he was watching you, waiting for something.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. But it did make your chest tighten every time you saw him.

One evening, as the sun began to set, you found yourself wandering toward the edge of the base, needing a moment to clear your head. The war, the patients, the constant pressure—it was all getting to you. And Logan... well, Logan wasn’t making things any easier.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t notice him until he spoke.

“Need some company?”

You jumped slightly, turning to find Logan leaning against a tree, arms crossed over his chest, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“Jeez, you scared me,” you said, placing a hand over your heart.

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he said, pushing off the tree and walking over to stand beside you. “You looked like you could use some company.”

You sighed, glancing out at the fading sun. “Yeah, I guess I could.”

Logan didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there beside you, his presence solid and reassuring. After a few beats of silence, he spoke.

“You doin’ all right?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

You shrugged, trying to brush it off. “It’s just... a lot sometimes, you know?”

Logan nodded, his eyes never leaving your face. “Yeah. I get it.”

There was something in the way he said it—something that made you believe he really did get it. Like he knew exactly what it felt like to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.

“Thanks for asking,” you said quietly, your gaze still focused on the horizon.

Logan was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. “I meant what I said before,” he murmured. “You ever need anything... you come find me.”

You turned to look at him, the seriousness in his voice catching you off guard. “Logan... why are you doin’ this? Why are you looking out for me?”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and for a second, you thought he wasn’t going to answer. But then he spoke, his voice low and rough. “Because... you’re important. More than you know.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Important? How? Why?

Before you could ask, Logan stepped closer, his eyes locked onto yours. “Just promise me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Promise me you’ll come find me if you need to.”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “I promise.”

Logan held your gaze for a moment longer, then nodded, satisfied. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your head spinning with questions.

You’re important. More than you know.

What did that mean? Why did Logan feel so... familiar?

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you stood there, your mind racing. Logan had secrets—secrets you weren’t sure you were ready to uncover. But one thing was clear: whatever was between the two of you, it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

---

On another day, you spotted Logan on the outskirts of base, sitting against a truck’s wheel with a notebook in hand.

He looked almost peaceful, maybe the most peaceful you’d ever seen him since he got here. Judging by the way he was moving his pencil, you assumed he was drawing something. You hesitated, not wanting to disturb him, but your curiosity got the better of you.

"Didn’t peg you for an artist," you said, walking over and leaning against the truck beside him.

Logan didn’t look up right away, just kept sketching, but there was a small smirk on his lips. "You learn a lot when you’ve got time," he muttered.

You glanced at the notebook, catching glimpses of rough lines and shadows. “What’re you drawing?”

He paused, almost like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to show you, then turned the notebook just enough for you to see. It was a sketch of the base—a surprisingly detailed one, with the buildings and surrounding trees, even some of the soldiers milling about.

“Not bad,” you said, genuinely impressed. “Didn’t know you had this in you.”

Logan shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Like I said, a lot of time.” He looked at you then, and for a brief moment, there was something more behind his eyes, something deeper. “Keeps me grounded.”

You studied him, wondering what that really meant. Logan had always been a bit of a mystery, but there were moments—like now—where it felt like there was so much more to him than he let on.

“You ever thought about doing something with it? You know, beyond just sketches?” you asked, half teasing, half curious.

Logan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m not the ‘show-off my art’ type. It’s just... for me.” He glanced back at the drawing, his expression softening in a way you didn’t often see. “Helps me forget.”

You nodded, feeling a tug at your chest. “Forget what?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he said, “Everything.”

The weight in his voice told you there was more to that statement—more than you could guess. You’d learned over the past few days that Logan was carrying his own kind of burden, just like you were. And yet, somehow, it felt like his was so much heavier.

“Must be a lot to forget,” you said softly.

Logan’s gaze flicked up to meet yours, and for a second, you thought he might actually open up. But instead, he just gave a noncommittal grunt and went back to his sketching.

You watched him for a while, feeling the comfortable silence settle between you. It was odd, but Logan’s presence had become... something you looked forward to. Even with all the unspoken tension, being around him made things feel a little less overwhelming.

“I never thanked you,” you said after a while, breaking the quiet. “For, you know... looking out for me.”

Logan’s pencil paused again, and he glanced up. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” you insisted, your eyes meeting his. “You didn’t have to. But you did.”

Logan shifted, looking slightly uncomfortable with the gratitude, but his eyes softened. “I told you. You’re important.”

That word again—important. You wanted to ask him why, wanted to press him on what he really meant by that, but something in his expression told you he wasn’t ready to answer. Not yet.

“Just… stay outta trouble,” Logan said, his voice dropping into something rougher, more serious. “I’d rather not have to pull you out of any more messes.”

You smiled, trying to keep things light. “I’ll do my best. But, you know, being a nurse in the middle of a war, trouble kinda finds me.”

Logan let out a soft huff of a laugh, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

The sky was growing darker now, the last traces of sunlight fading. You knew you should probably head back to the barracks soon, but something kept you rooted to the spot, standing beside him. The air between you felt charged, like there was something unspoken hanging there, waiting to be acknowledged.

“Logan,” you began, your voice quiet but steady. “Why does it feel like you’ve been watching me? Not just looking out for me, but... like you’ve known me.”

Logan’s jaw tightened. His eyes shifted, as if he was deciding whether to answer that. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, waiting for his response.

“I haven’t,” he said finally, though his voice lacked conviction. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”

The way he said it made you frown. “What does that mean?”

Logan’s gaze held yours, intense and searching. There was a flicker of something there—regret? Pain? Before you could figure it out, he looked away, his fingers tightening around the edges of the notebook.

“It means… I don’t want you to get hurt,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “Not again.”

Again. There it was—a crack in the wall he’d built around himself. But before you could push him on it, Logan stood abruptly, tucking the notebook under his arm.

“You should get some rest,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes. “Long day tomorrow.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift. “Logan—”

But he was already walking away, his back stiff and his pace quick. You watched him go, your mind spinning with more questions than answers. Something was going on with Logan—something bigger than you’d realized.

And you had a feeling you weren’t going to let it go until you found out the truth.

---

The next morning you found out that Logan had already gone on some mission to Sicily. You weren’t sure why you felt sad, maybe a bit betrayed that he left without saying goodbye, but you did.

You had only known him for a few days, but somehow it seemed longer.

You couldn’t just stand around and dwell on Logan leaving without a goodbye. There was work to do. You made your way to the medical tent where a doctor had been prepping for a surgery. As you stepped inside, the familiar scent of antiseptic hit your nose, grounding you in the moment.

"Y/N, glad you’re here. We’ve got a soldier with a bullet wound to the abdomen," the doctor said, his tone brisk. "I need your hands steady and sharp today."

You nodded, pushing thoughts of Logan to the back of your mind. "Got it, Doctor."

The surgery went on for hours, the steady rhythm of your breathing matching the precise movements of your hands as you assisted. It was intense, but you had no time to be distracted. Life and death were real here, and your job was to fight for life.

When the surgery was finally over, the soldier stabilized, you stepped outside the tent to catch your breath. The sky was still overcast, and the damp air felt heavy. You leaned against a wooden post, your hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline.

Logan was gone, but the memory of him lingered. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d left something unsaid. There had been too many moments—too many heavy, unspoken words between you. You tried to brush it off. It had only been a few days since you’d met him, after all. But somehow, it felt like more.

"Y/N."

You looked up to see one of the other nurses approaching. "Yeah?"

"You’ve been requested to assist with another unit. They’re setting up a temporary hospital closer to the front lines. It’ll be rough, but they need experienced hands."

You hesitated. The front lines meant more danger, more chaos. But the soldier in you—the part that was here to help, to make a difference—knew you couldn’t say no.

"When do I leave?" you asked, straightening up.

"Tomorrow morning, first light."

You nodded, giving a small smile. "Thanks for the heads-up."

That night, you tried to sleep, but your mind kept wandering back to Logan. To his last words before he’d left—"I don’t want you to get hurt. Not again." What had he meant by ‘again’? It kept echoing in your mind, nagging at you.

---

The next morning came quickly, and before you knew it, you were being packed into a truck heading closer to the front lines. The landscape passed by in a blur, and the closer you got to the new camp, the louder the sounds of war became. Shells exploded in the distance, and the ground seemed to vibrate with tension.

You spent the next few days in a haze of blood, bandages, and exhaustion. There was barely any time to think, let alone dwell on Logan. But still, every once in a while, your thoughts drifted to him—wondering where he was, what he was doing. If he was safe.

It was late one night, a few days into your new assignment, when the unexpected happened. The sirens had started to blare, lights flashing around camp. That could only mean one thing- you were under attack. And judging by the loud engines overhead, none of you were going to make it out alive.

---

Logan had gone with other soldiers to Sicily for Operation Husky. He didn’t want to leave you, but part of him thought, hoped, that maybe he was your bad luck charm.

Logan stared at the coastline of Sicily, but his mind was elsewhere. The mission was straightforward—get in, clear the path for the troops, and secure the area. But no matter how focused he tried to stay, thoughts of you kept creeping back in. He wondered if you were safe. He hoped, for your sake, that you weren’t thinking about him as much as he was thinking about you.

It was torture, being away. But deep down, Logan believed it was better this way. Maybe him being around was what doomed you every time. You had died three times before, and each time, he had been there. Maybe this time, distance would keep you safe.

But that didn’t stop him from wanting you. The thought of your smile, your laughter, the way you challenged him—it made him ache with something deeper than just desire. It was like an old wound that never healed, no matter how fast the rest of him did.

One of the soldiers called his name, pulling him from his thoughts. “Logan, you with us, man?”

He grunted in response, nodding toward the others. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Good,” the guy said. “We’re heading out.”

Logan followed, but his thoughts drifted again, back to you. He had promised himself he wouldn’t get attached this time. But it was too late for that. He’d been attached since 1854, since that first smile, that first laugh.

---

It was a few days before Logan made it back to base, one closer to the frontlines. The mission had gone as planned, but something gnawed at him, an uneasy feeling he couldn’t shake.

As soon as the base came into view, Logan noticed something was off. Smoke still lingered in the air, and there were fewer people around than there should’ve been. His gut twisted. Something had happened while he was gone.

He found one of the soldiers he recognized, grabbing him by the arm. “What happened here?”

The guy’s face darkened. “We were hit. Bombing raid. Caught us off guard. There... there weren’t many survivors.”

Logan’s heart dropped. “Where’s the hospital unit?”

The soldier hesitated, eyes flicking away from Logan’s intense gaze. “It was one of the first targets. No one made it out.”

Logan felt like the ground had dropped from under him. “What do you mean, no one?” His voice was a low growl, almost dangerous.

The soldier shook his head. “I’m sorry, man. They didn’t stand a chance.”

Logan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. The world around him blurred as the words sank in. You were gone. Again.

Without saying another word, Logan turned and walked toward what was left of the hospital tent. He had to see it for himself, even though part of him knew it was true. There was nothing left but rubble and debris.

His chest tightened, the weight of it crushing. You were gone. And he hadn’t been there to stop it. Again.

Logan stood there for what felt like hours, staring at the wreckage. He felt that familiar, burning anger rising inside him, but it was mixed with something else this time—grief. Deep, raw grief. He wanted to scream, to punch something, anything, but all he could do was stand there, numb.

He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the small velvet box he always carried with him. The engagement ring. The one he had never used.

It had been almost ninety years since he bought it. And still, he carried it, hoping one day he might finally be able to give it to you. But every time, every life, you slipped through his fingers.

Logan swallowed hard, his throat tight. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. How many more times he could lose you.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough with emotion.

He had thought putting distance between you two would protect you. But it didn’t matter. You were gone, just like the other times.

And now, once again, he was left with nothing but memories and that damned ring.

in this chapter logan is 111 years old and reader is around 24-27 years old.

[acmeangel]

Regrets | One Shot

Postwar!Levi one shot. A bit angsty. SFW. Postwar!Levi struggles with feelings of guilt, regret, and self-worth, and he finally talks to you about it. Word Count: 1487 (I couldn't stop thinking about Levi dealing with the aftermath of everything, adjusting to his new physical state, and how he'd feel about having been responsible for the kids on Levi Squad.)

Levi has a hard time accepting help from you. You have to help him in little ways, ways that feel natural.

Some nights, you massage his hand where the fingers are missing because you can tell by the tension in his forehead that it's bothering him. When you're reading together, you always sit on his left side, where he can see you better. You subtly place things -- teacups, books, pens, his folded piles of clothes -- within his reach from his wheelchair.

He'd never ask you directly to do any of this.

God, no.

He considers it a miracle that you'd settled for him in the first place - and a fragile one, at that. To him, your relationship is a house of cards. If he makes one unpredictable movement, says one shitty comment that came out wrong, places one more burden on you, it'll fall apart in his hands.

To him, he's no better than an ugly, battered stray dog with a bad history of biting. And he wants, so badly, to be good, for you.

He thinks you're attached to him by a fraying thread that could break from a breeze; you know his soul, his heart are stitched onto yours.

So, you help him.

And when he talks about it all, which is rare, you listen.

The first time you made him dinner, he ate all of the sides, then pushed the meat around with his fork for a while, before saying he'd lost his appetite.

Later, without looking at you, he told you, "One of the kids. From before. She was obsessed with food. It was disgusting, the only thing she ever talked about. Her last damn word was 'meat'. Fucking ridiculous." He took a long pause, then added, "I didn't even hear it, though. I... was in the other room."

He's never brought it up again.

Another time, he came home, muttering about how Gabi said something that sounded like something Eren would say. You lost track of how long he sat by the window, looking into his teacup that night.

You've seen him interact with Gabi and Falco a few times before. You see the wheels turn in his head before he says anything to them, as if he has to triple-check his words.

That, so far, was the only other time he's mentioned any of those kids.

He's told you about his other fallen friends and comrades before -- not in too much detail, but enough. But, those were adults. This is different.

When it came to that group of kids, he barely said a word. Really, you only knew their names, and the papers were partially to blame for that.

You wish, more than anything, that he'd open up to you. You know that he tries.

You're at home, now, and you hear the front door open and close. Your eyes fixate on the doorway to the living room, where he'd always appear. Normally, he'd go to you, place a bag from the bakery in your lap (he'd tell you some excuse about it being on the way home, but really, he just liked how those stupidly fancy pastries made you stupidly happy). Normally, he'd hold your hand and listen to your stories from the day -- things that made you laugh, complaints, the book you're reading. Normally, he'd make small comments as you talked, or scoff, or grunt in agreement. Sometimes, he'd even laugh, briefly.

But this time, he doesn't appear in the doorway. You rise from the couch and make your way down the hall, the warm glow of the bathroom light from under the door catching your eye. You stop outside the door and listen, to make sure he's okay, but you hear nothing.

You stand there for a while, until you hear a soft "Fuck."

You knock on the door, lightly. "Levi, you okay?" Your eyes sear into the door, as if your gaze alone is enough to open it, for him to let you in.

"Yeah, fine." His voice is rough, low. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Can I come in?"

The question hangs in the air for a small eternity.

A long sigh. "Okay."

You open the bathroom door. The abandoned wheelchair catches your gaze first. Then you see him, standing - standing - at the sink, clutching onto the edge of it, knuckles burning white with unyielding determination that borders on desperation. The muscles in his arms look like ropes. His head is tilted downward; he feels like that dog.

"Levi." It's the only word you can say.

"I know," he says, teeth gritted, and he can't meet your eye. To him, he doesn't deserve to see whatever sympathy is in your gaze - it'd only be wasted.

"Come here." Your voice is soft, gentle, and you stretch your arms out to him. It takes a long moment, but he finally accepts. His hands grab onto your arms as you help lower him back into his wheelchair. You kneel next to him, you take his hand in yours.

"Levi," you say, your voice urging him to look at you, "Talk to me. What's going on? You know you can't stand like that..."

He looks at you, finally, and though his expression gives away nothing, you can sense the despair, hidden away in the corners of his eyes.

"I can't do anything, Y/N," he says. "I couldn't do anything then, I can't do anything now. I can't even take a shit without almost falling first."

Your grip on his hand tightens. Your thumb traces circles on his wrist, and you can feel his heart racing.

"Did something happen today?"

"No. Yes. Fucking hell." He takes a breath. "Gabi asked me something today. I don't remember what. Doesn't matter. But, I don't know where she got the idea that I'm someone to go to for advice. Maybe I'm just being an asshole about it."

"Levi," you try to soothe him. "Whatever it was, she asked you because she trusts you. She knows you, she was there with you through... a lot. And, even aside from that... you have so much to offer. You might not see it, but you help me all the time."

"Offer?" The word barely makes a sound. "You know what was one of the first pieces of advice I ever gave Eren? I told the little bastard to make the decisions he wanted, whether it meant betting on his own strength or trusting the rest of us. I told him to do whatever he wanted, as long as it'd make him have no regrets."

"Is that what this is all about?" Your free hand finds his knee, a gentle pressure. His eyes look into yours, pleading, as if they're the only things keeping him anchored.

"God." He whispers, his voice more strained than you've ever heard. He breathes in sharply, a slight tremor to his breath. You see the veins in his neck strain. "What the hell were they thinking? Putting me in charge of those kids, as if I had any right to be, what, some sort of moral compass? Me? All I did is let them get blood on their hands. I didn't even try to stop them. And now I can't take my own shitty advice."

Your eyes remain locked into his; if he's the ship in a storm, you'll be the sails.

"You did the best you could," you whisper, so delicately, as if the air surrounding you both could shatter. "And I know you don't want to hear that. But, it's the truth. And your advice wasn't shitty, it was realistic. All of you were faced with impossible odds, and you did the best with what little you had. There wasn't an outcome where everyone would've made it, unscathed. I know you know that. And I know that none of those kids regret having you as their Captain."

His jaw clenches so hard you see it in his temples. He pulls you closer, with an urgency you've never seen from him before. Really, you've never seen any of this from him before.

His face finds its way to the crook of your neck, where it fits perfectly. It always has.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" His words are muffled against your skin. But before you can answer, he cries. He cries. Not hard, not even with sound. But you feel the hot tears press against the skin of your neck; you feel, for a moment, as if it could leave a permanent mark, somehow.

"Nothing, Levi," you whisper, your hand stroking the back of his hair, your other arm wrapped around his back. "You're only human. And I'll do my best to prove that to you. I'll be gentle with you, even when you don't think you deserve it. Especially then."

Human. Distinctly, not a dog. Not a tool. Not a weapon.

"I have so many regrets, Y/N. But you'll never be one of them. I'm sure of that."

Masterlist

Requests are open!

[hai7ani]

mmmm no super great ideas for you but im craving for virgin!rindou and single mom reader… aaaaaauhagghg.

collection

慢一點，久一點，真一點。

Rindou initiates the talk first.

It happens on a game of WNRS in your living room, takeout boxes long forgotten on the coffee table. The TV is playing a movie you're sure neither of you are really watching, yet you still want to pretend that you are.

You've been giggling at him for the past hour. He's a pretty funny guy, you think. Doesn't have as big of an ego you thought guys like him would have.

He's a nerd who's always so observant and nice. He's nice to you, your son, the ladies living in your apartment complex who always needs help switching light bulbs because they're too old for that now. One time behind doors Yuzuha's said that she'd smash if he weren't such a loser all the time.

(You think he is, too.

But it's what that makes him so... fuckable.

You think it's bad that you keep having these thoughts, knowing that you're most probably leading him on.

You're not ready yet.

But your heart still thumps weirdly when he comes to visit with warm food and occasionally new toys that you can tell he's had a hard time picking for your boy 一 because he's somehow always one colour off, or one category away.

When he bought Hot Wheels, the kid's already moved on to playing Legos. And when he gifted an expensive Star Wars set that he saved up for, the little shit just has to be in his Mommy phase.)

He gets embarrassed easily and you can just tell he's a virgin with the way he treats porn magazines that Yuzuha has somehow gotten her hands on, stuffed behind cabinets so that Shou doesn't find them. Neither of you let her know that she's been exposed, but it's more fun this way.

He's just a guy. Genuine, very smart despite what he says. Not book smart, but he reads up on things a lot. A bit clumsy at times, but he's still responsive than most men.

He's easy to talk to. Easy to know.

Easy to一

"What's a compliment you wished you received more frequently? Oh, dang. I gotta think about this." He flips the card around, throwing his head back onto the couch.

And yet again一

"Do you wanna go first?"

What are guys like him?

"I wish more people told me I was pretty."

Your response came to you naturally. It poured like waterfall, thorny chain tightening around your heart, squeezing your flesh tight, and you busy yourself with a loose thread on your blanket.

Rindou only stares at you from the other end of the couch. Almost like a deadpan, but not really. His violets pierce through your soul, dissecting you up one by one. You don't make eye contact even when you can hear the silent screams for you to look at him.

"You're kidding."

"What? It's true."

"No. I mean, no one tells you that all the time?"

You crack a smile, glancing up to take just one quick look. He's still as handsome as ever, boyish features much more prominent under the yellow light illuminating the room.

Soft nose, pretty doe eyes. Cracked lips pink from the Malatang you love eating. Veiny hands 一 one thick, desirable finger twirling around the drawstring of his pants 一 that draws you in so close you can't help but go wild at the sight.

"What, you think I'm pretty?"

He doesn't cough like you'd expected him to. Doesn't get embarrassed or act any more like a classic, textbook virgin at your poke.

"Yeah. You're pretty." His voice gets softer with every syllable. Dodgy eyes looking away with each word.

You don't respond at that, but you can't lie that his compliment did make you feel something swirling on the inside. Something blooming in your tummy from the way his eyes look into your own.

It's true 一 you haven't been told for your looks as much as you've always wanted. You're hot, you're sexy, sure 一 but you haven't been pretty to them. You've always hoped that they could see past your body 一 to see you for who you are on the inside.

"You're一" He shifts in his seat, suddenly feeling a little too hot, heart beating a little too fast in his chest. "You're pretty, okay. You always spend too much time in the mirror but I think you're fine just like this."

You purse your lips, listening.

"You're... Shit, I'm一"

You understand him when he throws his pillow to the side to run fingers through his hair. He's not always good with words, hasn't always been. But he still tries, and you like that about him.

He always puts in effort.

"You're pretty, like music. There's no boundaries, no... box. You can be anything. It's cool."

You grin at that. "Really?"

A nod. "I can tell you that everyday from now on."

An awkward silence too heavy for any of you to handle covers the room like blanket too fast. The soft, anticipating smirk on his face drops when you shift in your seat, clicking your tongue. Fingers scratching at your brows, teeth biting into the corners of your lips.

"Rindou, I'm sorry if I have been leading you on, I一" You sigh. "I don't think I'm ready for一."

"No, wait一" He tries inching a hand towards you but you dodge. "I thought we一 Aren't we onto something here?"

Rindou feels pathetic. He feels as if he's reaching for something that seems close but is still so, so far away.

"No, I'm sorry. I'll pay you back for tonight's dinner. And I don't think you should come over so often anymore. I'll talk to Shou-chan, have him understand."

He lets out a breath too short, standing on his feet as if it'll help him figure you out better. "Why? Is it me?"

"I just don't think it's fair to you, okay? We should stop. I'm sorry."

"What isn't fair to me?"

You give him a look so sad that his heart hurts.

"You're gonna be dealing with a kid that's not yours. He's hyperactive and naughty before bed. He's picky with food and doesn't like taking showers. Worst of all you're gonna be dealing with me. I'm not easy. I'm difficult to manage, to handle, to一 You'll not like me anymore when you see it for yourself. Guys like you deserve better things."

Fuck.

Rindou scrunches his brows, face twisting into one of confusion, one that makes you seem crazy for saying what you said.

"Why do you say these things about yourself? Why do you say these things about him? He's just a kid, I'm not good with kids but I'm sure I can handle him out of all." He throws his hands up in the air a little. "And, seriously, guys like me? What am I like? Why do you assume that way about me? I'm not that kind of person. I don't like doing that."

You fight the tears threatening to fall. It hurts, to say the least.

"Like, why do you think I've been around for so long? I would've turned on my back long ago if you and Shou were so hard to love."

requests are open

[mytardisisparked]

Shirts

Scully wakes up one morning to realize her usual shirts don't fit anymore.

Read on AO3.

She’s at Mulder’s apartment when she wakes up one morning and realizes that her blouse is way too tight to wear to work. The buttons at her middle are fit to pop and the whole thing is pulling until there are sizeable gaps between the strained buttons that show… well, everything.

With a sigh, she wrestles herself out of the shirt and silently bemoans the hubris that kept her from accepting her mother’s offer to help her shop for maternity clothes last weekend. She thought she had more time.

That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? Always thinking we have more time…

She swallows hard and digs through her side of Mulder’s closet for a different blouse. Everything there is the same size as the one she just tried to put on. She considers, for a moment, just re-wearing her shirt from yesterday – Sunday – but it’s more casual than she would prefer, especially since she feels she has an image of professionalism to maintain in light of her increasingly-evident condition.

She hasn’t heard any of the rumors – she suspects she may have Agent Doggett to thank for that – but she knows they’re circulating. She’s seen the shared looks and not-so-subtle glances when she walks through the upstairs offices. Most of the bureau must know by now that she’s pregnant and have a solid idea of who the father is.

Her skin crawls to think of what people might say, not because she’s ashamed in any way, but because she knows that no one will ever understand the depth of her relationship with Mulder; no one can grasp exactly what he meant to her and what she meant to him. They will think of tawdry nights out on the road or locked doors in their downstairs office, rather than the encompassing love and comfort and friendship that lay between them. The rumors will make their relationship sound cheap and dirty when it was anything but. 

And then there are the people who will romanticize it, who will imagine her grief and try to sympathize when they have no real idea of how large the gaping hole in her heart is. They will never fully understand that Mulder had become her whole world, their lives entangled in a beautiful and painful and confusing way that even she isn’t sure how to define. She loved him, and still does, but they were so much more than just love. They were more than any simple word in this language or any other. The hollow sympathies and the cards and the flowers will mean nothing, if they ever come. They can never fully encapsulate who she and Mulder were, together.

And so, she isn’t sure what’s worse – the scorn or the pity. She’s glad she hasn’t heard any of it. She hopes she never does.

Her eyes slide from her own shirts to Mulder’s. There are a few missing; she has been slowly taking them out to sleep with, one by one, as Mulder’s cedar-y scent wears off. She grabs a light blue one and slides it over her arms and shoulders, starting to button it up. 

It fits. Not perfectly, but it lays over her stomach and breasts comfortably. The shoulders are a bit large and she will certainly have to roll the sleeves, but the fit reminds her, in a way, of the looser suits and blouses she wore when she was younger, when she first started working in the X-Files.

She stands in the mirror, taking in the shirt and her face and the bump at her waist that is becoming more and more apparent. The shirt might be reminiscent of her younger days, but the rest of her is not; there are dark circles under her eyes and her cheeks look more hollow than they ever have. Her mother would say she looks haggard, if Maggie Scully weren’t too kind to make any comment on her appearance at all, aside from the occasional “you look a bit tired, darling,” or “I think you’re starting to show, dear. I can tell if you turn just the right way.”

Scully sighs and rolls the sleeves, sliding her jacket over it. She turns in the mirror and decides that her appearance is acceptable.

When she arrives at work, she sees Agent Doggett do a subtle double-take at her outfit. He seems to consider it for a moment before turning back to his work without comment.

She lets out a breath as she sits at her desk and opens a file.

—

Despite her mother’s repeated offers to help her shop for maternity wear, Scully continues to wear Mulder’s shirts. She washes them in his washer and dryer, using his brand of detergent and dryer sheets in the hopes of making them smell more like him. It helps, she thinks. Maybe.

A kind coworker from the fingerprinting lab gifts her a couple of maternity shirts that she had purchased but never worn during her own pregnancy. Scully smiles and accepts them, but they never leave her closet.

The material of some of Mulder’s shirts is a bit stiff and scratchy. She wears them anyway, over a tee or a tank on the days when her skin feels too sensitive. 

Her stomach itches now from the stretching. At night, she sometimes imagines that it’s Mulder’s warm hands applying lotion to her abdomen instead of her own. She can almost feel his breath brushing her neck and tickling her hair if she closes her eyes.

Though she’s been able to feel the baby kicking on the inside for a bit now, the first time she can feel it from the outside is during one of the times she’s applying lotion. A tiny foot presses against her fingertips and she immediately falls apart, thinking of how excited Mulder would have been to feel that first kick.

She still uses lotion after that, but she refuses to think of Mulder while she applies it. She can’t.

She still wraps herself in his shirts every day.

Her mother stops offering to help her shop. Instead, she brings by a bottle of Mulder’s brand of detergent.

—

Eventually, Mulder’s shirts no longer fit.

She’s almost through her seventh month now, and his shirts fit almost as poorly as her own did the first day she started wearing them. 

On the weekends she wears his sweatshirts, which are still mostly loose. During the week days, she wears sweaters.

She calls her mom. They go shopping. It’s a quiet affair, but they come home with a good handful of pants, blouses, and casual shirts for just about any occasion.

She still wears his sweatshirts on the weekends, even as they grow tighter. The material is soft and the fabric still smells faintly of him. Something about it holds the scent longer, she thinks. Or, perhaps, it’s just her imagination –the ghost of a scent lingering around the Oxford lettering.

Who cares? It feels good. It feels better.

She’s never heard the office gossip, not even a whisper. She does hear Doggett snapping at a pair of agents in the 3rd floor breakroom once, not long after she starts wearing sweaters instead of Mulder’s button-ups, but she never finds out what they had said to invoke Doggett’s anger. She doesn’t ask, and he doesn’t say.

He brings her hot chocolate sometimes. And ginger tea for her stomach. She remembers one day, as he hands her a mug of cocoa with extra marshmallows, that John Doggett was a father once. She wonders if her own impending parenthood brings up any painful memories for him. If it does, he never gives even the slightest indication. Instead, he asks her things like how she’s feeling, how her checkup appointments go, and if she’s still craving green olives. (“I picked up a jar last night. In case of emergencies.”)

She takes the olives appreciatively and eats the whole jar in one sitting.

—

When Mulder returns, she gives back his shirts. He gives her a small smile and lets her help him rehang them in the closet next to hers. 

Things are a bit tense. He’s still not fully back, still feeling discombobulated from missing almost half a year of his life. Of her life. 

She can see the flashbacks in his eyes. He’s remembering things – slowly, painfully – from his abduction. He flinches at the sound of a saw from the construction site across from his apartment complex. He pulls away when a nurse tries to grab his wrist to check his pulse. He won’t lace his boots around his ankles. Unpredictable sensations threaten to overwhelm him and she feels terrible that she can’t even fathom how to protect him from it.

She feels even worse that he seems resistant to letting her try.

They sleep apart for a few days. She cries and doesn’t even try to blame it on the hormones. 

He calls her in the evening on his fourth day home from the hospital and asks if she’s seen his favorite Oxford University sweatshirt; “the blue one with the boxy lettering.” She realizes it’s still in her bag of things she had her mother bring her at the hospital, and she offers to return it to him that night. 

He invites her into his apartment. She settles on the couch and gives the sweatshirt back, feeling a bit of loss as the treasured, Mulder-scented fabric leaves her fingers. Still, he smiles genuinely and thanks her, and she supposes that’s a sort of recompense.

He puts it on and freezes, looking down at it. The middle is stretched out a bit from Scully wearing it.

“Mulder, I’m so sorry. Maybe with a good wash and dry we could fix-”

Mulder shakes his head and takes it off. “No. No, it’s-” He swallows and Scully tilts her head at him, brows furrowed. 

He offers her a hand, helping her to her feet and then, a bit awkwardly, he lifts her arms up and slides the sweatshirt over her head and down her arms until its snugly fitted over her and her belly. 

He swallows again and blinks. “Yeah, that’s, um. That’s better.” 

In a second, she’s wrapped securely in his arms and wrapping him securely in hers. Between them, she can feel their baby kick. Mulder gives a watery laugh and hugs her more tightly.

And she thinks, for a moment, that he’s more comfortable than any shirt.

[cinewhore]

The Only Exception - extended cut

Pairing: Michael Berzatto x fem!reader - Carmen Berzatto & fem!reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: mentions of drinking, toxic family dynamics, smut 18+ (groping, male receiving oral, penetration, unprotected sex, facial cumshot), canon death, angst and fluff. 

A/N: I wrote something a tad bit sadder and decided not to post it because the episode (s2 ep 6) was bad enough but why not? Dedicated to my lovely friend @spiderispunk​. No beta cause I don’t wanna. Ignore all spelling errors. Hope y'all enjoy. Credits to the gif creator. 

Nothing ever goes smoothly with the Berzatto’s.

Why you thought this holiday dinner was going to be any different was beyond any rational comprehension.

Trying not to be a complete klutz and ruin the side dish you’ve been working on the entire day, you delicately balance it in your left hand while adjusting your scarf tighter around your neck with your right. Putting a pep in your step, you round the corner from where you parked, spotting the stoop instantly.

It was a rare sighting to see all three of the Berzatto siblings together. With Carmy being away at culinary school, Mikey doing his own thing with the restaurant and Natalie living her life, one person always missed the other. It warmed your heart to see just how much they cared about each other, even if they didn’t show it in a normal or healthy way.

“Is that who I think it is?” Mikey’s voice booms over the light traffic passing by, handing Carmy the cigarette he was puffing on.

You crack a smile, despite it feeling like your lips were stuck together due to the cold weather. “Sorry, I’m a bit late. Fuckin’ cat had my keys.”

“How many times did I tell you to get rid of the cat?” Mikey leans down to kiss you but you turn your head, forcing him to peck you on the cheek instead.

“C’mon, baby.” he drawls, throwing you a bashful smile.

You huff out a sigh, lowering your voice. “You know I hate the smoking.”

Mikey nods, face fading into something serious before vanishing. “I know you do. You didn’t bring fish, did you?”

Side-stepping the tall Berzatto, you get pulled into a hug by Natalie, followed by Carmen.

“Hello, gorgeous! It’s so good to see you!” Natalie kisses you on both cheeks before making the move to grab the dish out of your hands. You pull back, shooting her a look.

“Nat, please. I got it.”

“Are you sure?” you watch as her bottom lip quivers a bit. You steal a glance at Carmy, who just shakes his head..

“Fuck. How bad is it?” you gaze at the disheveled trio, awaiting an answer.

Finally, Mikey breaks the silence.

“It’s at a five. Six, at best.”

You lick your lips, rocking back and forth on your heels. “That’s not too bad, right?”

“Right.” Carmy agrees, with Natalie humming in agreement.

“Just don’t fucking ask if she’s doing ok.” Mikey glimpses at his sister, placing hand on your lower back to guide you into the house.

You take a deep breath and exhale through your nose, plastering a smile on your face before entering the shit show.

You’d only been there an hour and you were called the wrong name three times, objectified, cursed at and now Fak was trying to get you to put up five hundred dollars for baseball cards.

Listening with great intent, nodding at all the right times, twirling the wine in glass in your hands desperately wanting to get another refill had your social energy spent.

“We could make you a lot of money, cousin.” Fak goes on, nudging his brother for support.

“Yeah-yeah! Think about what you could do with fifteen hundred bucks! Cold hard cash!” Theodore chimes in.

“Wow, no, yeah this-this sounds like the opportunity of a lifetime.” you murmur. Don’t take it the wrong way, you loved Fak. His personality was infectious, you’ve never seen him get overly angry despite the other guys giving him shit and he genuinely goes out of his way to help everyone. Back when you first started dating Mikey and moved apartments in the city, Fak volunteered to make sure your place was in tiptoe shape and refused payment.

Just then Steve, Michelle’s husband, passes by and you seize your opportunity.

“Steve! How are you?” you beckon him over, scooting over on the tiny couch so he could sit beside you.

“Ah, yes. Mikey’s girl who we aren’t sure how he managed to snag. Good to see you again.”

You brush off his comment with a tired smile, gesturing to Fak and his brother. “So, these guys have a proposition for you, right?”

You nod enthusiastically with them, giving Fak a secret wink.

“Oh, yes! Yes! Do you like baseball cards, Steve?”

“On that note,” you stand up and maneuver yourself out the nook. “I’m gonna go get a refill. Leave you gentlemen to handle business.”

Mocking a military salute, you dash towards the kitchen bypassing other members of the family.

Donna flurries around the kitchen, shouting instructions to no one in particular. You didn’t greet her as soon as you came in, knowing how she gets around this time of the year. To be honest, you were sure that she didn’t exactly like you.

“Donna, my goodness! You look wonderful.” you lay the complement on sweetly, smiling brightly. If you don’t wilt in her presence, she wouldn’t be able to smell the fear on you.

Donna swivels her head to look at you, cigarette dangling from her lipstick smeared lips. Eyes lined in thick mascara, her disapproving expression ripples through you. You smile wider.

“I brought over a little casserole. I figured it would compliment the fish nicely.”

Shifting to face you fully, Donna crosses her arms. “Casserole? What casserole?”

You point to the tin foiled dish. “That one. Mikey brought in, did he not tell you?”

She scoffs. “Yeah, just like he told me about him breaking things off with what’s her name.”

“Anna.” you mutter, swallowing the lump that quietly made its way up your throat.

“Yeah, Anna.” Donna turns back to the task at hand, haphazardly swinging a knife about. “I liked her better.”

Forgoing your much desired glass of wine, you stalk out of the kitchen. On the outside looking in, the Berzatto’s appeared to be your average family. The warm glow of the lights shining out into the frost covered sidewalks invited you in all those years ago and once inside, you then realized why people were so hesitant to accept invites or why Mikey refused to bring up his past.

You didn’t have this growing up. Your family life was much quieter, mom and dad both kept to themselves. Distant cousins never visited for the holidays and you were an only child so there weren’t any siblings to fall back on.

It was boring.

Drove you crazy.

So when the Berzatto’s welcomed you in with open arms (well, some of them) you threw yourselves to the wolves willingly. It helped you grow a thick skin, talk over people and man handle the biggest guys in the room. For that, you were thankful.

A hand reaches out and grabs your wrist, dragging you away from everyone and up the stairs. Mikey is headstrong in his quest to get you alone, not caring to see if you were keeping up the pace. You both stagger inside his room, the door shut soundly behind you, followed by the lock turning.

Mikey doesn’t give you a second to react, mouth leaving open tongued kisses along your jaw and collarbone, hands working at tugging up your skirt.

“Mikey, baby, baby, wait-” you plead, backing up to create space between the two of you.

He flops onto the bed, hands on his knees, fingers raking through his hair again and again.

You’re careful as you sit next to him, scratching your own fingers along the center of his back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” is all he utters.

“Bullshit. Talk to me.”

He doesn’t have to say anything else, you get it. The party continues below you both, profanities and insults flying like it's nobody's business. It was too much. For Mikey, Camry, anyone. The more time you spent with his family, the more you realized why Carmen never came back to visit.

Why Mikey feels trapped.

“I know.” you whisper against his shoulder, mouthing pressing in tiny kisses. You lift his head up with both of your hands, cradling his face gingerly. The tiredness exudes for nearly every crevice, eye bags worn and solidified. You use your thumb to smooth out his forehead, laughing softly when he wrinkles it more.

“You’ll always have me, Berzatto.”

“I don’t deserve you. Never did.”

You tut. “That’s not true. You’ve always had me. From the moment you sold me that greasy, sloppy sandwich down at The Beef. I was a goner.”

Mikey chuckles, leaning into your hands more. “I got you something.”

Your eyes go wide, brows forming a skeptical look. “Is that so?”

Mikey flickers his eyes down to his pants and you scoff.

“Wow, Michael. Are you gifting me your penis? Again? I must’ve been too nice this year.” you gently slap his face is mock anger.

“Haha,” he deadpans. “Try my pockets, detective wiseass.”

You let go of his face and rummage through his pants pocket, producing a ball of torn tissue paper, kept together by a single piece of tape. Confused but curious, you unwrap the gift, facing dropping as your eyes find his.

The tissue tumbles to the ground, revealing a necklace. At the bottom of it dangled a charm of…cheese?

“I remember the first day you came into the shop. Like a goddamn bat outta hell. Never seen anything like it. You ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and asked for, um, what was it?”

“Havarti-”

That’s right! Fuckin’ havarti cheese! What the hell even is that?”

“How do you own a sandwich shop and not provide a variety of cheeses, I don’t understand it.”

Mikey gawks at you. “Babe, we’re called The Beef. Not the cheese. But you wanna know what I did?”

You encourage him to finish, as if you didn’t know the rest of the story.

“I told you to wait and-and I was gonna go check in the back. I booked it out of the back door, all the way down to Malik’s corner store and bought the most expensive cheese he had. I rush back to the shop and guess what?”

“You made the sandwich.”

Mikey’s face cracks into the biggest grin you’d ever seen, eyes crinkled at the corners. “I made the goddamn sandwich. Brought it out to you myself. Told you that we didn’t serve grilled cheese but for you, I’d make an exception.”

Your eyes well over in tears and you blink rapidly to keep them from falling. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has done for me, ya know.”

“You’re telling me all I had to do was buy you some cheese to get in your pants? Hot damn.”

You playfully shove Mikey back against the bed, crawling over to straddle him. “Well, it worked after a while, didn’t it?”

Mikey thrusts upwards, growing erection sliding against your damp underwear.

“It sure did.”

He grabs the back of your neck, surging up to slot his mouth against yours. You aren’t delicate in the way you claw at him, nails digging into his tanned flesh. Pushing up your skirt, Mikey palms your ass, stroking it before landing a hard smack against it. You moan into his neck, biting down.

“Perkiest ass I’ve ever seen, baby, shit.” Mikey groans, voice an octave deeper.

“And it’s yours. All yours.”

Mikey secures the back of your head as he flips the two of you over, pushing you down on your stomach. You do the rest of the work for him, sticking your ass up, and curving your back into an arch.

Mikey readily pulls down the zipper of his pants, hands readjusting his briefs until he is able to free himself. Spitting obscenely in his palm, Mikeuy shoves your panties to the side and rubs his silvia across your slickness. You buck back into him, whimpering when he graces you with a lone finger to loosen you up. You whine, and wiggle your ass some more, ready to receive all that he was going to give you.

“Gonna give my baby what she wants, don’t you worry.” Mikey purrs, aligning himself to enter you. He slides in easily, the strained sigh as he fully situates him inside you never ceases to make you wetter.

You pull yourself up so that you were resting on your hands, peeking over your shoulder to catch a gaze at Mikey as you being to fuck him. He was enthralled at the sight of his cock pumping in and out of you, the way you were able to handle him without saying a single word.

He would love to take his time and thoroughly explore your cunt but time is of the essence. Wrapping his right hand around your neck once again, he yanks you up into a deeper arch, left hand on your hip in a deathgrip. He meets your thrusts with his own, dropping his left leg down on the floor to gain some balance.

Between the familial bickering creeping up the stairs, all that could be heard was the squelching of your pussy and the labored breathing of Mikey, muffled praises spurring you on further.

He slaps your ass again and you tighten around him, eyes rolling to the top of your head as you attempt to hold onto his arms for dear life.

“Mikey, oh fucking god, baby you’re gonna make me come so hard. Please, please, please!”

He answers you by sticking his fingers in your mouth and you automatically clamp down on them, sucking and gagging until spit dribbles down the side of your mouth.

Mikey picks up speed and the line breaks as you reach your peak, legs stiffening as you rear back against Mikey. He continues to fuck, albeit at a slower tempo, humming as you spasm against him.

“That’s my girl, my favorite fucking girl. Where do you want mine, huh? Tell me where you want it.”

He removes his fingers and lets them trail down to tease and pick at your hardened nipples that now poke through your shirt.

“I wanna taste. Want it in my mouth.”

“Fuck.” Mikey lets you go and you catch yourself before you fall completely face first into the bed.

“Get on your knees, now.”

You do as you're told, scurrying to position yourself on your knees in front of Mikey. Mouth open and head tilted back, you let a hand caress your breast as the other slithers up his thigh.

Mikey is affectionate as he goes to grab the back of your head, other hand tirelessly stroking his cock. A vein pops out of forehead as he grunts, a few milky droplets coating your face, before steady ropes accompany it. A few of them land in your mouth and you swallow them all eagerly.

Mikey tries to calm his breathing, watching you with hooded eyes as you lick at the tip of his cock, cleaning up the remnants of yourself off of him. You take him down all the way to the shaft for shits and giggles, pulling off of him with a low pop.

“Goddamn devil.”

You wink, swiping at the mess you could feel dripping on your face. Mikey helps to clean you up, both fixing each other’s clothes to appear less wrinkled. Seemingly ok with your appearance, you start to head downstairs but Mikey stops you.

He steps behind you, lifting up the necklace he got you. He fastens it, walking to your front to admire it.

You grab his hand and bring it to your mouth for a kiss.

“It’s you and me, Berzatto.”

“You and me.”

Inhaling heavily, you open the door to reenter the Berzatto family chaos, a new found confidence lighting your path.

That was roughly four years ago.

Or maybe five.

You stopped counting.

You had been going about your day as usual, still getting settled into your new apartment. Boston was a whole new monster to wrangle with but you managed to get by so far. It didn’t feel like home but you figured over time, it would. A lie that spun around and around in your head until it sounded like a foreign language.

The invitation throws you off guard as you thumb through your mail, ignoring the pile of bills for the yellow envelope sealed with a stamp of a bear.

Your hands twitch a little as you instantly drop everything else you were holding onto the overly crowded dining table. You don’t think twice as you rip the stamp off, clawing to get the card out.

Missing you. The Bear opens soon, I’d love to have you come out for a pre-opening. Hoping that you’re doing well in Boston, we have so much to catch up on. My number is still the same.

See you soon - Sugar

P.s. - Fak says hi.

The bottom of the card details the information for the restaurant and the date of the opening. You bite at your lip, glancing around your apartment. It was a dream: your new job, the neighborhood, the coffee shop down the block with the best matcha latte. It was quiet, not complicated and yours. All yours.

Going home, back to the place you ran from seemed stupid. Everything would unravel and you’d fall to pieces again but this time no one would be there to put you back together.

Reaching across the mess, you fish out your laptop. This was a reunion worth unraveling for.

You’re late. So fucking late. It wasn’t your fault though! The plane got delayed and then there was the traffic and you smelled like an airport and desperation so you rushed to the hotel to change. One thing always leads to another but it didn’t matter anymore because you were stepping out of the taxi, smoothing down your coat and anxiously fixing your hair.

You take powerful strides as you approach the restaurant, mouth agape. You couldn’t believe it. What used to be The Beef, the place you spent the majority of your time after work fucking with Richie until Mikey got off, was gone. It was now replaced with a groomed, streamlined, chic replica that stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the rest of the block.  

A car horn sounds and you’re brought back to reality, invitation gripped tightly in your hand. You mumble one last prep talk to yourself before pushing the door open.

A wave of amber and vanilla hit your nostrils first, eyes picking out the candles that were placed around the dining area. The place wasn’t packed but you knew this was because you were late and not because it wasn’t good. If you knew anything about Carmen and his career, it was that the fucker knew how to make good food. He just didn’t know that he did.

A woman clad in all black smiles as she walks up to you, a slight quizzical look on her face.

“Forgive me ma’am but I’m afraid that this is a private event. The restaurant will open to the public soon.”

You shake your head, waving the letter in front of her face. “Oh, I was, uh, invited. I’m so sorry I’m late, my plane-”

Richie strides out of the kitchen, stopping in his tracks once he sees you.

“Holy fucking shit.”

You couldn’t help the amused grin that crosses your face, taking in the new and improved Richie. You hate to admit it but he looks good. Tapered cut, fitted black suit, not too heavy on the cologne and simple accessories to match? What the hell did you miss?

“Holy fucking shit.” you whisper, voice morphing into a high pitched squeal as Richie hugs you, lifting you off the ground.

Upon putting you down, you stand back, motioning wildly at Richie’s figure.

“Oh my god! Are you in a cult? Did they brainwash you? Will the real Richie please stand up.” you clap in front of Richie’s face a few times, to which he swats away.

“A real fucking comedian, huh?” He pulls you into a hug again, inhaling your scent.

“How have you been, cousin?”

Richie pulls away, leading you to a fully set table. You thank him as he pulls out your seat, taking the one across from you. He shrugs at the question, gaze traveling around the restaurant.

“Been busy. Bustin’ my balls to keep this place in tiptop shape.”

You nod, momentarily distracted by a server filling up your wine glass. You pick it up and take a whiff, eyebrow raised. A classic white. Your favorite.

“This is really nice, like, I expected something but this,” you take a moment. “This is something else entirely.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Richie admires you as you sip your wine and continue to look around, getting washed over in nostalgia. He remembers the good days. The days were Mikey was happy, the two of you bantering while making dinner for him, Eva and Tiffany. You were making sure he stayed the course, keeping him sober. Then, for whatever reason he just couldn’t fucking understand, it collapsed. He lost everything he never really had in the first place.

Natalie barges from the back of the house a few seconds after, screaming at the top of her lungs the second she sees you. You both speak over each other, holding each other tightly and taking turns petting Natalie’s stomach.

“Oh my god, Nat! You’re going to be a mom!” you exclaim, hands pressed on the sides of your face.

Natalie sighs, tears falling. “I’m gonna be a mom!”

“I can’t fucking believe it.”

“Neither can I. It just sort of happened.”

You nod, plopping back down in your seat while Richie gets out of his, helping Natalie sit in it instead.

“Cousin, I’m gonna get your order sorted. I’ll be right back.” Richie announces, planting a kiss on Sugar’s head before disappearing to the kitchen.

“It’s been like four years?” you say, gauging Sugar’s expression. You didn’t mean for her to get caught up in your mess once you moved away but she was the only constant reminder of Chicago that you had and you were thankful. The eldest and only daughter syndrome really popped off with her.

It’s amazing how easy you’re able to flow back in conversation with her. You catch up with each other’s lives, tiny bits of gossip filling the cracks. You avoid bringing up Donna, not wanting to tamper Natalie’s mood as she happily chatters about the nursery. Dinner feels like old times and before you realize it, you were scraping your finger across the dessert plate to savor the sweet tanginess of the course.

“Where’s Carmy? I’d like to congratulate the man of the hour.” you wipe your hands with your napkin, polishing off your wine.

Sugar rocks her jaw, eyes cast downwards. You knew the two of them had a somewhat strained relationship but you figured since she decided to work with Carmy, things had settled between the two of them.

“He should be in the kitchen cleaning or probably out back smoking a cigarette. Filthy.”

You hum, sliding out from behind the table. You peck Sugar on the cheek and stroll through the kitchen, murmuring hello’s to those you haven’t seen in a while.

Sugar’s assumptions are true, Carmy perched on the concrete near the dumpster. He does a double take when he sees you but doesn’t get up from his spot.

You’re careful as you sit next to him and upon seeing that you’re wearing a dress underneath your coat he panics, trying to stop you before it’s too late.

“Hey, no, you don’t need to sit down here, we can go back inside-”

“Carmen, sit down. Please.”

Carmen nods and joins you. You dig around your coat pocket for your vape, taking a long drag before exhaling.

You two smoke in a comfortable silence for a while. Carmen was your favorite in this regard, knowing that around him you didn’t have to say anything. You could just shut the fuck up and enjoy each others presence.

Carmy nudges his knee alongside yours. “You think he would’ve liked this?”

You ponder on it a little, taking another hit from your pen. “You definitely would’ve fought over the menu. And where is the poster?”

“What poster?”

“The poster, Carmen.”

“What fucking poster? I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“The goddamn baseball poster! You know the one. It was in the office before, I think.”

“Oh, that one. Yeah, Sydney fell through the wall, tore a hole in it.”

You scoff, taken aback by Carmy’s nonchalant response. “Fell through a wall?”

“Yes but don’t worry. Richie taped it back together.”

“Fuck the poster, Carmy, how is Sydney?”

Carmen shrugs. “She’s good. Makes a good partner.”

You nod, staring back at the restaurant. “She managed to pull this shit out of your ass, color me impressed.”

Another beat.

“Hey,” you move your legs so that you are leaning against Carmy, huddling against his shoulder. “I want to apologize.”

Carmy takes the bait. “For what?”

“For leaving. I just ran. Didn’t say goodbye, didn’t look back. You didn’t deserve that. None of you did. Mikey fucking ruined me. I felt selfish though, you know? Cause I was just someone he dated but you, Sugar, Richie..y’all were his blood.”

You feel Carmy take a deep breath, head drifting over to the side so that it rests on top of yours. “You don’t need to apologize for that. You were his fucking heart, he talked about you all the time it was annoying as shit. Plus, everybody runs.”

“You didn’t.”

Carmy glares at the restaurant. “Not sure I can agree with you on that.”

“After Mikey, I just felt like I failed, you know? I tried so hard. I did. I thought we made it over the rough parts but just like that, he slipped. I couldn’t pick him up anymore.” you pluck at your legs, getting stuck in your thoughts.

“You didn’t fail him.” Carmy mumbles.

“Neither did you.”

For once, Carmy lets the words settle in his chest, soothing the frightened side of him that constantly tells him he’s not good enough. It was temporary, he knew this, but it didn’t stop him from indulging in the sentiment.

“You could stay, you know. I could take care of you.”

Camry’s offer catches you off guard and you untangle yourself from him to look in his eyes. Behind them you could see the Carmy you once knew. It hurt, knowing that he was still torturing himself over the loss of Mikey, grappling with the opening of his restaurant. So much pressure on one person who swore that he couldn’t feel it and wouldn’t dare let anyone help him carry the load.

You smooth his hair back, giving him a sad smile.

“I think it’s time I took care of myself, Carmen. Boston is good. I’m gonna be ok. You need to take care of you, man. Someone’s gotta make sure Richie doesn’t strangle himself with his new ties.”

Carmen laughs and even flashes teeth.

“By the way, what is up with that? Fucker looks like he belongs with the secret service.”

“He was mad about the forks.”

You give a half shrug. “Forks. Yup, got it.”

You weren’t sure what was going to become of The Bear but you knew that if Carmy kept his head on straight, he’d get through all the shit life put him through.

He was a fucking Berzatto.

They never went down without a fight. And god help those who fucked with bears.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Butterfly III

a/n Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who reads and who interacts. Means so much! Let this be a little birthday gift from me to you!!

summary: When Joel thinks that his life is over his little butterfly sends him a new reason to stay alive. The only problem is that he doesn't know how to love but when you are the meaning of love itself how can he not fall.

Chapter I and II can be found on my blog. Tumblr ain't letting me add links to posts.

warnings: mention of vomiting, past trauma, pats accidents, forceful substance use.

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"Do I add this as well?", Ellie asked, picking up yet another can and showing it to you. You turned slightly towards her, but your eyes didn't even seem to meet the thing she was holding as you hummed. "Good, although I thought you would chase me for this one around the kitchen as well," Ellie chirped, teasing, but nothing happened. When you had just stepped into the house from the garage, the smile you had on your face seemed to hide the hurt almost completely, yet the more time passed, the more your face grew darker.

Ellie shifted awkwardly, not sure if she was supposed to comfort you now or if it was better to just let it be. She had seen you upset with Joel only once before, and even that didn't compare to this. The first time you brought her to your apartment in QZ, you had talked Joel's head off. Talked, not shouted. And your eyes didn't look so lifeless. Ellie wondered if you even knew that you were still holding onto canned ravioli and a tiny knife as you stared ahead.

The girl shivered slightly, stepping closer to you and reaching for the knife, muttering something about a sticky surface. "Ah, yes, sorry," you said as you turned to hand her the blade, your gaze falling to the floor. Ellie wanted to speak up again, maybe with a joke even, but you quickly ran your hands through your hair. "Would you be good on your own for a bit? I'll… go to the bathroom, and then I'll finish this," you muttered after taking a deep breath in. Ellie nodded quickly, stepping out of your way, but as you moved to walk past her, she caught your hand. "Everything is okay, right?", the girl asked quietly, and you once again bit the inside of your cheek but managed to pull a cold smile on your face as you cupped her cheek gently, making her smile at you in return.

Locking the door behind you, you slowly slid down the door. Cold tiles hitting your palms. The voice inside your head kept screaming at you to keep going. To not let this hurt you, but how could it not? You loved that old fucker. You loved him so much, and because of that, you chose to give him space and not tell him anything. No emotional attachments - Joel had warned you the first time you two crossed the line from being two broken people sharing an apartment to something way more.

In the beginning, you told yourself that the attraction that suddenly blossomed in your chest was simply the aftermath of being touch-starved for so long. That it was nothing but an orgasmic illusion. A pink fluffy cloud, that would eventually dissolve into grey nothingness. But there was something more. In those moments when Joel would slip up. Where the comfort you brought him would be enough to make him forget that he was supposed to not care for a minute.

"What are you doing, woman?", the apartment was dark, only the street lights casting yellow shadows across the place. You curved your hips, moving your hands to the side as you twirled like a snake. A bottle of hard liquor in your hand. "Dancing," you mumbled, brushing your hands over your body as Joel continued to watch you from the bed. "There's no music," he said coldly. "Use your imagination. Oh right, it's rusted; gears don't turn anymore," you chittered back, taking a sip from the bottle in your hands. You both had a successful day. A huge pile of ration cards lay on the kitchen table. That was a big victory nowadays. Meaning that starvation won't be knocking on your doors any time soon.

"At least put something on; it's cold here," Joel said bitterly, yet a gleam of concern was there. You could sense it. "Look at you giving a fuck, Joel," you cooed at him, stepping closer to that bed as he motioned for you to hand him the glass bottle. "I don't, but you'll get sick, and then good luck getting better," you just roll your eyes at his words. You watched Joel take a sip, his arm muscles flexing as he brought the bottle closer to his lips. You were so caught up in him that you didn't even notice when Joel caught you by the hand and dragged you on top of him. With a shriek, you let him carefully flop you onto the bed before he towered over you, wrapping a blanket that covered his body over your body instead.

You let out a playful giggle. Even in the dim light, you could see Joel's sidelong grin. "You're way too beautiful for your own good," he muttered quietly, studying your face, fingers carefully tracing the side of your jaw. "Did Mr. I have no feelings, just call me beautiful?", you said teasingly after letting out a gasp. Joel only gave you a side eye, but the smile was there. Evidently there. No one could convince you otherwise. "Sorry, meant unbearable," you moved to hit his chest, but Joel grabbed your wrist and kissed you along the pattern of the butterflies.

A hand came up to quickly cover your mouth as a sob slipped past your lips. You knew that the sensible thing to do was turn on the faucet and let the water absorb the sounds of your cries, but you couldn't. Couldn't find the strength to get up. Couldn't find the strength to care. You were fragile. Always have been. Just having someone like Joel by your side made you childishly believe that you could concur the world. Now your only hope was that the bathroom was far away and that the sound would not reach the ears of anyone who might be inside.

But it was not, and the moment the pained cries echoed through the house, Ellie's head snapped towards the bathroom. A cold shiver ran down her back. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to react. Ellie never had a family. Parents. She had never seen one in action. It was truly stupid, but there were moments where she found herself imagining that you two were her parents. It was a weird family, honestly, but Ellie had heard other kids say that their fathers were always the cold ones. She knew clinging to either of you was dangerous. People leave. They leave all the time. They especially abandon her. Another cry echoed, and Ellie quickly took off.

Joel hasn't moved. Standing in the middle of the garage and murdering the only victim he had—the wall that towered in front of him. Did he regret it? Yes. Was he going to apologize? No. There were many moments in your ten years together where he knew he should have said those words. Where he should have said sorry. But you had clicked back together as if nothing had happened. If you let it slide, he did as well. Joel's main excuse was that this was not a normal world. There were no longer the same rules that applied. But he knew deep down that before all of this nonsense happened. Before Sarah died. He would have never allowed himself to treat a woman like that. That was not how he was raised. Not how he would have allowed Sarah to be treated.

Joel stepped outside. The sun warmed his skin, but his heart was nothing but an ice block. He stopped by the door, fidgeting with the handle like a kid who had gotten in trouble and was afraid to own up to what he had done. Now more than ever, Joel wished he had stayed in the garage. The exact moment his eyes fell on Ellie, who was sitting under the table with her hands covering her ears, pressing so hard that her skin was practically turning white. Bottom lip quivering. Joel instantly moved closer to her, but not even a step later halted when he heard the weeping.

A shiver ran down Joel's back. That kind of shiver made the ends of your fingers tingle. That kind of shiver made your skin feel wet and clammy. He had disappointed you before. Made you snarl at him. But never cry. Joel expected tears from you often, especially at the beginning of your days together. But even if a slight gleam of tears would hurt your eyes, you would never, ever have had a single tear roll down your cheek. His heart twisted at the sound.

Stepping closer to the table, Joel reached for Ellie. The girl jumped at the sudden touch, not expecting it since her eyes had been closed and her ears were covered. Joel was glad he had pressed his other palm to the top of her head, expecting her to threat and jump up in the process. His actions shielded her from banging her head on the table. "Go upstairs, close the door," Joel said firmly after he drew Ellie from under the table. Once Ellie was on her feet, Joel paid her no mind as he strode towards the bathroom door. He fidgeted and brushed his fingers against one another as he contemplated his next move. This was a breaking point neither of you had reached before. Joel knew you needed him. You needed him to shoot anyone who might attack you. He needed you to protect him as well. Needed your calculated brain. Needed your medical knowledge.

You felt like you couldn't breathe. The tightness in your chest seemed to only grow. Your initial hope that letting out the frustration in tears would help was not enough. Not enough now that Joel has ripped open all the wounds that you have been carefully patching up for years. "Open the door", a sob broke down in your throat at the sound of a sharp voice. Followed by a harsh banging on the door. Your cries were silent. Gulping air as you tried to ease your breathing. "I won't repeat myself," "Get fucked, Joel!", you yelled back, standing up carefully and leaning onto the sink.

You were afraid to open your eyes and see how pudgy they were. But you did. And here it was: a scared, lonely, abandoned woman. One who always needed protection. At least, that's what every man you met told you. A no one. "Fucking, Y/N, open up, or I'll break the doors," Joel's voice echoed again, but you paid it no mind. You didn't need him. You didn't need anyone. You had survived on your own. Blinking your eyes, you looked up again. But now, instead of you, it was Ellie's reflection that you saw. Instead of you, it was her. Her being torn piece by piece. No, you couldn't allow that to happen. You backed away quickly, forgetting the shelves behind as your body collided with them, sending different products, bottles, and random trinkets falling to the floor.

Joel's mind went numb at the sound of that. "Y/N, Y/N," he yelled frantically, as he pushed his body against the door. Slamming his shoulder onto the wooden surface. He had been in a position like this before, and it was more than enough to awaken the same fears. You knew each other's history. Well, at least the biggest chunks of it. Nobody ever truly puts themselves on display. It required too much.

Joel will never forget the evening he arrived home earlier than he was supposed to, and may all powers above be praised for it. The doors were broken, and Joel pulled his gun out in an instant. The apartment was a mess. Drops of blood covered the floor. Bootprints were all around the place, but the room now seemed quiet. Joel rounded the corner, noticing the light coming from the bathroom. He would have shouted your name, but in case someone was still there, it was better to approach them in silence.

Yet no one was there; it was only you. You were lying on the ground. There were shredded pieces of broken glass everywhere, and there was way too much blood. "Y/n ", Joel let go of the gun as he kneeled to you, turning your body so you would be on your back. Your forehead had a big cut, and there were tiny bits of glass glistening up there as well. But it was the pale, almost blueish color of your skin that worried Joel the most. You were somewhat conscious, yet it was easy to see that something other than the beating had happened here. You muttered something under your breath. But Joel shook his head as he leaned closer to you, "A what? What is it?", he questioned again, hoping you had enough strength to guide him. "P-p-pi-ll-s", you breathe out, hands messily knocking the empty bottle on your side. Terror rushed through Joel. Someone must have forced-fed you those. A whole bottom, if not more. As he moved towards the toilet, Joel picked you up, pulling your body against his. "Open up," he said frantically, not waiting for you to respond or follow through with his orders as Joel shoved his fingers down your throat. You let out a loud gag before all of your stomach content came up.

Joel held onto your the whole time. One hand pushes back your hair, the other loosely wrapped around your jaw. Yet even minutes after you vomited, he wasn't satisfied with the amount of content that left your body, "Come on, you need to get it out of your system, love." You tried to fight his fingers, which once again inched towards your lips, but you simply did not have enough strength.

That night, Joel finalized the thought that you couldn't love him. And if you did, he wouldn't allow it. Because the second-most important person in his life was on the verge of dying. He was almost too late. Joel couldn't afford to lose you. Couldn't be the reason you were in danger. He couldn't be the reason someone might point a gun your way. No, even if he wanted nothing more than to allow himself to be yours, he couldn't. The price was too high.

The door cracked in two, and Joel showed his hand through the hole, fidgeting with the lock from inside. He practically fell into the bathroom, frantically looking for you. Memories were still swirling around. Still imposing that same old threat. You just stood there holding onto the wall, watching the broken pieces beneath you. Jole stepped through it all, even if you reached out your hand to stop him. Not wanting him to injure himself while striding on all of the sharp objects. But Joel didn't care. Catching your face between his hands while watching you. Breathing heavily and watching you. You were here. You were alive. Joel's hands moved to examine your body, but you pushed his hands away.

His pleading eyes met yours. You knew he needed this. That's how he chased his demons away. But who was going to chase yours? Your hands came in contact with his chest. A light shove. Then another one. Then your hands formed into fists as you hit his chest. Joel did nothing. He just stood there, letting you do what you wanted. What you needed to do. "Fight back your shit," you spat at him, hitting him again but he was doing nothing. Angry tears fell from your eyes. Slipping down your flushed cheeks. "Fucking, Joel," you cried out, taking his shirt between your fingers and tugging, but he just watched you. You let out yet another cry, legs bucking as the last ounce of frustration seeped from your body.

Joel's arms were right there immediately. Holding you up and closer to him. Even if you tried to push away, Joel only held you tighter. Pressing your head closer to his chest as you shook. His eyes looked up at the ceiling in the hope of keeping his own tears from falling. "It's unfair", you crocked out, "I know, I know, love, and it's all on me", Joel said calmly. God knew he didn't want to let go of you. Ever. "I care about you," he whispered slowly, even though he knew this wasn't the time. This would only make it worse. You snorted, slowly pushing away from him, "Do you, now, do you?". Joel nodded almost shyly as if he wasn't believing himself. "Really? Cause it looks to me that you care only when it's fitting for you", crossing your hands over your chest, you stepped away from him, Joel let out a frustrated sigh.

"You don't know half the stuff", he followed you out of the bathroom, "Yes, the usual. You don't know. You don't understand. You haven't lived. Anything else?" You twirled your hand in the air, heading towards the stairs. That's when you noticed Ellie. Big, glistening eyes staring at you. She was trembling. Your face fell, especially when you heard Joel grumbling right behind you. When he came into view, you raised your hand firmly, "We won't be doing this in front of Ellie; she heard enough." Joel's cold features returned as he gaped at the girl. "She's irrelevant", "She's a child. Would you do this in front of Sarah?" The words slipped out of your mouth, and you knew straight away that this was not the way to go about this. Poking and stabbing each other in the most painful places was a low behavior at most.

"You selfish bitch", Joel stepped closer to you as you move away, back hitting the wall. "You're walking on a really thin ice", his finger was angrily pointing at you, but once he got in a couple of steps distance from you, Ellie slipped right in front of you. The knife she was fidgeting with earlier on was now pointed right at Joel.

It was easy to see she found Joel's behavior threatening, but… Your fingers slipped up Ellie's hand, gently holding onto her wrist, making her lower the blade. "He would never harm any of us, bug," you said softly, your eyes moving back to Joel, who just stood there frozen. "El, sweetheart, Joel would never lift a hand", you pulled her closer to your chest, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You…", she muttered", "You stay away because I don't care about you just as much you don't care about me", Ellie's words were trembly, but her now angry eyes pierced right through Joel. He said nothing. Watching Ellie for a moment before turning around and leaving with a harsh slam on the door.

Joel returned way past midnight. In the dark, quickly opened the first can he found. Not bothering to warm it up as he forced it down. The fact that Joel knew that Sarah would be shaking her head at him now only made the tension worse. Joel ran a hand over his face, putting pressure on the throbbing temples. You would hate your old guy, wouldn't you? - he thought to himself, looking at the broken watch on his wrist.

Joel wasn't surprised when he didn't find you in your shared bed. That for him, however, meant cold sheets, a restless night, and more thoughts that only you seemed to keep at bay. He crept towards Ellie's room. Pushing the handle as quietly as possible as he opened the door. The nightlight he had made last night was giving him a clear vision of the room. You had both of your arms wrapped around the girl. Spooning Ellie as she clung to your arms as if the whole world depended on you. Both of you looked peaceful. Joel draped another blanket over both of your legs. Kissing the three of his middle fingers before pressing them to your forehead. Not daring to lean in to kiss you.

He didn't allow himself to watch you even for a moment. Instantly turning to check the window before stepping into the hallway. Joel didn't close the door fully. He needed to be able to hear in case something happened. Sinking on the edge of the bed, he found himself wondering if he should just sit outside the room you two were in instead. Most importantly, he blamed himself for giving in to the desire to touch the butterfly. He should have admired you from afar. Now even if all was fair in love and war, Joel had lost them both, and now there was nowhere he could hide. Now he'll have to pay the price, and it was going to be a big one.

[lavendernlilac]

Do you have anything for your lavender tea or strawberry lemonade au? I'm a massive fan of them both, though I know you have been working hard on the bodyguard au currently so if you don't want to answer this while you work on something else that's ok

I do actually !!! I was looking through my strawblem folder and found a wip of a fic I was working on :3 I can share a little snippet from it <3

“Wh— Scar, hey!” Grian hastily grabs his laptop and papers to hoist them up as his boyfriend drops his head in his lap. He had seen Scar approaching him, but was unaware of his intention until the man had sat down and moved to lay down. With no regard to his work, Scar drops his head to lay on Grian’s thighs, much to the researcher’s chagrin. “This isn’t very professional, you know!” he huffs out, leaning over the incubus to look at him with a disapproving frown.  “We're the only ones here, G,” Scar points out, looking up at him. His green eyes are bright and cheerful as always, filled with love as their eyes meet.  “Yeah well I’ve got work to do.” Grian frowns back at him. “And this time I’m kind of on the clock, so I can’t afford to be distracted, Scar,” he says sternly. He’s in the process of going over some field notes for an upcoming investigation they’re doing. Martyn, Grian’s research sponsor, was the one to tell him about it. He asked Grian to look into it and who was Grian to say no? “I need to get these observations written and sorted by tomorrow.”  Normally, Grian doesn’t mind Scar’s touchiness. He’s a bit hesitant with it in public, but when it’s just the two of them, Grian soaks up Scar’s touch like a sponge. He likes being close to Scar, sometimes he’ll toss himself into the man’s lap when he wants to. And there’s a few different ways that can go, depending on Scar. Sometimes Scar is content to hold Grian or just sit next to him. Other times they’ll exchange a kiss or two. Or, Scar’s hands will wander and it’ll end with Grian crying his name as his boyfriend takes him apart with both his words and touch. Regardless, moments like this end with some kind of distraction.  This time? It can’t.  Grian gives Scar a firm look, and the incubus quickly nods his head. He nuzzles right against Grian’s stomach, eyes shut as he does so. “No distractions from me, you have my word, G,” he swears, earnestly. “Just… just wanna lay here. Right in your comfy lap.” He shuts his eyes after saying it, and Grian’s shoulders sag slightly. It seems Scar really doesn’t intend on being a handsome distraction.  Breath leaving him in a light exhale, Grian relents, allowing Scar to lay where he is. He has to move his things around a bit, rearranging his laptop and notes. He complains about it of course, because who would he be if he didn’t? Scar hums in response, not making any move to give Grian his lap again. Grian doesn’t really mind it. It gives him a free excuse to run his fingers through Scar’s hair, feel the soft strands of chocolate under his touch. He likes Scar’s hair, how it curls around his fingers, how easy it is to brush through.  His hand naturally starts to do just that, rhythmically carding his fingers through Scar’s hair. He does it without thinking much about it, as he turns back to his work. Scar relaxes under his touch, practically going boneless against him. He all but buries his face into Grian’s stomach, sighing contently.  “You smell nice today,” Scar mumbles, and he sounds drowsy. “Really sweet…”  Grian pauses to look up from his screen, blinking. “Thanks?” He looks down at Scar with furrowed brows, befuddlement inching its way up his chest. He forgets about his work for a moment, choosing instead to observe his boyfriend. Scar’s been acting a little weird recently, clingier than usual. He knows by nature that Scar is pretty affectionate, but this feels different somehow.  Feeling a spike of concern, Grian moves his palm to press against Scar’s forehead. Scar doesn’t feel warm, so probably not a cold.  Pulling back, Grian hums. Scar looks tired, more than anything. Perhaps he should just let him sleep for a bit while Grian finishes up his work. And then he can drag Scar back to his place for some proper rest. With this in mind, Grian returns to brushing Scar’s hair, feeling compelled to work just a little bit quicker. 

[bullet-prooflove]

Happy: Peter Jakes x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @caffeinatedwoman

T/W: Adult themes

Peter Jakes has a reputation. A goodtime guy, a one night stand. The type of man you can have a bit of fun with, no strings attached. He never stays the night, he’s always out the door before the break of dawn, retiring to his own apartment.

People think it’s because he doesn’t want to settle but his history, it doesn’t allow for it because when he does fall asleep he has nightmares, dreams of dark, horrific, terrifying things, things that are better left unspoken.

“What woman would want that?” He asks you one evening over a pint in The White Horse. “What woman wants a man who screams the place down because of a stupid dream?”

“The type that’s faced their own type of darkness.” You tell him, taking a sip of your G&T. “Someone who understands that sometimes there’s a reason to sleep with the light on.”

“You still do that?” He asks you, his fingers toying with the edge one of the beermats. “Even now?”

It’s been three years since the event that led to you leaving your position as a WPC, since the day Pete sat by you in a hospital bed, holding your hand, praying that you’d make it through the night. He’s never believed in God, not since Blenheim Vale but he’d been willing to put his faith in any deity that could save your life.

“It’s a lamp.” You concede, interrupting his thoughts. “I still hate waking up in the dark, it reminds me…”

You trail off, your eyes turning distant and Pete’s hand comes to rest on yours, his thumb lightly caressing the scars etched into your knuckles. You fought so hard when it happened, so damn hard that even your critics couldn’t fault you.

Let her get a taste of what it’s really like out there, your Sergent had said when he’d assigned you the roughest beat. She needs to know she’s not cut out for it.

It had been Pete that had found you on his rounds, Pete that stifled the bleeding as you slipped in and out of consciousness underneath a broken streetlamp.

“May.” He says softly, bringing you back to him. “I didn’t mean to take you back there.”

“It’s fine.” You say, your fingers entwining with his as you tilt your head up to look into his eyes. “You can’t let the past stop you from being happy Pete, you can’t let them take that from you too.”

“It’s easier said that done.” He remarks and you give him that knowing look because the two of you were starting something back then and it had all been over in the blink of an eye.

“I’m sorry, I can’t be that person for you.” You had told him at the hospital, your voice barely more than a rasp. “You should find someone who isn’t so broken, who isn’t  damaged goods.”

“Don’t worry you worry about that now.” He had whispered, brushing the tears from your cheeks with his thumb. “You just focus on getting yourself better.”

You’d gone back to being friends after that, confidents. It’s two years later he tells you about Blenheim, after Morse digs the whole thing up.

“You aren’t the only one that’s broken.” He’d told you, pulling up his shirt to show you the scars on his back from the cane they beat him with. “I’ve been running from demons my entire life.”

He walks you home that night, the same way he always does. Your arm threaded through his, your cheek coming to rest on his shoulder. His lips brush over your temple and he breathes in the scent of your perfume, the floral jasmine tones, the hint of orange blossoms. It settles something deep inside of him, it always has.

“Did you mean what you said back at the pub?” He asks you as he stands on your doorstep, his palms resting lightly on your hips. Your fingers lace at the base of his neck, your fingertips carding lightly across his collar. “About being happy again?”

“Yes Pete.” You whisper as you raise up on tiptoes, your lips brushing over his. “I really did.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[dyslexicsquirrel]

This is a super rough draft and I'm working to polish it up for AO3 but have some childhood friends who kissed (no homo) second chance romance(?) Harringrove

I haven't posted anything in forever and this idea took over my body so uh I hope you like it? If you don't? Don't tell me lmao

Now I'm thinking about childhood friends Steve and Billy who practice kissing and whatever it's totally not gay. But Steve is like imagining their life after high school together, how they're gonna go to the same college and be roommates. Maybe if they get to kiss sometimes still that would be fine.

He tells Billy about it cause they're best friends and they tell each other everything. He thought Billy was on board. He helped Steve study, made sure he graduated.

So he's a little surprised when he gets to the school and Billy's Camaro isn't there cause he was running late but Billy always did like to make an entrance. Except Steve keeps checking down their row in the stadium and Billy never shows up. Doesn't come running onto the field when they call his name.

When he goes to return the cap and gown and pick up his diploma after the ceremony, the lady at the table check's her list and tells Steve "Looks like Billy picked his up the last day of class."

There's a big hole in the middle of Steve's chest that never really quite goes away. Not through college and parties or meeting his wife and getting married. Having his kids helps a bit but it's always there, sharp and jagged just like the boy who made it.

Steve focuses on work and raising his kids and maybe that's why his marriage falls apart. His wife handed him a big Manila envelope with sadness in her eyes. "You're a great dad and there's a part of me that will always love you, but I don't think you ever loved me, Steve, and I deserve better than that. We both do."

He agreed to everything, got split custody, and moved into an apartment in the city. It was beige and empty, but he covered it with pictures of his kids and ignored the way the hole in his chest started crumbling inward, growing every morning he woke up to silence until he felt hollow.

Steve got the kids for the summer and rented an RV. They were driving to California cause the kids had never seen the Pacific, he told his ex. She shrugged and sent them all off with hugs and kisses on the forehead. If a tiny voice in the back of his head called him a liar, he ignored it.

They ate at hole in the wall diners off the highway, but Steve splurged on hotels with pools cause sue him he was too high maintenance to live without soft sheets and good shower pressure.

Somewhere in Kansas or Colorado, Steve couldn't remember where they were right then, he saw the gas gauge getting low and pulling off at the next exit to find a place to get gas.

Steve almost ran a red light when he saw the sign at the convenience store on the corner. It had his brain lighting up like fireworks, memories of a past he didn't normally let himself think about crashing against the inside of his skull like waves.

There was no way. It was just a coincidence. He made sure the kids were fine and swung into the parking lot after the light turned green. "Dad's just a little tired. We'll find a place to check in after I fill up the tank."

The gas pump was old fashioned, not a single card reader in sight, and Steve shook his head with a chuckle, before rounding up the kids and heading inside. They dumped way too many snacks on the counter when they got to the front of the line. "Can I also get $40 on pump 3?" here told the guy behind the counter who was restocking cigarettes.

Short blonde hair, wide shoulders under a worn t-shirt, jeans so tight they molded to his ass and had Steve biting the inside of his cheek because he was in public, for fuck's sake.

He had to be really hard up if he was on the verge of making a spectacle of himself over some rando in a gas station. A grunt and the guy turned, pinning Steve with the brightest blue eyes Steve had ever seen.

Ones that haunted his dreams. "Billy?" he whispered, wallet slipping out of his numb fingers.

The guy who couldn't be Billy blinked at him, except he said, "Steve."

Robbie tugged on the hem of his shirt. "Who's that, dad?"

"Dad?" Billy repeated, sounding confused and a little accusatory. And seriously, fuck him.

"Just someone I used to know." He needed to get out of there before he made a scene of a different kind by jumping over the counter and punching Billy in his stupid, perfect face. "How much do I owe you?"

Billy's frown deepened. He bagged up all of the snacks, no longer meeting Steve's eyes and said, "Don't worry about it" when he handed them over.

Nope. He was not making it that easy. *You left. You left me. Why did you leave me?* clamored to get passed his lips, but Steve refused to be that pathetic when Billy obviously hadn't cared as much as Steve. He got his wallet off the floor and slapped his credit card on the counter, handing the kids the bags to hold.

Billy rolled his eyes, the way he had whenever they were kids and Steve did something Billy thought was stupid. They stood on silence except for the chatter of his kids and the bell chiming over the door when someone else came in. Steve took his receipt without a word.

"Come on, you two, let's go." He herded the kids toward the door, determined to walk out on Billy the way the other man had walked out on him, but Steve never did have much self control.

Billy was still watching him and their eyes met when Steve looked over his shoulder. "You know a good hotel around here?"

"There's a Best Western a few blocks down. Nicest place in town."

Was he imagining the question in Billy's eyes? Steve didn't know. Grace whined, "Come on, dad," the way only teenagers could and Steve let the door swing closed behind him.

Part of Steve was anticipating the knock at the door after the sun had set and the kids were both curled up in their beds. The other part called him an idiot for still holding a torch for the guy who broke his heart.

The rap on the door was soft, but Steve still jumped, tripping over his feet when he got off the couch.

There was Billy on the other side of the door, a cigarette dangling from his lips, hands shoved into his pockets.

Mindful of his kids, Steve stepped outside, leaving the door cracked behind him, while they stared at each other, the weight of all the years between them.

Billy broke the silence first, pulling the cigarette from his mouth, ash flicked from the tip in a cascade of sparks. "Where's Mrs. Harrington?"

That was about all Steve could take. He shoved at Billy's chest, still as solid as it had been back in high school, the prick. Billy didn't budge an inch. "I got divorced last year."

Billy took a long drag, a quiet "Shit" exhaled on a cloud of smoke.

"Yeah." Steve took the cigarette from Billy like they used to. He hadn't had a drag in years and almost choked.

There was no laughter, no jibe at Steve forgetting how to smoke. Instead, one of Billy's hands rubbed circles against Steve's back. Just that one touch unlocked something in Steve, all the years of longing, of loneliness, of regret. He wrapped his free hand around Billy's waist and tucked his face into the other man's chest.

"Why?" It came out garbled and wet from his tears but Billy understood all the same.

His answer made his tears run faster. But it was okay because size Billy's arms wrapped around him, holding Steve together. "Because I loved you too much."

"You're a fucking asshole."

"I know."

"I loved you too."

"I know." Of course he had.

They stayed like that until Steve got himself back together, the cigarette left to snuff itself out on the concrete. His eyes red and puffy and Billy wiped the moisture off his cheeks with his thumbs.

Steve leaned into Billy’s calloused palms, pulling the scent of Marlboroughs and warm skin into his lungs. He sniffed loud, echoed by the crickets and the distant traffic. He needed to say something or else he’d start crying again because Billy was looking at him the way Steve always secretly dreamed Billy would look at him one day.

He wanted to know what the hell he ‘loved him too much’ to stay meant, but this thing—could he call it a thing? Robin would probably call him a dingus right about now—was too shaky, like a house built on a cliff during an earthquake.

So instead, he said, “You know I meant why’d you pick that name when I asked why, but thanks for the declaration, I guess.”

Steve felt Billy’s chuckle where their chests still touched. “Now who’s the asshole?”

And, okay, Steve really was curious because Billy had to be the one who owned that place and had the balls to slap Pretty Boy on the front of a building.

Which meant he thought about Steve and the nickname he bestowed upon him enough to name his business after him. To have to see it every day and think about Steve.

So he was curious, but not enough to stop and ask when Billy was angling Steve’s head with the hand still holding his cheek to press their lips together.

It had been decades since the last time Steve and Billy kissed and it was still the best feeling in the world. The feeling of a full beard was new, but Billy’s hands felt the same, cradling the back of Steve’s head, the other pressed low on his back.

He still tasted like cigarettes and the mint gum he liked to chew.

Steve didn’t pull away until he heard the bathroom door close inside the room and even then he didn’t go far, pressing their foreheads together so they were still sharing the same air for as long as possible.

“How long are you here for?” Billy whispered, like he was afraid if he spoke too loudly, he would shatter the moment like spun glass.

“Just until tomorrow. The kids and I are going to California for the summer.” Saying it out loud, in front of Billy, made it feel like a dirty little secret. Billy knew why Steve was going there of all places if they way one side of his mouth kicked up. Steve had missed that smirk. He’d missed a lot of things if her were being honest.

“Maybe you can swing back through on your way back.”

The hopeful note Steve heard made him feel bold, reckless. “You should come with us.”

“What?”

“To California. You should come with us. I got an RV so there’s plenty of room. We could take turns driving. Grace and Robbie are cool kids, I swear. I’m realizing now that I said that that it’s kind of weird. Forget it—” His nervous rambling was cut off by Billy’s lips.

“Shut up, pretty boy. I’ve been wanting to go to California with you my whole life.” And, oh. Well, Steve was done for. His hands curled into the fabric of Billy’s shirt, holding on for dear life, scared if he let go Billy would disappear. “Besides, I should probably get to know your rugrats before I ask their dad to marry me.”

Steve's eye went comically wide and his heart stopped and that hole in his chest felt like Billy had slapped a patch over it. He wheezed. “Huh?”

“You think I’m letting you go again, Harrington?”

That was fine with Steve.

[paisholotus]

Born Again

Now Playing: Seven Nation Army~ The White Stripes

Narrative

Four years later.....

"Master Wayne. It’s been some time." Alfred said, smiling lowly, holding the phone. Bruce, nodded and looked around. "Yes. Yes it has. I need a ride." Alfred stops what he's doing, "And, where are we, sir?" He asked, Bruce. Bruce glances around. "Bhutan, I think." He said, a curious Sherpa nearby nods at Bruce.

"Am, I to assume that you’re without money and passport?" Alfred asked, with slight amusement. "I’m traveling a bit light, yes." Bruce said, knowing Alfred was enjoying this. "I believe there’s an airstrip at Khatmandu long enough for a G5. Make your way there, I’ll have the jet down in fifteen hours." Alfred said, making his way into the office. "Very good. Oh, and Alfred?" Bruce mumbled. "Yes, sir?" Alfred said, sitting down in the office chair. "Bring some painkillers." Alfred chuckled, hanging up the phone.

Vivica's Pov

I walked into my apartment building tired and exhausted carrying folders and bags. Being CEO now was not easy, but hey I earned it and I'm proud. It's not every day that women get recognized for doing twice as better as the men, especially for black women. Shit, we gotta work three times as hard. But, getting where you want to be in this world is an accomplishment.

I walked towards the front desk and smiled at michael, "Hey, Mike, got anything for me?" He smiled back and nodded, "Yeah, as a matter of fact, a man came by and dropped off a huge vase of flowers." I frowned confused and tried to rack my brain on who it could be. I haven't been on a date in months.

"He didn't leave a name?" Mike smiled, sadly shaking his head. "No, ma'am, he just said he was a old friend. They were gorgeous flowers. I took them to your penthouse for you." I nodded, and thanked Michael. "Tell your mother i said hello and let me know when she gets out the hospital, I'll bake another pineapple cake for her." I said, as he smiled widely and nodded, "thank you, Viv, I appreciate that."

I waved bye to Michael and walked towards the elevator. I got in and continued to think about who could have sent me flowers, looking at the numbers tower up. I stood in deep thought not being able to think of anyone as the elevator doors opened. I walked down the hallway towards my door. I huffed as I grabbed my keys and unlocked the door, it's been a long fucking day.

I closed the door behind me and stepped out my heels groaning as they hit the cold marble floor. I go to turn the heat up because it currently feels like Antarctica in Gotham right now. I walked into the living seeing a vase of Carnations sitting on my coffee table. My favorite flowers. There's only a select of people who knew what my favorite flowers were. I grabbed the card off them and opened it up, "I love you. See you soon." I read the card out loud.

These could be from my mom because she loves to send me flowers or they could be from my sister, Victoria, because when she gets herself flowers she always thinks of me and sends some to me. My thoughts were cut off when my phone started ringing. I looked down at it and frowned seeing no caller ID.

"Hello, this is Vivica, who's this?" I heard the person clear their throat and speak as my whole body froze, "Hello, Vivica, it's been so long since I've heard your voice. How are you doing, love?" His voice made shivers go down my spine, my voice was caught in my throat. I couldn't find the words to say anything, tears slowly filled my eyes as I began to stutter. "B-bruce. H-how........how are you calling me?"

I heard him deep chuckle, "I know it's been long since the last time I've seen you. And, not a day went by that I haven't thought about you. Alot has changed and I miss you." Tears fell down my cheeks as I stood in disbelief. "T-they said you were dead. How are you talking to me right now?" He sighed, "you wanna open the door for me?" He said, as I jerked my head towards my door.

I quickly hung up the phone and speed walked towards the door. I hesitated to open the door my stomach in knots at what is standing behind it. I gripped the handle and opened the door and gasped seeing him stand in all his glory, looking down at me.

I placed my hand over my mouth and walked back as him walked in closing the door behind him. He smiled and reached out grabbing my waist pulling me into a hug, a tearful smile came onto my face as I slowly hugged me back. He gently lifted me off the floor and laid small kisses against my neck. I laughed lowly rubbing the back of his head, basking in the moment.

"Missed you, Bubba."

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Thirty (Part 2)

“Fucking hell,” He twists away and grabs the front of his hair. The rain has eased to a mist now but the clouds still shield the sky and block the light out like an early dusk. His limbs become a bit stilted and stiff as though he’s forgotten how to control them. “Fuck,” he says hoarsely, and he drops onto the wet sand and shoves the heels of his hands into the sockets of his eyes “This is it then, isn’t it? Things are over with us.”

I hesitate for a moment before sitting next to him, and the seat of my dress immediately soaks through and I don’t care about it. “Yeah,” I say gently, “They have to be, don’t they?”

“There’s nothing I can do.”

“I want you to go and be happy.”

He lets out an agonised, strangled noise, and it takes me a second to realise that he has begun to sob into his hands, and it’s the strangest thing, but I think I can feel my heart physically breaking inside my chest, tearing apart, ripping right down the centre. I didn’t know that when people spoke about heartbreak that this is what they meant all along. The ache inside me feels unbearable, and I want so badly to reach for him and tell him that I don’t mean any of it, and yes, I’ll take that Green Card and yes, I’ll come and live in Los Angeles, but instead I cram my wrist to my nose and I cry with him because it seems like the only sensible thing I can do. 

And once I’ve started I cannot stop, and the tears come, and they come, and they fill my eyes until I can’t see a thing but the greys and blues of the sea blurring together like watercolour bleeding down the page, and then I wipe them and I look to my right where Jude’s head is bowed and his shoulders are shaking, and I tell him that I’m sorry. He says something I can’t understand because he is crying too hard, but I don’t know that it really matters what it was, because on some level I know what he’s saying. Just like I do, he simply hurts. 

He sniffs and drags the heel of his hand up across his nose. He shakes his head as tears roll off the end of his spiky lashes, “God,” He says eventually, “I just really thought- I think I took it for granted that I’d get to be with you forever, or something, like we were perpetual-” and he bares his teeth and heaves a shuddering sigh into his lungs, eyes fixed on his feet, embarrassed, like he can’t bear to look at me and see what I think of him crying on the ground. “I wanted everything,” he chokes out, “All of the stupid stuff, you know? Christmases and New Years, I wanted to get you birthday presents and anniversary presents and travel with you and just- just wake up with you and make you breakfast and-” he squeezes his eyes shut, “But like, I can’t have any of it and now I just have to live without you, and it’s so horrible-”

I comb my fingers through the back of his hair and I whisper, again, that I’m sorry.

“I love you,” He says, though he knows that it’s not enough, and I know it too, because loving Jude Turner is like loving a memory, the dream, the idea of a man that my seventeen year old self believed would solve me, would prove that I am worthy of happiness only because he loves me back. And perhaps it’s an idea that he loves too, a girl who would make him feel young and careless and reckless, who would expect nothing, ask nothing from him but to be free.

I swipe at my damp cheek, “Yeah but one day you won’t. Someday when I’m long gone you’ll look back on this time and you’ll think about how glad you were that you never compromised or let yourself be held back by some girl. And then-” I sniffle, “-when you’re living this amazing life, and you’re happy and you’re successful and surrounded by people who love you you’ll think ‘oh yeah, her, God, you know, I don’t even remember what her name was anymore.’”

“No,” he shakes his head firmly, “No, I’m going to love you for my whole life.”

And then I make the loneliest sound I’ve ever made, somewhere between a gasp and a sob as I relent and throw myself into his chest so that I can let him hold me. He kisses my hair so gently and rests his cheek upon my head and says simply, “I’ll miss you.”

“And I’ll miss you,” I reply, “And don’t think I’ll ever forget you either. You know that you’re going to be everywhere, you’ll be the ghost that follows me around. Every time I wake up and you aren’t there, or get home and you aren’t waiting at the door, and every time my feet touch this coastline, and I get into the sea, or see the roof of that beach house poking over the dunes I’ll think, you know, I really wish he was here, because everything I did was better when he did it with me,” I exhale thickly, “But then I’ll think of you somewhere else in the world where I know that you’ll be happy and I’ll just be happy to, because I want that for you, I really do, even if I don’t get to be a part of it.”

There’s a long pause while we cry together, and he reaches down to brush fresh tears from my cheekbones, “I feel lucky to have known you when I did,” He says, “When I- When I go to LA, you know, I doubt I’ll be back again for a very long time, and- God, -and by then who knows where your talent will have taken you and what you’ll be doing. To know you now feels like the greatest privilege, and I know that you’re telling yourself that I won’t remember you years from now, but actually I’ll be saying, yeah, I knew that girl once and she was incredible, I caught her in a moment in time and you should have seen her, when talent just radiated off her like the heat from a sunburn and she didn’t even know it yet.”

I turn to face him and look him dead in the eyes, because I don’t know the next time I’ll get to really look at them, “You’ll be happy,” I insist. If I mean it I can make it so.

“You too,” He says , “And maybe when we both are we’ll find our way back to each other again.”

“Yeah, I hope so,” I say, and in that moment the sun finally breaks through the clouds, just a sliver of it, and it hits the side of his beautiful face, glows on his cheek and his hair and through his brown eyes to turn them golden, the colour and warmth of flames.

That’s how I’ll always remember him. 

And when our story is over and the edges of the clouds turn pink and amber, I get up to walk away. I turn to look at him one more time though I can hardly bear to. Standing there in the sunlight he simply raises his hand. “I’ll see you, Evie,” He says. 

“Yes,” I say, “someday.”

THE END To my Tumblr readers, thank you so much for reading along. It's been a pleasure to share this story with you.

For a very long time I knew that I wanted to tell a story like this. I felt like I had so many things to say, about growing up, about this country, about the way it feels to inhabit it, how it felt to be young and bored with no money to spend during the recession era – the uniqueness of that particular moment in time and the feelings, places and people that have changed in the years since, but I just never got around to it.

One evening in July of 2022 my mother, who has become an avid wild swimmer since her retirement, took me down to the beach to take a dip in the sea. It’s a beach I’ve been on a thousand times having grown up just a few kilometers away from it. I’d swum in it, walked it, even worked on it for three summers during my early twenties but for some reason on that day I felt overwhelmingly nostalgic about it. This is not a very exciting beach, I thought, but isn’t it a bit beautiful in it’s own way. From my place, neck deep in the water I looked at the way the marram grass shimmered in the wind and bits of old fishing nets and driftwood littered the coarse sand. A line of identical holiday homes peeped up over a low stone wall, and a little corrugated iron summer house sat right in the middle of the dunes, flat roof, wooden deck. I’ve always wondered who owned it.

Later on I got home and typed a few paragraphs of a story on my computer. I hadn’t written a thing in years. Then I just didn’t stop.

I’d spent the entire pandemic overanalysing my teenage traumas, reliving the things I’d done in college and into the first years of my twenties. A lot of weird things happened to me. Very dramatic things, honestly. I think I am the sort of person that draws highly erratic types to me or perhaps is just inclined to stir up emotionally intense situations, and as a result my life had felt like a whirlwind, some sort of strange carousel until I was forced to step off it in 2020. There’s no point getting into it, really. You’ve read Lucky Girl, so you get the gist.

I have to say thank you to my wonderful friends for being my biggest cheerleaders during this process. They hyped me up and listened to my every thought, proof read, problem solved and helped me to understand that it’s not embarrassing to do this, in fact it’s actually pretty cool to publish a story in this way. Grace & Sarah, thanks for letting me borrow from your lives as much as I borrowed from my own, and for talking in circles with me about everything and anything that came into our heads. I love you to bits ❤

Also to my partner, who never read this story, but tells his friends that his girlfriend wrote a book!! Who brought me tea and cooked me food while I was in a whirlwind of inspiration. He really just wanted me to come into the living room so that we could watch Succession, or White Lotus, or X Files, or whatever else we were binging during the last 15 months, but he never complained. “Ah, sims.” He’d say, and shut the office door.

To my first love and my teenage friends, who I think of all the time. Who embodied a time and a space that I’ll never inhabit again, but I’ll never forget any of it. I remember all of the places or the people who were around me while I lived out the end of my childhood, and when I revisit the places we used to go there are a thousand tiny snapshots of memory everywhere. Of these teenagers that don’t exist anymore, who are all entering their thirties now, of the time we had, the person I used to be and the inexplicable importance of those few short years. Nowadays when I’m there, on those beaches and in those woods I swear it’s like there’s a ghost there with me, and it’s me, the person I used to be. I’m reminded of the incredible distance I’ve come since fifteen.

To my readers most of all, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You really kept me going when it got tough and when it all felt too close to the bone, and I was a bit too freaked out to write. Your comments made this story such a wonderful experience and I’m so glad that I got to share it with you all. I still kind of can’t believe that so many people have read this thing – it’s bizarre. I really didn’t think a single person would care, but here we are. You’re all angels.

All my love,

Hannah.

Beginning // Prev // Epilogue

[anylady-fics]

Red lights | Hyunjin x F Reader x Bang Chan

• Red lights Mlist

II - Without you being right by my side

The week was pretty weird, but at least Hyunjin seemed happy with his new job, and I started to feel bad about not being able to work somewhere better, so I began looking eagerly. Chris was giving me a bit of support, which I didn't expect, but it was welcome.

At least once a day, I had a few minutes to freak out about breaking up with Chris, but I knew I would be stuck in that situation for a while, at least until I felt stable enough. There were a few things to do before that, too. I had already searched for a few apartments and people needing roommates, just to start moving forward.

Chris noticed I was a bit distant in the last few days and started to act differently somehow. He sent me a box of chocolates and a card at my job, something he had never done before during all the time we’ve been together. I really believed that could be some sign of him turning into someone better, but I was wrong, as expected.

Before realizing that mistake, I really tried hard to bring back the fun and excitement in our relationship that we had in the beginning. I tried wearing some lingerie for him since we fucked almost every night and it was basically the only time his attention was fully on me. He noticed, praised, and fucked me without even taking it off or being careful at all… he ripped my new lacy panties, so I gave up on trying that.

I also tried using some toys, like a butt plug or a small vibrator for my clit, but he didn’t like it at all, telling me that he could do all of that by himself. For the first time in months, he gave me head, and it was really good… it was a shame that he only did it because he got insecure about the toys. So yeah, I failed again at trying.

I was feeling down for trying so hard; it was tiring. It’s really awful when just one side is trying to make a relationship work, be it a friendship, family, or love relationship.

Since Hyunjin and I worked the same hours, we started to leave the apartment together, because we were getting the same bus to go to and come back from work. He talked to me a lot, sharing things about his day, and I was doing the same. Because of that, I realized that I knew more about his life than Chris’s, which was weird. I was trying to get closer to my boyfriend, but it was hard… and with his friend, it was so easy and natural…

Over the weekend, Chris went out to run some errands and finally tackled the grocery list that had been neglected all week. I took the opportunity to clean up the place, and Hyunjin helped me with that. We finished pretty fast, then sat on the balcony to rest a little. It was the first time I had some help with domestic chores, and it was fun... but also sad that Chris never did it.

“The office is huge. I have a good shot of staying there if I graduate soon enough.”

“Did you go back to studying?”

“Yeah! Yesterday, actually.”

“Hyunjin, this is so great! I’m sure you’ll get a good position there.”

“Speaking of that…” He pressed his lips into a thin line before finishing what he was saying. “She was dropping some hints about me having a girlfriend… Did you tell her that I have one?”

I froze, and started to think of a thousand lies to justify myself, but I decided to just tell him the closest thing to the truth.

“I may have…”

“And why?” He took a sip of the water he was holding, and I tried to look away from his lips when I realized I was staring at them.

“Because it would be really inappropriate if she hit on you. She is your boss, kinda…”

“I agree with you, I wouldn’t let that happen, because I really wanted the job. You didn’t have to lie…”

“I’m so sorry…”

“It’s okay. It’s our secret, I guess.” He winked at me, being absolutely charming. “Should we order some food today?”

“I think we should. We’re soooo tired from cleaning up.”

“I think we should grab a beer, too. Would Chris mind?”

I shook my head no, and he stood up to grab the cans, opening mine first and handing it to me. We kept talking for a while, and I started to feel the alcohol after the third can. I felt really light and happy, and Hyunjin was smiling a lot at me, making me a bit dizzy with his beauty.

“There you are.” Chris got home, opening the balcony door, and I felt my smile fading. “I bought what you asked for, babe. What are we going to eat for dinner today?”

“We were thinking about ordering something, since we don’t have anything ready,” I mumbled, feeling the alcohol more, and ignoring how Chris was looking with contempt at the beer cans on the table.

“Fine, I’ll order some pizza.”

We nodded, and Chris used his phone to order the food, letting us know when he did, then telling us he was going to shower.

Hyunjin apparently noticed that his friend was kinda unhappy, and without us saying anything, he took all the cans, washed them, and discarded them before coming back to sit next to me.

“Thanks for that.”

“No big deal. Do you think he’s mad?”

“At you? No.”

“At you…?”

“Maybe.”

I didn't talk about my relationship to anyone because I was always ashamed of it. But Hyunjin had been around for a while, and he had seen things that I didn’t want anyone to see, so I didn’t have that much trouble talking to him, even if I wasn't entirely comfortable.

During dinner, Chris acted normally, so we just ended up dismissing the possibility of him being mad at either of us. Why would he be? He'd never made a scene out of jealousy before, and as he said, he saw Hyunjin as harmless. But he always managed to surprise me, usually in the worst way possible.

I was doing the dishes from dinner, and Chris, after drinking a few beers, was talking louder than he should. It was already inappropriate, but then he made it perfectly clear how much he had lost his mind by groping me in the kitchen. I was drying the dishes and could barely believe he did that, especially with Hyunjin right there with us. It wasn’t a caring hug for his girlfriend. No. He really groped me.

“Chris…?”

“You’re wearing that perfume I like…” He squeezed my waist, trying to kiss my neck, pressing his hardness against my butt.

“Chris… stop.” I tried to push him away, tried to free myself. “Don’t do that in front of other people, please.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widened, and his mouth hung open, still mid-sentence when that madness started. I was so embarrassed that I just froze.

“Maybe Hyunjin should go to his room now, because I’m really in the mood to fuck you.”

“Chris!!!” I pushed him, feeling tears start to burn my eyes, the knot tightening in my throat. “What happened to you? Are you insane?”

“Are you going to deny me just because he’s here?! Like he doesn’t hear you moaning for me every night.”

“Are you listening to yourself now?”

“Chris…” Hyunjin tried to talk to him but stopped when Chris turned his furious gaze on him.

I ran away, unable to hide my tears from the shame I felt, from the disrespect. Did he do that because he was jealous? Trying to prove a point? Why? What did he think would happen?

I got into the room but didn’t lock the door because I knew I’d have to open it when Chris came; it was his apartment, everything in there belonged to him. And apparently, I was some sort of object for him too.

It didn’t take long for him to storm into the room, slamming the door.

“Why did you run? What are you ashamed of?”

“Because of you! The way you treat me in front of other people. You’re ridiculous, Chris. Ridiculous!”

“Maybe if you weren’t acting like a fucking whore and hitting on him, I wouldn’t have to make it clear that you’re mine.”

“Hitting on him...? Do you even hear the nonsense you're saying? I’m not part of your furniture for you to claim possession like that, and I truly hope you never do this again.”

We were screaming, and Chris just lost it, throwing the chair across the room. Then he started to laugh, looking like a crazy man. I had never seen anything like that from him before, so I was really scared. I was sure he was going to beat the shit out of me when he turned to face me. Chris put his hands on his temples, and when he opened his mouth to speak, the door suddenly opened again. Hyunjin entered the room, moving towards Chris when he noticed me standing on the other side of the room.

“Trying to be a hero for what?” Chris shouted, pushing Hyunjin away. “Get the fuck out of my room.”

“Did he hurt you?” Hyunjin's question was directed at me, completely ignoring the push. I shook my head, trying to dry my tears that kept falling. “Chris, let’s go outside. You need to calm down.”

“Outside? Are you both insane? This is my fucking apartment.”

“You need to calm down, or you’re going to do something you can’t undo. Come on, let’s talk.”

Chris stopped and took a deep breath. After looking around, he seemed to realize the huge mistake he made. His posture changed; he lifted the chair from the floor and took a step toward me, but I froze and stopped looking at him, petrified. He looked down, pressing his lips into a thin line, and ended up leaving the room with Hyunjin.

I was losing my breath from fear. I was so sure he was going to beat me that I was shaking. What a disaster that night was. I really needed to get out of there as soon as possible, or I would get beaten in the next fight.

I dressed for bed and was ready to run away to the couch if he returned to the room, but he didn’t. I didn’t hear anyone screaming or anything breaking, so maybe everything was alright between them. I ended up sleeping after crying for several minutes, and when I woke up in the middle of the night to an empty bed, my heart ached. I couldn’t explain why.

I got up and opened the door, seeing Chris sleeping on the couch, wearing some of Hyunjin’s clothes. Apparently, he had helped my boyfriend take a shower and calm down, which was great, but it wouldn’t erase all the embarrassment from the night before. Nothing would.

I went to the balcony. It was still dark, and I felt comfortable breathing some fresh air, enjoying the silence of the condo, trying not to think about what happened.

The door behind me opened, and I panicked, thinking it was Chris, but when I looked back, I saw Hyunjin's tall and sleepy figure. It was a huge relief.

“Didn’t sleep well, either?” I asked, looking at the dark sky, avoiding his eyes.

“Yeah, and it might take a while until I get used to my new schedule. Listen, about yesterday…”

“I don’t know if I wanna talk about it. It was awful, and I’m really sorry you saw that… he’s never done anything like that before.”

“I understand if you don’t want to, but I talked to him. He told me he feels like you’re kinda distant, and he lost it because of that. He thought you and I were... you know. And he knows what he did was wrong. He’s sorry about it. I’m gonna take a night out so you both can talk with more privacy.”

“You didn’t have to do any of this, Hyunjin. And you don’t have to stay out either. I don’t wanna talk to him. Not anymore.”

“I get that, but he seemed really regretful. Don’t tell him I said this, but he cried when I helped him in the bath.”

I raised my brows, surprised by two things: Chris crying and the fact that I didn’t care, not even a little.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you really hear us?”

I turned to face him, wanting to see his expression for the first time since we started talking. Even in the dark, I could see his cheeks turn red. It wasn’t something I would normally ask. But I was so bitter and resentful that maybe I wanted to reach some twisted balance, to justify the horror show that happened. And Hyunjin really affected me in many ways. Maybe I didn’t want to deny that fact anymore.

“I did hear... sometimes.” He took a deep breath, clearly embarrassed. “But lately I’ve been wearing my headphones at night, so don’t worry about it…”

“I see. The day you got your new job, did you hear us?”

“Yeah, that was the first time, actually.”

“Hm.” I leaned against the balcony parapet, facing him, making sure to look into his eyes. “Because that day, I was thinking about you.”

Hyunjin blinked a few times, like he was having trouble processing what I said. I watched his lips get wet as he licked them, ready to say something, but he just chose silence.

“Thank you for all the help.” I put my hand on his shoulder and didn’t wait for an answer. I just opened the door and disappeared from his sight, heading back inside the apartment. When I passed by Chris, I felt a huge relief, noticing that most of my feelings for him were dead after what he did. Maybe that would change, but I was really hoping it didn’t.

When I lay down to sleep, I had to check something. I slid my hand inside my shorts and confirmed what I already knew: I was wet. I felt it right when I said those words to him, and maybe I should apologize later. Or maybe not. It was something to worry about in the morning.

••• X •••

When I opened my eyes, I checked the alarm, and it was still really early. I decided to take a shower and get ready for work, maybe leave a bit sooner just to avoid being there.

I had a quick flashback about the nightmare Chris made me live the night before and about what I said to Hyunjin a few hours back. I did feel some regret, but not enough to apologize yet. 

I was starting to get ready when I heard a few shy knocks on the door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me, babe. Can I come in?”

My emotions were all over the place, and I was really surprised. I didn’t expect him to use so much manners, especially since just a few hours ago, he made sure to remind us that it was his apartment.

“Sure. It’s your room.”

I sat on the bed and crossed my legs, still wearing only a towel around my body. I watched him enter the room, staring at the ground. I could almost believe he regretted what he did, but I knew damn well it could happen again.

“I want to ask you to forgive me.” He knelt in front of me. “Nothing could ever justify the way I acted yesterday. You know that’s not me. You’re so distant lately, I got everything all wrong…”

“Do you know why, Chris?” I took a deep breath, surprised at the guts I found to say at least part of what he needed to hear. “You thought I was unfaithful because that’s you. You keep cheating on me, keep treating me like shit, and I’m still here. Maybe last night you noticed that my patience is ending, and you don’t have me for granted. Not everyone is like you, did you know that?! And for what? What did you want to prove, huh? You not only disrespected me but your friend, too. If I wanted to cheat on you, a jealous scene wasn’t going to stop me, Chris.”

“I know. You’re right.”

“I really hope that it never happens again.” Because you wouldn’t have a chance to do it again.

“It won’t… I’m gonna be better. I’m gonna be a better man for you. Yesterday Hyunjin made me see how stupid I am for not valuing you.”

“Such a great thing to know that you needed someone else to tell you that.”

“I’m an idiot. Forgive me, babe. I love you, don’t wanna lose you.” His hands rested on my knee, touching me gently, a rare thing. “I hope it’s not too late and we can work things out.”

But he had already lost me, little by little, daily. With everything he did or didn’t do. The words got stuck in my mouth because I didn’t have the courage to say them.

“Let’s see. Now I need some space, okay?”

“Sure, as much as you need.”

He left the room, and I was still sitting there, trying to process everything that just happened. He had been an asshole to me a lot of times and always apologized, but that didn't stop him from doing it again. I was a bit happy that he heard me and didn’t argue, just accepted it. Maybe I could find some strength inside me to fight for that relationship, but I was afraid my interests were somewhere else. In somebody else.

I knew this would lower me to the same level as my boyfriend, but I didn’t care anymore. My goals were set, and the first one was to get a good enough job so I could live on my own. In the meantime, I’d make Chris pay, little by little, for all the harm he’d done to me. This included Hyunjin, and I knew he was a much better person than either me or Chris, so that might be the hardest part. But I wouldn’t give up until I succeeded.

[ghost-town-story]

FebruarOC Day 2: Basil

(And Bay too, I guess lol)

“Stay away from my son.”

Basil blinked awake and found himself in soft darkness. Something beeped steadily nearby, overlapping the muffled conversation happening a room away.

“I’m sorry?”

Falcon. Basil’s mentor. Sniper. Taught Basil how to cheat at cards, among other things. Absolutely not invited into the apartment where Basil and his dad lived under any circumstance.

“You heard me. Stay away from Basil. He already knows how to use a gun in case of an emergency. You don’t need to be hanging around him.”

And that was Basil’s dad. Which raised the question: where the hell was he?

Basil gingerly sat up, reaching out into the darkness to try and find something familiar. His fingers ached. His right forearm stung. The beeping sped up for a few moments before settling again.

“Whatever we’re doing is really none of your business.”

Oh his dad was really not gonna like that—

“He is my son.”

Yup, there it was.

Basil poked at his arm and hissed as the pain spiked, but he could finally feel the bandages wrapped around his fingers, as well as something hard and foreign beneath the skin of his arm. He tuned out the heating argument in favor of scratching at his arm, trying to dislodge whatever the thing was because whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

Before he made really any progress, he was stopped by a hand closing over his as the light snapped on.

“Hey Eyas.” Kestrel kept hold of his hand as they sat on the edge of his bed. “How you doin?”

Basil blinked at them, then looked around the unfamiliar room, before his gaze settled on the door, past which he could still hear his dad and Falcon. “What happened?” he asked.

“You went nova,” Kestrel answered. “And when Falcon and I found you, we brought you here—hospital—to make sure you were gonna be okay, and to get your hands looked at.”

Basil looked down at his bandage-wrapped fingers.

“Alex said you’re probably okay, just gonna have some scarring and they want to keep you here for a few more hours for monitoring just to make sure,” Kestrel continued explaining. “Falcon and I decided to hang out till you woke up or your dad got here, so you wouldn’t be alone.”

“Thanks,” Basil whispered, glancing at the door again.

“Want your dad?” Kestrel asked.

Basil—didn’t know. Exhaustion dragged at him, chased in circles by the remnants of panic. Kestrel’s fingers were warm through the bandages wrapped around his hands. His dad was—his dad. Strict, but caring. Protective and proactive. Undoubtedly unhappy about Basil going nova, but it wasn’t like he had any choice.

And, from the sounds of it, about 2 steps away from starting a full out brawl with Falcon just outside.

Basil sighed, closing his eyes. “I don’t want them to fight,” he muttered.

“I can go tell him to fuck off,” Kestrel offered.

Basil couldn’t help his surprised huff of laughter. “No,” he said. “Thanks, but no. He’s just… worried about me.”

Kestrel hummed, looking like they didn’t quite believe him. “Then I go break them up, tell your dad to get his ass in here, and get Falcon the hell outta here while you two chat?” they offered instead.

“Sure.” Basil nodded, the movement a bit sharper than he would have liked.

Kestrel gave him a look, their dark Nova eyes conveying something that Falcon would likely know right away and Basil was left to guess at, but they squeezed his hand and stood from the bed. “Alright, just hold tight.”

They headed for the door and opened it. “Yo. Kid’s awake.”

A moment later, Bay pushed past them into the room, and Kestrel stepped out and let the door close behind them.

“Basil.” Bay crossed the room to stand by Basil’s bedside. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Basil answered, though he was unable to look his dad in the eyes as he did so. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had done something wrong, even though he hadn’t had any choice in the matter of having Nova powers.

“Good.” Bay’s voice was as no-nonsense as it usually was. “I want to train you myself.”

“Huh?” Basil looked up at that. “Of course. Who else even would?”

Bay gave him an unimpressed look. “Kestrel.”

“Oh. Right.” Basil felt his cheeks heating with embarrassment. “They didn’t even ask.”

“And if they did?”

Basil didn’t know what his answer would have been truthfully, but he knew what answer his dad was looking for.

“No.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t.”

“Good.” Bay nodded sharply. “Alex said they want to monitor you for a few more hours. I’ll be back when they release you.”

Basil didn’t want to be alone in this too cold, too unfamiliar room, alone with the uncomfortable needle in his arm and the ache that had settled into something more like a burn in his fingers, but all the words he wanted to say stuck in his throat, unwilling to escape and face the inevitable judgement they’d receive.

“Okay.”

Bay patted Basil once on the head, then turned on his heel and left the room, leaving Basil alone with the beeping of the machines and his own thoughts.

~

“Stay away from my son.”

Falcon raised an eyebrow. Bay had been in his line of sight for all of two seconds before he started being snappy. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me,” Bay snapped. “Stay away from Basil. He already knows how to use a gun in case of an emergency. You don’t need to be hanging around him.”

Falcon’s eyebrow raised even higher. There were many ways he could respond to that, but what slipped out of his mouth was, “Whatever we’re doing is really none of your business.”

That made Bay puff up like an owl. “He is my son.”

“I hadn’t noticed, considering how you treat him,” Falcon shot back before he could stop and think it over.

Bay’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Falcon sighed and barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “I know enough.” He jerked his head at the door behind him. “You gonna go visit him, or are you gonna keep chewing me out for bullshit?”

Bay stepped closer to Falcon, his voice lowering. “You stay the hell away from Basil,” he hissed. “He is my son, and I will decide what’s best for him.”

Falcon scoffed. “Either treat him like a kid, in which case no way in hell he should be fighting, or treat him like a fucking adult and let him fight and make his own damn decisions.”

Bay bared his teeth, but before he could respond, the door opened.

Kestrel leaned against the doorframe. “Yo,” they said. “Kid’s awake.” And heard just about every word of their conversation, if the disdain dripping from Kestrel’s expression was anything to go by as they looked at Bay.

Bay straightened up and pushed past Kestrel without another word. They stepped out of the room and let the door close behind them.

“How is he?” Falcon asked, lowering his voice now that he knew how thin the walls could be.

“Oh you know, scared, freaking out, everything a new Nova usually is,” Kestrel said, their voice deceptively light. “Especially with that as their father.”

Falcon sighed heavily but couldn’t argue.

“But,” they added, stepping close and softening their voice, “he was glad to know you’re on his side.”

“Good,” Falcon muttered. “Kid needs somebody if his dad’s gonna be shit about it.”

Kestrel grinned. “Gotta protect your little eyas,” they teased.

“Kess, no,” Falcon sighed, but Kestrel’s grin only widened.