#but also maybe be careful not to convince yourself to the point where you’ll feel cheated if you don’t get it

[joelsgoldrush]

➽ summary: To love is to cherish, to endure, to fight. But to love is also to forget—at least, for you and Logan. Despite countless attempts to erase the part of yourselves that yearns to find completion in each other, you always end up back where it all began: the moment your eyes first met his—the moment everything changed.

➽ word count: 12.4k words

➽ warnings/tags: mdni smut 18+ angst. fluff. feels. enemies to lovers. petnames. multiple focalizors/POVs. memory loss. x1 logan. mutant!reader. flashbacks. dirty talk. oral (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. unprotected p in v. missionary. doggy. creampie. cum swallowing.

➽ a/n: inspired by “eternal sunshine of the spotless mind”, one of the most hauntingly beautiful (and life-changing) films ever made. i took some creative liberties when it came to charles' powers, so just follow along. i’d love to know your thoughts on this one, hope you like it as much as i do! <3

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. Each prayer accepted and each wish resigned.

Alexander Pope.

Logan thinks Jean is speaking to him, but her words dissolve into fragments, lost before they reach him. Her reddish lips shape the vowels and consonants with precision, yet the meaning is drowned out by the pulse in his ears. She’s agitated, her long strides barely matching his pace, heels striking the wooden floor in a staccato rhythm.

A few children peek their heads out from their rooms, curiosity tugging at their expressions as the tension unravels in the hallway. Had it always stretched this far into eternity? It feels as though he’s been walking it for centuries now.

If Jean Grey is the embodiment of grace and intellect, then Logan carries the weight of all the world’s stubbornness. It clings to him like a birthright. Defying her beliefs—or anyone’s—is as instinctual as breathing. She’s trying to dissuade him, to talk him out of this reckless act: asking Charles to meddle in what she’s called his personal issues. He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, focusing instead on the steady cadence of his steps toward the man’s office, each one heavier with purpose.

Jean’s voice grows sharper, her warnings echoing in his mind. This is a mistake. You’ll regret it. You’ll want to undo it. Don’t be stupid, Logan. Don’t do this to her—don’t do this to yourself.

But her protests are futile. The cards have already been laid out. Only meters from the door, he comes to a sudden halt. Jean, caught mid-stride, almost stumbles into his back. For a fleeting moment, hope flickers across her face. Maybe, just maybe, she’s convinced him to reconsider. A tentative smile begins to form on her lips, until he turns to her with a look so unyielding, it steals the breath from her lungs.

She has never seen him like this. This resolute, this… haunted. His jaw is clenched, his brow furrowed so tightly it seems etched in stone. There’s no trace of relief or satisfaction in his expression. Only the grim determination of a man about to pass a point of no return.

Why is he doing this? Soon, there will be hands prying into his thoughts, a marauder pulling apart his memories. Think about her. Now think about this moment. What do you remember? Each memory bearing your name, inked into his unconscious, will be inspected, cataloged, and then erased.

A mind already scarred will be stripped even further, the void swallowing everything. It has to come from a place of self-loathing, he thinks, because no reasonable explanation suffices. Perhaps he’s always been this broken, this damaged, and it was only a matter of time before he sought refuge in the very solution that had once been his calvary.

“I’ve made my choice,” he says with a tilt of his head which aims to deliver a tacit message: stay back. Don’t follow me. I have to do this. I need to.

So this is what it feels like, he thinks to himself, to willingly want to forget, to crave oblivion. To stop caring.

His fist hovers over the door, but he doesn’t have to knock. Charles’s been waiting for him. His voice resonates behind Logan’s eyelids, calm and inescapable. Come in.

“Coward.”

That’s the last thing he hears before he steps into the office, leaving her behind.

The first time you saw him, he was a contained storm, seconds away from coming undone in front of a rather small audience. Hardly the most convenient introduction.

You were in Charles’ office, attending one of his Physics lessons—not because you needed to. He’d already taught you these principles long ago, in a different time, under different circumstances. But lately, Charles had been trying to delegate some of his responsibilities, hoping to carve out time for the pressing matters that demanded his full attention. Ever the sweetheart, you’d offered to help, stepping in to take over this class.

Which is why you spent those past few weeks studying him—not just his teaching style, but the way he presented the topics: the analogies he drew, the subtle inflections in his tone. You’d promised yourself perfection, committed to live up to his standard, and that was exactly what you were working toward.

The sound of a door slamming shattered the flow of the lesson. A man burst into the room as though escaping from some unseen predator, shutting the door with a loud, final thud. He didn’t turn to face you. Instead, he lingered by the door, chest pressed against it, his ragged breathing filling the silence. The students abandoned whatever fragments of attention they had left for the class—this new stranger was far more compelling.

And, truthfully, he’d caught your attention, too.

You hesitated, fists clenching slightly at your sides, bracing for something you couldn’t name. A familiar voice cut through your thoughts, grounding you: This is the man I’ve been telling you about.

Apparently, this was Logan Howlett in the flesh. You certainly didn’t expect Charles’ newest recruit to look like this. 

“Good morning, Logan,” Charles greeted him when the man finally spun around. From this distance, you could see the tension carved into his features, the crease in his forehead betraying his distress. Charles, still composed, redirected his focus to the students. “I’d like your definitions of weak and strong anthropic principles on my desk on Wednesday, all right? That’ll be all.”

They didn’t need to be told twice, gathering their belongings in a flurry of notebooks and murmured goodbyes, barely sparing you a glance as they shuffled out. You offered them a tight-lipped smile, lifting a hand in acknowledgment, but your attention was drawn elsewhere. Logan was looking at you—or rather, through you—with a gaze that felt assessing. You never quite met his eye.

He stood there barefoot, dressed only in a sweater and sweatpants, his breath still uneven. Disoriented. His eyes swept across the room, his expression distant yet guarded, as though he was questioning the reality of it all. Considering the way he carried himself, it almost seemed like this was his first encounter with other mutants—but you knew better.

At some point, Charles decided to break the tension. “I’m Charles Xavier,” he began, his tone inviting. “Would you like some breakfast?”

But, of course, his cordiality and kindness were dismissed, being met with a gruff, “Where am I?”

“Westchester, New York,” Charles replied evenly, maneuvering his wheelchair closer. “You were attacked. My people brought you here for medical attention.”

You hadn’t been part of the mission that led to this moment; that had been Scott and Storm. In fact, you hadn’t even met Logan or the girl they’d brought with him—Rogue, as you later learned. Although at the time, rooted in the aftermath, you stepped forward, bridging the distance between yourself and Logan. You extended a hand toward him, offering your name with a cautious smile. “Nice to meet you.”

The gesture lingered awkwardly in the air, refusing even the pretense of acknowledgment. His eyes locked on yours, piercing and unrelenting, and for a brief moment, you wondered if this was his way of dissecting you. Then his gaze shifted back to Charles, impatience dripping from every word he uttered. “I don’t need medical attention. Where’s the girl?”

Oh. So that’s how he wants to play this. You withdrew your hand, doing your best to mask the sting of rejection as you pivoted on your heels and returned to your place beside Charles. “Jerk,” you muttered, low enough that it almost drowned beneath your breath, fussing with your sleeves in a vain effort to seem unaffected.

He didn’t miss it. His expression hardened, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Come again?”

To end the exchange right there, Charles cleared his throat, effectively steering the conversation into a different direction. Seizing the opportunity, he wheeled himself closer to the brown-haired man, his composure intact. What you admired about him was his self-control, something you’d tried to master in the years spent under his guidance without success. Yet, you couldn’t fathom how he managed not to tell Logan to just fuck off. “About Rogue, she’s doing fine.”

Logan arched a brow, his sneer cutting through the air like a blade. “Really?” You couldn’t grasp how he could hold so much bitterness toward a person he barely knew. His voice was thick with condescension, and a dozen sharp retorts swirled in your mind, each one eager to escape your lips. Your mouth parted to respond on Charles’ behalf, but he beat you to it.

“You’re in my school for the gifted. For mutants.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the dense air. Even the act of breathing felt strained, a soundless tug-of-war for the air around you. “You do know you’re not the only one with gifts, don’t you?”

“Is that what you tell those kids?” Logan’s scoff was a window into his beliefs. “That they have gifts?” 

“It’s no more than the truth.”

“Yeah? Truth my ass.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” The words escaped you before you could stop them, fury flaring in your chest. You stepped forward, the crackling heat of frustration coursing through your veins, ending in your fingertips. His blank stare only fanned the flames. “We took you in. We saved your life. How about showing a little fucking gratitude?”

Logan advanced, and his eyes bored into yours with a stinging glint of smugness. “I don’t remember asking to be saved.”

Your jaw tightened. You could’ve cracked a tooth as well. “Well, the least you can do is not act like a complete prick.”

A hand encircled your wrist, its grip firm but soothing. Charles’ touch anchored you, grounding you back in the moment. Your breath faltered, tearing your gaze away from Logan’s eyes to meet Charles’ calm expression.

“Don’t be so hard on our guest, my dear,” he murmured, as if the hostility in the room didn’t exist. It could’ve also been that he was too practiced at disarming it. He didn’t bother to glance at Logan, speaking as though the man was just a shadow. “Give him some time. He needs it.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you bowed your head. You sidestepped Logan without another word, avoiding his presence like he was a flame that threatened to scorch. The tension clung to your skin, and you flung the room.

From that day on, Logan becomes the only subject you seem capable of discussing.

It’s everything about him—his walk, his voice, the sheer audacity of his existence—that drives you to the brink of madness. You tell yourself to let it go, to not let it eat away at you, but your mind refuses to cooperate. Each day, it does a stellar job of reminding you that you now share the same roof as a man with forks for hands.

Logan is, undeniably, the source of your every frustration.

“He’s an idiot,” you grumble around a bite of your lunch, settling into one of the chairs in the kitchen. Scott, Ororo, and Jean are gathered around the table with you, savoring a rare break before the afternoon classes pull them back into their routines. “I can confirm it.”

“Trust me, we know,” Ororo snaps, her tone more cutting than you expected. The words catch you off guard, and you pause, napkin halfway to your lips, to lift your eyebrows in surprise. “Look, I’m sorry,” she continues, her voice softening just a fraction, “but could you please talk about something else? It’s been Logan this, Logan that, for weeks now.”

“I think I understand what she means,” Scott chimes in, his tone lighter, nearly playful. You lift your hand for a high five, and he obliges with a grin, stealing a laugh from you.

“See? He gets it!”

Leaning back in his chair, your friend shakes his head. “I must admit I don't like the guy either. He’s—”

Jean’s elbow shoots out, jabbing Scott in the ribs just as Logan crosses the kitchen threshold. Scott’s indignant “Hey!” is muffled by your exaggerated cough, though it does little to mask the smirk threatening to break across your face.

How does the saying go? Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Logan’s eyes sweep across the room, his silence louder than the faint hum of the refrigerator. He strides toward the cupboard with methodical ease, and Storm bites her lip to stifle a laugh once she catches you watching him far longer than you should have. His back muscles tense and flex as he stretches his arms, the white tank clinging tighter with every movement.

“Please, don’t stop talking just because of me,” he remarks, his voice gravelly as he rummages through the cupboard, his focus presumably on some elusive snack. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

Your response comes out of instinct, words laced with irritation. “It’s hard not to,” you retort curtly, putting down your sandwich with a firm slap of your palms against your jeans.

That gets his attention. Logan turns around to confront you, a flicker of amusement twitching at the edges of his mouth. It’s that toothy smile of his that sets your blood simmering. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You jump to your feet, matching his intensity. “Such a pity I can’t say the same about you.” Without missing a beat, you step closer, snatching the bag of chips he’s holding. Hiding them behind your back, tilting your head in mock innocence, and then saying, “Oops.”

His brows draw upward, though his tone stays measured, as if speaking to a child. “C’mon,” he replies, making a half-hearted grab for the bag. “How old are you? Twelve?”

Unable to suppress the grin threatening to break free, you rest your back against the counter. “We both know you can do much better than that.”

Already preparing yourself for the lecture Ororo’s going to unload on you the moment he leaves, you watch as Logan exhales sharply. His irritation is palpable in the way he leans in, one hand planting itself on the counter behind you, his frame eclipsing yours. The proximity is electric, his scent, a mix of leather and something woodsy, fogging your senses. Hazel eyes, so deep you could drown in them, peer down at you, as he attempts to strip away every layer you’re desperately trying to hold together.

Safe to say, it’s working. Damn it. 

“Alright,” he finally says, tapping his fingers against the cool surface. “What do you want from me?”

Your galloping heartbeat is a major detail you choose to ignore, instead turning to the others for support. With an exaggerated motion, you point to each of your friends in turn. “Ororo and Scott were the ones who found you that day,” you start, trailing off, “and Jean ran a ton of tests on you to make sure you were okay. Have you even bothered to thank them for their hospitality?”

You believe you can joke with him—it’s how you usually bond with others, how most of your friendships have started. But you can’t help questioning if Logan can even get your sense of humor. The room falls silent, and his eyes flicker, just briefly, to your friends. 

“You’re right, you’re right. My bad, princess.” One of his big, manly lands on your shoulder, the pressure of it too casual, too familiar, working the muscle there. Your fingers slacken around the bag of chips, the feeling of his touch making it harder to maintain your grip. “Guys, I’m deeply sorry for my lack of amiability. Hope you can forgive me.” The sarcasm is thick in his voice, but it’s the sensation that clings to you, that doesn’t seem to fade—the warmth of it seeping through the layers of your clothes, pressing into your skin, stubbornly refusing to fade.

His hand leaves only when he yanks the bag from your grasp, and the warmth that had been just beside you evaporates with his retreat. In an instant, he’s already pulling away, his parting words a careless “See you around,” tossed over his shoulder.

No one dares to speak after that. Because to speak would be to acknowledge what has just happened. Your stomach has turned into a knot, that kind of knot sailors make that are impossible for beginners to undo. Logan’s fingers left a burn in your shoulder. Can you still smell him, the trail he left? Scott is the first to speak after a minute or so. “What… was that?”

“I have no clue,” Jean says between bites, staring reflectively at you. “Care to elaborate?”

Your tongue feels heavy, your throat parched. Even if you tried, a rational explanation wouldn’t come.

Ever since you were a child, you had yearned to grow up, to experience love as only adults could. In your young, unformed mind, it all seemed like a simple equation: adults dated; adults embraced love in the flesh; adults reveled in freedoms that children could only dream of, waiting patiently for their time to come.

And you did grow up. You did fall in love. But now he’s forgotten you, and nothing could have prepared you for that kind of ending. It wasn’t the closure you would have chosen, not the goodbye you imagined for you and Logan.

You find yourself caught in the in-between—not quite a child, yet not fully an adult either. Because surely, an adult would know how to handle this pain. An adult would find a way to cope. But you feel small. Weak. Hopeless.

It leaves you wondering just how much you are willing to forsake.

More weeks go by, and Logan remains in the mansion, defying the departure you’d expected. Part of you is relieved. He moves through the halls like a shadow, his eyes always on Rogue: checking on her, observing her interactions with the rest of the students at the mansion. She’s thriving, really. Blending in with her peers, forming bonds, especially with a boy named Billy. They are quite the pair.

Yet, despite Rogue’s happiness, Logan can’t seem to shake the grim air that surrounds him, an aura that emanates a quiet kind of disgust.

One night, you’re flipping through channels in the living room, stopping when an old love movie catches your attention. You place the remote down on a cushion, and pull your knees up to your chest, the murmur of the characters’ voices the only sound in the otherwise hushed room. You don’t think anyone else is awake at this hour.

 “Can’t sleep?”

There he is again. Always intruding, always finding his way back to you. The predator creeping into the vixen’s nest. He moves closer, slowly, and you lift your gaze to him, replying, “Actually, I’m a sleepwalker.”

Your comment earns a half-smile from Logan as he drops onto the couch beside you, his leg brushing against yours momentarily, worn denim against bare skin. His attention shifts to the TV, to the grainy images of the film playing out. You steal a glance at him, tracing the hard lines of his side profile.

“Feelin’ romantic tonight?” he asks.

“Not precisely,” you retort, fingers toying with the frayed edges of the blanket pooled at your feet. “There’s nothing else on. Sometimes you have to make do with what’s there.” Your gaze drifts back to him, lingering just a second too long before you add, “What about you? Any ghosts keeping you up?”

“You could call them that,” he says after a pause, his face still angled away. It must be easier to speak to you with this thin, invisible wall between you. “I have nightmares.”

“So you’re the one screaming at two in the morning?”

“Exactly. That’s me.” He ends up meeting your gaze, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, harboring an emotion he doesn’t voice. “M’sorry if I ever woke you up.”

“I’m usually awake at that time, too.” Your eyes flick to the screen. The couple in the movie bursts out of a building into the rain, their body language unmistakably revealing the heated argument unfolding between them. The man, clad in a raincoat, removes it to cover the woman, his supposed girlfriend. She’s visibly upset, but accepts the gesture nevertheless. “You can always knock on my door if you need anything. Unless I’m snoring—then I’ll be useless.”

Logan clicks his tongue, his focus shifting to the film as well. The man shouts, ‘Because I love you, for God’s sake!’ He casts a glimpse in your direction, his expression unreadable. “Same goes for you.” The woman in the film responds with a strangled, ‘Then prove it!’

“Anytime?”

“Anytime.”

The man cradles the woman’s face before kissing her. She throws her arms around his neck, and the music swells, evolving into a much more melodic song. A chorus of angelic voices replaces the earlier tense harmony. The camera lingers on every angle of their kiss, every desperate touch, as the world outside their embrace ceases to exist.

“This is cheesy,” Logan mutters, his heel bumping against the floor in repeated, short motions. Is he nervous?

“Yeah, so cheesy,” you reply quickly, pulling the blanket over your lap and curling into yourself. He doesn’t look like he’s thinking about kissing you, not even remotely, but you are.

A quiet yawn escapes you, and you rub your fist against your eyes, sleep beginning to take over your body. Logan catches it, his own yawn following like a reflex. “Looks like the movie’s workin’ wonders,” he quips.

You let out a drowsy giggle. “Shut up,” you murmur, but then he’s inching closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. His warmth seeps through, and after a few seconds of hesitation, you allow yourself to lean into his frame, resting your head on his arm. It’s awkward, your neck already protesting the angle, but you accept it. You’ll take the stiffness tomorrow without complaint, because this moment is worth it.

It won’t last long, though, this rare tenderness. These nights, the quiet ones, are when Logan opens up the most—when Jean and Storm aren’t around, when it’s just the two of you. That’s when he approaches you, like a wary black cat testing the waters. But he doesn’t need to tread carefully. Not with you.

“What if I were to fall asleep… hypothetically?” Your eyelids grow heavier with each blink, the pauses between each one stretching longer. Your cheek nuzzles against him, seeking warmth, and you feel the subtle tug of his hand as he pulls the blanket over his legs as well.

“Hypothetically,” he begins, rasping his words near your temple, “I wouldn’t mind.”

Within moments, sleep claims you. You never find out what happens after that, but he stays, trailing quietly behind. No nightmares or shadows from his past dare to haunt him that night.

It was inevitable that an encounter like that would spiral into something more. You weren’t naïve. You could connect the dots, and the picture was clear: Logan wanted you, too. Desire often walked a fine line, and from hatred to something else, it’s hardly a leap—just a small, barely perceptible step. It could change with the shift of light, from dawn to dusk. But you’d need the strength to cross that line, to be bold enough to make the first move.

And now, with the sun already dipped below the horizon, taking its long-awaited rest after a full day of burning up in the sky, you find yourself alone in the kitchen, though you hadn’t started that way. Scott had lingered for a while, insisting he didn’t mind keeping you company. You’d thanked him with a polite smile before subtly nudging him out. It hadn’t taken much—just a few hints. Simplicity at its finest.

At the table, a neat pile of student papers spreads before you. Your pen dances across the pages, leaving corrections and grades in its wake. It’s then that he appears. He doesn’t speak at first, but his presence saturates the room like a shadow stretching across the floor. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s him; it must be the unspoken familiarity of how he fills a space. Or maybe it’s just how attuned you’ve become to his every movement.

Logan leans in behind you, close enough that you feel the heat he radiates at your back. His low hum sends a shiver down your spine as he peers over your shoulder. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late to be playin’ the teacher?”

Your grip on the pen tightens, a small tremor in your fingers giving away the tension pooling in your stomach. You exhale softly, blowing on the fresh ink. “Would you prefer to have me doing something else?”

Smugness prickles at the edges of your words, but the resolve in your chest is faltering.

“Now that you mention it…” His voice dips, grating next to the shell of your ear as his chest brushes your back. His presence is magnetic, the scrape of his beard scratching your skin while he tilts your head to one side. His fingers sweep your hair over your shoulder, lips mapping the nape of your neck, tasting your fevered skin. “I might have a few ideas in mind.”

Your breath hitches. You try for composure, but it wavers in your reply. “Really?” you ask, because playing dumb always has its merits, after all. “Want to show me?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand moves deliberately, tracing a sensual, teasing path up your abdomen. His palm settles over one of your breasts, his thumb brushing the sensitive peak through your sweater. “I don’t think you’d want me to do it here,” he says, his voice thick with suggestion. “Too public for what I’ve got planned for you.”

You disentangle yourself from him, slipping off the chair with an unsteady grace, but Logan doesn’t give you time to find your feet. He smashes his lips with yours, the force of his kiss almost sending you reeling. His tongue presses insistently, seeking entry, as if the urgency in his touch could dissolve every barrier between you. He grabs your cheeks, holding you in place as though you might slip away, drawing you so close there’s barely space to breathe.

You’re caught off guard, not knowing where to put your hands, searching for purchase. The cold metal of the refrigerator handle digs into your lower back as he backs you against it, his groans reverberating through your mouth like a growled confession.

“My bedroom,” you manage to gasp between kisses. “Take me to my bedroom.”

Logan obliges, intertwining his fingers with yours. Together, you ascend the stairs, your laughter mingling in the noiseless night when he missteps and stumbles, momentarily breaking the spell. But he recovers quickly, finding your room in mere seconds. 

The door clicks shut behind you, and he presses you against the wood with a force you’d never experienced, his hands sliding down to grip your ass and knead the supple flesh with a possessive fervor. It all helps to feed the fire pooling in your core.

“Quiet, baby,” he whispers, slipping his fingers beneath the back of your sweatpants. His nails trace fiery lines along your skin, igniting your every nerve. “Don’t want anyone wakin’ up to those pretty sounds you make. They’re just for me, right?”

You nod frantically, longing for more, arching into his hands as your hips grind against his, your body moving with a will of its own. The friction is exquisite, a tantalizing promise. “Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, his words laced with unfiltered hunger. “I’ve thought about havin’ you like this ever since I met you.”

His confession sends a surge of pride through your chest, an ache that feels equal parts affection and astonishment. Ever since the beginning? When he could barely look at you without scowling, his disdain practically tangible? “You hid it well,” you reply, breathless as you trace the outline of his erection over his jeans. The way it twitches under your undivided attention makes your pulse race. “I thought you hated me.”

He lets out a huff of laughter. “I thought the same about you,” he counters, before crushing his lips to yours once more. This time, you can’t help but smile into the kiss, your bodies moving as one, the pent-up tension between you unraveling in waves. “Guess we were both wrong.”

Your pants hit the floor in an unceremonious heap. It should embarrass you, how desperate and utterly needy you sound, the pleas spilling from your lips like the filthiest confessions. But the hunger in you is too vast, too insistent, drowning any possible flicker of shame. Decency was abandoned the moment you crossed that threshold. Logan nudges your legs apart with his knee, and the instant you feel him against your center, a contained sigh escapes you, half-resignation, half-surrender. Thought dissolves, leaving only instinct as you rock against him in slow circles, seeking relief.

“When was the last time someone took care of you?” He toys lazily with the waistband of your panties, like he has all the time in the world. You don’t give him an immediate answer, choosing instead to grind harder against his thigh, your breath hitching at the pressure. “Don’t go all shy on me now, sweetheart,” he says, dipping his head to mouth at your collarbone, the scent of his cologne heady and intoxicating. “Judging by the way you’re basically humpin’ me, I’d say it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“I don’t remember,” you blurt out, your head thudding against the door when his teeth nip at the delicate curve of your neck. Your pulse thrums beneath his lips, and you’re seconds from biting your tongue just to keep from crying out. “Stop teasing.”

Logan’s lips quirk up into a wicked smile against your skin, his knee retreating only to be replaced by his fingers, trailing them along the fabric covering your heat. “I like it when you get bossy. It reminds me why I like you so damn much.” He tugs the fabric of your underwear aside, the cool air hitting your wetness for only a moment before his fingers glide over your arousal, testing your patience. One digit slides into you, curling slightly as his palm presses over your mouth, muffling the whine that falls from your parted lips. “So wet for me, princess.”

Your legs shake under the weight of sensation, threatening to give out as you lean into the door for balance. His fingers move inside you with a sharp rhythm, hitting that spot with each furious thrust. The pressure builds, hot and insistent, and it’s overwhelming, but then he drops to his knees, and the sight alone sends a jolt through your core.

The first drag of his tongue along your folds is molten. He laps at you with long strokes, his pace never faltering, pumping his digits in sync with the flick of his tongue, coaxing every sound you’ve tried so hard to stifle. “Oh, fuck. Logan—” 

He groans against your core, his eyes remaining locked on your face, soaking in every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His focus is relentless, as though your reactions fuel him. You rake your hands through his hair, clutching at his dark locks with haste whenever his wet muscle lavishes extra attention on your clit, the intensity of his ministrations making your voice break, a choked gasp dying on your lips.

Your climax teeters on the edge, faster than you anticipated. “Close,” you manage to huff, the obscene noises he elicits driving you wild. “I’m gonna come. Please, come here—”

Logan detaches himself from you, standing tall with a fierce determination in his eyes. He’s set on pushing you over the edge with his fingers alone. His lips crash against yours, biting and licking, swallowing every desperate mewl that falls from your mouth, spit glistening down his chin. Three knuckles deep, coaxing your body to respond, your walls tighten around him, shuddering as he corners you against the door, the sharp edge of pleasure sending your knees buckling. Your orgasm washes over you, rendering you boneless in his hold. Limp and spent, you can barely return his kisses, panting harshly against his mouth, his arms the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

As you steady your breath, a satisfied smile tugs at your lips. Your eyes flicker down to his slick palm, and a rush of pride floods you. "That was amazing," you breathe, your fingers, trembling slightly with anticipation, reaching for his belt to tug at it. “My turn now.”

He ends up with his back pressed against the headboard, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. You’re positioned between his legs, stimulating him over the fabric of his boxers. “It won’t take too long,” he says, and you feel the weight of his words more than hear them as you pull him free, revealing the hardness beneath. He’s already swollen, the tip wet with precum that coats your thumb as you stroke him once, feeling the heat pulse beneath your touch. A shiver runs through him, his legs stiffening as though on the edge of restraint. Bewitched by the size of him, you lean forward to slip the leaking head past your lips. “Jesus Christ.”

It’s difficult to take all of him at once, but you push through, your mouth stretching to accommodate his size. As you work him with your hand, your tongue traces the veins that snake along his length, feeling him throb. Logan’s body betrays him, his fists tightening around the sheets as if holding on to his last thread of control, desperately keeping his hips still, resisting the urge to fuck up into you.

“Honey, pull out,” he warns, stroking your back. “M’not jokin’. You’re gonna make me come.” But you don’t stop. Instead, you deepen your movements, cheeks hollowing as you take him with more enthusiasm, pushing him toward the back of your throat. When he realizes what you’re doing, a moan escapes him, laced with a dark laugh. “Filthy girl. So that’s what you want? To choke on my cum? Should’ve asked for it sooner.”

Not long afterwards, you feel the first splash of his release hitting your tastebuds. Ropes of his seed flood your mouth, some of it dribbling out to stain the corner of your lips. He watches, his thumb gently swiping over the edge, collecting what’s spilled, his eyes never leaving yours as he moves.

“Show me,” he asks, still breathless. You lean closer, your faces a whisper apart, and then you part your lips, revealing the evidence of your devotion like a masterpiece on display. His fingers find your chin, holding you there as he bites into his lower lip, the pressure turning the skin pale. “Now swallow,” he commands, and you obey, the motion deliberate, your satisfaction mirrored in the curve of his grin. He kisses you languidly, as if savoring the moment. “Where have you been all my life?”

The question invites countless answers, but you choose to murmur, “Down the hallway.”

“Logan, are you even listening?”

Charles’ voice slices through the playful moment, forcing Logan’s hands to still against your sides. The team sits around the table, embroiled in serious discussions that demand focus and discipline. Yet Logan’s fixation on you has rendered him deaf to anything beyond the sound of your laughter. Not a single word of the last hour and a half has stuck, his mind entirely preoccupied by the warmth of you perched on his lap.

He’d insisted he was much more comfortable than any chair, and you’d indulged him, leaning into his chest as his fingers danced teasingly along your ribs. “Of course I am,” Logan drawls, though the way his hand resumes tracing lazy circles on your stomach says otherwise, his entire attention remaining fixed on you.

“I don’t think you are,” Charles counters, leaning forward with both palms flat on his desk. His sharp gaze locks to you, narrowing faintly. “Do I need to seat you two on opposite ends of the room, or can you manage to behave?”

You stiffen in response, the easy comfort of moments ago evaporating. Sliding off Logan’s lap, you settle into the nearest chair, your departure catching him off guard. Your eyes meet his subtly, and you offer him an apologetic smile. Beneath the table, your fingers squeeze his knee, a silent reassurance. Finally, you direct your attention to Charles, straightening in your seat as if to demonstrate your newfound focus.

Logan, however, is less cooperative. His arms cross over his chest, and a crease forms between his brows, the picture of rebellion. Nothing that Charles says registers in his brain. All he can think about is how much better it felt to have you on his lap, where you weren’t bothering anyone. He contents himself with watching you now, contemplating your profile and the way your fingers absentmindedly tap against your notebook.

He sighs, leaning back in his chair. It’s not the same. You’ve been dating for a month, much to the surprise of everyone in the mansion. It’s as if the idea of the two of you together had never even crossed their minds. Not even Rogue believed it when she came to ask Logan if the rumors were true. He hadn’t known how to respond to her, caught between mirth and disbelief himself.

It’s been decades since he’s felt this alive. He’s head over heels for you in a way that’s exhilarating. Seeing you, even across a crowded room, lights a fire in him, and he has to actively fight the urge to walk over, pull you close, and kiss you senseless right there in front of your friends.

As the meeting finally draws to a close, Charles asks him to stay for a while. “I just need to have a quick word with you,” he says, waiting until the others leave.

Once you’re out of earshot, Charles sighs, shaking his head like an exhausted parent addressing his wayward child. “Look, I’m glad you two worked through your differences,” he begins, a note of cautious joviality in his tone, “but this... well, this is the opposite of that.”

Logan exhales wearily, rolling his eyes before he can stop himself, and regretting it instantly. Don’t shrug him off, his inner voice scolds him. “C’mon, Charles. You’re overreactin’.”

The man arches a brow. “Am I? Watching the two of you cuddling during a meeting feels like chaperoning teenagers. Honestly, I must admit you’re even worse than them at times.”

That remark lands harder than Logan expects. He opens his not-so-smart-mouth, ready with a retort, but no words come out. For once, his quick wit fails him, leaving him standing there in uncharacteristic silence.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Charles’ eyes fall shut. “Just… try to be more present, alright? And don’t distract her, or yourself, too much. That’s all I’m asking for.”

Later, when he recounts the conversation to you, you start pacing nervously across his bedroom, your teeth worrying at your nails.

“Maybe he’s right,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

“Darlin’—”

“I just don’t want him to be angry with us,” you cut him off, arms dropping to your sides in defeat. Turning toward him, you sit down on the edge of his bed, your shoulder brushing his as your eyes bore into the carpet. “Do you think we should... give each other some space?”

Your suggestion feels like a punch to his gut. He sits up straighter, hands finding their way to your hips as he guides you onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. “I think we’re fine the way we are,” he says, tipping his forehead against yours, his nose brushing yours in a loving gesture, coaxing a small smile from you. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Are you happy with me?”

You nod—once, twice, like it’s the only answer you could possibly give. “I love you,” you whisper, the words trembling, your lips curving into a smile that he feels against his own when he kisses you.

“God,” he grumbles against your mouth, long fingers tightening on your hips. “I never get tired of hearin’ that.” Logan cups your ass through your clothes, rocking you against him, and a groan escapes his throat as your center presses against his half-hard cock. “Say it again,” he rasps, his voice wanting.

“I love you,” you breathe, your head falling back when his hands move to unbutton your shirt, his touch reverent and greedy all at once. “I love you so much.”

Before you know it, he’s rolled you onto your back, hovering above you as he peels away the layers between you. He can’t comprehend how he got so lucky, how he gets to have you like this every day, so pliant and eager beneath his body. Your whimpers grow softer, more airy, but even then, you’re still whispering how madly in love you are with him.

This is a memory he’ll hold on to when Charles inevitably asks him to reconsider—to think about what’s best for both you and him. Fragile moments like this will slip through his fingers, but for now, they’re his to cherish.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

It turns out that love doesn’t come neatly wrapped in perfection. No—it’s a chaotic blend of tender glances and fiery clashes, of whispered promises and cutting comebacks. It’s arguments that sting as much as they heal, moments that don’t glitter but still matter, making the difference.

“Fuck off!” you snap, shoving the door against its frame, trying to shut him out. But Logan’s hand wedges in the gap, his strength effortlessly outmatching yours. “Get out, Logan.”

“No.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he grits through clenched teeth, pushing the door open and stepping inside. Behind him, Jean calls your name, but he doesn’t turn. “Not now, Jean!” His voice echoes down the hall, and the sound of her retreating steps leaves the air tense.

You’ve already crossed the room, standing by the window. The sunlight filters through, painting your silhouette in warm flickers. Outside, the kids are in their break, passing a ball, their laughter carried by the breeze. Logan moves toward you, his presence heavy, and you hold up a hand to stop him.

“I’m going on that mission,” you say firmly.

“No, you’re not.”

Your head snaps toward him, a storm unraveling in your gaze. “Charles wants me there. The team wants me there,” you shoot back, jabbing a finger into his chest with each word, “and most importantly, I want to go. You don’t get to decide for me.”

Logan doesn’t step back, doesn’t flinch. He can’t understand how you don’t see his side of things, how the thought of you being in danger like this twists his insides into knots. “I can’t lose you.”

“Logan—”

“No, you don’t get it!” The words burst out of him. “What if something happens to you? What if you get hurt, and we can’t get you back in time?” His fists clench at his sides, fighting the need to pull you into his arms, to feel that you’re still here with him, still safe. “It’d kill me, because I love you with everything that I am. Just thinkin’ about losin’ you makes me sick.”

Your expression softens, but only for a moment. You take a step in his direction, closing the space between you. There’s no hesitation in your tone when you speak, leaving space for conviction. “I had a life before you, Logan. I’ve been here since I was a child, learning how to fight, how to survive. I’ve gone on missions for years—missions that were just as dangerous as this one. I don’t need you to protect me like this.” Your voice wavers, just barely. “I appreciate that you care, but I’m just as capable as you are.”

How long can someone hold their breath? Logan doesn’t even notice he’s doing it until your arms encircle his waist, your embrace melting the tension that’s been coiling in his chest. You bury your face against him, your breath steadying, and he draws a long breath, pressing his lips to your forehead like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His hand slides into your hair, fingers threading through the strands with a softness that feels almost out of place after the heated exchange.

“You get so bossy sometimes.”

"I thought you said you liked me bossy," you answer, your voice low, laced with mixed feelings, as you look up at him through hooded eyes.

Logan’s lips twitch into what aims to simulate a smile, but it’s weighed down by the sadness pooling in his gaze. It doesn’t reach the crinkle of his eyes, doesn’t carry the warmth it usually does. 

“I do,” he says, his voice rough, barely audible, brushing a thumb across your cheek. The words hang between you, carrying a plea for things to feel less heavy, for this closeness to fix what words can’t.

The arguments come more frequently now. The love hasn’t faded—of course, it hasn’t—but it feels buried beneath the noise. You and Logan clash over everything, over nothing, over things neither of you can quite name, all the fucking time.

It’s a cycle that none of you can seem to break, passion feeding the fire until it burns too bright, too hot. One of you always storms out, slamming doors or throwing words that linger in the air like acid smoke. And yet, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how lost you both feel, the love is still there. Aching, waiting for the dust to settle.

You tell yourself it’s just a rough patch. That love like this isn’t easy, that it’s supposed to be messy. But sometimes, when the silence stretches too long after another fight, you can’t help but wonder how much more the two of you can take before something breaks for good.

Lust becomes your apology, an untamed collision of anger and desire that you can’t resist. It’s not gentle—it’s frenzied and blazing. The bed creaks beneath you, the sounds of your moans and the slap of his hips against your ass enveloping the room. Every thrust drives you closer, the ferocity of it making your head bump into the headboard, but all you can think about is how full he makes you feel.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cry out, drooling all over the pillow, ass high up in the air as Logan continues to pound into you. He pulls out all of a sudden, making you gasp in protest. That’s when you feel his tongue against your slit, eating you out from behind, spreading your cheeks to see just how much further he can go. Your hand flies back, pressing him into your skin. “So good, baby. F-fuck.”

There’s no leaving him, not even in your wildest dreams. When he spills inside you, you always ask him to hold you close, whispering for him to stay there. To keep you full of him. And he does, fusing your body with the mattress, his weight anchoring you to the pleasure he knows how to grant you. 

But then, it’s morning. The sun filters through the curtains, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets, and you’re tangled together, his arm heavy across your waist. You stare at the ceiling, your mind crawling back to the fight, to the anger that seemed so vital only hours ago. You have to force yourself to remember why you were so mad in the first place. As his hand slides over your hip, pulling you toward him, the memory slips further away.

Dating Logan means understanding the darkness he carries, the nightmares he has almost every night. Usually, you’re woken by his movements, his rambling, the tremors that run through his body. You’ve perfected a way of rousing him gently, pulling him from the grip of whatever horrors his mind conjures without causing him more harm.

Though tonight, you must’ve been drained. You didn’t notice the moment the nightmare began.

“Honey? Oh, fuck. Wake up, c’mon.” His voice pulls you from the depths of sleep, and when your eyes flutter open and adjust to the dim light, the first thing you see is Logan, sitting rigid, staring at your arm as though it’s breaking him apart. The pain in his gaze is nearly palpable.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice groggy as you sit up, still partly disoriented. “Logan, are you okay?”

Then you see it: Blood. Dark stains seeping into the sheets, trailing from a jagged cut running the length of your forearm. It isn’t deep, and oddly, it doesn’t even hurt that much. But Logan looks stricken, his eyes flickering between your wound and his own hands.

“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt,” you assure him as you fumble to grab the ruined sheets, bundling them up to contain the mess. Reaching for the lamp on the nightstand, you switch it on, bathing the room in a golden glow. That’s when you notice the droplets of blood on his knuckles, the torn skin where his claws must have pierced through. This has never happened before. Neither of you know what to say or how to react. When you reach for his hand, he recoils, shaking his head like he’s trying to will the scene away. “Hey, don’t do that.” 

“I knew it’d happen eventually.” He’s spiraling, rising to his feet. A man trying to escape himself. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on his chest and back, his body tense with the effort of holding his pieces together. Turning to face you, his expression is the embodiment of torment. In his eyes, it’s as though the prophecy has been confirmed, irrevocably, by his own doing. “I hurt you. I told you it was going to happen.”

“Why are you acting like this?” you ask, pushing yourself off the bed to meet him. You’re tired, too tired to be arguing like this. “It won’t happen again.”

“How can you be so sure? You said the same thing before, and now look. Look at where we are.”

You’re at a loss for how to calm him. The exhaustion weighing on you makes your thoughts sluggish, and you’re afraid of saying something you’ll regret. But giving up isn’t an option—not with him, not because of this. Slowly, you step back and spin in place, letting him see you fully, the wound and all.

“You see? I’m fine,” you insist. “I’m not hurt. Please, Logan, believe me when I say I’m okay.”

He doesn’t respond, but the uncertainty etched into his face lingers. For a moment, you think you’ve reassured him, as he lets you guide him back to the bed. Together, you pull the sheets up to cover your bodies, and he leans into the pillows with a weary sigh. He mutters something about being sweaty, so you don’t rest your head on his chest as usual, settling into the curve of his shoulder instead. The rhythm of his breathing, uneven at first, begins to steady.

At some point, the warmth of his body disappears. You stir faintly, but your mind is too clouded by sleep to register it as anything more than the remnants of a rather vivid dream.

Logan remains standing, staring at Charles, refusing the invitation to sit down. “You told Jean,” he says, and the other man doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even attempt to deny it. “I asked you to keep it between us.”

“I thought she might help you reconsider,” Charles answers, looking more serious than usual, his piercing eyes fixed on Logan. “Logan, I still don’t believe this is the right path for you. It’s not the solution to your problems. You can’t run from her, from this—relying on forgetting won’t bring you peace.”

Who really knows what’s best for him? Logan certainly doesn’t. After all these decades of walking the earth, what has he truly learned? His long life feels like a cruel irony, offering time without clarity. What use is immortality when you’re paralyzed by indecision, unsure of what you truly want?

“I can’t leave her. At least, not willingly,” he explains, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the arm of a chair, the gesture lacking finesse. “She’ll get over it. She’s stronger than she thinks.”

“You’re deciding for her.”

To that, Logan has no reply. He only looks away.

“When I got here, you told me you’d help with whatever I needed.” Logan crosses the room, lowering himself into a chair by Charles’ desk, his posture stiff. He lifts his chin slightly, trying to convey a confidence he doesn’t actually feel. “This is what I need you to do. Today.”

“Let’s start with your most recent memories and work backward from there.” Charles rolls himself closer, his chair nearly brushing Logan’s legs. “There’s an emotional core to every memory, and when you eradicate that core, it begins to degrade. By the time I’m done, those memories will have withered, as in a dream upon waking.”

Logan’s throat tightens at the description. There’s no comfort in Charles’ words. It doesn’t sound like a dream. It sounds like a nightmare.

“Do you want to proceed?”

“Yes.” Logan’s reply is immediate, though it scrapes his throat like gravel.

Charles nods once, solemnly. “Then tell me your most recent memory of her.”

I think I was preparing a class when she burst through the door, uninvited. I’d been trying to keep my distance from her, because of... well, all of this. But it wasn’t easy. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her to leave, so I let her stay. She came up behind me, wrapped her arms around me, and asked if I had much left to do. I told her everything else could wait. Big mistake.

We were lying on my bed. Somehow, we always ended up there, tangled together. It wasn’t strictly... sexual. There’s something profoundly vulnerable about sharing that space. Snuggling, you could call it. Now that I think about it, she likes resting her head on my chest. Says it’s the best way to hear my heartbeat and find out if it matches hers.

“Focus, Logan.”

Yeah, I know. You’re right. Anyway, she asked me if I believed in soulmates, and I laughed. Obviously, she thought I was mocking her, so I had to convince her I wasn’t. I just thought the question was funny.

“Why did you laugh?”

Because it was exactly the kind of question she’d ask. She hadn’t before, but I’d been waiting for it. She told me she thought soulmates existed, and that I was hers. And I laughed again, and she threatened to leave. I held her tighter.

I told her I didn’t know if soulmates were real. I didn’t have that kind of certainty. What I did know, I said, was that I loved her. That was the only thing I was sure of. Soulmates or no soulmates, I loved her. I was right where I wanted to be. Those were my exact words.

“When did this happen?”

Yesterday. Before she left with Ororo and Scott for their mission. That’s why I’m choosing to do this now.

“I’m afraid I have to ask you again. Are you absolutely certain you want me to do this?”

Yes, Charles. Please, don’t ask me again.

Throwing open the mansion’s entry door, you let it swing wide as you step inside. You could use a shower, but right now, all you care about is finding him. Where is he?

Before starting your search, a cluster of students rushes toward you, their arms wrapping around your waist. Their laughter fills your senses as they chatter excitedly, hugging you tightly. “We missed you!” A boy exclaims, and you can’t help but smile, ruffling his hair.

“Have you seen Professor Logan?” you ask, crouching to meet the eye of one of the younger girls.

She grins, her innocent smile spreading, and she points toward the kitchen. “He’s in there.”

You thank her and make your way to the kitchen, your heart beating a little faster. You find him standing by the counter, slicing bread. His movements are methodical, his posture calm, but something feels off. You pause in the doorway, scrutinizing his face for a sign, any sign, that he’s happy to see you.

But his gaze flicks to you for only a brief moment, cool and detached, before returning to his task.

“Hey,” you call softly, tilting your head. His shoulders tense, and he doesn’t stop cutting. “I’m back,” you add, stepping closer, hoping for some sort of acknowledgment.

It takes him a few seconds to respond, and when he does, his voice sounds flat. “I see.” He opens a drawer, pulling out a fork. “Good for you, I guess.”

The words hit you like a slap. A joke, surely. But why? You take a hesitant step forward, your brows furrowing. “Logan, why—”

Before you can finish, a hand grabs yours, yanking you out of the kitchen. Startled, you turn to see Jean, her expression pale and stricken.

“Jean?” you ask, confused. “Is this another one of Logan’s pranks?”

Her lips twitch, and tears glisten in her eyes when she swallows thickly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I tried to stop him. I really did. But he—he wouldn’t listen!” Her hands tighten around yours, quivering. You’ve never seen her like this before.

“Wait—slow down,” you urge, your stomach twisting.

“I swear, I tried to talk him out of it,” she pleads, each of the words she utters rushing out like a flood. “You know how stubborn he can get.”

It doesn’t take too long for her panic to feel contagious. The pit in your abdomen deepens as you glance back toward the kitchen, where Logan stands just out of sight.

Something is wrong—terribly wrong.

“Jean, what did he do?”

Despite all his wisdom, Charles had known this moment would come the second he agreed to help Logan.

The door to his office flies open, slamming against the wall with a force that reverberates through the room. You storm in, your strides long and charged with anger, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Madness blazes in your eyes. “You did what?!”

“My dear—”

“You erased me from my boyfriend’s memory!” The words erupt from you, shaking the very air. You fling your arms wide, your fury spilling over. Before he can respond, you turn on his bookshelf, yanking ancient, cherished volumes from their resting places. One by one, you ignite them, flames devouring their fragile pages in an instant.

Then, there’s a momentary pause—a flicker of silence before you seize another book. This one you hurl in his direction, not quite at his face, but close enough to graze the air near his shoulder before it hits the floor with a heavy thud. The sound echoes, a physical punctuation to your rage.

“You made me disappear! He doesn’t fucking know who I am!”

His expression, pained and weary, holds no exasperation—only regret. “He asked me to do it.”

“What kind of an answer is that?” The question hangs underlined by the tears that stream down your face. Your voice breaks, the pain behind it cutting deeper than any accusation. “You could’ve said no, Charles. How many times have you denied me things?”

“You didn’t see him in the way I did, he was—” He stops himself, faltering. No words can repair what he has already destroyed. “I’m sorry.”

You stand there, breathing hard, the space between you filled with smoldering ash and a silence so loud it feels suffocating. The remains of his books lie scattered, the faint scent of burnt paper lingering in the air. Charles watches you, but he doesn’t move to stop you. He doesn’t fight you.

The fury ebbs, leaving behind a hollow ache that takes its place in your chest. “If you’re so willing to erase love like it’s nothing, then do it for me, too.”

Charles’s brows knit together. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I? Logan doesn’t remember me. I walk into a room, and he looks right through me. Like I’m a stranger, like I never mattered. So tell me, what’s the point in remembering him if he’s already forgotten me?”

“I don’t believe forgetting will give you the peace you’re looking for.”

“Is that what you told him as well? Clearly, it worked out well.”

Touché.

“I’ve already hurt you enough,” he whispers.

“And you’ll keep hurting me if you don’t do this. I can’t carry this alone.” You kneel in front of him, clutching the edge of his wheelchair. “If you could take it away from him, you can take it away from me, too.”

Charles stares down at you, his mouth tightening, as if the weight of your words presses down on him. His hands, usually so steady, shift uncomfortably in his lap. It’s clear he can’t believe this is the second time he’s found himself in this situation, faced with the same desperate request. “Are you sure?”

You nod your head. “He wanted to forget me. Now, I want to forget him.”

He exhales slowly, the sound heavy with resignation. “All right,” he says softly, though his voice carries a sadness he doesn’t try to hide. “But I need you to understand… once it’s done, there’s no going back.”

 “That’s the point.” You wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand, as though erasing the tears could also erase the doubt creeping in.

“Then sit,” he counters, motioning to the chair Logan sat in days ago.

You hesitate for a moment, the finality of the act looming large. Slowly, you lower yourself into the chair, gripping its arms with all your earnest. Charles wheels himself closer, and the reality of what’s about to happen sets in.

“Tell me your last memory of him,” he says gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

You close your eyes, and the image surfaces instantly: Logan, holding you close, whispering that he loves you. No soulmates, no destiny—just love. You let out a shaky breath, your heart breaking all over again as you begin to recount it. “The last time he looked at me like I was his whole world.”

Charles nods, his expression unreadable, placing his hands on your temples. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I had to leave the next day, so I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him. My things were already packed. I walked into Logan’s room and asked him if he was busy. A week isn’t a lot, but ever since he moved here, we hadn’t been apart from each other. I was anxious about that. I thought it’d be so hard to fall asleep without him at night. What—oh, God, what’ll happen now?

“I need you to keep going, darling.”

Don’t call me that. 

“Alright. I’m sorry.”

I convinced him to lie in bed with me. I had my head on his chest, and he kissed my forehead. His beard scratched me in the right way. It never hurt or bothered me. I had once dated a guy who had a beard, and it was just so uncomfortable. But that wasn’t Logan’s case. He would kiss me and hug me, and it felt like the best thing in the world.

There was a question I’d been meaning to ask him. It was about soulmates, and the existence of them. I thought Logan was my soulmate, and I said it to him. I asked if he believed in them, but he laughed. He told me he wasn’t making fun of me or anything, just that he thought the question was funny.

Logan said he didn’t know whether soulmates existed or not, but he knew for a fact that he loved me. He didn’t care about anything else. He loved me. He really did. Do you think he loved me, Charles?

“Yes. I do believe so.”

Then why did you take that away from me?

“I’m sorry.”

I hate you.

“I know.”

Your head pounds, an ache that feels like it’s splitting you in two. It’s a pain unlike anything you’ve ever known. Your vision blurs, forcing you to blink repeatedly until the world around you sharpens into focus.

Four blank walls. The stark, colorless void offers nothing but the oppressive weight of emptiness. This must be your mind, stripped bare. Somewhere in the depths of this space, Charles is at work, pulling threads and unraveling every memory of Logan.

You push yourself off the cold floor. A soundless shift disturbs the space—a door appears out of nowhere, its frame faintly glowing, and without hesitation, you reach for the handle and swing it open.

On the other side is a fragment of your past: that night months ago, sitting in the living room, watching a movie. Logan had decided to join you. The memory pulls you in, and suddenly, you’re no longer standing—you’re on the couch. Your clothes have altered to match that night. Logan sits beside you, the warmth of his presence impossibly real.

This moment feels untouched by time, but deep down, you know the truth. Charles is erasing it even as you relive it. Soon, this too will vanish.

The scene begins to warp. It’s no longer the movie on the screen. The couple has been replaced by you and Logan. You’re watching yourselves from a third perspective, your bodies framed by the flickering light of the TV. It’s deeply unsettling, but in this fragmented state of consciousness, it doesn’t feel worth questioning.

“Logan?”

“Tell me.”

You grab a cushion and smack him on the arm, the motion instinctive. “You idiot!”

“What was that for?” he asks, laughing as he takes the cushion from your hands, tossing it aside. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You erased me from your memory!” you accuse him, even as you know the futility of it. He’s merely a fragment, a faint echo of who he once was to you. A lingering shard of memory caught in the tangled wires of your brain, sparking as it teeters on the edge of a short circuit. “You’re not even real, are you?”

“No,” he admits, his voice tinged with something like regret. “I’m just in your mind. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. You’re just what’s left.” You lower your gaze, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “How long do you think it’ll take Charles to erase you?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. The words you long for, the closure you might crave, are swallowed up. His lips vanish mid-formulation, and then you’re staring at a blank void where his mouth used to be. The rest of his features begins to fade—his eyes dissolve into nothingness, followed by his nose, his brows, the lines of his face. All that’s left is the space where he once sat, and even that feels tenuous.

You’re on your own now. The memory of him—of that night, the first time you truly shared an intimate moment—has been swept away like smoke in the wind. You collapse onto the floor, trembling as sobs tear through you, your hands pressed tightly against your face, attempting to contain your anguish. “I don’t want to forget you,” you choke out between hiccupped breaths, the sting of tears burning your eyes. “I never asked for any of this.”

“I know,” a familiar voice murmurs behind you, and there he is—Logan. This time, he’s wearing his suit. His claws are unsheathed, gleaming. “I shouldn’t have done it first. I don’t know what I was thinking’.”

You push yourself to your feet, drawn to him. When you move to hug him, he takes a step back, raising his claws as if to protect you from getting harmed. “I can’t retract them. If I hug you, I’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t care,” you whisper, pressing forward and slotting yourself between his arms, ignoring the danger. Your face finds its habitual place against his chest, and you inhale deeply, inhaling his scent. “I just want you.”

His arms fold around you hesitantly, careful yet incomplete. You feel a sharp pain, a searing slice along your ribs that rips a scream from your throat. The agony is blinding, drowning your world into darkness.

When you open your eyes again, you’re somewhere else entirely. The bed feels soft beneath you, the sheets tangled around your legs. Logan is there beside you, his body warm against yours, both of you naked under the sheets.

“You’re lost in thought,” he says, his voice tender, taking a strand of your hair, twisting it gently before tucking it behind your ear. “You alright?”

His face won’t stay still. Beard, no beard. A moustache that fades as quickly as it appears. Hair long, then short. Sideburns one moment, smooth skin the next. He’s a shifting mosaic of himself. You realize you can’t remember what he looked like the last time you saw him.

“I’m forgetting you.” Your fingertips trace the curve of his cheek, memorizing each detail. “I don’t think I can stop it now.”

He’s seconds away from crying, his lips finding yours in a kiss that feels both desperate and resigned. “Stay here with me,” he whispers against your mouth, his hands sliding over your arms, your stomach, your legs. “Don’t let me go.”

“You did it to me first,” you say, voice thick with emotion, pulling him closer, down until his body presses fully against yours. His weight feels real, but you know it’s not. Nothing about this moment is.

His voice breaks, repeating the same mantra. “Stay here with me. Don’t let me go.”

The touches multiply. It’s no longer just his hands on your skin. It’s as if the entire universe is reaching for you. The cacophony of touches, the overlapping voices—“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”—swirls into a suffocating chaos.

Logan begins to blur, like a photograph left too long in the sun. His face fades first, then his body, until all that remains is a ghost of his shadow. Then even that is gone. The bed disappears beneath you, leaving you adrift in an empty expanse. You can’t tell if you’re still there, or if you’ve vanished with him.

You exhale slowly. Silence, at last.

The second first time you see him, he’s sitting alone outside on a weathered bench, his shoulders slightly hunched. He’s completely alone, and you pause a few steps away, studying him for a moment. He doesn’t seem like someone you would’ve missed at the mansion. Charles mentioned he’d recently joined the team, a mutant who had spent too long wandering the earth.

You clear your throat, trying not to overthink it. “Mind if I take a seat?” you ask, your hands clasped behind your back as you wait for his reply.

He shifts to one end of the bench, leaving you more than enough room, though his movements seem cautious. You sit down, exhaling softly as an awkward silence stretches between you. His demeanor isn’t exactly inviting, and you wonder how to bridge the gap.

After a moment, you stretch out your hand, offering a polite smile, giving him your name. He glances at your hand, then takes it. “M’Logan,” he says simply, though you already knew that from your previous talk with Charles. His fingers are rough, calloused, yet they linger a beat longer than necessary before letting go. “The other day, I was in the kitchen, and you walked in. You were acting… strange.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Really?” Your gaze flickers between his face and your hand that still feels warm from his touch. “I don’t remember that. Are you sure it was me?”

Logan hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “I thought so… but maybe not.” His lips press into a thin line, shrugging. “Never mind. I could be wrong.”

Tilting your head, you study him. There’s something familiar that you can’t quite place. “Have we met before? Outside this place, I mean. It’s just… I feel like I know you. Like I’ve seen you somewhere, but I can’t figure out where.”

His eyes meet yours then, like your question has triggered something dormant. He leans back slightly, his posture relaxing as he lets out a low chuckle. “Funny you’d say that. I wasn’t planning on bringing it up, but… I got the same feeling.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all.” His lips quirk into a smile, one that matches yours.

Inside the mansion, Charles and Jean watch the scene through the window. Jean folds her arms across her chest, her expression caught between awe and disbelief. “This is crazy,” she murmurs, shaking her head.

“Don’t get me started,” Charles replies.

“They don’t know what happened, but they still feel it. Like they’re connected.” She peers down at Charles, her voice quieter now. “You erased everything, didn’t you? Every memory, every trace.”

Charles keeps his eyes on the scene outside, his features softening as he watches the two of you talk. He sighs, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “You’re asking me for an explanation I don’t have. I guess some things… refuse to be forgotten.”

Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders.

Friedrich Nietzsche.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[weewoo911]

Seeing a lot of “Gay Eddie confirmed!” and “Gay Eddie s8 IS HAPPENING FOR SURE!” posts and don’t get me wrong I’ll be fucking thrilled if does happen but like

… we’re going to be normal and not harassing people and making the fandom a shitty place if it doesn’t happen, right?

[yorshie]

hi sweetheart!

how do you think the turtles would feel with a really petite reader? I mean, we are all small for them, but what if the reader is below average even by human standards like 5.0 f. t? will it bring something animalistic in them?

(I want to hear that reader will be carried on their hands 👏constantly👏 and treated like doll, I crave for that kind of comfort ty and sorry for my poor english 😭✋)

Whelp. I wanna start this by saying nonnie I’m so sorry, I plugged that height into a comparison generator with my head canons heights and I’m a little cursed by the image so someone else has to see it.

Like. Damn. I’d run from Donnie. Straight up yeeerrrrm like *thats a runner* probably run from raph too like. Yikes. Tiddie height to him is terrifying.

Literally everyone but Mikey is terrified that they’ll accidentally bump you and break something. They all get onto Mikey even more for swinging you around or grabbing you to toss up into the air.

Raph carries you anytime he can get away with it. In his mind, your legs are so short, they must get so tired, he’s really doing you a favor. Hope you don’t get too mad over being carried like the short stack you are, because he absolutely cannot get it through his thick skull that you would rather hurt your neck craning to look up at him than be carried

Leo so badly wants to teach you self defense, but he finds it so comical when you try to hit him while only coming up to his pec that he struggles to breathe. Yes he knows this is serious yes he’s trying but the poor turtle is also dying inside cut him some slack and maybe squish his cheeks when he dramatically leans over to talk to you.

Donnie sometimes feels like he should sit down when talking to you. He definitely has a spot in his lab that is your spot so he knows where you are at all times so he doesn’t accidentally hit you with his shell.

Cuddling them is super easy now at least. Normally they don’t even strain to lift someone but with you it’s more like they forget they’re holding you. They get hyper aware of where you are exactly in relation to them when it comes to turtle piles or relaxing no the couch though. It only took one almost squishing accident to bring them all on the same page of no rough housing when you’re around.

Mikey sometimes puts you on his shoulders while running around the lair, or scoops you up in his arms while doing parkour stunts just to get you to squeal in surprised delight/terror. It drives Leo up the wall.

They are all four hella protective, to the point that if you don’t catch on and tell them to stop, they’ll shadow you every time you head to/from the lair, if they can’t convince you to let one of them give you a lift.

If you told them you could “take care of yourself” I’m sorry but they are bro dudes they would straight up laugh like maybe Donnie would be self aware enough to try and hide it at first but if the other three break he’s gonna giggle too.

At the end of the day I just imagine it getting obnoxious like I’m pretty sure I’d kick them in the knees repeatedly, but as long as you like being treated like you’re fine china you’ll be heaven lol.

[anzulvr]

Thank you for follow back! >.> meant a lot to me. Is it okay if I request a Karma x reader where the reader is very sweet & affectionate towards Karma & it makes him shy. No pressure. Just wanted to say hi & thank you! ^_^

♡ ୨୧ Karma with affectionate Reader ୨୧ ♡

ʚɞ fluff; no warnings || Karma Akabane ♥︎ note : HIII HII SORRY THIS IS LIKE CENTURIES LATE SHEA… guys pls tell me if you see typos I checked but I get sick of reading my own things again and again… 😭|| ʚɞ

— Karma is inexperienced when it comes to relationships therefore when you’re affectionate and sweet to him he doesn’t know how to act!!

His face canonically gets super red when he’s embarrassed though it’s not an often thing because he can usually shake things off with a joke! When it does happen it’s finally your chance to get back at him for all the times he’s purposely taken weird photos of you.

He’d be shy with PDA (when he’s not trying to embarrass you, since he’s also the type to mortify you by calling you the stupidest pet names in front of your friends and family.)

If you react strongly it's worse because he loves getting you mad and rilled up it's like his love language. Some people like giving gifts or giving words of affirmation to their s/o while he likes pissing you off.

If you randomly hold his hand or rest your hand on his shoulder he won’t know what to do. He plays with your hand instead of staying still as a way to distract himself from how giddy he’s feeling.

Half the time “playing with your hand” means him trying to jokingly get you to slap your own face with your hand, the other half of the time when he feels like being nice and cute he’s just lightly squeezing it.

Very “opposites attract” troupe.

Even when you were just friends you were very attentive which isn’t something he’s familiar with. For the first time ever there’s someone taking care of him? Asking about his day and doing anything to make him feel better when it’s a bad one? He’d find it hard to believe you’re doing so much for him without wanting anything in return.

When he starts getting more comfortable in the relationship he inches towards being sweeter and more open with you.

E-class finds it hard to believe when they first see it, cause it’s Karma out of all people?? Karma being affectionate??

Don’t get me started on Asano’s reaction to this, he from the bottom of his heart, thinks you’re being held hostage.

Most of Karmas “affection” is just making fun of people so when they see him being weirdly nice to you it’s creepy to them. Constant compliments and praise coming out of his mouth is something they didn’t think they’d live to see.

He can’t be serious for long periods of time and always finds a way to “ruin the moment”. For example you’ll hug him and Karma will hug back… for three seconds before he lifts you off the ground and spins you till too dizzy to walk. (He finds it funny to see you struggling.)

Ms.Vitch is tired of you both because you refuse to work with anyone else she sets you up with (since her class centers around assassination with seduction). Sure, the phrases she makes you all say are awkward no matter who you’re saying it to but you can’t bring yourself to work with your other classmates for that class! If you do work with someone else he’s so shady about it afterwards.

“Karma do you mind getting my bag for me?"

“Maybe ask Maehara since he’s so strong.”

“You know I only said that for the class!!"

Karasuma is also sick of you two getting side tracked, instead of sparring you two sword fight, instead of running a mile you somehow convince Karma to carry you on his back while he does all the running?! (he’s a show off.) Instead of doing pushups you sit on Karmas back as he does them. It gets to the point he makes you work on opposite sides of the field but you somehow end up getting together anyway within minutes. He’s starting to give up.

On the brighter side you’re together in all of Korosensei’s classes because he can’t bring himself to separate you two! He did once and you were so miserable he gave in. Even if Karma does give you the answers in exchange for a kiss (it’s really that easy.) Korosensei thought you might’ve died from heartbreak if he kept you apart longer.

It’s pretty hard to make him shy since he’s constantly being praised to the point his ego is up there. It happens in more quiet, private moments. Like if you’re at his house watching a movie and you’re moving closer together all of a sudden he’s looking at the roof and not the screen. He can’t let you see his face is beet red.

Another example is him seeing you in a pretty outfit and not being able to act right cause he’s flustered.

“Do I have something on my face?”

“No, you’re just, you’re- you you’re I like.”

“Come again?”

[lotte22324]

A Night Out

Summary: This is inspired by Episode 4x9 "Pick-Up“. You guys know what I'm talking about, the one where they are trying to catch a pick-up artist who murders his victims and where that iconic bar scene happens with Spencer and the bartender, with the magic and all :) You are a part of the BAU and are assigned to the same club as Morgan and Reid, to find out if anyone knows the unsub. But Reid‘s miserable attempts at making conversation make you everything but focused on the task at hand. Leading to a confession and also a lil kiss (yk I am a sucker for a first kiss scenario!).

This is just basically fluffy all through, a bit of hurt/comfort :) This is for all the girlies who have kind of low self-esteem cause lets be honest, we all doubt ourselves once in a while. Also, this is most definitely not how in-ear monitoring works, honest to god, this just worked for the plot. So bare with me for potential technical inaccuracies :) TW.: Y/N is self-deprecating

You had flown into Atlanta two days ago, now you were sitting in the precinct with your team in front of a very poorly looking suspect picture.

„No one's gonna recognize this guy,“ you said helplessly.

„If you know him, then you’ll recognize him“ Rossi reassured you but you were still not very convinced.

„No matter, Morgan, Reid and y/l/n, go to Club 'Aqua‘ as normal agents, ask around, if anyone has seen anything important and warn people!“ said Hotch. "Emily, you already know what you have to do, as Morgen already so graciously pointed out earlier, the Pick-Up Artist is attracted to you“.

You felt a little sting after that comment. Even though you didn’t want to be found attractive by that arrogant narcissist, you still felt bad about not being seen the same way as Emily. Ohhh, this was so stupid, why did you care about that? Well, you were still living in a man‘s world where the opinion of men was apparently worth more than of others. It made you feel shame and guilt to think like that but you couldn’t help yourself, you wanted to get noticed by men as well, mostly just one man…but that didn’t matter right now. You glanced over to the man that had been haunting your nights and caught him staring back at you. He offered you an awkward smile but let his head fall as soon as you returned the smile. So that you both didn't notice the blush creeping up both your cheeks.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Later that evening, you were all at the club, Emily and Jordan looking pretty at their table, while you, Morgan and Reid were questioning and warning visitors. Everyone was wearing a mic and earplugs. You were connected with one another over the in-ear monitoring radio, so you heard what the others were saying as long as you stayed on their frequency. It was kinda distracting but in a dangerous situation, it could save lives. 

Having set the in-ear device on Emilys mic, you heard her and Jordan make fun of the pick-up artist you encountered earlier today. The female club-goers (and also a few male attendees) were eyeing him up and down. You were not convinced how the learned “charme skills” would work on anyone. Who would find a man attractive that belittled you so much? The weird trick with the "the camera really adds 10 pounds, doesn't it?“ just seemed douchey and would be an instant turn-off for you. You liked a gentleman, one that didn’t make you feel worth less than him, one with intelligence and maybe a bit of awkwardness. Who doesn’t like an awkward genius, you know? 

Switching through the channels on your in-ear monitoring radio (totally not looking for Spencer's voice), you finally heard his rambling. Your favorite awkward genius was in the middle of explaining the situation to a group of women. After describing the man to them and showing a picture, he started rambling on about the dangers of night clubs: "When you think about the nature of serial crimes, it's amazing that there aren’t more predators in Night Clubs! I mean the excessive amounts of alcohol, countless opportunities for date rape drugs, not to mention surprisingly risky behaviour being persued. Alright, so who wants a flyer?“

Subtle, Spencer. Based on his confused look that you caught on his face, after looking for him in the crowd, nobody wanted one. Someone should have really taught him some social skills before letting him out to a club. You stifled a laugh after that interaction you just witnessed and continued on your path, asking around if anyone knew the unsub. After a few fruitless conversations, you found your way to Morgan and Reid to find out if they had gotten anything useful. 

"So, how’s it going?“ asked Morgan, looking at you and Reid. But before you could give an answer, Spencer already started talking: "not good, I gave the profile to one woman, she asked if I was the unsub. How are you guys doing?“

Your brain stopped for a second, so did your feet. What did Spencer just say? You busted out laughing after his comment, just to get some weird side glances from other people around you.

"Why are you laughing?“ Spencer asked. 

"I don’t know, maybe because your attempts at speaking with pretty women are hilarious?“ you pushed out while holding your belly from laughing too hard. That right there was comedy gold and Spencer didn’t even realize it. Instead, he turned red as a tomato, with a hint of hurt in his eyes and turned away from you, just to meet Morgan's amused look. 

"So, how many phone numbers did you get?“ Spencer asked him.

"None, I'm working a case!“ Both you and Spencer raised your eyebrows in knowing suspicion, not believing a single word that left his lips. 

"Fine, I’ve got four numbers offered but I didn’t take none!“ Morgan defended himself. You start laughing again. This time Morgan shot you a scolding look and you caught yourself again.

"Alright, lemme school you real quick. What you have to do with these ladies, just take control over the conversation. When you’re talking, what makes you feel like an expert?“ 

„Uhh, statistics!“ 

You couldn’t believe his answer. Statistics? For real? Spencer knew so little about striking up a conversation and you were still falling for him, head over heels. Well, he didn’t know that, but still, how did you fall for this man again? At the thought of him talking with an attractive woman in a club about statistics, out of all the topics he could have picked, you lost it again. You started laughing loudly and excused yourself as soon as you saw Morgan's annoyed look. Holding your laugh in, you stepped outside the club as fast as you could. As soon as you were outside, you laughed even more.

"You are aware that we can all hear you, y/n?“ said Emily, suddenly standing next to you outside and you slowly stopped. 

You turned off your mic in response and took out your ear piece, not feeling the need to listen to more of Derek's “flirting lessons” for Spencer.

"I‘m sorry, it was just so fucking funny what Reid said“ you smirked, Emily smirking back. 

"I know, I could barely keep my laughs to myself“ she confessed.

"He really doesn’t understand how normal conversations work, not to mention flirting“ you replied instantly.

"And he’s still got you wrapped around his finger“ she answered dryly, looking at you with an amused look.

"No, he doesn’t!“

"Suuureee, you do understand that even though I promised not to profile you all, I still subconsciously do. I see you stumbling over your words when he asks specifically you a question, I see your flustered face when he looks up from his desk just to look at you, I see your little reaching for his hand whenever something horrible happens. And that all concludes to just one outcome: you, my love, have a big fat crush on our Doctor.“ Emily deduced with a satisfying look on her face. She deduced it completely correctly, obviously, but you were still trying to deny it all. 

"Yeeeahhh, sureee, you got me all figured out, Spencer isn’t even my type, Em!“ you answered a little too quickly, with not enough confidence to fool anyone, especially not a fellow profiler.

Emily's skeptical look, followed by an even more skeptical sound, made you look away from her and fumble with your bag. 

Wait. You looked over to Prentiss' ear, her hair tucked behind it. You saw the wire entangled in her hair, she was still wearing her hidden mic and ear device. Oh no, no, no. Everybody who was on her in-ear monitoring radio just heard her little speech about your peculiar behavior around Reid. Hotchner definitely heard it since he was monitoring us. Reid might have heard that you had a crush on him. Not just a little, but a big, fat crush! Emily saw your panicked look and realized her own mistake too late. 

"Fuck, I didn’t mean to-" she took her ear piece out.

Hurt and panicky, you cut her off, not allowing her to finish her probably half-assed apology: "you just told Hotchner that I like Spencer; you might have even told him. How am I supposed to look at them ever again?“ you asked frantically, turning red, holding your head in your hands the second that you do so. 

"Guys! We might not have gotten any new leads but Spencer got a girls number, he actually flirted with a real woman!“ Morgan bursted out the club's door, smiling brightly and padding Reid proudly on his shoulder. Jordan was following them, clutching her arms, not knowing how cold it would be outside. Spencer walked behind Morgan, looking a little more accomplished than usual. Maybe they didn’t hear Emily's profile? Maybe they were too hyped up about Spencer's flirting abilities.

"Yeah, I,I used magic! And she actually liked it.“ Spencer added coyly, a blush emblazoned on his cheeks. You felt a sting in your heart. Of course, she liked the magic, Spencer was extremely charming when he was talking about the things he liked or did the things he was good at. He had shown you multiple magic tricks already which always made your heart flutter. But now, thinking of magic, your stomach turned. You weren’t the only one being charmed by magic Spencer. Of course you weren’t. You flashed him a smile but couldn't mask the hurt that was shining through your eyes.Him being so excited about another person made you sad. You felt Emily's sorry-look on you and shivered due to the low temperature. Nonetheless, you could not drive in a car with Spencer now. To be honest, you wanted to be as far away as possible from him.

"Uhm, I think, i‘m gonna walk to the hotel, I need to clear my head a little“ you said hastily, starting to walk in the right direction. Everyone looked confused but no one dared to question your choice. It was gonna be a nice 30 minute walk where you could get yourself together before having to face the others again. You might catch a cold but it was worth it. 

"I’ll come with! You shouldn’t be walking the streets alone at night and I also, uhm, still need to get my steps in!“ Spencer hustled over to your side and started to walk with you. Great, amazing, this was exactly what you needed. You slumped your shoulders and pulled your lips into a thin line. 

"Fine“ you answered, quickening your pace, not caring if Reid could keep up. He was the one that you wanted to get away from and now he was walking right beside you. For the next 30 minutes. You could curl up and die at the thought of that.

After walking a few minutes in silence, you started to slow down, admitting defeat that you wouldn’t get rid of him. His breathing slowed down, looking grateful, he never was the sportiest out of all of you. 

"Sooo, what’s her name?“ you asked, uninterested.

"Whose name?“ Spencer seemed confused.

"The girl whose number you got?“ 

"Well, technically, I don’t have her number but she has mine and I told her that she could call me…. I don’t know her name either.“ Spencer answered honestly.

"It doesn’t matter, I am not interested in her anyways, I just wanted to know if Morgan‘s theory of controlling the conversation would be true. And, I guess, he was right. I was in my comfort zone, doing something I liked and she instantly felt attracted to that confidence“ he confessed.

You didn’t answer him, what should you say to that?  Yeaaahhh, I like your confidence too! Whenever you do magic, I also find that super attractive. Oh and by the way, do you wanna go out with me instead of her? And also, when she calls, do you wanna casually give me the phone to tell her that he’s in a happy relationship and that she should back the fuck off? No. You would never say that and also, the other woman has done nothing wrong. Why are you so angry with her? He flirted with her, she simply flirted back, as one does. Being mad at her is senseless, it's better to be mad at Spencer and yourself. I mean, who were you kidding? Spencer Reid would never fall for you, you are so deep in the friendzone, he probably does not even see you as a real woman.

"Did you get any numbers offered to you in the club?“ Spencer asked, pulling you out of your self-pitying thoughts.

"No, I don’t usually get numbers just handed out to me“ you answered sarcastically but truthfully.

"Why not?“ Spencer furrowed his eyebrows.

"Cause, I don’t usually get hit on, you know. People need to get to know me before asking me out, my looks alone simply don’t cut it.“ you admitted, shrugging your shoulders. You turned around the next street corner, blinded by the suddenly very bright street lamps but kept on walking. Spencer grabbed your wrist and made you stop in an instant. 

You turned your head irritated: "What is it?“

"That can’t be true.“

"What can’t be true?“ you asked, still irritated by his grip around your arm but not taking any action against it.

"That people don’t ask you out all the time just when they see you. You’re, You’re beautiful.“

Your face turned a crimson red color and you looked down onto the pavement. 

"Well thank you, Doctor Reid, but you might be the only one who thinks so…“ you said out loud, without thinking about it first. You shook off his hand and kept on walking, wanting to leave this conversation behind you.

"Come on, we do wanna get back at some point, ay?“ you asked him, a smile playing on your lips. Spencer's shocked look turns into a smile as soon as he sees yours. 

"Okay, but just for the record, I am very sure that everyone thinks that you are beautiful, inside and out!“ Spencer reassured his view but you didn't believe him, as always when someone complimented you. 

Walking side by side, you finally decided to change the topic and asked about the last book he read. Instantly, his eyes shined bright and he started rambling on about this book that you’ve never heard about. Although his mouth and his right hand were moving enthusiastically, his hand closest to you stayed on his side. In the next ten minutes, he inched closer and closer to you., at least it seemed like it. With every millimeter that he won, you didn't back away. You wanted him to get closer, god, if you had the choice, he would be as close as humanly possible at all times to you. You let your hands fall out of your coat pockets, dangerously close to his. They graze lightly. He kept on talking about the main character and his complicated love interest. Your hands graze again. You tried to keep calm, listen to his explanation of the story. They touch again, this time longer. You instinctively held out your pinky, your body yearning for his touch. It touched the back of his hand, slowly making its way down. Spencer mirrored your movement, your pinkies finally interlocking. You held your breath, fearing that any change would destroy this fragile image. Both of you kept on walking, he kept on talking.

"Y/n? Are you even listening?“ Spencer asked hesitantly, his voice a little shakier than usual.

"Yeah, sure I am! You were talking about Flavio and his little girlfriend, uhm, Adriana?“ you answered him, completely aware that you were, in fact, not listening to him.

"Arianne. It almost seems like you just wanted to get me talking, so you wouldn’t have to,“ his jawline tensed up but he didn't let go of your pinky.

"I-I, that might have been my plan.“ you defeatedly answered him. But before he could answer you back, you were standing in front of the hotel. 

"There you guys are, finally, I was already afraid that you got lost!“ Morgan said, pushing himself off of the car he was leaning on. You let go in an instant of Spencer's pinky and took a step to the side, not realizing how close you were standing.

"Yeah no, our doctor over here is just not the fastest, even though he has such long legs!“ you laughed, Morgan flashing you a signature smile. 

"Come on, let's get some sleep, tomorrow will probably be a long day again.“ Morgan yawned and started walking towards the entrance of the hotel. Both, you and Reid, followed him and started to walk up to your rooms. Stepping into the elevator, Morgan had to get to the third floor, you and Reid to the fifth. As soon as the elevator dinged on the third, Morgan waved tiredly and wished you both a good night. The ride up was quiet but the tension between you two seemed to thicken. You stepped out of the elevator awkwardly, Spencer following you sheepishly.

"I have to go to the right,“ he said, looking down onto his hands.

"Oh, I have to go left“ you answered, the disappointment in your voice clear, you never were the best at keeping your emotions hidden. 

Spencer looked up at you, opening and closing his mouth, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. You gave him a smile: "alright, good night then.“ 

You turned around and started walking towards your room when a sentence dropped from Spencer's lips that made you stop in your tracks.

"Was Emily right?“

You turned around to find him walking towards you, in the opposite direction of his room. You gulped. Your eyes shifted panicky, trying to find the right answer to that question. You could simply lie, say that she was wrong, profilers do get things wrong sometimes. 

But you felt yourself opening your mouth: "yes, Spencer, she was right.“ you looked down onto the floor, your stomach full with knots. 

"But that doesn’t have to change anything between us, you know, I know you don’t like me like that and I will get over this, easily!“ you blabbered. Yeeeeahhhh, sureee, that is gonna be super easy. You don’t believe your own words, knowing the feelings that you have for this man. It’s like nothing you ever felt before, it feels like whenever he looks at you, the world stops for a second. But he doesn’t need to know that, as far as he is concerned, it's just a little work crush.

"What if I don’t want you to get over it?“

The world actually stopped or at least it felt like it again. You drew your eyes up and met his gaze. He looked completely serious, he was not fucking with you right now?

"What do you mean, Spencer?“ you asked hesitantly.

"Well, y/n, as Emily put it so nicely: I have a big, fat crush on you too.“ Spencer timidly smiled at you, ears turning red, stepping closer.

"Or why would you think that I was trying to hold your hand the whole damn way here?“ he confessed, holding his hand out to yours. You followed his movement and took his hand, this time with more clear intention, and interlocked your fingers together. You couldn't fight the smile creeping up your face, neither could he. His other hand moved up and hesitantly touched your cheek. Your eyes shifted up and down, from his brown eyes to his pink lips. He fully stared at your mouth, not concealing his clear want at all, making you chuckle slightly.

"What’s so funny?“ he asked, his voice quiet and distracted.

"You can’t stop staring, can you?“ you blushed, surprised by the boldness of your claim.

"Nope.“ 

And that’s all it took for you to lean over and place your lips on his. For Spencer, it felt like the world was stopping. It was a shy kiss but you both slowly found a rhythm. Your hands found their way to his neck, his hands fell down and started pulling you closer by your hips. After a few moments, you had to stop, trying to catch your breath. The stupid smiles that painted both of your faces made both of you laugh. 

"You know, y/n, I can never stop staring. Whenever I ask you a question, whenever you look up from your desk and especially whenever you hold my hand.“ Spencer confessed, his smile and his words making you blush, for the 100th time tonight. Instead of answering, you simply pulled him into a tight embrace that he happily reciprocated. You sighed heavily, the tension of today falling off, feeling safe in his arms.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 2 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: pregnancy, difficulty conceiving, mention of pregnancy symptoms, lots of Eddie being a mush

WC: 1.5k

February 1999

You didn’t get pregnant that first month. Your period arrived unceremoniously, leaving in its wake blood-stained underpants and disappointment.

It didn’t happen in December or January, either, despite meticulous cycle tracking and Eddie barely keeping his hands off of you. Each negative test feels like a failure; you’ve stopped taking them when Eddie’s around because you can sense his disappointment, though he puts on a brave face to comfort you.

But now, you’re late. Only by two days–if you weren’t paying careful attention to the dates, you might not have noticed. You have to bite back a smile as you tear open the box, fingers trembling as you poorly contain your excitement. It might be nothing, just a period ironically delayed by stress of trying to conceive.

Or you might be pregnant.

You inhale, filling your lungs with air and holding it there for a while until you let it out in one strong breath. All you’re doing is peeing on a stick, but your body nervously buzzes with each passing second. You’ve likely taken a dozen of these by now, and there’s nothing that should make you think you’ll get a different result today.

With utmost care, you place the used test on the back of the sink and wash your hands. You keep pressing on the soap handle to the point where a small pool forms in your palm, but you can’t draw your gaze from the tiny result window. The control line begins forming quickly, as it always does. 

How long ago did Eddie leave to grab breakfast—maybe ten minutes? Sundays at Zeke’s Bagels are usually swamped, so you have plenty of time to wipe away your tears if that sacred second line never appears. 

“Mommy?”

A drowsy voice interrupts your inner monologue. Harris stands at the bathroom doorway, wiping the sleep from his big brown eyes and yawning. 

“What’s up, Har?” You hope your anxiety doesn’t bleed through, though you doubt he’s awake enough to recognize it. 

He squints as he adjusts to the light. “Where’s Daddy? Also, I’m hungry.”

A sigh of relief escapes you when you realize he’s too focused on breakfast to pay attention to anything else. “Daddy left to get us some bagels,” you explain, allowing your heart to slow to a normal rate. “Why don’t you go make your bed, and we can watch some cartoons while we wait for him, okay?”

Harris nods, barely picking up his sock-clad feet as he trudges back towards his bedroom. You giggle at the way he tries to fight his sleepiness, shaking your head in amusement. 

That’s when you see it, faint but still definitely present: the tell-tale second pink line.

“Oh my God.” Your hand flies to your mouth in complete shock, tears forming a film over your eyes so the results become blurred. You blink them away to get a better look, partially convinced that you’re hallucinating or projecting your hopes, and that reality will set in and show a negative result.

But when your vision clears, both lines are still visible.

You’re pregnant.

Now you just have to tell your husband; the question is, how?

You’re still mulling over the possibilities when the key clicks in the door ten minutes later. Eddie carries in a brown paper bag of bagels, whistling a tune that startles you from your thoughts. 

“Food’s here!” Eddie calls out; your stomach flip-flops at the sound of his voice. The temptation to let giddiness take over and wave the test in his face is strong, but you hold yourself back. First and foremost, you don’t want Harris knowing until you’re safely in the second trimester, but another part of you is still in denial that you truly are pregnant. That there’s a tiny little life growing within your womb, half you and half Eddie.

I’ll test again in a few days, you tell yourself, and if it’s still positive, then I’ll tell him.

You shove the test in the top drawer among your make-up and hair care products where it will be safe from your husband’s wandering eyes. Before you shut off the light, you get a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. You look the same as you always do, but there’s no denying that you feel different.

Pregnant. You’re pregnant with Eddie’s baby. In approximately nine months, the Munsons will be a family of four.

“Mommy! Daddy’s home!”

“Coming!” You wipe away any remaining tears and make your way to the kitchen, trying to quell the excitement of knowing that you’re technically eating for two.

Breakfast drags a bit, both because of the weighty secret you’re guarding and the fact that cream cheese apparently now makes your nose wrinkle in disgust, but Harris’s animated storytelling makes the time pass a bit faster. Apparently, being seven years old is more dramatic than you’d remembered.

One particular story involving Harris, Joshua Harrington, and a celery-stick sword fight remains etched into your brain even as you brush bagel crumbs off of the table and into your cupped palm. Harris has plunked down in front of the television, gaze glued to a show about a conjoined cat and dog with screeches so grating that you find yourself wincing with each piece of dialogue. The distraction is enough to keep you from tuning into Eddie rummaging through the bathroom drawers, searching for the nail clippers.

“Um, babe?” His voice cracks on the second word, and you can sense both confusion and concern in his tone. “C-Can you come here? Now?”

Oh, shit. 

You dash into the bathroom, shrinking into yourself when you find him, one hand bracing his body weight on the sink and the other clutching a very positive pregnancy test. 

“Are…is this…” He turns to you, wide-eyed, lower lip quivering. “When…?”

“Right before breakfast,” you jump in, your pinky finger nudging his along the sink’s edge. “I wanted to do something special to surprise you after I took another one later this week, y’know, just to be sure.”

Eddie exhales a breath that’s half-laugh and half-cry, lowering the test to the ceramic ledge so he can place both hands on your cheeks. “You’re pregnant?” he asks, words thick with disbelief. He chuckles when you nod, head moving up and down between his calloused palms. “Holy shit; you’re having my baby.”

His mouth finds yours in an instant, fingers leaving your face and traveling to your waist. Eddie pulls you in close and punctuates the long kiss with several little pecks. 

“My gorgeous girl is having my baby,” Eddie murmurs, gently sinking to his knees so he’s eye-level with your stomach. It’s still far too early to be showing, but he still bunches up your shirt just above your belly button. You giggle when he presses his lips against your skin, an involuntary ticklish reaction. “I just…I’m so happy. I got kinda worried when it wasn’t happening, that something was wrong.” He looks up at you with an expression of relief and awe. “We’re having a baby, Sweetheart.” His thumb trails along your exposed flesh, the place where your child will develop over the next nine months.

You laugh, pulling him up so you can kiss him again. He tastes like the orange juice he’d drank with breakfast, sweet and tangy. “We should wait to tell people until a doctor confirms it,” you murmur as he rests his forehead on yours. “Let it just be our little secret for now, okay?”

Eddie nods, lips occupied with kisses that render him unable to speak for a minute. “I’m glad I found out when I did, to be honest,” he admits with a small smile. “I missed so much of this with Harris, and I wanna be part of everything with this little munchkin.” 

“Everything?” you ask suspiciously. “The morning sickness, the mood swings, the swollen feet? I’m pretty sure my mom got hemorrhoids when she was pregnant with me–”

“Everything,” Eddie affirms, lacing his fingers with yours. “The good, the bad, and the…hemorrhoid-y.”

You can’t hold back your amusement, throwing your head back with laughter. “I’m holding you to that.”

But you know you won’t need to, because this is Eddie, and the love he already has for this child radiates off of him.

He wraps you in a warm embrace, holding you around your shoulders so that his soft arm hair brushes the nape of your neck. He keeps you safe in his arms while you keep the baby safe in your womb.

In a little while, a commercial will interrupt Harris’s TV show. He’ll come running over to exclaim that he needs the toy being advertised, despite having a present-filled birthday just three weeks ago, and the Munson home will return to its definition of normalcy. For now, you and Eddie relish in this special moment, just the two of you and the tiny bean that is Baby Munson.

--

[wowconradfisher]

all of the girls you’ve loved before

pairing: min ho x reader

genre: slight angst, best friends to lovers, they are both so dense to each others feelings..

summary: being best friends with KISS’s resident “heart throb” is not for the weak. falling in love with him isn’t either, so what happens when the line between best friend and boyfriend becomes too blurred?

a/n: hi hello i am back from the dead. i’m convinced this acc is just gonna be a jenny han-iverse fic acc bc if not conrad then i’m writing about min ho. i have ended school so i hope i am more consistent with writing! feel free to send in requests + questions btw :D i hope u guys enjoy this silly fic that is also based off a taylor swift song hence the title!

Sitting outside of your best friend’s party that he throws every year was not something you thought you would be doing. You were convinced that this time was going to be different, and maybe just because you were seeing Min Ho in a different light, he would see you too. Here you still were, all dolled up but with no guts to walk into the party. You sighed, thinking about how pathetic you might be looking at the moment to anyone walking by. It was annoying in your opinion, just a month ago you couldn’t stand the thought of being with your best friend but now you’re starting to second guess and think more about the times you’ve spent together.

It was about 2 weeks ago when you and Min Ho, well more so you, started kind of overthinking the things you two would do together. You used to think that it was just regular best friend things you did, like talking about your past lovers and flings, laughing about all of the late nights you both have spent on your own having lame fights on the phone. But then you start thinking about the other nights, sneaking out past curfew and holding onto each other's hands in hopes of not getting caught. Or the way he would treat you the way he would never treat anyone else, allowing you to see his softer side, doing silly things like letting you do his skin care after he knows you’ve been crying in his bathroom about some dude that said “loved you” not knowing how carelessly he’s throwing out the words that mean so much to you. You see yourself doing the regular “best friend duties” like never saying bye to each other because you know you’ll be seeing each other again anyways, but you know it shouldn’t bother you when you see the new transfer student Madison write your best friend’s name in a heart all over her assignment. 

You shook yourself out of your daze and stood up, you knew it was wrong for you to be feeling this way about your best friend and there was no reason for you to start feeling this way now. Looking at your phone’s reflection to fix up your makeup, you took a deep breath and confidently made your way to the venue. Walking in and seeing a bunch of lights and loud music was expected, but tonight your goal was to forget about how you felt and let the universe tell you what to do. 

“Excuse me ma’am who let you out looking so good?” a voice spoke from behind you while tapping you on the shoulder.

You turned around and to your surprise it was one of your other close friends, “Q oh my gosh I haven’t seen you in like a week!” you exclaimed while pulling him into a hug, not failing to notice Florian behind him. Once you pulled away you waved at the other male who signaled to his flask, basically asking you if you wanted a shot. You grinned and suddenly all of your prayers had been answered and your night had begun. 

If you were being honest, you knew you weren’t a light weight. You always thought of yourself as someone who could just drink enough to not be a heavy weight and be at the perfect level of tipsy where you can feel the buzz. This is the point where you had to go out to the dance floor because of how free it made you feel, not a single care or worry in the world. That was until you felt someone tapping on your shoulder. You turned around to see a guy, a random one you have never seen before around KISS. You could admit he was a bit attractive but not as attractive as Min Ho. 

Looking up at the stranger you let out a forced smile, “Hi?” you spoke, but sounded more like a question

“Couldn’t help but notice a pretty girl dancing all by herself, you looking for someone to dance with?” the guy asked as he tried to put his hand on your waist. 

You backed away before you suddenly felt someone behind you put their hand around your waist, “Baby I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” a boy spoke with an accent you could recognize anywhere. Looking up, you let out a soft genuine smile at the sight of your best friend. 

Min Ho cleared his throat and saw the guy was still there, “Hey man I don’t know if you noticed but she’s my girl, so I would appreciate it if you didn’t hit on her,” 

The guy furrowed his brows at Min Ho before quickly realizing who he was, “Oh shit sorry man I didn’t know,” he quickly muttered out

“You’re lucky I didn’t have you kicked out. Now leave us alone, yeah?” Min Ho replied, shooing the other guy away. 

Once the guy was gone, Min Ho held onto your hand and led you to a more secluded area away from the party. He looked at you and caressed your cheek, “You okay Y/N?” he spoke softly

You looked up at your best friend and took in the way he looked at you. The way he looked at you made you feel so delicate, like you were the only person that mattered to him. You broke out of your daze and just nodded at him, “Thank you Min, I think it’s time for me to head out now though,” You spoke

Min Ho frowned, but it looked more like a pout to you, “But I just found you,” he spoke, “and we didn’t even get to dance yet,” 

You took his hand that was on your cheek and held it, “I know, I’m sorry I’m just not in the mood for it anymore,” you replied softly 

After hearing your response, it was like something in Min Ho clicked, causing him to hold your hand again, “Okay, let’s go then,” he spoke like it was no big deal

“Let’s go? What do you mean? Like you’re gonna just ditch your party?” You asked in disbelief

He nodded, “Uh yeah duh? Why would I stay at a party that my best friend doesn’t even want to be at?” 

There was that word again, it just keeps dangling over you and taunting you everytime you think you guys could be something more than just friends. Hearing his response just made you let out a small smile. Him pretending to be your boyfriend just lets you have a glimpse of what you weren’t but what you could be, truly it does break your heart but what can you really do about it.  After that night, he just dropped you off back at your dorms, you didn’t even have the energy to invite him in like how you guys usually do. It did feel awkward just leaving him but you needed this. Your heart needed it. 

You did feel bad for ghosting everyone. It had been a week since the party and you needed to shut down and take time for yourself to really think about what you wanted to do about your feelings for Min Ho. After being by yourself for a week and doing your work online, you felt like you really did learn a lot about yourself, and that in order to get over your feelings for your best friend, you had to accept that you had those feelings in the first place. 

During this week of you ghosting everyone, you weren’t the only one in question about their emotions. Min Ho to say the least has been snappier than ever to everyone. Most times, whenever you were around he would be at his nicest, you were someone who humbled him and brought him back to Earth but without you? He truly was something and someone you did not want to cross. The boy is a mess, he doesn’t know how long ago you guys haven’t talked for this long. Even if it was just a week, it felt like years. One thing Min Ho will do for you but never admit or do for anyone else is giving you space.

If he’s being honest with himself, he tried so incredibly hard not to fall for you or do anything that can potentially jeopardize his relationship with you but the moment he saw you at his party looking the way you did dancing on the dance floor, he knew he was done for. That’s why the whole week he has been so upset with himself for doing what he did that night, for calling you baby, for pretending to be your boyfriend, all of it, because now you weren’t even talking to him. It wasn’t until you texted him asking if he could come over where he finally felt the feeling of anxiousness leave his body.

Min Ho was standing at your door with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, debating on when to knock. That was until you beat him to it and just opened the door after hearing his shuffling from behind the door. Genuinely you were surprised, you didn't expect him to show up so fast, and with your favorite flowers too?

"Hi Min," you spoke with a smile before opening your door to let him in, "Come in please, you've been here countless of times so don't get shy on me now,"

He chuckled, taking off his shoes before stepping into your dorm, placing them among your other shoes and then following you to your room. Before sitting down, he handed you the flowers, "Here Y/N, I got you your favorites,"

"What's the occasion Min?" you asked taking the flowers and admiring them before placing them on your lap

"I just missed you that's all," he replied before sitting down next to you

You cleared your throat and started fiddling with your hands, "Min Ho I've been meaning to talk to you about this for a while," you spoke, "But if I'm honest I want to say I'm sorry for ghosting you for a week, I just needed time to figure out what I was feeling,"

Min Ho grabbed onto your hands and held them, preventing you from fiddling with your hands and causing you to look up at him, "It's okay Y/N, you know I would give you all the time in the world," he replied

Staring into his eyes, you knew you had to say it now or else you would never want to say it, "Min Ho, I'm in love with you," you said feeling so much lighter with that confession alone, "I think I always have been, but I wanted to be sure of it before I told you. I don't know when it exactly happened, but at one point the lines between being my best friend and wanting something more with you started to blur. So please tell me now if I'm just overthinking this whole thing and maybe I'm the only one who feels this way but-" you spoke before Min Ho leaned in to kiss you.

Your eyes widened in shock for a second before you closed your eyes finally kissing him back, melting into his touch and putting your hand onto his chest. If you could describe what the best thing that has happened to you, it would be this moment alone. The way your lips moved together in perfect synchronization, like you were both made for each other. Truly it could not compare to anything you've ever felt before.

Once you both pulled away, your forehead rested against Min Ho's, "You drive me crazy Y/N, I never even thought I had a chance with you but I'm so thankful all of our past romances led me here to you," he spoke

You smiled at his response, "So does that mean you love me too?"

"I love you more than words can describe, I mean I can show you in actions too?" He replied with a smirk

"Min Ho!" you gasped, playfully hitting his shoulder

He laughed at your reaction, "I'm kidding! I mean unless you were serious?"

You rolled your eyes playfully at the boy you were thankful to be in love with. At least this time you were sure this would be real.

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

So, you have been in a relationship for a while and you’re ready and eager to take the next step - but your partner isn’t. What now? 

The “next step” I’m referring to here could mean a lot of different things because relationships do not all follow one specific timeline (and also because my readers may be of wildly different ages and live in wildly different situations) but I am thinking of any “deepening our commitment” things here: for example introducing them to your friends or your family, moving in together or (if you are in a situation where that’s a legal possibility) even marriage or having a child together. 

Whatever the step actually looks like, you may have this romantic idea of “If they’re right for you, you’ll always naturally want to take these steps at the same time”… but that’s not really how relationships work in real life. Even in the healthiest relationship and even if you absolutely feel like they’re your soulmate, you may still disagree on when to take those steps or even on whether you want to take these steps at all. 

In fact, it’s uniquely frustrating if everything else is going well. If their refusal to meet your mom is just another point on the long list of behaviors that make you feel like they don’t really care about you, that’s also painful but it’s easier to give advice there: maybe you should think about breaking up. It’s tempting to believe that you can make them love you more if you move in with them or that they’ll treat you better once you get engaged, but that won’t work out. You can’t fix a broken relationship by deepening the commitment - commitment needs a stable foundation to grow. And this doesn’t only go for outright abusive relationships: they may be a wonderful person but you two just have entirely different goals and needs, and those won’t suddenly overlap more just because you moved in with them or married them. 

With all that being said: if there IS a healthy and stable foundation, if you are happy in every other aspect and they’re just hesitant about this one specific step, then jumping straight to “break up with them” would obviously be pretty unhelpful advice. Differing opinions occur even in the most compatible couple, you are both whole people with your own individual feelings and those do not necessarily doom the whole relationship. It’s important to see this situation in the context of the relationship in general. 

You may be able to guess that a big portion of the advice is just gonna be “Communicate with your partner” - but first of all, I’d advise you to have an open and honest conversation with yourself. Why is this step of commitment so important to you? What does it mean to you? Do you feel a sense of urgency in taking it and if so, why? Is this specific step the only possible path for your need to be met? Are you open to alternative approaches, are you open to waiting (and if so, for how long)? The purpose of these questions is definitely not to convince yourself to give up on your needs or to talk yourself into a compromise you’re not really happy with! The opposite of that, actually: It’s helpful to reflect on what exactly you want and why you want it, so you have the clarity you need to discuss it productively. You don’t want to agree to something that ultimately leaves you unsatisfied and bitter, but you also don’t want to push hard for something you later on realize doesn’t even mean that much to you. 

When you feel confident enough about your own stance to discuss it with your partner, the most important thing to remember is: you’re on the same team. The goal here isn’t to “win” or to change their mind, but to see each others perspective better and find a solution you’re both happy with. Listen with an open mind. Try to understand before you try to influence. Remind yourself that your partner isn’t your enemy, they also want the best outcome for both of you - otherwise you (hopefully) wouldn’t want to commit to them! 

Something you should get clarification on during your conversations: is it a hard no (do not want to do that at all ever), a soft no (open to alternatives or adjustments), a no for now (want to do it but not yet), a yes but (want to do it but only under certain circumstances or in a different way than your original plan) or a I don’t know? How does this affect your feelings on the situation? (I’m sure that even just while reading these different scenarios, some instinctively feel better or worse than others! But it’s still important to take some time to sit with any new information that comes up during those conversations. Neither of you should feel pressured or rushed here!) 

You may find that they just never considered that there may be multiple approaches to that step (an example for this would be that they are not actually opposed to the idea of being married to you, just to the idea of a wedding, and didn’t consider yet that eloping is also a possibility) - but don’t set yourself up for disappointment by expecting the conversation to 100% go that way. It may also be a hard no, and that wouldn’t make them a horrible person. People can deeply, truly love someone and still do not want to take certain steps with them. It’s a good idea to remind yourself that you’re not “in the right” or “the better person” for wanting to take those steps. While certain steps may be a big part of your own future plans or even of your identity and self-image (and that’s valid!), they are just personal preferences. It’s not a moral obligation to want them, and your partner isn’t mean for not wanting them. But, of course, at this point we also need to say: if you can not imagine a life where you never get married, you are not a horrible person for breaking up with a partner who can not imagine to ever marry. “Irreconcilable differences” are a common breakup reason for a reason. 

So, to summarize: Building a strong foundation is crucial before taking big steps. Communicate openly with yourself first - understand why you want to take this step and if there are alternatives. When talking to your partner, remember you're a team; it's not about winning but understanding each other. Be open to different responses, from a clear no to conditions on a yes. Do not pressure your partner but do not completely give up on your own happiness either. 

The journey of commitment should be a shared adventure - not a battle or a competitive race! 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[hypnos333]

Healers love

Luke castellan x black goddess reader

Synopsis: You worked at the camp as a full goddess but also a youngling and you never could fall in love because of the curse of Apollo until you met a Hermes half breed

Your apollos granddaughter also Asclepius daughter, You took over your father deity, as healing, medicine and surgery. So your grandfather thought it would be good for you to work and watch the gods half breeds.

Your father, Asclepius was really uncertain of his only daughter babysitting the gods half breeds but after a lot of convincing from his father. He sent you away but not that you mind, your grandfather and dad was overbearing to you.

You were cluttered in the infirmity room all day, Chiron fixed up Cabin 305 for you because no one heard of you. Pacifically you being Asclepius child.

One day when you were healing kids who have minor injuries. That’s where a Hermes boy comes in with him limping and holding his shoulder in pain so you instantly rushed to him.

You checked him over before opening your healing purse with lots of Ambrosia.

Ambrosia is healing food something demigods consume but having to much has consequences but Mortals can never consume them.

It was risky to give this boy Ambrosia but he did look in pain so you risked it you shoved the little piece of bread in his mouth making his swallow while using your healing magic. He groans in pain as the Ambrosia reached his leg as you healed his shoulder.

You moved away to go your next patient. “T-Thank you pretty girl” The Hermes boy mumbled tiredly making you blush slightly.

“Your welcome Messenger” You sigh pulling a blanket up to him before tending to your other kids.

When he first saw you, he immediately noticed that you were gorgeous for a healer goddess maybe Aphrodite blessed you with her beauty. And the way you immediately rushed to him made him fold. He wanted you at first sight, screw the gods but not you definitely not you. You were different and is just for him.

Maybe even Aphrodite even gave her blessing into you two to fall in love.

When Luke woke up he was greeted to you listening to his heart with your stethoscope that you mostly keep around your neck in the infirmary room.

He blushed as his heartbeat went up making you glance at him and smile as you put your stethoscope back around your neck. “Oh i’m glad to see your up love” You cheerfully said writing down his condition.

“My name is ___ Killian” You said making his arch his eyebrows as he was going to say something you already beat him to it. “Yes I made the last name up” You sigh.

“What’s your name?” You asked making him remember he never told you his name.

“Uh Oh i’m Luke Castellan” he answered making you nod before writing it down on the clipboard before putting it down.

“Well Luke your all good to go, I gave you some medicine to heal faster and everything should be good, I will need you to be more careful unless you’ll be close to getting a broken shoulder or sprain leg” You said professional.

You looked at him for an Okay but all he did was stare at you in admiration and lovesick.

You’re no Aphrodite but you would know when people fall for you at this point. Everyday now he come 5 times a week and it was often.

He’ll come with scapes, scars, sicknesses or even almost sprains.

So you confront him about it.

“Luke you can’t keep hurting yourself it’s either your really clumsy or your here for something else and I see if capture the flag and your amazing so what’s up with you?” You asked him wrapping up his arm.

“You watch me play capture the flag?” He asked lighting up at you watching him win every single time.

“Stop changing the subject” You scolded making him chuckle nervously.

Over these past weeks you grown having feelings with the Hermes boys and loved his company but you also grown worried he’s hurting himself on purpose.

“This is probably the best way to tell you but I’ve been wanting to ask if you want to go on a lunch date with me?” He asked hopefully but felt a boost of energy and that where he realized you were still holding his arm but white tint came out of your hands and onto his arm making him feel more strengthen.

“___?” He asked out making you snap out of it.

You pulled him into a kiss luckily the infirmary was empty was it was just you and him.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” He asked pulling away slightly but instantly wanted to feel your lips again as his grabbed you waist pulling you closer.

“It’s definitely a yes” You breathed out as he looked at your chocolate brown eyes. He smiled before pulling you back into a kiss leading into a make out session.

He still hated gods but you…. You were definitely an exception he can never hate you. He was gonna keep you to himself. All he wants is you…..

[jasntodds]

Penance [4]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader

Words: 7,682

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, a little bit of angst, some fluff, mentions of death, some blood, panic attack (jason), bits of ptsd, some violence, hurt/comfort

Summary:❝Thesus: Stop. Give me your hand. I am your friend. Herakles: I fear to stain your clothes with blood. Thesus: Stain them. I don’t care.❞

It’s been a month and a half since Crane’s reign of terror was stopped, leaving Gotham to finally return to normal. But, what is normal? After everything Jason and you have been through, it seems normal might be some unobtainable dream state. But that’s not going to stop either of you from trying and maybe, you’ll get lucky in the end. At the end of it, the two of you have suffered enough, right?

Right?

A/N: I might have gotten this idea from 911 but that's fine lol I hope you guys like it!! You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary  and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

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As the next day comes around, it takes Jason some time to convince Tim not to go looking for Venta if they’re going out later. Tim is thrilled to be helping with the Penguin to the point Jason finds the whole thing a little funny. Jason was always excited to go out as Robin. It was the coolest thing ever but Tim really is over the moon about it. Jason doesn’t think Tim has ever been happier about it and it actually worries him.

As much as Jason is happy for him, he is worried. He’s worried Tim will put his all into Robin and lose himself in it, just like Dick and Jason did. Robin was never something they got to do. It was given to them as a way to cover up their grief. It was a way to weaponize their grief rather than work through it. Jason hopes that won’t be the case for Tim. It doesn’t seem that way. It seems he just wants it for the greater good and he’s just excited. And the way he’s excited is still very serious like he knows he can’t let that excitement out onto the field so he lets it out now where it’s safe. It’s something he knows he has to take seriously. Jason worries but he hopes it’ll work out because he can tell that Tim will be a good Robin.

You meet the boys back at Jason's around midnight, a case in hand with your suit. You're pretty excited to go out on a mission with not only Tim for the first time, but also Jason. You really miss that stuff with him. But, with Tim, it’s new and you're excited to see how he does. No one can’t stop him from being Robin and being out there, so you might as well embrace it and that’s what you're doing even if you're terrified of it.

“Really gonna take down the Penguin.” Tim says almost in awe once you're dressed and back in the main corridor downstairs.

“Pretty sure we’re not taking him down, really.” You nod your head as Tim moves his staff around with pent-up energy.

“Kind of.” Tim defends.

“We’re just securing the guns and turning them over to Babs.” Jason reminds him as he walks in now in his Red Hood suit, the helmet on his hip. “Not taking out Penguin, he’s not even supposed to be there this time.”

“The fuck he is doing that he’s not gonna be at his own shipment?” You question, your stare directly at Jason and you can't help but feel maybe that's a bit weird.

“Fuck if I know, Penguin things.” Jason lets out a scoff. "Could think we wouldn't come for him since we haven't." Jason shrugs casually, it's not the first time Penguin hasn't been around so he isn't too concerned about it.

“What a weirdo.” You let out a sigh, shrugging the uneasiest from your bones with the ease of Jason's voice.

“Yeah.” Jason chuckles softly. “Alright, let’s get going. Tim, you ride with her.” Jason hands Tim a spare helmet. Jason heads for the exit, the two of you right behind him. “And just make sure you do what we say.”

“Got it.” Tim nods.

“Then, let’s get out of here.” Jason nods once as the three of you exit the building.

The three of you ride over to the warehouse near Harbor that Penguin is using. The three of you get to a roof, laying down to look over the edge as the three of you closely watch as the shipment is taken from one of the boats and moved into the warehouse. Penguin isn’t here it seems and only a handful of his goons are. That’s a red flag, Jason and you can both sense it. You exchange a glance but you're already here and you gave Babs a heads up. It'd be a little hard to leave now so you just keep watching, hoping this won't cause too many problems.

Once the lot is cleared of goons, the three of you make your way to the roof of the warehouse, Tim trailing along well. On top of the roof, there's a skylight where you can see the crates in the center of the room with the goons armed and looking around. This isn't anything you and Jason haven't done before so you both give Tim a quick rundown of a plan. Tim gets two goons while you and Jason will take out the rest and if he's in trouble just call out. Once Tim seems to be up to speed, Jason and you break the window first, using your grappling hooks to lower yourselves down quickly, Tim right behind with his own grappling hook.

You take your own four goons with ease while Jason takes the other four, leaving Tim with just the two. You and Jason find yourselves looking over your shoulders to make sure Tim isn’t laid out but every time you both check, he seems to be holding his own pretty well. By the time you and Jason have your goons down, Tim has his down, a proud smile on his face.

“I got them.” Tim says breathlessly. “Wasn’t so bad.”

You look over to Jason with the roll of your eyes. “Okay, Robin.” You nod once before you let out a breath.

“Let’s make sure everything is here and we’ll put in the call.” Jason says as the three of you start opening the crates finding several automatic weapons.

“What’s he doing with all of them anyway?” Tim asks, standing beside you.

“Penguin things.” You and Jason say at the same time.

“Right…” Tim lets out a breath.

This has gone pretty well so far according to you and Jason but that is what's not sitting right. Nothing with these guys ever goes exactly according to plan. That was one of the reasons Jason wanted to bring Tim so he would have to learn to adapt but nothing else is happening. Penguin isn't here and his goons barely even put up a fight. You need to get out of here, this isn't right.

“You didn’t think this would be that easy did you?” A nasally voice says from the platform above the three of you.

The three of you turn to see Penguin with his right hand right next to him. He looks a bit too excited and happy to be here. Jason wants to bang his head against a wall and you're nearly rolling your eyes into the back of your head. This was too easy and for Penguin to seem awfully pleased with himself, this is about to get very bad.

“We can take your goons all night, man. Or you can just walk the fuck away.” Jason offers as he crosses his arms.

Penguin tilts his head back and laughs. “That won’t be necessary. The two of you really are some replacements. And you even have your own sidekick!”

“Hey!” Tim yells, taking a step forward.

You grab his arm with a tight grip. “Shut up.” You grit your teeth at him. "Sounds like you could use a sidekick or two though." You quip back to Penguin. "Planning this with the Bat to of town? What? You scared or something, Penguin?"

“I'm not scared." Penguin says it so casually it sends a chill down your spine. "I knew you’d get in the way which is why I prepared for that!” Pengiun chimes. "You really should know something about that, Red Hood." Penguin mocks before he pulls out a detonator.

A bomb. Of course, it’s a fucking bomb.

“Have fun.” Penguin smiles at the three of you before he presses the button and immediately starts walking out.

You and Jason exchange a stare as a ticking echoes around you. You won’t have time. Penguin planned this so you wouldn’t have time even with his warning. There's no time to find the bomb and disable it, there's not even enough time to get out of the building. How did you both miss this?

It's all going in slow motion as Jason can see the panic wanting to stretch over your face, Tim looking petrified right beside you. There isn’t time to even reach you. And even if there was, what’s he supposed to do? He can’t catch a building. There’s only one thing to do and it’s as if you share the exact same thought that he does in that single second.

Jason and you turn at the same time to run towards the exit, you grabbing Tim by the arm to drag him along. The ticking quickens from above you. You’re out of time. You’re out of time and there’s nothing else left to do. The ticking echoes and echoes and in a split second, Jason is running behind a pillar and you grab the edge of your cape before wrapping it around Tim as you tackle him to the ground.

And the bomb goes off less than a second later.

The warehouse rumbles and vibrates as Jason is tucked into a ball behind the pillar, his hands covering his neck as if waiting for a tornado to hit. The rumbling shakes his bones and it’s so loud. Every rumble and echo shatter through his bones. His eyes are slammed shut as the warehouse fills with smoke as the roof starts to collapse. Jason’s chest starts to burn and it shouldn’t.

The mask has a ventilator. His chest shouldn’t hurt but it does and he thinks his ears are bleeding. His bones are stinging. Why are his bones stinging? Why is so hard to breathe? His eyes burn and sting even with them closed. Not again. This can't be happening again. Panic spreads itself over Jason like an itchy weighted blanket. He doesn't want to die again. Dying is terrifying and the building is collapsing around him. A part of him thinks he can hear the crude laugh of the Joker echoing somewhere through the shattering concrete. It all feels too much and he can't breathe. Every part of him is shaking as he's been left out to the elements in the middle of February. This can't be happening.

And then it all falls eerily silent.

Jason's breath is quick and uneven as he tries to ground himself. It's silent, the collapsing is over. It takes him a few minutes to try to gather himself, desperately trying to pull his mind away from the edge of terror. This is the first time something like this has happened since the Joker. Jason thinks the fear isn't any better the second time around.

He thinks it's worse.

But, he finds it in himself to finally slowly pull his hands away from his neck, his arms feeling like warm jello as they shake. He slowly sits up partially, looking around what was the warehouse. It’s cloudy, filled with dust and smoke. It’s hard to even see a few feet in front of him but he looks over to where you last were with Tim and he can’t see anything. The dust is too thick and he can’t help but let the panic start to flood his blood again.

He has the helmet. His eyes are protected but what about yours? Your mask has a ventilator but what if it doesn’t work? Do you even communicate enough with Bruce to make sure your equipment is working? And Tim doesn’t have any eye protection or a ventilator. It doesn’t matter if you're on your own, you and Tim are Jason’s responsibility. He’s the most experienced. He should have known this wasn’t right. Something should have went off in his head. He should have fucking known. Why didn’t he know?

The dust starts to dissipate with every passing second and Jason gets a better glimpse where you and Tim last were. He swears he’s going to be sick as his heart stops beating as it shoots into his throat. There’s a pile of cement from the ceiling. A long pile where that part of the ceiling collapsed and there is no sight of blue or red. There’s not yellow or black. It’s just brown and grey.

No.

Jason gets to his feet as fast as his legs will allow him and he sprints over to the cement. Not you. Not you. Not you. It can’t be you. He grabs one of the cement blocks and starts trying to pull it away to make a hole in the pile. He can feel the panic taking over again.

It’s been better. It’s been better again since he started seeing Leslie again. He can feel the panic sometimes but it’s better. He can fight through it usually and it doesn’t cause him as much distress out in the field. But, now it’s coming back like a wrecking ball. It’s been easier because he hasn’t had someone to look out for. It’s been easier because he hasn’t had to worry even if he always does. It was always fine if he had to eat it. But, being here and digging through a pile of cement in hopes you’re both alive, that’s different.

If he had to die again, that'd be fine as terrifying as it is. But, the thought it being someone else, being people that he actually cares about, that's an entirely other story.

“Blue!” Jason yells as loud as his can, his voice is raw and he hates the sound of it in his ears. It sounds desperate and scared but he is both of those things. Not you. “Robin!” He calls after, this time stronger, hoping he’ll hear one of you yell back.

The thought of seeing you crushed brings instant tears to his eyes and his stomach twist. He thinks about how you haven’t talked in a month and that’s such a waste. Why the fuck didn’t he just call you? He should have fucking called you. He’s panicking and he hates it but seeing you dead is his greatest fear today. He knows what it’s like to die and to die scared. You were scared. You don’t deserve it. It can’t be you. Please, not you.

And he knows Dick is gonna kill him if Tim dies on his watch. Tim just started and he volunteered for this. He can't be punished for wanting to do something for the greater good, for just wanting to help. It can’t be Tim either. Somehow, you both need to be alive under this pile.

Jason’s teeth grit before he rips the helmet from his head, annoyed by the vision of it. And he gets to work on the cement again. You both have to be alive. There is not another option. You have to be. And then he gets a glimpse of a bright blue fabric.

Jason forgets how to breathe and he works faster, pulling the concrete away as fast as his muscles will even allow. He’s able to make a big enough hole in the pile to reach you and just as he looks into the hole, there’s movement. He still isn’t breathing as he waits to see who it is and not a single part of him can even think to hope who he wants it to be because it has to be both of you.

And then you look up at him.

Jason lets out a breath.

Your eyes are wide and your face is covered in dust, a stream of blood falling down the side of your face. But he can tell by the softness in your eyes that you're relieved to see him, too.

The building fell on you and Tim. The building fucking collapsed on you and you have no idea why you thought your cape would help but it was something you could try. And then you got pinned. You think you’d normally start to panic because you were practically entirely on top of Tim and you couldn’t move. You both could have been trapped there but you know Jason has a habit of living through some fucked up shit. Something in you knew if he made it, he’d be there. He’d never let either of you rot under a pile of concrete. You knew he’d come.

Jason always comes.

And then Tim looks up, too.

Jason shakes his head, looking down for a second to gather himself before he offers a hand. You take his hand in yours as Jason pulls you out. He’s careful but deliberate making sure you don’t slip. Once you're on solid ground, he wastes no time in looking you over, his hands coming to your cheeks.

Besides the blood coming from a small cut near your hairline, Jason doesn’t see any other visible injuries. It doesn’t bring him much relief because internal injuries are still a thing and he thinks you should all go to the Batcave and do some scans. For all he knows, it's a lot worse than a small cut and you have to get out of here quickly just to make sure. He just needs to make sure.

“Are you okay?” Jason asks quickly, still looking over you.

Your hands shake as they come to his hands on your cheeks. “I’m fine.” Your voice is soft as you answer him, your thumbs running over his hands. He looks absolutely terrified. You aren't sure you've ever really seen this look on his face before. “I’m okay.” You nod against him as you watch a small part of his face dissolve into relief as his eyes meet yours.

You feel okay though very shaky and weak. Your limbs and back are sore, your ribs feel a little achy but nothing feels wrong. A part of you feels a little out of body and terrified anyway, like there's leftover panic still running through your veins. Being crushed by a building wasn't something you thought would happen and it definitely wasn't something you were prepared for. Gong toe-to-toe with bad guys with guns and knives and fists is the easy part. The uncertainty of a bomb and a collapsing building is a bit horrifying. But, physically, you think you're okay.

“We gotta do some scans at the cave, alright? Make sure there’s no internal bleeding or some shit.” Jason keeps his eyes on yours, trying with everything in him to control the panic in his voice.

“I’m fine—“

“No.” Jason cuts you off. This is one risk he's not willing to take. Your life is the one risk Jason will never take no matter what you want to argue. “You don’t know that, okay?”

Suddenly, it's as if you're back on Amusement Mile that night. It was dark and gloomy, nothing too unusual for a night in Gotham City. But, it felt colder and it all felt wrong. The pit in your stomach gnawed and begged you to turn around. You remember knowing with the very sight of the yellow on the Robin cape. You remember how terrified you were walking up to his body, waiting for the confirmation of your biggest fear. You're thinking you might have shared a similar look to the one Jason is giving you now.

“Okay.” You agree with a gentle nod.

Jason sucks in a breath, his brows still pulled together with worry. "Good."

“Yeah, uh, a little help, please?” Tim calls from behind the two of you.

The two of you drop your hands and immediately turn around.

“Fuck, yeah sorry, man.” Jason rushes.

“Sorry!” You call as the two of you rush back to the hole in the pile Jason made to help Tim.

Once Tim is out of the pile, Jason and you look him over quickly, making sure he isn’t missing a limb and nothing is deformed.

“I’m fine.” Tim assures the two of you, not missing the worry between you. “That was crazy though.” Tim looks around with ease, almost like he’s unbothered. You and Jason give him a confused look. Why is he so fine? “We caught a zombie Deathstroke and are fighting a few demons. I was also shot and killed by Scarecrow.” Tim shrugs casually, already growing used to seeing his life in danger which is not nearly as reassuring as he thinks it is.

“Alright.” You roll your eyes, wishing he'd give some insight on how he's able to handle things well.

“Sure, man.” Jason nods his head, unsure if he's completely convinced someone can just walk away from major traumas perfectly fine. “We’re still doing a scan. Let’s get outta here.” Jason jerks his head towards where he threw his helmet.

“You, too.” You state as Jason grabs his helmet and starts walking towards the exit.

“Me, too what?” Jason asks, adjusting his helmet on his hip.

“Scans.” Tim adds in as him and you start to follow Jason. “If you’re forcing us, you have to, too.” Tim states, thinking that's probably a good idea for all of you anyway. Jason's limp doesn't go unnoticed by Tim and Tim can feel his shoulder starting to ache. He knows you took the brunt of the force.

“Aww, you’re learning." You chime.

Jason lets out a groan, swearing he's the one that's fine. He was not crushed by a building but he's not in the mood to fight with either of you. “Fucking fine.” He doesn’t bother protesting knowing damn well you will get what you want. You will win. You always win when it comes to him.

The three of you get on your bikes and head out of the city and to Wayne Manor, something Tim is very excited about. He wasn’t really going to complain about getting any scans done. Getting scans means going into the Batcave again and this time, it won’t be taken over by Crane. Getting scans means getting to actually hang out in the Batcave this time. Tim would never turn down the opportunity now.

You still want to protest but you saw the worry over Jason’s face. You feel fine besides a headache. But, you aren’t going to take the risk for Jason’s sake. You think back to the times you said you’d die for each other and you think that’s easy. You’d run in front of a bullet for him even today. It doesn’t matter but making sure you're okay enough to live feels harder. You don’t want to die or anything but maybe you’d normally brush this off and then that might be it. But, Jason looks at you with all the love his heart could muster and you can’t do it to him. You can live for him, too.

Once you’re at the manor, the three of you use the tunnel to enter the cave immediately. Jason and you go to the changing area, Tim following right behind you. There are always extra sweats there, just in case in a variety of sizes. You grab some for you and Tim while Jason grabs himself a pair. The three of you go off into different changing rooms and get changed before you meet out in the med area of the cave. You go for the scan first just to get it over with.

Tim of course sits beside Jason as they watch the imaging load. It was something Bruce taught him to look for when Jason first got hurt as Robin. They look for internal bleeding, broken bones, swollen organs, anything they can't see from the outside. They can’t just go to the hospital every time they’re hurt. That would raise some questions so they do the scans here. If something is serious, they can go. Which has yet to happen in Jason’s time as Robin. But, he takes what he learned from Bruce and he passes it onto Tim.

Once your scan is over, you join the boys, sitting beside Jason. The scan doesn’t take much longer to load and it seems everything is okay. It's a relief for all of you even if Jason isn't totally sitting with ease over it. It's a relief but there is something still making him worry anyway. But he keeps it to himself while Tim jumps up, ready for his turn. Once Tim is ready, Jason gets the scans going.

With Tim is the machine, that leaves you and Jason to yourselves and Jason can't quite keep his stare on the computer. You've been hurt before and he hasn't felt like this. Once you get confirmation you're fine, it starts to fade away but tonight, it's as if he's run out of places to dissolve his worry and paranoia. He's not sure what he'd do if something happened to you.

“Let me help.” Jason points to the cut on your forehead before he gets up and grabs some of the supplies.

“Oh, uh, yeah, okay.” You nod before you sit on the counter.

Jason takes out the alcohol pads and carefully wipes some of the blood, you hissing in response. Jason mumbles a quick apology but continues working. It’s not bad. Jason doesn’t even think you need stitches and he thinks you're lucky. You though, you're just watching him carefully. So much has changed and yet this feels like nothing has changed. It feels like it did that first night after Jerry. Something about him moving carefully, gently, but a little rough. He doesn’t say anything and he dodges your eyes. And you think your stomach is swirling and bubbling just as it did that night.

“What’ve you been up to?” You ask quietly, eyes looking right at him.

Jason pauses, looking at you before he goes back to cleaning the cut on your forehead. He shifts slightly, the feeling of being exposed starting to fade right over him. “Usual.” Jason answers. “Taking out dickwads, reading, researching, helping Babs.”

You looked in the mirror after you changed, the cut wasn't bad. He should be done by now but he's taking his time. He's still dodging your stare and he's minding his right leg. His mouth is pressed into a straight line. He's seemed okay besides tonight, happy even. You really hope this doesn't set him back because he should be happy. It's what he deserves. And you wonder if it was all just some sort of facade because Jason hates people knowing what he's thinking. Maybe it was just an act for Tim or for you for some reason.

You hope not.

“Are you happy?” You whisper to him, hoping he'll be honest if he's not and hoping he really is happy with the life he's making for himself.

Jason freezes.

Maybe in the grand scheme of life he is. Generally speaking, he thinks he’s happy most days. He isn’t miserable. And his relationship with Bruce is getting better and his relationship with all of the Titans is getting better. Molly is still one of his best friends. He likes what he does. But, he can’t quite bring himself to say he’s happy. It’s the ache in his bones he can’t shake and the white streak of hair that won’t go away. The Y scar that stares back at him when he looks in the mirror after a shower. The way his leg still fucking hurts sometimes and the nightmares. The panic attacks sometimes that seem to hit him like a freight train out of nowhere. The fact that he feels lonely.

He was so fine being alone for so long and then he was comfortable not being alone. Now, he’s just lonely. He lives alone and he spends a lot of time alone and it’s just lonely. His heart feels like it’s contracting in his chest while a lump finds its way at the base of his throat. And he misses you. Maybe he could live with that choice if it weren’t for everything else. But, he thinks he could live with everything else if he didn’t miss you so much.

“I don’t know.” Jason answers, not wanting to give the real answer but not wanting to lie entirely. “Are you?”

You think you're happy most of the time. You live with Molly so you aren’t alone and you're eternally grateful for that. And you have movie nights. You even have movie nights with Gar and Tim over FaceTime. You and Rachel talk a lot now and you’re on good terms. You love what you do and you love helping Babs. Bruce doesn’t want to kick you out of Gotham. Things feel like they’re getting better. The nightmares have gotten a little better even if you wake Molly up sometimes screaming. But the guilt always comes at night, weighing down every bit that could make you happy. The guilt of everything that happens just chews away part of your happiness as if you aren't allowed to be happy. And maybe you could live with it, if you didn’t miss Jason like you need oxygen. You miss him more than you could ever miss anything.

“I don’t know.” You answer the same way as if you understand and Jason feels seen so he shifts his feet, tossing the alcohol pads into the trash under the table. Jason presses his hands on the counter, resting them beside your thighs as he leans in slightly. He doesn't even fully realize he does it. “You deserve to be happy, Jay.” You keep your voice quiet as Jason’s brows pull together as if he’s in pain.

“So do you.” Jason nods once.

“What would make you happy?” You ask and aren’t sure why you did. Maybe you hope he’ll even jokingly say you and then that’ll give you a reason to tell your guilt to shut up and take a backseat. And you think he might say it because his eyes finally lock on yours and the pain in his face starts to fade.

He thinks it’s you.

“I don’t know.” He answers anyway because admitting it seems unfair to both of you. You’ve been here before and yeah, you both know. You both know it shouldn’t have been the way it was then but it’s different. He isn’t pushing to self-destruct. He just wants to be ready if he tells you and he isn’t sure he is. “What about you?” Jason asks, thinking if you say it, he’ll say it anyway.

You think it's him.

“I don’t know.” You echo and you shake your head before you lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. You feel him relax and you almost want to cry. Jason's hands slowly move onto your thighs and he wants to burst at the seams. You making the move tells Jason everything he needs to know. And Jason relaxing with his hands on your thighs tells you everything you need to know. It's still him and you. “Happy you’re here though…happy you were there tonight.” You say honestly.

“Me, too. Happy you came along tonight.” Jason says back as he pulls away but he keeps his hands on your thighs.

"Thanks for coming to save us." You offer him a subtle smile.

"Of course." Jason nods his head softly. "You and me?" Jason offers the same smile.

Your hand comes to his cheek, running a thumb along the skin and his shoulders relax. “You and me.” You echo.

It’s silent for a few seconds as if you’re both wanting to see where this will go. Unsure where you want it to go. Before, you both knew. You knew you wanted each other so you’d jump the second you could. But this isn’t that. You want each other but there is so much caution in it. You’re both terrified of overstepping boundaries and ruining whatever you’re trying to rebuild. You’re terrified of hurting each other again. You're both worried you aren't ready for something again. So as much as you both want each other, a part of both of you almost feels okay with waiting to make sure it’s right this time. For each other even if you both want to explode.

And then Tim clears his throat.

“Uh, so…am I gonna die again?” Tim quips making you and Jason pull apart.

“Yeah.” Jason answers immediately, glancing at the screen and earning a light tap from you which makes him laugh. Jason actually takes a second to look over the scans before finishing his sentence. “Eventually but not tonight. You’re fine.” Jason finishes.

“Shithead.” You mutter with the roll of your eyes but a smile finds itself across your lips.

“Babe.” Jason grins.

“You two are weird.” Tim mutters as he walks up to the two of you.

“Your turn.” You tap Jason on the shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Jason pulls in a breath and makes his way to the scan.

Once Jason is situated, you get the machine going before you look over Tim. The scans are clear and he seems fine. He actually looks really happy which you know is because he's sitting in the Batcave. He's still looking over the Batcomputer, his eyes wandering around the cave every so often. You can't say you blame him really but you're surprised and relieved he's handling things well.

"You can explore if you want, ya know?" You suggest.

"Really?" Tim's eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

"Yeah? You are Robin." You let out a soft laugh and before you can even say another word, Tim is out of his seat.

“What’s going on with you guys anyway?" Tim questions as he makes his way over to the case holding Jason's Robin suit, the blood still staining it. "Looked like I interrupted something.” Tim glances back at you and then the suit before he moves on.

“No.” You shake your head, keeping her eyes on the screen. “Catching up a little bit.”

Tim rolls his eyes and lets out a scoff. “You guys forgot I was crushed by a building." Tim defends, making his way over to the training area.

"I said I was sorry and so did he." You defend even though you know you'll be feeling guilty about that for awhile. "Don't tell Dick though."

"Wasn't going to." Tim chuckles softly. "Seems like there's something going on." Tim states as the cave falls silent. He looks over as you glare back him, very clearly unamused by his observation. "I'm just saying." Tim states as he shrugs his shoulders, going back to looking at the variety of knives Bruce has.

You let out a sigh and decide maybe you will ask Tim for his input. Everyone else knows so much about you and Jason, not just as a couple but as vigilantes. Tim, on the other, doesn't know that side of it. This is the first time Tim is actually even hanging out with Jason for more than a few minutes. He might actually be the perfect person to talk to.

“Alright, listen, can we talk about it later?” You ask. “I do honestly have a headache and to dig into that right now is not what I want to do. But we can talk about it later.”

“Alright.” Tim sighs as he starts making his way back to you.

“Any word about Bernard?” You ask as Tim takes his seat back beside you.

“No change.”

“I’m sorry, Tim.” You say softly. “You guys will figure it out. He’ll be okay.”

“Thanks.” Tim mutters as he leans onto his elbow.

Jason’s scans finish a few minutes later allowing him to rejoin the other two of you. You look over the scans, feeling relief come over you. You figured he was fine, Jason usually is. But, it is nice having actual confirmation he's okay even a part of you will still be glancing him over and watching him carefully just for extra security. Scans can be wrong.

“So?” Jason questions with a knowing look, knowing he is fine.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re fine.” You wave him off with eyes wide to mock him. “Just to be safe.”

“Yeah.” Jason pulls a breath into his lungs and he knows.

He wonders if you’ll always be more worried about him. With not talking now and the whole shit with Crane before, he hasn’t had too much time to even think about it. And you were so worried that whole time because of Crane and because he had just died. But, he wonders about now. Now that some of the dust has settled and you've been away from him. He can tell by how you're still glancing over him as if expecting him to start gushing blood from an invisible wound that you're worried. And he thinks you're more worried than you normally would be. A scan and a look over would usually be enough but not tonight. He wonders if it’s because he died. Maybe you’ll always be trapped in a spiral of worry knowing it might happen again.

Jason thinks that sounds like torture.

He wants to find a way to assure you he’s fine but he’s not really sure what he could possibly do. He’s not fine since dying. It’s hard to walk every day with that kind of weight around his chest but he is physically fine and he wants you to know that. He breathes today and he did yesterday. Before, he thinks he would have made a joke and then kissed you. It’s what he always did and it always calmed your nerves. You would have slept together and if he were injured, you would have known. It was always harder hiding any type of injury from you because either you’d see it, you’d catch him slipping, or he’d flinch when you laid down together. He can’t very well do any of that now. And he can’t possibly say anything because Tim is right here and the last thing Jason wants is to further expose himself to anyone else. So, he just bites back his comments and shrugs it all off.

“We can head back out if you guys are ready.” Jason suggests.

The three of you grab your things before you head from the Batcave and go back to Jason’s place. It’s quiet in your comms. Tim chalks it up to being tired, the adrenaline wearing off for all three of you. Jason just wants to get home and shake the night from his spine. You find yourself wondering if the gravity of vigilante life will ever wear off when something like tonight happens. You love it and you swear you do, it’s just really hard sometimes and you haven’t quite found the right way to cope with it.

You could have died tonight which is a reality most nights and it never seems like too big of a deal to you because it’s you and the person with a gun or a bomb or a knife. It’s just you. Not talking to Jason or seeing him has made it a little easier not to think about him doing the same thing. But tonight, the weight of loss collapsed your shoulders the second that roof fell. Jason pulled you out of the rubble. You heard the way his voice sounded, the tremble and the fear etched into his windpipe. You saw the look on his face when he pulled you out.

Panic. Relief. Panic. Terror. Anger.

And something else you don’t want to touch with a ten-foot pole.

Something about the idea of him suffering in the way you did makes you want to turn the bike around and go as far as you can without looking back. And you think about how he could have been hurt again. You and Tim were trapped easily. What if he was, too? What if the roof fell on him and he died? You aren’t so sure you’d be able to survive the loss of him again. Even as you are today.

When you get back, Tim says a quick goodbye to you before disappearing into the building. Jason takes his time though, watching your brows pinch together as your stare falls anywhere but on him.

“You alright?” He asks carefully.

You nod and offer him a fake smile. “Yeah, all good.” You chew the inside of your cheek and you just don't want to go home. Going home sounds scary and like maybe it won't feel quite like home this time.

Jason nods back. “What’s wrong?”

He keeps his distance from you. He’s standing three feet away from you and he’s thinking that’s for the best. You aren't normally quiet after missions like this. It's as if talking always reassures you that you're both fine. But, tonight you were quiet and you look uncomfortable in your own skin. Jason doesn't want to overstep. He doesn't want to move closer and that be the real problem. You got a little close in the cave and Jason knows how you are with that. He's betting you still like to run so, he keeps his distance for right now.

“Nothing, why?” You ask and you keep your stance from him.

You want to kiss him and tell him you're glad he’s okay. You said it but you want to kiss him until he knows fully. Jason has never been one to take words at face value. He responds better with action and the only way you know to show your love for him is by touch. But, that's not fair to either of you. You would give anything to go back to how it was even if it's just for one night. You wish you could both forget everything that happened, pretend none of it happened. It would be so much easier that way.

“I always know when something’s wrong.” Jason sucks in a breath and he didn’t think he’d be the one pulling for answers from you.

You shake your head and lying to him never came easy.

You swore you’d never lie to him.

“Scary.” Your voice is so small and Jason almost closes the distance between you to engulf you in the tightest hug he could manage without hurting you.

But he cements his feet to the ground below him.

“You’re okay, though. So, is Tim.” Jason assures, his words careful.

“Yeah…” Your voice is still so small and Jason takes one step closer to you, knowing you and Tim aren't your full concern.

“I’m fine, ya know? Like…all good.” Jason keeps his voice level as his eyes scan over your face, looking for any change.

“No, I know.” You nod softly, your voice bigger this time.

You're worried he isn’t. The scans say he is and he says he is. You know he wouldn’t lie to you with you being worried. You know but you're worried anyway. He gets a second chance and he deserves it. He deserves it so much and you just want him to be happy and healthy. You want him to be able to live as the Jason Todd you fell in love with. You don’t want him to have any more trauma to try and bear. You aren’t so sure he could bear it anymore.

You think what would have happened if you didn’t get lucky tonight.

No part of you has to guess how it would go.

He’d blame himself. He’d torture himself inside and out just like you did.

“Just…” You shake your head. “Can you promise me something even if it’s not very fair?” Your eyes finally land on his.

“What?” Jason asks.

“If-if, uh, something happens to me…like anything, c-can you, uh,…not blame yourself, please?” You ask. “I-I know how you are and I saw the way you looked at me tonight. I know what it’s like and…” Your voice trails off.

“What?” Jason pushes, trying to wrap his head around the question. Of all the things you could be worried about, you're worried about how he'd react to you dying.

“I don’t want you to suffer for it.” You state. “You’ll torture yourself, I know you will. So, if something happens to me, can you promise me you won’t do that? Because I would never blame you.”

“What if it is my fault?” Jason scoffs. “Tonight--”

“It won’t be.” You cut him off entirely with so much certainty, it freezes Jason. “I know, despite it all, you would do everything to make sure I was okay. You, uh, you have always just, uh, j-just tried to keep me safe. So, if something happens, I know it won’t be your fault.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen anyway.” Jason answers back, digging his feet in because even a hypothetical question sends his head into a panic.

“But something did happen, Jay!” You yell back in desperation. “Something did!" Your eyes water before your voice comes back down. "I don’t want you to be like me.”

You nearly beg him and Jason is so thrown by what you say, he has to pause and try to understand. He swears you're the best person he has ever met. He loves you. He knows that it got messy but he also knows between those lines, him dying changed a part of you. It led you into a guilt you can’t shake and that he feels is on him. The least he can do is make the promise and try to keep it but he swears nothing can happen to you. He can’t let anything happen.

“Then you have to stop fucking blaming yourself, too.” Jason states back. “I died. That’s not on you." Jason says it so bluntly you nearly choke on your own heartbeat. "I promise but…you gotta promise me then you’re gonna stop blaming yourself, too. There was nothing you could have done.” The words are sour and bitter on his tongue. Knowing it was his fault he got himself killed is one of the hardest pills for him to swallow.

You nod your head softly and you can’t make the promise but you can promise to try. “I promise to try.”

“Good.” Jason states and he watches you tug your sleeve down over your wrist. Maybe he is very worried about you, too. Tonight was heavy and a lot to handle even if it all worked out. It almost didn't. Maybe it’s stupid but he doesn’t want to be alone tonight and he’s betting you don’t either. “Did, uh, did you wanna stay tonight?” Jason asks.

“W-what?” You stutter, the question catching you off guard.

“Did you wanna stay here?" Jason asks again, this time trying to make his voice sound far more casual than he's feeling. "Look, it’s not like we haven’t done this shit before.” Maybe he’s worried the scans are wrong, too and he just wants to look out for you. He misses you. “Just friends.” Jason assures you.

You were really hoping he'd ask.

“Can you, uh..."

“Of course.” Jason finishes before you get the chance to finish because he already knows. “I get to pick though, you picked the last three books.” Jason says with a tender smile and he gets one in return.

“Okay, Jay.” You nod as you take a step forward. “Thank you.”

“You and me.” Jason offers her his signature smirk with the casual shrug of his shoulders.

You stick your hand out and Jason takes it with ease. “You and me.” You echo while Jason pulls you closer to him, wrapping his arm around your shoulders before the two of you walk into the building.

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[angel-anachronism]

(Small Ghost and pals fanfic I wrote this morning while outside with my parents)

This is related to the headcanons I wrote btw, and it will be a whole series soon if I do write more (this first chapter was only a small drabble oops).

(vocabulary at the end of this story for words with * at the end)

(check out the headcanons part 1, part 2(?))

The muddy dress (chapter 1)

“Mummy, where are we exactly going?” a young girl asked her mother. It was a warm day of June in the year 1911, and the Elsner couple was currently walking up north of the neighbourhood, together with their young girl, “Francie” as they nicknamed her. Today was a special day for her, as her parents never brought her anywhere along with them. 

“You’ll see when we get there!” The woman smiled at her daughter.

Little Francie was very excited. Maybe they’re going to a new park, or maybe even a new toy store! ‘Oh how joyful it’d be’ the little girl thought as she began skipping along her mother.

“Now, now, Francie! You’ve got to act like a proper lady, you wouldn’t want to make a buffon of yourself!” Her father chuckled softly as the girl pouted and began mocking the walk of snobby women. 

Once they finally arrived at their destination, Francie looked confused. Was this the surprise? Yet another mansion in the neighbourhood? “Vati*, did we get a new house?”

Mr Elsner began laughing at his daughter’s thought. “No, Francie. We’re just visiting a friend I knew since I was a lad. His family just moved recently from New York. You better be polite!”

Francie was yet more confused. Why would her parents make her come along with them to meet some boring adults? She bets they would talk only about boring things…

As her father knocked on the door, a man around his age, with a “funny moustache” as Francie thought, appeared at the door and smiled at her father. “Oh, Otto, mon ami!”

The two men shaked hands, as what seemed his wife appeared too. “Oh, why good afternoon! You must be the Elsners?”

Francie quickly became bored as her parents began talking to these strange people. She was usually the garrulous* one in the family, but it seems her parents took her place. As she was obediently following her parents throughout the mansion, she began hearing a child’s giggle outside the house. Do they have children too? 

Francie tugged her mother’s sleeve and pointed her finger towards the outside. Miss Elsner looked at their neighbour’s wife and she laughed softly. “I think my daughter would like to go outside.”

“Oh, that’d be lovely! I think my little Chris is outside too, why don’t you two go play with one another?” The woman smiled. Francie was now a little excited. Maybe she’ll make a new friend! 

She thanked her mother and the lady and began walking to the backyard where there was a giant beautiful garden. The girl was in awe. It looked like something from a fairytale!

As she was passing a tree, she heard a small voice shout: “Hey, you!”. Francie was puzzled. Where did the voice come from? “Look up, girlie!”

The girl looked up to see a kid on a thick branch, dressed in a usual sailor suit which most wealthy kids like her wore. “What are you doing up there? Aren’t you scared to get dirt on your crisp white suit?” she asked.

“Nope! I’m as brave as a hero, I don’t care if I get dirty!”

“You must be Christine…right?” asked Francie, which made the kid look almost offended.

“Christine? My name is NOT Christine. It’s Christopher!” The kid corrected her.

“Wait…you’re a boy?” Francie asked in shock, which made “Christopher” even more offended as he put on a grumpy expression.

“Of course I am! Do I look that wimpy to you?!” He barked, jumping off the branch as if it was nothing. Francie was shocked that he didn’t even break a bone from that jump, as the branch was quite high in the air.

“Now you convinced me. Not only that you’re ‘brave’, but also that you act like a peasant!” The girl said, now feeling mildly annoyed by him.

“A peasant?! You probably have lice in that big hair of yours!” Christopher defended himself.

“How dare you! My mummy helps me wash my curls thoroughly! You probably have lice yourself from how long your hair!” She yelled.

Christopher’s hair wasn’t exactly the longest, but it was indeed long for a boy during that time. He didn’t like the girl’s attitude at all. He was thinking of ways to make her angry as he didn’t like her one bit, and after all, teasing was very fun! He recalled how she mentioned if he’d get scared of his outfit getting all muddy, which could mean that she was mirroring her own fears. That sparked a devilish plan inside the little boy’s head.

Christopher took a fist full of soil from the ground, and without warning, threw it at Francie’s dress, and began laughing. “Look who’s the peasant now!”. The girl remained shocked, and Christopher was expecting for her to cry, but Francie immediately lunged at him and began pulling his hair, which caused the boy to scream, not only in pain, but also to get the attention of the adults.

The kids both began scratching eachother, it was like two cats fighting, it was intense, but as intense as you would expect two children to fight on the playground. 

Francie finally managed to climb on Christopher’s back and put her hands over his eyes, which caused him to lose balance and they both fell.

“Frances Elsner!” Francie heard her mother call, as well as see Christopher’s mother rush towards them to help both her and Christopher up. “What did you do to the poor boy-”

“I’m sorry, Madame Elsner… I was just playing tag with her and she fell. it’s my fault and I apologize.” Christopher said in a voice that sounded sincere, almost like he was feeling guilty. Christopher’s mom smiled as Francie’s mom just remained shocked. “You two just played tag?” 

As the eyes went towards Francie, and she didn’t know what to say. A part of her wanted to say the truth, but at the same time it was practically her fault for what happened. “Yes…we were having fun…I’m sorry mummy…”

“Well, a fault confessed is half redressed. You are forgiven for now, but don’t get your clothes dirty again!” Mrs Elsner scolded Francie, as she looked guiltily at the ground.

The girl then looked up from the ground to see Christopher holding his hands out. What was he doing?! “Aww, it looks like my little Chris wants to hug your little girl!” his mom laughed softly. Francie was even more confused, but she saw him give her a look of “please trust me this once.” Even if it was humiliating, Francie held her hands out and they both began hugging eachother. She could feel how Christopher cringed at this action, but she felt like he was only doing this to make their mothers not question what they did earlier.

“I’m glad you two became friends!” Francie’s mom smiled softly at the kids as both her and Christopher’s mother went back inside the mansion.

“Why did you do that?” Francie asked

“Do what?”

“Lie?”

“It always works if you give the right puppy dog eyes!” the boy chuckled as he began walking back inside as if nothing happened.

“...thank you…” Francie said and Christopher just looked at her in shock. He smiled softly for a split second before he returned back to his neutral expression.

Yeah… they surely met on the wrong foot, but hey a happy ending is a happy ending…right?

Vocabulary

Vati - dad/daddy in german

garrulous - noisy, mouthy

anyways if you liked this story, make sure to send me feedback in some way (either by comments, reblogs, likes, etc)!

[cupofikeu]

Ꮺ   …      TWO TRUTHS & A LIE ˒ L. HEESEUNG

playing hindi tayo pwede by the juans ・ gender netural reader + word count 962 genre angst .. filo au .. situationship warnings mentions of : citrus fruit .. reckless drivers .. kissing — trans. & cred. to byhees for the cute layout

you love the rain.

there’s this certain serenity that accompanies those pretty dew drops. maybe it’s in the way they pitter patter upon the asphalt. or perhaps it’s the striking color palette of your umbrella that contrasts the skies’ gloomy visage.

(people always did say that lemons make the best remedy. you just so happen to have more than several duplicates of the citrus fruit printed on your shield.)

of course, there’s some frustration that comes with sudden rainfall. such as wearing white shoes that already get teased by fellow footwear through the method of stepping on them. you also can’t forget calculating how much force you must put into leaping over puddles like you’re competing in the olympics.

(well it’s shoes vs. life. and seeing as how even speed bumps can’t prevent drivers from embracing their inner dominic torreto, you’ll take your chances with the soaked footwear.)

but there is no serenity, white shoes, puddles, or fast and furious au characters.

it’s just you and heeseung. your umbrella and his (one vibrant noon and the other, bland midnight). and heavy rainfall lingering by the corner.

you and him; we and us.

at first, you thought it was merely a dream. maybe you stayed up too late and too often—to the point where even when you’re awake, your restless mind wrapped you up in such vivid scenarios.

(if only it was that active during class discussions. then your grades would be the only thing you would have been worrying over during that week.)

after the words came the gesture. and the thing about it is it doesn’t matter how hard you tried to convince yourself otherwise.

there was no way your mind could suddenly concoct the feeling that came out of his java chip-stained lips against yours. nor could it accurately etch the firm yet careful press of his hands upon your waist—a grip you’d become accustomed to later rather than sooner.

(another thing to acknowledge is that no matter how familiar you become with that little habit of his, it doesn’t stop being a trigger. you know.. for the fireworks that sear across your body because those lithe fingertips love retracing their prints on your bare skin.)

but now he has a hand wrapped around the handle of his umbrella. its partner is tucked safely in his coat pocket; as if the thick material would keep the tremors at bay.

and you? you’re hoping this is merely a dream.

because if there’s any best time for your mind to get imaginative, it’s now.

you were the endgame.

so many things look good on heeseung. in fact, if you wanted to, you could compile a whole book filled with things that complement the raven-haired male. that would have been a unique gift for your dating anniversary..

‘have been’ being the key word.

“alam mo..” your stupid voice is already on the verge of breaking. but your stubbornness does not understand the concept of timing, hence why you’re determined to follow through. “kahit maikli lang ang panahon na binigay sa atin, ang dami kong naranasan at naramdaman. higit sa lahat, naging masaya ako. kaya, salamat.. bambi.”

bambi. your bambi.

even though you can’t remember it vividly anymore, you can recall the way his lips waned into a meek smile. and just like how the icing can’t be complete without the cherry (you dislike icing, he constantly picks off cherries—the irony), the crimson hue on the tips of his ears always accompany his replication of the glowing crescent hung above your heads.

“salamat din, tink. hindi ka nagdala ng liwanag sa buhay ko, kasi ikaw mismo ang naging liwanag ko. ewan ko kung may secret ability ka, pero tuwing bumibigat yung loob ko, at tinago ko yun mula sa mundo, you were always there to make sure i didn’t carry the weight by myself.”

fuck it. you no longer care if the downpour drenches you; glues your clothes to your skin.

your umbrella falls limp by your side while you wrap your arms around heeseung. it hurts and soothes your aching soul when you feel him immediately copy your gesture.

“i love you.” you murmur into his shoulder.

“i love you too.”

one of you has to pull away. it’s a known fact; an idea neither of you want to accept.. but that’s just how reality works, doesn’t it?

heeseung decides to sort of take one for the team. it doesn’t fully count when his hands merely travel back to a familiar place: your waist.

after two days—fourty eight (48) hours of not being able to rest his trembling hands upon that space, he’s afraid it’s fading from his mind. one more time, the cold pads of his fingers walk across those invisible lines. he caresses the unfamiliar spanse, commits them to memory again.

then, with plenty of reluctance, he takes his hands off to grasp something important to you. a sheepish laugh echoes from the depths of his cracked heart as he holds your umbrella above your head. “hindi ko alam kung kailangan mo pa ‘to..”

“oo nga, parang walang kwenta na gamitin yan ngayon.” you reply, the shadow of a smile lingering on your countenance.

after sharing some deliberation and more laughter, you keep the shield over your head. heeseung chooses the same approach, despite his raven tresses already clinging to his forehead. it makes sense, seeing as how the conclusion you two fell upon is that getting sick is just like almost every other aspect in life; it isn’t guaranteed.

just as you begin your walk to your house, he calls out your name. you turn on your heel to see him standing there, looking at you with a golden gleam in his doe eyes.

“sana kapag pwede na, pwede pa.”

taglist haven’t thought of it yet..

[mrsmess]

falafel

the way you were just there at that hole in the wall when you shouldn’t even have been there at all and neither should I, but there I was just because my kid got out early and it was a toss between going home or staying in town we rarely get out, we should hang around let’s go get a falafel it’s the only city in the country where you can get a decent one for reasonable money it’s easily done so we gotta get a falafel and sit outside in the setting sun it’s not a big city on a international scale and I’m bad at math it's the one class I failed but there are three hundred thousand people living here and that’s a lot or at least enough so the chance of running into someone you know is not that high or even there but you were there and so was I I was stunned even when you said my name before you told me chance is why you came

a motorcycle thundered by you said I hate that and I said why are you sitting by a heavily trafficked street in a city where you don’t even stay and told my kid of the place where you live it’s real pretty but real far away I went to visit you there when I was nineteen and in a relationship with a boy who was mean and who tagged along and sulked the whole time but your wife was really kind to me and you don’t appreciate that when you’re young and blind you spoke to my kid in that way of yours you’re really good with them which is of course obvious that you’d be when you work as much as you do with them we ate our falafel, spilled food everywhere and loud, obnoxious music filled up the air you told my kid about your girls who where in a big contest the other year my kid said I don’t remember them I always root for the old, bald men I smiled and told you you should enter the contest then but you already did back when I was a kid and you sang that cheesy song with your awful ex wife you were on television but out of my life

next thing I know we’re in your car, you say you have to drive me home and I let you because that’s what we are to each other even if it’s been years since I met you you say you’ve thought about me and I say I think about you all the time too but leave out all my mixed feelings because we’re in a car and driving fast and I already know the moment won’t last we won’t have time enough to discuss the important stuff when are we supposed to? you ask about mom and I say she’s good even if she’s waiting for surgery for some reason at sixty miles per hour I commit perjury I remember when you left and how she cried even if she said she didn’t love you right I talk about my dad, and you say who is your dad again? it’s a joke because my dad is no more a father to me than other men my grandpa for example tried to fill his shoes and you at one point though that was a game you could only lose but you don’t mention yourself in this equation even if you were part of the situation and maybe neither of you were to blame but in this one crucial way you’re all the same Grandpa was too old, you were too young and my daddy was simply too far gone all of you went away for too long

my kid talks in the backseat and I try to divide my attention and give you direction at one point you almost miss an exit and say something sarcastic about my instruction in an infuriatingly ironic tone of voice when neither then nor now gave me a choice I did not ask to be put in this seat and for a beat I’m convinced that you have some feelings to work through regarding me and my mom, some residue and also that I would be willing to do that with you if you would only ask me to but you won’t and I don’t expect you to come in when we’re parked and I invite you to come through as expected you say no and that it’s time to go and maybe you don’t care or you do but don’t think it’s fair to share because to you I’m still four and either way you stack the years you’ll always have seventeen more when we met we were really just two kids at different ages now we’re adults at different grieving stages

I get out of the car, say thanks for the ride and give my love to your spouse and I take my kid’s hand and head for our house I want to say I love you and hate you and why did you abandon me? instead I swallow the sting and cling to common sense laugh about the crazy coincidence like that and destiny isn’t the same thing

[tiredmamaissy]

i had the question about relationships…or situationship, whatever tf this is.

i’ve liked this guy for a few months now (let’s call him pineapple) we both attend the same school, but we have completely different classes. i only get to see him when i’m walking on campus after my last class. anyway, i have a really close friend…i’ll call her coconut; i told coconut i liked pineapple and she encouraged me to talk to him but i’m was too afraid to do so. it took a lot of her convincing me and pushing me to finally muster up the courage to say something to him, and it honestly didn’t go THAT bad. he wasn’t the most enthusiastic person in the world but he was still nice. assuming that i randomly approached him while he was working out would make sense as to why he was a bit caught off guard but yeah! it was a short conversation. i made up an excuse that he looked really fit and i basically asked if he had any tips on growing glutes, n you know…he gave me tips i guess.

that was about 2 weeks ago. we quickly became friends after that short conversation as i s realized him and i shared some friends. (not sure how i didn’t realize it but yeah). he quickly started inviting me to hang out with his friends and it was honestly great. though i’m a naturally timid and lowkey awkward person, i had fun hanging with him. his friends are literally ALL boys but they’re nice guys! besides some of them making uncomfortable sexual jokes about us two, it’s cool ig…(?).

that’s just some background info so i don’t blindly go into the difficult part of our “relationship”. he’s a fuckboy. like big time. i only had to spend a few days with him to realize how easy he was. went to a party WITH him and ended up leaving WITHOUT him because he was too busy getting his dick sucked by some random girl who pulled up mid-party…but i still like him? i genuinely can’t shake the feelings i have for him. he’s been nothing but kind to me. he buys me things, makes me laugh, makes me smile, all of the above….he just sleeps around…with a lot of girls…while also treating me like his girlfriend. or does he treat me like his girlfriend? i dunno if i’m just delusional. his friends refer to me as pineapples “girl” so i kind of assumed we had a little something going. maybe i am reading this wrong.

i don’t know where i’m going with this. i just want to know if you think i’m wasting my time. does he like me? i hope so…i think so…but it doesn’t stop him from having sex with other girls.

im nearing a point of just pinning him down and screaming how i feel at him. i just want him to know how strong my feelings are, how deep they run, how much i care for him, how much i admire him. i dunno. what do you think, issy?

Thank you for sharing this with me (and us), and I wish you could see my face rn 😭 I would like to say that you don’t have to listen to anything I’m about to say ofc, what you decide to do is completely up to you!

I would say talk to him. Sounds cliche but there’s definitely a lot of uncertainty about the relationship. The biggest being - are you in a romantic relationship or not? And if so, what are the boundaries of the relationship? Is it open? Does he value monogamy? Do you? You would need to sit down and ask yourself what your values and expectations are regarding intimate relationships. The fact that he went with you to a party and left without you bc he was with another person is disrespectful to you (to say the least) despite the relationship status.. so I’m sorry that happened to you.

If he’s openly engaging intimately with other people, I’d say it’s safe to assume that he doesn’t see the relationship as something ‘official’. But at the same time, he’s engaging in relationship-like things w/ you. Which is why you’re confused. Mixed signals. Which is so unfair to you. And the only way to clarify things is to sit him down and have a serious conversation with him about.. everything. And from there you’ll be in a better position to not only answer your own questions, but to make a well informed decision about where you want to go from here

Wish you nothing but the best. 💖

[bonesandthebees]

Tommy is not going to tell the other’s Wilbur’s name. I guess he might feel a little guilty about if. Also [“I guess I’m just hoping that one day you’ll wanna tell the others yourself.”] he’s trying to help. He wants Wilbur to accept his name. So the easiest way to know he has is if he tells someone else his name himself. Also, I feel like Tommy really hoped Wilbur would tell him his name himself, but he realised that either wpuldn’t happen or take to long and someone has to help him so Tommy will.

At the same time, Tommy has a tendency to keep everything he learns about Wilbur to himself. I can’t really find the right word for it, but it feels a little like entitlement or cohesiveness without actually being either of those things. It feels like he’s hoarding the information. Almost like he thinks everyone else wouldn’t understand. Like only he understands Wilbur. But at the same time. It’s a fair decision because he’s the one Wilbur trusts most. He’s the one he spends the most time with. And Tommy does in fact know him the best. He doesn’t want other people to mess up his progress or scare Wilbur. It’s a lot easier to see things and put pieces together than it is to convince other people who weren’t there of what you saw.

Overall there’s still really weird mix of Wilbur and Tommy against the world (other Deathlings). Not everyone, of course, Jack and Niki are cool. But Wilbur and Tommy have their own little bubble full of ‘secrets’. Things Wilbur doesn’t want anyone to know, yet Tommy has figured out anyway, but won’t tell anyone else. It’s such a specific relationship dynamic and it’s really interesting. Tommy is the closest bond Wilbur has here, yet there’s still an ocean between them.

It’s little things like Tommy clearly being worried about and protective of him. It’s Wilbur being angry at Tommy about the name yet still stepping closer to or trying to hide behind him when he’s scared because he knows Tommy won’t hurt him. It’s Tommy getting pissed when Tubbo compares Wilbur to a stray dog because he’s trying to convince Wilbur that he’s a person. It’s Wilbur holding Tommy back before he can ruin his relationship with Tubbo and Tommy acting like a human shield when Tubbo pulls a knife. The hand holding.

Yet there’s still a lot of things they don’t understand about each other. It comes with different beliefs and different lives lived. It comes from being stubborn. It comes from their different traumas. There’s still a disconnect. It’s just such a messy and complicated relationship, yet Tommy is still defending Wilbur during the entire impromptu meeting and Wilbur doesn’t want a different guard.

(2/?)

-🌲

oh yeah tommy definitely feels a bit guilty for what he did. like he views it as necessary, but when he saw wilbur's reaction he definitely felt bad for doing that to him. doesn't mean he's going to back down though. he just got to a point where he was convinced wilbur wasn't going to tell him his name on his own before he got another vision or something and decided he had to break through things first.

IM SO GLAD YOU'RE NOTICING THAT yes tommy is being very careful with what information he discloses about wilbur to the others. one of my favorite aspects of c!crimeboys relationship is how possessive c!tommy has always been of c!wilbur, and how he often understood c!wilbur better than anyone else. so I wanted to show that here. glass!tommy feels like he's the only one who understands wilbur and while that's true, it's largely because he's the only one finding out all this info about wilbur. if he shared this stuff with the others or encouraged him to talk about it more around other deathlings, maybe they'd all have this better understanding of him. but he doesn't. he doesn't want to mess up the progress they've made so far, but also it's a bit of childish possessiveness.

they have this little bubble like you said. they understand and trust each other far more than they should, but at the same time there's so much distance between them. tommy is incredibly protective of wilbur, and while wilbur is mad at tommy he still hides behind him. wilbur holds tommy back from doing something he'll regret, and tommy gets upset when tubbo compares him to a dog. there's a huge disconnect between them, and yet there's a connection there. neither one of them really understands it or knows how it formed, but it exists.

[freedomarrow]

Epilogue [Sniper drabble]

“Now. Young mister von Elessar will remind us.” Without a word, you get up from your seat at the sound of the teacher’s voice calling out your name. “What are the most effective methods of killing flying sub-humans?”

“Shoot them from a bow or a ballista,” you respond, your voice flat and emotionless, exactly as it should be. You would not be so silly as to think of a dirty half-beast with sympathy, would you? That is just not appropriate.

“Good. And where do you aim?”

“Heart or wing joints.”

“Exactly!” The teacher claps his hands in agreement, in what feels like sheer excitement. “You see, the wings they claim to be their pride and joy is also their greatest weakness.” You are allowed to sit down, and look down at your notebook to avoid seeing too much of his smirk. “Even if you do not kill them, you ground them. Which a Heron could maybe handle - (but those you don’t wanna kill anyway, those you put in a cage) - but a Hawk? No. A grounded Hawk is no Hawk at all. They will beg you for death… Or just end themselves for you.” He shoots the class a wink. “Now, we will practice next week. Your first hunt, isn’t that exciting? Make sure to get your training in.”

The bell rings, and you are free. For now. As everyone packs their books, so do you, casting a glance at the training bow next to you.

Is this truly the end to which you train yourself? Is this the glory of Daein?

—

“Oi, Leonardo!” You freeze, and slowly turn at the sound of your classmates’ voices behind you.

“We’re going out for a hunt tomorrow. You’ll come, right? You got a good eye,” the other boy says, a challenge clear in his eyes. “I wanna see if you can bring down a Hawk or a Raven.”

“I’m sure he can! It’s gonna look so awesome!”

“Yeah! Make them go wfhioooooo— SPLAT!”

Laughter follows, each pair of eyes burrowing into you, each compliment like a burden on your shoulders. Can you? Of course you can. That, you are not worried for - it is not your reputation that is at stake. But…

You find that you do not want to. You just do not want to.

“But we’re not old enough yet, are you sure?…” You try to find some kind of excuse, some explanation, that will let you delay that moment, even if for a few days. “Besides, next week we’ll…”

“Pshaw, don’t be a scaredy cat. We can start making a name for ourselves earlier than that, right?” The first boy shrugs. “Besides - s’just slavery runaways anyway. What danger are they to us?” He puts his hands on his hips, the look he gives you hardy, a hint of an accusation already sneaking in. “So, what say you? See you tomorrow, yeah?”

Slavery runaways. Something in your heart sinks at the phrase, and the realization you can no longer say no, and they know that.

They will hate you for it. They will think you a villain for it.

But that is the rule of Daein. That is the law of Daein. Sub-humans are evil and must be eradicated. This is their head, or yours. So you nod, pretending you were convinced, where in reality you simply do not want to die just yet.

Is this the glory of Daein?

—

There is no hunt the next day. The brave boys ready to take on sub-human refugees cower and scream before the Begnion soldiers, and so do you.

There will not be a hunt for you and your classmates ever again. You will be the only one who shall get away, and they will become one with those they wanted to kill. Because who cares about slaves and prisoners, anyway.

With a training sword, a damaged bow and three arrows, you will live to see another day, whether you like it or not. You will find a new family. You will become a freedom fighter, pointing your weapon at the occupiers, piercing each weak point with deadly precision,

all for the glory of Daein.

—

From the walls of Nox Castle, you stand silent, watching the approaching laguz army. Amidst soldiers excited for a sub-human hunt, who do not know better, who have no idea why they truly are here, who could almost pass for your classmates if you listen hard enough - (they are not your classmates. Your classmates are dead and you know it.) - you look up at Micaiah leading the army from the position above, nod at her hand outstretched in command, wordlessly load up an arrow onto Lughnasadh, take a deep breath, and watching the Hawks on the horizon, remind yourself: heart and wing joints.

All for the glory of Daein.

—

Mere days later, you fight by the Hawk King’s side. He tears at a soldier who wanted to stab you. You shoot at a ballistician who attempted to target him. Amidst a crisis greatest of all, a world frozen in time, a goddess’ judgment cast upon the land, you aim your bow, your hand is true, and a light smile creases your lips.

For finally, for once in your life, you feel as though you and your weapon fight where they are supposed to.

… Is this the glory of Daein?

—

Months later, you are miles and miles away from home, at a different military academy, raising your bow against the training target board.

The war is over, the country recovering. Hawks and Daein soldiers alike are back in their homes. The former are no longer fleeing for their lives across the deadly mountains; the latter are no longer organizing hunts. Some are probably still disappointed about that, but these changes take time.

“No more hunts, eh?” You hear that boy’s voice behind your ear as you take aim. The others gather up behind you as well, watching and observing.

“You know what, maybe it’s not so bad actually.” He continues with a shrug. “Maybe there are better things to shoot.”

“Like what?” You ask.

“Well, you know. Your enemies. The real ones, I mean.”

You smile lightly, nod, and let the arrow fly, scoring dead in the center.

All for the glory of Daein.